#do i think it’s good that i feel even slightly apathetic? absolutely not and i seriously wish i wasn’t | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pandorascripts · 1 month ago

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Familiar By Thy Side pt 2

super excited to share part two with all of you!! sorry it’s been a bit since I updated, my school clubs are starting up and I’ve been figuring out all my stuff as I go.

relationships: (drumroll) Agathario/Reader!

lots of yall said it should be agathario/reader, so I’m delivering! thank you for all the feedback :)

warnings: uhhh, I don’t think there’s any, but who knows.

The next time you’re able to remember current events, you’re laid down on a dock, in nothing but your wet undergarments. With a loud gasp, you shoot up, chest rapidly rising and falling. Everything is overwhelming, the noise of the lake, the splashing and laughter, the bristle of trees’ leaves, the creaking of the dock — it’s too much, everything is too much. You can’t recognize anything, your whereabouts completely unknown as the cold sinks into your achy bones and shaky fingers.

Finally, you see someone just barely familiar. Nicholas, laughing and splashing his Mother just twenty feet off to your side in the shallow waters. With a hard breath, you look around and try to focus on regaining your senses. Previously dirty skin is shining clean again, your hands brushing over it in confusion. Agatha had bathed you? The thought of being unconscious and vulnerable makes your spine shiver, gaze hardening at Agatha. The moment you fully look at her, really recognize her, you have such a hard time hating her. The smile plastered on her raw face, laughter so hard she’s forced to wheeze and turn her back from her boy, she looks human to you for the first time in, well, however long you’ve been with them.

Nicky is the first to notice you, his smile still wide as he waves to you. Agatha snaps her head to your direction, icy blue eyes running along your posture for a good read. There’s a subconscious relent in Agatha when she realizes how scared you are right now. There’s so much familiarity in that showcase of fear for her, that she’s slightly taken aback by the memories of nights when she was younger and afraid. A low growl dies down into a clearing of her throat, Agatha turning away.

“Nicholas, you’ll get frozen if we’re here any longer,” she states, but Nicky knows it’s a demand.

He pouts but doesn’t argue with his mom, waddling out of the water that Agatha easily cruises through. Her outfit matches yours â€” nothing but undergarments, and it’s clear that they had been playing in the water for quite some time. A weird thought festers in your mind, happy that despite being apathetic to everything, Agatha knows that her son is but a boy and deserves to have fun.

By the time Agatha and Nicholas are fully dressed in their slightly damp clothes — ones you haven’t seen before, so you realize they must’ve been stolen during your lights-out phase — the embarrassment settles in. You feel even more vulnerable now, the only one absolutely indecent enough for viewing. Agatha lets Nicholas head back to their makeshift camp just some odd feet out, her journey steering to open a medium-sized leather pouch, and take out some clothes. Silently, Agatha walks down the doc to toss them in your lap.

“What did you do to me?” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, more so questioning how she managed to subdue you so easily.

“Bathed you. Nothing more nothing less.”

The sharpness of her tone makes you realize she believes you to be questioning something else, a small flinch on your face.

“Not that, that I understand well. The time I was awake, we were fighting, and then…”

“Then I came to the smart conclusion you were too shambled to make such a journey and made it so you did not kill Nicky, nor I,” she answers, still on the defensive.

You don’t argue back with her. Neither do you even try to dry off with anything, immediately trying to put on your clothes.

“Wait.”

You stop at her words, convinced it was her magick rather than your obedience. “What?”

Agatha walks off the dock, leaving you confused on whether or not you should continue. She turns her back to you again a couple seconds later, heading down the platform before tossing you a damp rag.

“To dry. These clothes will be yours next few days, nothing wet against your skin will be comfortable enough for our journey. We leave tonight again.”

You wet your lips, holding the rag before looking up at Agatha. Seeing her this close, it’s no wonder she was able to lure in many with a beguiling feeling of comfort. Agatha is motherly in many of her actions, even when she’s killing witches, surprisingly enough. Motherly or not completely monstrously, you’re not sure.

“Thank you, Agatha,” you say softly, her name foreign on your tongue.

“Make haste, the sun will set in a few hours time.”

A simple nod from you has Agatha walking over to her son, your hands working to dry off your body with the rag. It’s slightly rugged, a little ripped and the edges are frayed. Although, you can’t be too picky, you suppose. Agatha almost gave you nothing. You’re not sure why she didn’t, why she let you dry off. It truly wouldn’t have been that uncomfortable for you, walking all that distance would’ve heated your body up and in turn the clothes would’ve probably helped cool you down. You turn around on the dock to run the rag over your chest, Agatha’s mean eyes running along your back.

In her own mind, Agatha is beating herself up over giving you that rag. Why did she care if you were comfortable? If anything, Agatha only wants you to be uncomfortable around her, to be scared around her. It’s much easier that way, for you to be terrorized into obedience. She’s not sure, but maybe after being in your mind during the week in Salem she saw one too many correlations between you and Her. Agatha clenches her jaw, refusing to believe that after six years clean she’s genuinely letting herself feel the things she long ago buried about Rio. The name sends shivers down her spine, eyes running to find her boy. He’s nestled against a tree, fixing his hair into a braid. The facial expression she finds on him is way too similar to Rio’s mouth open in concentration, nose tilted up. Agatha comes to the realization that she can never get away from the sound of the woman that loves her, and it haunts her. Rio’s voice in the mornings, her small touch throughout the day, the sweet laugh she let out at Agatha’s off-colored jokes, everything that was and is Rio stays within Agatha. Her eyes fall down to her hands, balling them up tightly before she lets go of them with a sigh.

You walk down the dock, fully dressed and mainly dry. Wet against your neck is your hair, but you simply scrunch it up and keep it behind your shoulders. Agatha is moving Nicky up, sitting behind him as she starts softly speaking to him and doing his hair for him. The braid wasn’t the best, so Agatha simply undoes it and starts over. He doesn’t seme to mind, lost in the conversation as he drags a stick through the dirt to spell out his name. The scene is a little too vulnerable and familial for you to want to engage in, even if you’re more calm than when you first woke. There’s some slight gratitude you feel for Agatha, considering that she didn’t completely undress you when bathing you. Despite the slight awkward dampness of the materials against your skin, it’s something to be thankful for.

You’re too caught up in trying to figure out everything that happened — stubbornly refusing to ask Agatha — that you don’t notice her sit next to you. Of course, there’s still a couple feet of distance from the two of you, but you’re unsure why she wouldn’t sit by Nicholas. Until you realize he’s not here.

“Where is the boy?” you ask, your body more unsettled without him. This makes no sense, and you know it, but you swear Agatha is almost human around him. Despite that she’s killed in front of the boy, openly explained that she kills witches to him, and still speaks down to you around him, it just feels safer when he’s around.

“Off to harvest some berries past that brush,” she replies, and you’re almost surprised she actually does.

You just stay quiet, a slight nod of your head as your eyes lock on the fire.

“Salem was just fine, in case you were wondering,” mumbles Agatha, sniffling after as if to cover up everything she just said.

“Have they still been killling witches?”

There’s a small laugh from Agatha, her head shaking slightly. “Oh, please, we were much too clever to be killed during then. Those women were married to the worst of the worst, and killed simply so their husband could marry younger or justify his continuous infidelity.”

“We?” you ask, head turning to stare at Agatha. You weren’t aware that she was living in Salem during those times, but then again, you’re not sure how old Agatha actually is. “Yes, we. Womanhood came to me after spending my youth in that town. I left soon after.” Agatha’s tone at the end, her licking her lips and turning her head too, tells you that there’s something there — a story, no doubt, but you don’t question.

“Must have been quite fearful, I’d imagine.”

“They couldn’t catch us, dear, only a few were ever caught.”

The fire is crackling, your hands reaching out to warm up over the flames. Agatha watches, the way your hair falls off your shoulder and over, her eyes running along your clothes. You’re maybe in your early twenties, or older - it’s hard to tell with witches. Her body is way to relaxed with you so near, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because she’s sure you’re magic isn’t as strong or because she’s sure you’re not skilled at all. Either way, Agatha doesn’t like it.

You don’t react to the word “dear” slipping from her mouth, certain its’ just another way to degrade you and poke fun. It doesn’t bother you. You don’t let it.

“Man has never been smart, have they?’ you chuckle out, flashing her a small smile.

Agatha responds with a shake of her head, pursing her lips. “Not much, no.”

Silence absorbs the both of you for a couple minutes, up until Nicholas stumbles through the brush. He’s brushing off some burs with a distasteful look.

“They’re so sharp,” he mumbles, very displeased with his clothes being covered in spikey balls. There’s a small smile from you, your hand lifting up to drop down. Just as the action is completed, all the burs fall from his clothes, his head snapping up to look at his mother.

“Thank you, mama.” “Don’t look at me, boy, that had nothing to do with me,” she chuckles slightly. “Would’ve been quite entertaining watching you flounder about a bit longer.”

Nicholas laughs slightly at his mom’s teasing, his eyes turning to you. “You then? Thank you.”

Turning back to the fire, you remain quiet as Agatha and her son converse together, the sun starting to fall. You still aren’t clear how long had passed since you last remember anything, but you’re too nervous to talk. Wringing out your hands, glaring at the fire only to occasionally look at the duo before you, you can’t find a good enough time to interject.

There’s a small huff from Agatha, her annoyed look turning to face you. “You’re loud.”

“Excuse me?” you ask out, a little bewildered at her statement.

“Your mind that is, you’re insufferable. What is it you need?”

Closing your gaping mouth, you blink a bunch before relenting. “How long was I — how long did you have control over me?”

Agatha wets her lips, turning back to the fire. “Maybe around eight days, including a portion of today.”

Eight days. It had been eight whole days. You swallow thickly, looking down to stare at the dirt below. She had been in your mind, controlling you, full access to everything for eight whole days. You feel perturbed at this information, wetting your lips down as you struggle to come to terms with that. What had she done in there? What had she seen? What had she messed up? What had she learned? It feels like a violation to you, your head turned away from her.

Apathetic to your discomfort, Agatha goes back to talking with Nicky about his day and what he found in the forest.

The next few days are spent silently for you, simply walking alongside Agatha. You wish you could’ve been behind her, away from her, but she insisted you go next to her to negate any chance of betrayal from you. Far too tired to argue and far too worried she’d overwhelm your mind again, you just gave in. During this journey, you didn’t car to ask her where you all were going, you just walked. And walked. And walked.

The group of you walked for days until reaching a newly-named settlement called Philadelphia, which had started booming since being labeled. Weirdly enough, Agatha was able to swindle an older man into letting the three of you crash, despite having no way of paying him back and being covered in grime. You watched the way she did it, hand on his bicep, straightening out his lapels, and showering him with praise. Alongside sickening you, you were intrigued. Agatha was a sight to behold, you were well aware of her beauty, but you and Nicholas being included on the deal? He was but a boy, and you weren’t ever the most attractive in your eyes, so how is it that he let all of you stay?

Being rushed into his home by Agatha’s hand on your back made you forget your questions, slugging into the room he offered and laying down on a couch in the corner. There were two beds, one for Nicholas and one for Agatha, so you assumed you’d be cramped up here for however long the stay lasted.

You were partially right. Agatha dumped her small amount of belongings onto the second bed, sorted them out into things that needed washing and things that were clean, doing the same with her sons too. Nicky sat on the first bed, shoes neatly tucked below as he took off his coat and fixed the collar of his shirt.

Agatha grouped up all of the clothes, put them into a bag, and handed Nicky two coins and the pouch. “Round down to the market, Nicky. Find a woman willing to launder our clothes and pay her well for her troubles.”

He gave his mom a look, a little shocked he was allowed to go out on his own, but he nodded his head and listened. Just as he slid off the bed, Agatha held his shoulder and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Be quick, be kind, and use any extra to get yourself something you like.”

Nicholas smiled widely at his mom, nodding his head before sprinting out when he was dismissed. Agatha started to fold the cleaner clothes, nestling them in the dresser nicely.

“How did you manage to convince that man?” you ask softly, sitting up on the couch.

Agatha turns her head to look at you, fixing her hair by tucking it just under her ear. “I’m persuasive.”

“There was more than that, d’you’re magick permit you to do so?”

Her lips are pursed as you push further, a small sneer on her face. “It is nothing of your concern, be grateful you’ve a placed to rest that isn’t dirt, girl.”

Agatha is cruel in her words, so you settle for questioning when she’s in a much better mood. Your questions are only making her feel more at odds with herself, hating the way those powers only work on men. After all, Agatha would much rather have her succubus powers sway women, at least there could be something more she could get out of it. Now she’s to deal with this man trying to hit on her, much more disturbing when she’s with her young boy, but Agatha won’t risk disturbing her magick at work. The last thing she needs is this man kicking them out, or far worse, claiming witch because he was rejected by her.

Nicky comes back twenty minutes later, hands full with two trinkets, and a wide grin. His eyes are sparkling as he runs up to Agatha.

“Mama, this nice lady just minutes out from here gave me these — free of charge, she said!” he laughs out, setting them on the bed which previously held clothes.

“Nicky, get them off the bed. Lord knows where they’ve been.” Agatha directs the boy with her hands, moving him out of the way as she does it herself. Whilst holding the items, her face pales and she glares. “Who gave you these, boy?”

“A woman, Mama, a kind lady.”

“A kind lady she is not, not if she tried her hardest. Nicky, you stay inside, no matter what.”

You watch Agatha, seeing her truly unsettled for the first time. The items as you look at them, are slightly odd, but nothing to signify anything perilous. One is a small painting of a flower, some sort of dipladenia if you can remember correctly. The other is a small, festive skull, something from the Spaniards’ holiday Día de los Difuntos, you reckon. There’s no reason Agatha should be this uptight over a simple gift from a townswoman.

Still, you keep quiet as you fon’t want to upset her any more. Nicholas is slightly distraught, watching his mother behave like this. She looks over at you.

“Watch the boy and stay here.”

With that, Agatha turns on her heel, coat lagging behind in her twirl, and slams the bedroom door behind herself. Nicky sits on the bed, his hands playing with the sheets as looks at the items Agatha threw down. The painting of the flower is in his hands, fingertips running over the medium used. There’s a hint of pity you feel for the boy, a small forwn on her your face as you move to sit next to him. The bed creaks.

“D’you know what flower that is?” you quietly query. He shakes his head. “It’s a diplandenia. A Rio Diplandenia. They take almost no care from others and thrive, very low maintenance from it’s maintainers. Beautiful, no?”

Nicky nods his head, looking up at you. His eyes are a little glossy. “A Rio?”

“Yes, boy, a Rio.”

For some reason, that brings a smile to his face. You’re not sure why, but you just smile back and watch him, your hand moving some of his hair behind his ear. “Whatever reason your mother has for acting like this, I’m sure it will be alright in the end. No need to fret over her antics.”

Nicky nods his head. “I’m not worried, I know what’s to come.” “Oh, do you now? Forgive me for not taking you as divination warlock,” you laugh slightly, bumping his shoulder.

Nicholas shakes his head, rolling his eyes at you. “No, no, not like that. I’ve just — I’ve got an ease within me. I know I’m okay, that I will be. I just worry for Mama.”

“Your mother is quite the strong witch, boy, she will be fine as well as you will.”

Nicholas looks like he’s on the brink of saying something, but his mother comes through the door, two bags full of what you assume are stolen travel items.

“Nicholas, these bags, now.”

Nikcy runs over to his mom, grabbing them and checking their fastenings. You kick his shoes out from under the bed, sliding them over to him. With your back turned to the group, you grab the painting of the flower and slip it under your clothes with the intent to give it to Nicky later.

In just ten minutes you’re out the door, your eyes just barely catching sight of a gray hand behind a corner wall. You swallow loudly, but remain vocally silent.

You’re not sure how many days pass when you’re thinking clearly again, too caught up in wondering why Agatha was so uptight to even care. The knowledge that Agatha has full access to your thoughts doesn’t hit you until after all your hard thinking. Agatha hasn’t said anything about it, so you assumed she either blocked you out or was too focused on moving to care.

#x reader #fanfic #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #agathario #agatha coven of chaos #agatha x rio #rio vidal #the ballad of the witches road #agatha spoilers #agatha all along spoilers

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a-libra-writes · 2 years ago

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Can I request any lackadaisy characters of your choosing reacting to a male reader who is normally very apathetic laughing and smiling for the first time?

Sure! many characters here so I put a cut.

♣️Rocky - OH. Oh, wow, that's a great face. A great laugh, too. Wow. If you're reacting that way because of something he did, Rocky is just delighted and will absolutely do it again. This is filed away in his brain for eternity - on this day, at this time, he finally got you to crack. Even if it short-lived. No one believes him when he brags about his triumph.

♣️Freckle - The noise actually makes him startle; he never expected that out of you - not that it's unpleasant! Quite the opposite. It makes him smile too. He was always a bit nervous around you. Though, if you were laughing and smiling at something morbid, well ... maybe he's still nervous ...

♣️Ivy - "Wow! I didn't even know your face muscles worked that way!" She is also committing this historical event to memory, because she absolutely wants to see it again! If something she did or said is what amused you, she's definitely gonna try again later. She talks to all her friends and the other Lackadaisy staff about her accomplishment; they can scarcely believe her.

♣️Mitzi - "That's a sweet smile you have, dear," and she means it. Mitzi is glad to see that side of you, even moreso if she's the only person who got to witness it. If she's the reason you smiled, she gets a warm happy feeling and plots to try again some day.

♣️Viktor - The sudden noise surprises him. His tail puffs just slightly as he side-eyes you, then goes back to whatever he was working on. That was. ... strange. Like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs, or when Mordecai smiled for once - no. He'd rather not think of back then. He grunts and ignores you for a while.

♣️Zib - "Oh thank god, you're one of the living after all. Sometimes I forget." He talks shit, but your smile actually gave him butterflies. He just tugs his hat down and goes back to lounging, though he'll remember that sight for quite a while.

♣️Atlas - He glances at you for a moment, then goes back to whatever he was doing. That was certainly surprising. The others' reactions are quite amusing, too. If he didn't witness it, he may not believe it.

🏵️Serafine and Nico - Serafine grins and elbows her brother to make sure he noticed, which he very much did. If it was one of them who got that reaction out of you, they'll never let the other forget it. They both have something of a competition when it comes to getting reactions out of you; you're much more fun to tease than Mordecai. Well, you've given an inch, now they want to take a mile.

🏵️Mordecai - It surprises him, which it really shouldn't, because he's of a similar temperament. Mordecai is a little disconcerted, but ... well, your laugh is fairly pleasant and the smile does a good job of not looking unhinged. If you were laughing at something morbid or creepy, alas, that kind of ruins the appeal. wait wait why is he thinking about your appeal--

⛰️Wick - He almost drops whatever he was drinking, and blinks a few times before smiling and giving a little laugh himself. If he was the reason for that reaction, he's (very) proud and embarrassed. It was probably silly, whatever he said, but it's nice to see such a pleasant expression on your normally serious face. Truth be told, you kind of intimidate him.

⛰️Lacy - "Huh. I didn't think he had it in him," She says to her boss as you walk out. "A shame, he has a nice smile. .... Sir?" She snaps her fingers several times in front of Wick to get him back to reality.

#rocky rickaby x reader #freckle mcmurray x reader #calvin mcmurray x reader #ivy pepper x reader #mitzi may x reader #viktor vasko x reader #zib zibowski x reader #dorian zibowski x reader #serafine savoy x reader #nico savoy x reader #mordecai heller x reader #wick sable x reader #lackadaisy x reader #omg so many tags i apologize LOL

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thestarfishinjootsoffice · 1 year ago

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Hiii can I request the slashers x teen! Reader who has Short curly hair but is insecure about it so they straighten it

(I don't care about the type of curly hair it can be up to you but if you want to add one can it be 3c💖)

As a person who has straight hair and literally no one else in my life has curly hair and I've never used a straightener in my life. I'm sorry if I get anything wrong. Just correct me!

I'll try to post more consistently I SWEAR THIS TIME!!!

Also extremely sorry for the pov changes, I change the pov writing depending on the characters if this bothers you please let me know.

Apology for disappearing on you guys for 3-2 months 😍

Warnings: reader being pretty insecure about their hair, they're straightening their hair 24/7 here apparently. Not much stuff.

Slashers included: Michael, billy and stuu and jasonnn

Relationship: platonic.

Slashers x teen! Reader who's insecure about their short curly hair! (3c)

Michael

He didn't really care at first how your really curly hair suddenly goes straight the next days and after. And just when it started to curl more it goes straight again.

At first he thought you straightened it because it must've been in your way or maybe you felt hot?

But inevitably it was a repeating pattern he saw. On really rare occasions you let your curls show in its true glory.

But he didn't really do anything about it or care because... Why would he? He's got people to kill.

......

That night he sat down on the couch with you. The electricity went out just before you could've straightened your hair. It was getting more puffy and curly.

Tugging on the ends of your hair to make it look a bit straight. (And also to distract yourself from looking noticeably nervous.) You stayed still uncomfortably as Michael sat eerily silent next to you as he always does. But he was sitting while looking at you so it was especially creepy.

"Uhm... Did I do something wrong?"

The only source of light was the burning candle slowly melting. Giving it a nice look.

The fact he didn't answer for a few minutes freaked you out even more. Suddenly the floor and literally everywhere else where Michael isn't in your line of sight looks interesting.

You jump a little when you feel a hand on yours where you were tugging on your hair and lift it down.

You look over to the mask of Michael and stare into the black sockets of the holes where his eyes should be visible. He points to your hair and then he gives a thumbs up. It was a bit slow, but he was telling you he really meant it.

At this point you don't even know how to feel. Your apathetic seemingly emotionless psychotic serial killer father figure was telling you that he thinks your hair looks good?

You feel a couple tears prickly at your eyes. Feeling a slight burning sensation in your throat and nose. Without much of a thought running through your hair you hug him, he absolutely does not like physical contact of course but right now he feels like the most safest person at the moment.

(Ps: *whispers* he loves your hairrrrr)

Billy n stu

It was without a doubt they love your hair but you still decided to be a teenager.

Setting your straightener on your table with a 'thud' sound, You stare at how your hair looks in the mirror. Sighing slightly you move yourself from your chair and head down stairs to your two psycho dads.

Stu was the one to immediately point it out after he saw you, "hey y/n! Why do you always straighten your hair?"

Whatever excuse-answer you gave them they weren't completely convinced but didn't want to push you any further. Well Billy did. Stu is just.... Stu. (Stu was stopped luckily)

After the day went by and you were in your bed. Today wasn't so bad. You were planning to either sleep and hope when you wake up it's not a bad day Or just burn your eyes with your phone in the dark.

Just when you were about to lie down you heard your door creek ajar. You turn your head around and see your dads just standing there in front of your door. They both looked kind of nervous.

You were about to ask a question but billy walked up next to you, setting himself down on the mattress of your bed you feel it dip a bit. Stu followed closely behind. Billy gently places a hand on your shoulder.

"What's this interrogation?"

"Uh- well we wanted to talk to you about something." Stu smiles though it looks a bit forced.

"... Well what is it?"

"Well... Do you like your hair??"

"... You made it seem so intense, and all you wanted to ask was if I liked my hair or not?" You honestly thought they were going to say the cops were outside or something. Not asking you that.

"Yes, now answer the question." Billy said it looking directly at you. If it were in a nutshell he would've probably had a gun pointed at you.

You were debating whether or not you wanted to be truthful.

"I guess so..." Your answer sounded extremely doubtful and uncertain. Which of course wasn't gone unnoticed by the two killers attending by you.

"Y/n.." Billy said softly.

"What's wrong?"

His question was met with an agonizing short but seemingly endless streak of silence. Both the men in the room already knew what was wrong but wanted to hear it from your mouth.

Stu sighed, he leaned against you.

"Y/n, if there's anyone who's bothering you , you can always tell us. If not... Then I'll teach my teenage child that they can't rebel love against their hair."

You smiled at this.

For them to act so serious on something so small...

You realised all your energy has disappeared and right now you want to shut your mind and body down for a couple hours.

Jason (let's just say there's electricity in one of the cabins)

He didn't understand. Didn't understand why you seemed to always straighten your hair. He loved the way your hair just bundles up into curly twirly shapes.

He does love your straight hair but he loves your natural hair even more. He tries hard not to let it get to him but overtime it starts to curious him greatly.

Another day of hunting down rabbits or other small creatures or going swimming for you to survive. Jason doesn't need it but eats whatever you make because who doesn't like sitting down eating their child's home cooked meal?

You noticed your hair had started to get more puffy. Feeling a wave of discomfort and insecurity you start to head to where your room was.

"Hey dad, I'm just gonna do something real quick."

Nodding he went to grab the vegetables and other ingredients while he waited for you. 5 minutes nothing. 10 minutes also nothing. After 5 minutes he went to check up on you but then you barged out of your door.

"Sorry! It took longer than i thought it would."

The first thing he noticed about you was your now straightened hair. He frowned in the inside of his mask he stared for a while

"Is something wrong? Did I take too long?"

He shook his head slightly. He turned around and lead you to the kitchen.

---------

He placed the empty dirty plate and bowl in the sink as he watched you clean the table.

His eyes lingered on the back of your hair. He takes a few silent steps next to you and waits until you either notice him or finish cleaning. He was pretty nervous if he was being honest. But it's not like he can't do anything about this kind of thing.

"Okay I'm do-" You had 3 jump scares and 5 heart attacks that you managed to keep inside you when you turned around and see your masked huge behemoth of a father right. Next. To your face. You back up a bit.

"Do you need something?" You asked with a nervous smile and laugh. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds but he raises both of his hands, tbh rn. You're pretty fucking scared even though he's technically your father he's never done something like this before.

His hands are on the sides of your hair and then he starts scrunching them. The ends of your hairs directly lying on his palms and he starts squeezing them softly for a second, letting go and repeating it again.

It takes you a hot minute to even have an idea of what he was trying to do but then you realised he was trying to curl them up! You don't do anything. You don't even know what to do. You look at him speechless after he's done.

Your hair is probably really messy and uneven right now but you can't pay it that much mind when he gives you an ok sign.

Before you could react he has you in a crushing hug. You don't really mind how strong it was this time though. Just the warm feeling of your father's bone crushing hug.

_________________

Wanted to write for Hannibal but didn't know wtf he would do 💀

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raleighcarreras · 2 years ago

Text

it's all so incredibly loud

Part 5: like Lucifer, I've fallen

Pairing: Wanda maximoff x black!fem!reader

Warnings: none really

Rating: M

Part(s): 1, 2, 3, 4

Wrd Cnt: 2k

Notes: a couple more chapters to go i think. Song is Satellite by Harry Styles.

"Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in. I can see you're lonely down there. Don't you know that I am right here?"

It had been 5 weeks since Wanda had started her therapy sessions twice a week. 5 weeks since things had sort of gone back to normal.

Or as normal as you supposed they could get.

She had slept over 4 more times within those 5 weeks. Late night talks with you and the boys, and you not wanting her to drive all the way back to her lonely apartment so late at night.

You had a feeling one of you was keeping her late on purpose but you couldn't figure out if it was you or her.

On multiple occasions, Wanda had looked like she wanted to say something to you. Especially, after that first therapy appointment, but she never did. And you sure as hell weren't going to ask.

There were times where the two of you would get into arguments over trivial things. You couldn't really help it. Her sudden change had triggered a corresponding change of some sort in you.

Resentment? Jealousy? Fear? You weren't really sure.

You tried to hide the not so good days from the boys, but they were the children of a spy and a witch. They were intuitive as all hell. And sneaky to boot.

You could only hope they weren't internalizing whatever they heard. They would never tell you after it was over.

You could only hope.

Wanda sat down on the all too familiar couch. She finally felt different. She felt okay. Not like she was going to slip underneath the metaphorical waves at any second.

She didn't feel the need to be powerful or all-knowing or perpetually ready for anything and everything. She felt like she could relax. Like she could share her burden. Like there wasn't much of a burden in the first place.

"I think I'm ready to tell her."

Dr. Raynor hummed in interest, "Tell who what?"

By now Wanda knew she should have seen that coming, "I'm ready to tell Y/N why I cheated on her and why I was so scared."

The therapist nodded, "Good. Do you know why you're ready?"

Wanda paused, she did know why. She just wasn't aware of the best way to say it.

"I'm ready because I know she won't see me as weak when I tell her, because I'm not weak. And even if I was that would be okay. I'm not telling her because I want her back. I'm telling her because I love her and she deserves to know. Because she's my life partner and we're in this together." She's sort of surprised herself with getting all of that out as eloquently as she did.

Dr. Raynor looked surprised to. Wanda wondered if she should have taken offense to that.

"That's wonderful, Wanda. And you're absolutely right, even if she doesn't want to get back together you're still a team when it comes to your kids. She deserves to know exactly what you're feeling or what you felt."

Wanda's eyes watered without her permission, "I'm not just doing all of this for her sake, I promise, but God, the thought of her not being by my side for the rest of our lives kills me."

"I understand. But you knew coming into this that it's a very real possibility. To be quite frank, when you started these sessions I don't even think you actually thought it was an option." Dr. Raynor placed a comforting hand on Wanda's knee.

"I didn't. I still don't know if I do. But, I'm going to try anyway. My body won't let me not." Wanda wiped at her eyes harshly. Slightly embarrassed even though she pretty much sob Dr. Raynor out of house and home every other session.

Dr. Raynor eyed Wanda with an apathetic smile, "You really love her, don't you?"

"With everything in me. I love everything about her. Her passion. Her strength. She's such an amazing mother. She's so good with the kids and I have no idea why that's so hot. Speaking of hot, she's so beautiful. And fuck. The kids...Alexis looks just like her. I'm going to have to beat them off of her with a stick when she's older... I've put that woman through so much. I respect her so much. She's amazing. I'm going to have to beg on my knees, aren't I?" It was a rhetorical question but Dr. Raynor answered anyway.

"Make sure you kneel on gravel so she knows you mean it!"

Wanda didn't know if that was a joke or not, "We still argue like an old married couple, but I'm taking it as a good sign. Thank you, Dr. Raynor. For everything."

Dr. Raynor smiled, "You're welcome, Wanda. Though, you did most of the work. I was just here to look at you funny. Congratulations on graduating to semi-monthly sessions."

"Thank you." Wanda stood and gathered her things.

"Oh, and Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ask Bucky about it, but I do couple's therapy too."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Guess who graduated therapy?!" Wanda exclaimed excitedly into her phone.

Pietro hummed in faux thought, "Sam?"

"No, brother. I did! Well, I didn't really graduate. I just don't need to go as often. I'm very well adjusted now."

"How'd you manage that? I thought you would be labeled insane and we would get you those cool grippy socks." Pietro said laughing to himself.

"Thank you, for the vote of confidence, Piet." Wanda deadpanned.

"Ahh, you're welcome, Utenok! Do you want to come over and play-"

There was a beeping coming from the phone indicating another call.

"-hold on, Piet. Y/N's calling."

"Fine. The ex-wife is more important I see how it is."

Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother's dramatics. She switched over to the other call quickly, "Hey, Y/N! I was just on my way to talk to you actual-"

"Wanda. I-the boys-I can't find them. They left a note and fuck I don't know where they went and you know Tommy...they could be so far by now-"

"Y/N. It's okay, I'm five minutes away. I'll be there in two." Wanda hurried to her car, throwing the door open and starting the ignition with her free hand.

"I don't-ugh I knew they heard us-this is all my fault I...they had been quiet too long-"

"Y/N. It's okay. It not your fault. They're 11 year old boys. They haven't quite figured out nuance yet."

You took a deep, shaky breath. Trying your best to calm down, "Yeah...okay."

"Is Alexis alright?"

You nodded like Wanda could see you, "Yes-she's in her crib sleeping."

"Okay, good. I'm pulling up now."

Wanda had a feeling you nodded again.

She connected back to Pietro, surprised to see he was still on the other line, "Pietro, the boys are missing-I guess they got upset and ran away. She think's it's her fault-"

"I'm already looking for them, Wanda. We'll find them."

"Thank you, Piet."

She hung her phone then hurried into her former house.

You were pacing a whole in the ground with your phone to your ear, "Yes, they're like 4'9. Blonde. Tommy should have been wearing a red shirt, and Billy's shirt is blue. They're both in dark jeans and their black converse are gone....Yes...Okay...Thank you."

You ended the call and threw your phone onto the couch. You wanted to pull your hair out.

"Nat and Monica are looking. Just got off the phone with the police department, they said they'll search but I kind of don't believe them. I'd go look myself but what if they get scared and come back and no one is here for them to come back to." Your breathing quickened suddenly.

Wanda's eyes widened, "Hey, Y/N. Breathe. We'll find them. They couldn't have gotten far. Tommy gets tired after like 30 feet. Pietro will be able to get anywhere he does quicker."

You shook your head, still fighting off a panic attack. You handed Wanda the note you found in their room when you went to collect them for their dinner.

Dear Mom and Mama,

We know you've been fighting because of us. We know this because you only fight when you think we can't hear you. We think it would be in everyone's best intrest if we left. So, you can be happy together again. Alexis won't even remember us, probably so she'll be fine.

P.S. dont look for us because we hid very well

P.P.S. we even took some snacks so you don't have to worry about us not having dinner!

"I'm a horrible mother. I'm terrible. I let my kids think I'd be better off without. Fuck." You're breathing quickened again.

Wanda grabbed your shoulders, "Y/N. Look at me. You're not a bad mother. The boys are just confused. They don't know what they're talking about."

Your eyes welled up with tears, "Wanda. They left. They-they left."

Wanda pulled you into a hug, not knowing what else to do. You sobbed into her shoulder, her hand trying to soothe you by rubbing your back. But, it seemed a damn had broken from months of pent up anguish and you couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N. If anything this is my fault."

You shook your head, and sniffled, "No. It's not. You've been doing everything you're supposed to. I just really like arguing with you sometimes. You're hot when you're mad."

Wanda chuckled, "I knew something was up."

You pulled away from her. Embarrassed in more ways than one, "Sorry, I snotted all over your jacket. I-fuck-I just feel so helpless."

"I know the feeling."

A sudden gust of wind blew your curtains askew. Pietro knew how much you hated that, but you supposed he had a good excuse this time.

Pietro stood in the doorway, empty handed, "I looked everywhere I could think they might be."

A few minutes later, Natasha and Monica arrived with the same news.

You bit your lip harshly before looking at Wanda intently, "Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to hate this but you need to use your powers."

Wanda immediately started shaking her head in protest, "I said I wouldn't. I don't even know how I'd go about that. Maybe they left something in their room-"

"Wanda. Please."

Wanda took a deep breath, "Okay."

She hadn't use them in so long, she sure hoped it was like riding a bike.

She also wasn't quite sure how to use them to find the boys. If she had, she wouldn't have been in this whole mess in the first place.

Though, like everything, the first step was to relax. And she couldn't do that with everyone staring her down so intensely.

"Could you guys turn away, I'm getting stage fright."

"Really?" You said dryly.

"Well, you can look all you want."

"Wanda. Find my damn kids."

Wanda took a deep breath and let whatever power was in her creep to the surface. She wasn't sure how she did it, maybe it was the fact that you were staring at her so intensely she felt like she was going to burst into flames if she didn't find them, but she opened her eyes. The red wisps slowly fading away, and she looked at you with a confused frown.

"They're at my apartment?"

Pietro's brows furrowed, "How did we miss that?"

He looked like was about to run off to collect them, but Wanda placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"It's probably better that we go."

"Oh. Do you want me to take you?"

You shook your head, "Hell no. I threw up the last time. We'll take a car. Like a normal person."

"Nothing's normal about a single person in this room, but okay. We'll stay here and watch the little one."

"Thank you. Monica is in charge."

Natasha and Pietro shouted in protest, but you and Wanda were already half way to the car.

"What do we say to them?" You asked hesitantly.

"That we're sorry we made them feel that way. And that we loved them?"

You looked at the side of Wanda's face with a new found light, "When did you get so insightful?"

Wanda shrugged, "Therapy changes you."

You bit your lip to stifle your laugh, "Not too much I hope."

"Not too much."

When you arrived at Wanda's apartment, it took you a few minutes to realize you had never been inside of it.

It felt odd and surreal at the same time. Like you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be. Invading her space.

It was...cozy?

You didn't really know what to think of it. The place seemed nice enough, but you're house was nicer. Your house was a home. This wasn't.

"The boys are in their room." Wanda lead you to said room where sure enough, the twins were sitting on the ground. Playing with some leftover Legos.

You cleared your throat. They jumped.

"Oh! Hi mom. Mama. You weren't supposed to find us." Billy said.

"I live here." Wanda pointed out.

"We know. But we figured once we were gone you could just sleep back home."

Wanda shook her head, "That's not how that works. I'd never be able to sleep knowing you weren't home safe."

Tommy and Billy frowned, toeing at the ground, "We thought you'd stop fighting if we weren't around."

"Boys, we love you. We don't fight because of you. We fight for stupid grownup reasons that we need to sort through on our own. We're so sorry we made you feel like it was your fault. Is that understood?" You asked.

They both nodded. You pulled them into a hug. Finally relaxing.

"And if you ever feel even something remotely close to this ever again, please talk to us instead of running away. You almost gave your mom a heart attack." Wanda chastised.

"Does this mean you're getting back together because you worked together to find us?" Tommy asked excitedly.

"Huh?" You blinked in astonishment.

Wanda blushed a bright red, "Uh...that's enough excitement for today. Don't you think, Boys? Let's get you back home to your sister!"

The car ride back was quiet. If only because Wanda was still blushing and the twins were knocked out from their evening of adventure.

After dismissing your friends, sending Pietro to the guestroom, and putting the boys to bed you let out a long festering sigh, "Fuck. I could use a drink. You want one?"

Wanda shook her head in negative, "Gotta drive back soon."

"Oh. I just sort of assumed you'd stay the night. I'm sorry for assuming. I-um- you're welcome to stay if you want." You shrugged in an attempt to feign indifference.

"I-sure-Pietro's a blanket hog but I'll deal."

You nodded, "Or you can sleep with me."

Wanda's eyes widened.

"I mean not like that! You can sleep in the same bed as me! I-um-I don't hog the blankets or anything." Your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

"Yes, you do. But, are you sure? I've shared a bed with Pietro millions of times. I shared a womb with him actually. He hogged that too by the way."

"Yes. I'm sure. I'm still on edge and I need the comfort. It's embarrassing but you still calm me down." You were now avoiding eye contact at all costs.

Wanda didn't bother to hide her smile, "Nothing, to be embarrassed about. You do the same for me."

"Good. I mean...cool." Wanda followed you to your room. Drink long forgotten.

"You can stay on that side, I guess. And I'll stay over here."

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Calm down. It doesn't have to mean anything." Wanda began to get ready for bed.

You followed suit, sort of made that you were the one fumbling and it wasn't her, "Yeah. You're right."

You both got into the King's sized bed. Making it easy to keep your distance.

"Goodnight, Blondie."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"..."

"Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #marvel fanfiction #marvel female reader insert #jessicas fanfic #its all so incredibly loud

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unfortunate--moth · 1 year ago

Note

Milgranon here (If I'm annoying you with the ask spam, please tell me btw, I can space out my asks more or something?)

I'm wondering how each Detective would react to the first interrogation.

Yuma - Extremely panicked and distracted at the start, doubly so because I bet Shinigami would be screaming bloody murder at Es the entire time they're talking, making it very hard for him to concentrate. I do think he'd adjust to the situation pretty well after the initial explanation though. I think the detectives would be in the order they are explored in the game, so I'd say he's prisoner 01, the first to be interrogated, and so extra paranoid because he would have no prior knowledge to go off. He is absolutely so dishonest about the entire thing, because his entire murder is to do with something that will kill him if he mentions. He's a pretty terrible liar though.

Halara - Curt and closed off the entire time. They seem to despise authority, so they'd be very unreceptive. That being said, I don't think they'd attack Es, even without knowing about the barrier. They'd probably be like "Well, I could beat up this one person, but who knows how many other guards there are?". They'd also know they have no chance of escape, at least this early on, so they wouldn't go so far as to piss Es off despite their unwillingness. I also think they would try and press Es themself for information, but back off there's any sign that it would negatively influence their situation.

Desuhiko - I've been teetering on whether or not he'd try to flirt with Es. It wouldn't be out of character for him, but also Es is 15 and I am God of this world so I say in this he doesn't. He'd be on the edge of tears almost immediately, and would probably be extremely open about most things bar the actual crime. Like he'd fully explain his connection to the rest of the detectives, but clam up immediately when it comes to the murder.

Fubuki - Very open, like extremely open and willing to talk about what happened. Would get extremely emotional and likely start crying about her accidental killing. She's friendly the whole time, she isn't a suck up, she doesn't insist Es choose one way or another. It's just a generally very easy interrogation and Es would probably get slightly annoyed at how easy it is.

Vivia - Very open about his killing, in the most apathetic sounding way possible. The killing I'm thinking for him was someone he really didn't care much about at all, so he'd be like "Yeah I killed this one person. They interrupted my peace and quiet. I want to die some day." Like he can also have a very deep, meaningful and impactful murder, but the one I envision is just so "meh" for him. He'd be so lazy and apathetic in his interrogation, I see him driving Es up the wall in irritation. He'd try to tactfully nudge into out of them, in subtle ways as well. He's still a detective and if he's not panicking, then his brain is fully functioning to try and break the hell out of here.

Yakou - If we use his canon murder, then I think he'd stay quiet, because he'd be worried about accidentally implicating at least Fubuki and Desuhiko in his crime by mentioning how they took part. He'd be friendly and cautious though, trying not to deny anything while also not implying or proving anything.

No worries!! It's not annoying at all, I really like talking about it! It doesn't bother me :]

these are all VERY good!! I think Es would be so so tired if they dealt with this bunch.

I think their relationship with the detectives would be a very interesting one. Es is only supposed to be a warden, but they also have to be a detective and a prosecutor. So that makes me wonder what the actual detectives would think about them.

I also think.. well bond isn't the right word, but they would feel at least a bit of solidarity with Yuma over both of them not having memories before any of this began. Es probably wouldn't give that information up easily, but maybe a few off hand comments lead to Yuma asking about it. Es definitely handles it better than Yuma, at least outwardly. they do have an identity crisis every other voice drama

And Es is the most similar to Halara, personality wise I think. But because of that I think it'd actually be harder for them to get along. They both have like... this kind of personality where they need to be the one in control of a situation or conversation. So it'd make their interrogations very shaky because they can't find a balance for their dynamic. Halara is hard to work with, and Es is hard to trust.

Desuhiko... Es would probably be the most fed up with him. I think Desuhiko wouldn't flirt. Maybe he attempts to just to 'butter them up' but Es cuts him off being like "I'm 15." and he shuts up immediately after that. Doesn't make him any easier to work with, at least in regards to his crime. BUT he's also helpful in that Es learns more about everyone's relationships through him. Still though, he's a real handful.

Yeah Fubuki would be the easiest to deal with, and Es would be conflicted because there's still the possibility of Fubuki being a Grade A liar. So they're on this middle ground of being like "finally someone whos not evasive" and "this could be a very huge lie". I also like to think that after that first interrogation with her Jackalope would be like "dear lord maybe taking her here was a bad idea" and hops away. Es isn't sure how to take that.

Vivia... Oh, Vivia. I think he would at first attempt to grab them. Mainly to see if Desuhiko saying they have a force field is true. I think if Vivia's interrogation was before Desuhiko's, he would've tried to at least restrain them. Like that energy he had in the lab with those peacekeepers. But once he confirms that information and realizes he really can't do anything, he behaves. Es would... not like him. Even if he's open about his murder, they would probably feel uneasy around him. Not even about his attempt at grabbing them, moreso just the way he speaks. He'd be straightforward about his murder, but he clouds pretty much everything else in mystery. And with how apathetic and neutral he is, it'd probably make them angry like you said.

And yeah, Yakou would probably be a bit strange to talk to. I think in terms of just conversing in general, he'd be one of the easiest for Es, but in terms of the case or anything/anyone surrounding it, he'd be very difficult. I think without the murder and prison stuff in play, he would see Es just as a 15 year old put in a strange position. Of course that wouldn't make him lower his guard, but it's just something that's weird to him. Like he feels like there's something to be uncovered. That said, he wouldn't voice those thoughts because that would get him a slap IMMEDIATELY. But I think they would have an equal amount of caution with each other which would usually lead to a stand still- at least in terms of talking about his murder. He's friendly, but the way he somehow manages to stay neutral to all of Es's questions would get them annoyed very quickly.

So all in all... A very difficult bunch of prisoners. Es needs a pay raise. If they even get paid. No idea what will happen to them after Milgram and that worries me ADJKHFAMDSF

but yes thank you sm for this ask... I love coming up with these things and talking about them!! you're always free to share more :]

#rain code #ask #anonymous #milgranon #rain code cellblock au #es after every interrogation just sitting in a chair #head in their hands #all of these guys are insane #in very different ways #get this kid a coffee #how many of them do you think would get smacked #desuhiko definitely #maybe vivia?#possibly yuma #if they ever hit yuma shinigami would be FURIOUS

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specter-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, could i get a matchup for toh?

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: heterosexual

Zodiac/MBTI: intj, sagittarius

Appearance: long black hair, black eyes, 187 cm, very pale skin and i'm builded like models on 60s fashion illustrations, for some reason i always look like i'm sad

Personality: mix of a kuudere and hinedere personality: introverted, calm, quiet, reserved, sophisticated, polite, snarky, witty, sarcastic, blunt, honest, apathetic, intimidating, morbid, unfazed

Likes: art, plants, animals, philosophy, thanatology, literature, serial killers, insects and bugs, witchcraft, classical music, goth music, classical gothic literature, history, forensics, criminology, anthropology, psychology, mythology, books, animals (especially cats), nature, tea

Dislikes: can't think of any. i care only about things i like

Hobbies: science, learning new things, knitting, sewing, gardening, cooking, baking, playing chess, taking long solitary walks to secluded places, reading, writing, drawing, general handicrafts, dollmaking, cryptid hunting

Thanks

Hi hello good to have you here!

I would match you with:

Darius (platonic)!

Enjoy your brand new father figure! Also, you have a sibling in hunter if you want one. I was trying to think of a romantic option but the only dude in the hexside crew is Hunter, and I don't really see that. As much as I love that TOH is femme led, it does make matchups for my hetero girls a little harder. That's okay though, because who doesn't love the slightly posh purple guy?

You know that thing that divorced dads do where they get their kids gifts to try win their love? He does that, except minus the guilt. I just think his love language is gifts. I also feel as though he'd be a progressive religious person, you feel? So whatever religion you think suits him best, he'd love if you participated, but you absolutely do not have to. I also feel like he plays piano, and you DO have to do that. No matter how trash your recitals are, he's always embarrassingly doting and close to tears, then he just sort of snaps back into it, clears his throat, and straightens up, back to serious. That happens a LOT, especially in public. He wants to keep up his uncaring veneer of professionalism and fails over and over again

Daralador??????? Yes????????????? Absolutely, daralador. All of it, all the fluff. You may get relentlessly teased and drained of info on your crushes, but boy oh boy does darius get it back tenfold. at this point you know more about their relationship than either of them. what can I say, you both like to be involved

I also headcanon that darius is really good at sculpture (abomination magic and so on and so forth) so he sometimes either conjures up a model out of abomination goo or just brings your sketches to life. You do it every Friday over tea, it's a fun experience for both sides. You occasionally draw his sculptures as well

You have all sorts of little trinkets he's made of clay, abomnation, hell even paperclips. He tried to teach you and Hunter to sculpt once and it went... Poorly to say the least, especially on Hunter's end. He tried to make a little wolf but it looked like a depressed beagle. You faired slightly better but that isnt saying much. Darius still loves your messy, sorta bad sculptures even if they are trash

hes essentially the opposite of those weird southern parents who threaten their daughters boyfriends or even just male/masc presenting friends.

you couldn't ask for a more supportive parental figure in your life

#toh x reader #matchups #specter speaks #the owl house #darius deamonne

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limetameta · 2 years ago

Text

riza flame alchemist au where she doesn't show roy the tattoos but teaches the alchemy to herself lmao

Riza burned her own back while she was in the Academy. Rebecca covered for her with some excuses.

But unlike how Roy burned her back, Riza was so fucking angry at her father that she burned her entire back. Passed out. Was brought back. Continued. Passed out. Waited to heal. Did it again. Passed out. All until she fully cleaned herself of Berthold Hawkeye's touch.

Riza did not reach out to Mustang after her father died. If anything, she didn't even declare her father dead. She just burned the house down when she realised he was dead in his bed.

Riza is deeply traumatized and unwell. But she's got to be one of the best human weapons Amestris has, so, they just stamp approved on her draft.

But she's also super dead inside so every time Kimblee tries getting her attention in Ishval or tries to draw out a reaction he fails miserably because all Riza does is nod and say that sounds nice for you. I'm happy you found some meaning in this violence. *continues eating rations without another word*

Kimblee kind of becomes the only person Riza talks to in Ishval because nobody else wants to approach this clearly unhinged human weapon. Kimblee, on the other hand, treats this as a challenge.

And Riza's just like, that's nice.

Kimblee: You can't be this apathetic to all of these lives. Surely you must feel something? Agony, pride? Anything.

Riza shrugs.

Kimblee is dying on the inside.

Roy's a soldier lmao. When he finds out about Riza being the Flame Alchemist he asks Riza why she didn't tell him... and Riza just tells him that her father didn't entrust Roy with the alchemy. But to her. But she's very happy to see him, Private Mustang. He's in her company. Just a regular soldier, with a lot of passion and resolve. Nothing extraordinary on the field, but he is considered the best to speak to whenever you're doubting yourself or whenever you don't know what to do. They call him the Spark of Hope. And he wants to become Fuhrer one day and change things from the inside.

Kimblee butts heads with him constantly.

Riza meanwhile is looking at Maes' photographs of Gracia and nodding along, that's nice. She really looks cute. I'm happy you have something to live for.

Kimblee's last ditch effort to get Riza to show some passion for this violence they inflict on the world is to give her the philosopher's stone for one mission. Surely that'll help her. It doesn't lmaoo. She just returns it after the mission and says that she didn't like how hot her flames got with it. She should just stick with what she knew she could control. But thanks for the opportunity.

I cannot explain to you how dead inside Riza Hawkeye is.

Kimblee has a conversation about the ph stone with Riza and her perspective changes his opinion slightly on the matter. So he does end up returning it.

Roy presses Riza that with how dangerous the flame alchemy is, she should destroy the notes so this never gets in anyone else's hands.

Riza just gives Roy a thumbs up, turns around, takes off her shirt, and shows off her giant back scar. ''Don't worry about it.''

Roy is ill. Kimblee's absolutely intrigued.

K: Your father seems like an absolute madman. Honestly I'm sorry for how you grew up.

Roy, who was just about to ask Riza how she could destroy Master Hawkeye's research and house like this, falls dead silent, bites his tongue: Yeah... that sure was fucked up, Major Hawkeye. I'm sorry.

And Riza just shrugs. ''It's fine. I just wish I'd smothered him.'' Then. A pause. ''Actually, I'm not sure if I did or didn't. I set the fire while he had a fever, I think.''

Kimblee: Honestly, good for you! / Roy, head in his hands: Major Hawkeye, I worry deeply.

Kimblee. Oh, she is definitely going to breakdown one of these days when she comes back. Mark my words. All of this will finally catch up with her.

Riza finally breaking down when she meets Edward Elric, who had a fucked up father and whose mother died and who had to do heinous things. ''Oh my god he's me.''

Cue canon events except it's more efficient since Riza is the Flame Alchemist.

#riza hawkeye #roy mustang #solf j. kimblee #edward elric #riza flame alchemist au

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #OKAY I'M GOING TO BEEEED NOW #IT'S LIKE FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING #tw daddy kink #tw noncon

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yanderedanganronpa · 3 years ago

Note

hey i just saw your new yandere alphabet and was wondering if you could do nagito whenever you get the chance?

Nagito Komaeda Yandere Alphabet

TW: stalking, cuts

ty for requesting, I hope you enjoy!

A- Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

SMOTHERINGLY INTENSE, he’s basically all over you from the time you become his. He just can’t get enough of you and wants to feel you with him every second of the day.

B- Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He prefers to kill efficiency went needed. If things have been rough lately or maybe you’ve pushed his buttons too much he’ll get more bloody and violent with every additional kill.

C- Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I really can’t see komaeda mocking his darling, how could he mock someone as perfect as his darling. Generally speaking he treats you amazing.

E- Earnest, Are they intense?

His affections and clinginess can get pretty intense most of the time. He is a very passionate lover to have.

F- Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He feels sad and slightly annoyed. as long as it’s not too much, he doesn’t mind too much, you’ll learn eventually.

G- Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He absolutely does not, he hates seeing you try to escape him. It hurts him. He loses his mind a little each time he sees you run away, don’t push his limits too much.

I- Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Someone who will genuinely love him, if not that, he is satisfied just with the promise of a better future with you. Just you and him forever.

J- Jet- How fast would it happen for them to go yandere?

Nagito already is a little bit yandere, but there would probably have to be something that causes the “snap”.

L-Lonely, How much loneliness would they feel if you two were apart?

Super apathetic, he knows the feeling all too well but it’s even worse being away from his darling.

M- Might: How aggressive would they be towards you?

His affections can get aggressive but unless you were actively escaping or something, he really has no reason to get aggressive.

N- Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He’ll express his disappointment, if it’s something more serious he will not be as nice with it. possibly a few minor cuts here and there.

Q- Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Definitely not, ever since he first met you, he knew you were his only hope, it would probably destroy him if you were gone.

R- Rain: Would they keep you trapped inside forever?

I don’t think he’d ever let you go completely, but he can become more lenient with you, letting you go outside with him if he trusts you enough.

S- Stalker: Would they stalk you? How intense would it go?

His stalking is very, very self-indulgent, so it can be pretty overwhelming if you start to take notice of being watched.

V- Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Pretending to love him until he has let his guard down enough to grant you a chance of escape. This kind of manipulation will work on him,,, the first time, but he will be a lot less trusting once he catches you again.

X- Xenophobia: How much would they get angry from their jealousy?

He’s more apathetic if anything, he’s already convinced he’s not good enough to have you but he already expected as much. Who wouldn’t want someone as wonderful as you?

Y- Yander: How many crimes would they commit?

Depends on the situation, but he’ll try not to break too many laws, even if he gets in trouble with the police, he’d probably find some way to get out of his jail time anyways.

Z- Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Never would intentionally try to break your mentality, if you ever somehow lose hope, the hope that he holds so dear, it would break him as well.

old version

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implexedactions · 4 years ago

Text

Penance is a virtue

Yandere!Enji Todoroki x Reader

Enji Todoroki is many things; kidnapper, lover, sadist, hero, villain, husband. He is many, many things. But he isn’t delusional.

Beta-Read by best person: @absolute-flaming-trash

Warning: Yandere content and themes, Angst, Heavy emotional themes, Suicide, Stockholm syndrome, Kidnapping.

---

You wake up, eyes dashing to the clock.

5:55 AM - SUNDAY

Okay, good, you hadn’t slept in. Enji always wanted you to wake him up. He got...mad if you didn’t. You turn over to him in bed, expecting to find him still sleeping.

Teal eyes stare back at you instead.

“Ah!”

His face takes on a sorrowful expression.

“Did I frighten you? Sorry. I could not sleep.”

Not leaving you time to respond, he pulls you into his chest, under the covers. He sighs in content, and you press into him, not wanting him to forget your devotion.

After some time, he pulls you up to his face, kissing your forehead gently.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“U-uh, what do you mean? Are you okay?”

Enji sighs, failing to meet your gaze.

“I never do compliment you that often...”

---

He carries you to the breakfast table, adorned with pancakes, your favourite.

“What’s going on Enj- I mean, dear. I’m meant to make you breakfast?”

He fails to answer you, instead sitting down with you on his knee. He takes a fork and puts some pancake on it.

“Eat.”

And so you do.

When you finish, he moves to wash up.

“W-what are you doing? You told me that was my job.”

Your memory wanders back to your first few months here, when you disobeyed his every command...and received due punishment for it.

“Are you going to punish me again?”

It escapes your lips before you can stop it. The thought of being punished again, like before, makes your veins cool with fear. Your breathing increases and you move down on your knees onto the cold kitchen floor.

“P-please, I swear, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t-”

“Stop.”

He walks over, his thighs the same height as your head. You move to undo his belt, but a hand puts a stop to that.

“There is no punishment. I am just doing an acceptable act for my spouse.”

The words “but you never do that” get stopped in your throat. You instead swallow and try to weakly smile. Looking up at Enji from your position on the ground, sunlight bathing him in a warm glow, to contrast the unsettled expression on his face.

---

He places you on a stool while he washes up. You fiddle with your hands, nervous. This isn’t how Enji usually acts. He’s so...vulnerable. In all honesty, it’s scary.

“Do you like the sunrise, my sweet?”

You look out to the orange glow emanating from the windows.

“Do you want me to like it, my sweet?”

Enji simply sighs and continues washing up.

“I’m sorry you cannot enjoy it. One should always appreciate what they have...”

---

After breakfast, he walks silently to the study. You follow behind him perfectly, like he trained you to.

He walks into the study, sitting down at his writing desk, and you take your place in his lap. He pulls out pen and paper, and you avert your eyes.

It isn’t for good spouses like you to read.

He spends the better half of 6 hours writing. You entertain yourself by tracing the pattern of the wallpaper. This evolves into focusing on Enji’s breathing, noticing how he breathes in more, not less when he becomes frustrated with something on the page. You eventually move on to thinking about all the things you miss from the outside world, like ice cream, and human connection. You finish out the last hour by thinking about how angry Enji would be if he knew such a perfect little spouse were thinking such nasty little things.

Shuffling about, he motions for you to hop off his leg, and then stands and leaves the room without speaking to you. You get the feeling he’s coming back, though; he left the door open.

You’re worried. You’re scared beyond belief. This isn’t like him, this entire day is wrong. You’re hoping he’ll burst in and start yelling, the anticipation feels worse than any potential punishment. You consider that maybe this is the punishment and that you should perhaps just start apologising regardless. He didn’t take well to that before though.

This day has made little sense. Enji is acting so far out of his usual behaviour that it doesn’t just scare you because he might hurt you. It scares you because you don’t know what is even happening. It takes you back to the days you first came here—a blurry, hazy mess. You struggle to even remember it. You remember bits and pieces. Chains, fire, the cold, the scent of sex. Small things like that.

You turn your head to the papers on the desk, intrigued by what took up so much of his time. Before you can look away, you see what they are. Letters, addressed to countless people, your parents, Shoto, Rei, Hawks, various news stations.

You glance towards the open door...surely what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him right?

You pick up the letter to the Hawks.

Keigo, I write this letter to you as a mentor, and I presume a father figure. I know that in some capacity, you looked up to me. You were just a scared kid, and I helped. That said, if what I have done becomes public knowledge, do not defend me. I do not know how much you know of my dealings, but for the sake of your future, throw me to the dogs. Do not say that I was perfect, or that I did no wrong. When I turn and look at my darling, I see my mistakes for the damning judgments they are. You will be a fine no.1 hero, just let go of your predecessor. Please.

That alleviated little concern. Undeterred, you move onto the letter to the media.

To all the news channels and gossip rags that haunt this city like the festering ghouls you are, I detest you. You created division, turned heroics into a popularity contest, seeded doubt during a time where we needed hope, and fought so hard to bring us all to our knees. I know my story will vilify me, so I accept my place in the burning flames of hell. Just know that when you get down there, I will be waiting to enact justice.

You are practically hyperventilating now. You grab the letter to your parents. You don’t know what these letters are, but they seem like-

The letter is snatched away from your hands. It appears you forgot to watch the door.

Turning around, tears in your eyes, fear in your veins, half-baked excuses running rampant in your mind. You expect to see vengeful Enji with a glint in his eye, telling you it is time for your punishment. Instead, you find an apathetic Enji, eyes soft and watery, stance broken and exhausted.

“I did not want you to see that. I am sorry that you did.”

Enough is enough, you want answers. Pushing against your instincts, you stammer out a question.

“W-What is going on? Why...why are you like this?”

He seems taken aback, eyes opening wide. This minor act of defiance, of speaking out when not spoken to, is enough to break you. Falling to your knees, you look away from him. Aghast that you even thought of defying his wishes.

“I’m sorry! Please, forgive me! I didn’t mean to question you like that! Or read the letters! Please! I didn’t- I don’t-”

A calloused hand grips your shoulder.

“Please. Stop.”

You look up to see Enji’s eyes, dull and watery again.

“Sorry.”

“Trust me, I am sorry too.”

---

The afternoon is spent on the couch, watching TV in Enji’s lap. He seems to notice your nervous disposition, as he slowly envelopes you in a hug the more the hours go by. Eventually, he gets up to make dinner by himself, much to your unvoiced dismay.

You simply stare as he makes it. Both of you silent. He occasionally looks over to you, as if to make sure you haven’t merely vanished into the ether. You feel like you might vanish into the ether, honestly.

You move to the dining table, and a couple of minutes later, he brings out dinner. Silent, he sits down beside you, but a hand stops you from eating.

“Tell me, do you remember when we first met?” he sounds...hopeful.

“Is...Is this a trap?” you ask cautiously. This entire day has put you on edge.

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I...I can’t remember it, really. Most of those months are...blank, I remember a few pieces of my first couple of months here. They’re admittedly not pleasant memories.”

“I see.”

“I mean, I appreciate that you did those...things you did to me! If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be any good at my job.”

He turns to you and raises an eyebrow.

“Your job?”

“Yeah, loving you, being your spouse.”

“Ah.”

Both of you go quiet. You wait on the signal to start eating. It doesn’t come.

“It was a gala event. You told me how much you hated them, and I laughed and agreed.”

“Ah. Gala’s sound so wonderful, don’t they though? Being outside, getting to dance, to listen to beautiful music.~”

You sway slightly thinking that you could have once been permitted to be a part of such a magical event.

“You may eat now.”

Enji’s command breaks you out of your daydream. He watches as you take your first bite, and follows in kind.

---

When you finish, he seems restless. He gets the plates and puts them in the sink. He then takes you to the living room. He fiddles with a speaker for a couple of seconds, before classical music emerges.

“You said you cannot remember our first meeting, and by extension our first dance. I was wondering, would you like to dance with me?”

Confused, but delighted, you join Enji in the embrace. Softly dancing around the living room, you try to imagine what it was like meeting Enji for the first time. He must’ve seemed so sweet, right? That’s how Enji would come off to a stranger, right?

You lose yourself in the moment, allowing yourself to imagine a life outside of these walls. You would’ve met Enji at the Gala. He would’ve laughed. He would’ve given you his number, the gentlemen that he was. He would’ve taken you to a fancy restaurant for your 1st date. You could’ve shown up at his agency while he was buried under paperwork once, and it would’ve made his day. You could’ve kissed him under the rain, snickering as you pulled away and saw droplets evaporate on contact with his blushing face. He would’ve proposed in a quiet place, with a brilliant ruby. You would’ve met Shoto, and figured out what his deal was. You would’ve grown old together.

But this life is just as beautiful, right?

Enji leans down during the dance and kisses you. Softly, unlike all those times before. It’s beautiful to you. And based on the silent tears running down his face, it’s beautiful to him too.

He pulls you down onto the couch, staring into your eyes as the soft music plays.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“What for?”

“For a lot of things. For kidnapping you. For...training you. For punishing you. For breaking you, beyond belief. For so many, many different things. You are not the person I fell in love with, you are hardly a person. I broke you, I gutted your personality until all that was left was a shell, echoing any command I gave it. You do not have a soul anymore.”

He pauses, seemingly debating over this next part, ignoring your shaky and scared reassurances.

“And I am also sorry for the poison in our food tonight.”

Your world shatters at that.

“The fatal effects should kick in soon enough. It will not be a nasty death. Even in death, I intend to remain dignified. Or at least, I wish to preserve your beauty.”

You cannot vocalise anything, your mind is failing you. From either the poison or situation, you are unclear.

“There is an antidote on the kitchen counter. If you can get there and drink it, you will live. And if you are feeling ever so generous, you may even give some to me.”

He turns and looks you in the eyes.

“My only command is that you do not get that antidote.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me. Disobey me, and save yourself. Or obey me, and die.”

He shrugs.

“I did say I was sorry.”

“I-I...why?”

“Like I said. You are a shell. If you get the antidote, maybe I have not entirely broken you, maybe you can still be saved from my conditioning. If you do not get the antidote, I get to make Dabi just that little bit happier.”

You try to get up and into the kitchen. You really try. Your arms try to push up. You try to move off the couch. But...that feeling of fire licking at your body...it’s paralysing.

You instead collapse back onto the couch, and Enji sighs.

“Can you hold me?”

“Sure, my sweet.”

His arms pull you into his body. You feel yourself getting more and more tired.

“I’m sorry...I couldn’t be...what you wanted...”

“I am sorry I could not be what you wanted either...”

#yandere #yandere enji todoroki #enji todoroki #reader insert #yandere enji x reader #gender-neutral reader #boku no hero x reader #enji todoroki x reader #enji x reader #yandere enji #boku no hero academia #yandere endeavor #endeavor #ImplexedWriting

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forehead-enthusiast · 4 years ago

Text

Checkmate

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, fluff but it gets slightly steamy at one point (still totally sfw)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You and Haechan get engaged, because anything is better than the process of trying to get engaged. That being said, having a fiancé you hate isn’t that much better.

Author’s notes: remember me???????? I’m alive, yeah. I’m super proud of this fic, I think it’s my best ever, so please give it a read!!

Haechan inhaled the overwhelming scent of floral perfume, and barely managed to stifle a gag. His father arranged for him to meet more and more foreign princesses every week, and he wondered where the man even kept finding them. Were there even this many countries? The prince’s surroundings were beginning to blend into a blur of painted smiles and emotionless eyes. He cursed that stubborn old man in his mind, and questioned furiously why it was even so important that he find a bride any time soon. Still, no matter how much he despised it, he knew his father wouldn’t accept anything less.

He looked into the sea of lace gowns and resigned himself.

Maybe he’d just choose someone. Anyone. He smiled morosely, knowing all the women there were only after their shot at the throne anyway. They were here to use him, why shouldn’t he use them too? The apathetic thought left a bad taste on his tongue. Still, in his exhaustion at his circumstances, it seemed more and more reasonable the longer he considered it.

He searched throughout the crowd of giggling princesses, unable to distinguish between their faces.

One after another, they approached him, with candied smiles and words that were far too practiced. One after another, they convinced him a loveless marriage with someone half-decent was far preferable to enduring this a moment longer. One after another, they revealed themselves to be absolutely unbearable, and Haechan grew more and more desperate to find someone that didn’t make him want to throw himself off a balcony after three sentences.

You stood at the back of the crowd, prodded by impatient elbows and sneered at by women hiding their smirks behind fans. You rolled your eyes, unable to understand this need, this hunger to marry someone they’d never met. That was your problem, according to your parents. And your advisors. And your tutors. According to everyone, really. You’d been to so many different kingdoms, trying to seduce unfamiliar princes, but could never bring yourself to actually put any effort into it. The carriage that shipped you to each one was beginning to feel more like home than the castle you’d left.

You watched girl after girl leave the ballroom, looking thoroughly dejected. It was hard not to relish in their failure just a bit, but you dreaded whatever high standards this prince was going to judge you with. You had little to offer. Your background, your kingdom, your land- none could remotely compare to his. Your parents were completely insane to even think you had anything that would make you lucrative as a bride to him.

Maybe they’re hoping he’ll behead me. You chuckled.

Still, the crowd continued to thin, and you couldn’t put off meeting him forever. A few of the weaker-hearted girls nudged you forward, suddenly less eager to meet the sharp-tongued prince.

You sighed, and decided to get it over with.

Haechan rubbed at his temples, barely even looking at the girl who approached him now. He’d made up his mind to find a bride today, but his prospects weren’t looking so good. His eyes caught the hem of this princess’s dress. It was unadorned. He’d go so far as to call it plain. Many princesses were after his riches, but he’d never seen one that was so blatantly poor. Most at least tried to disguise their lack of wealth, so as to make them more desirable in terms of growing power. He half-chuckled, half-sighed. His gaze traced upward lazily, until it came across the first unsmiling face he’d seen all day. It shocked him so much that his hand dropped from his face, and he stood up instinctively.

“Your highness, thank you for allowing me to meet with you today-”

It was the most monotonous, disinterested introduction he’d ever heard, and his heart soared. You hadn’t even noticed he’d stood up. Incredible.

“Let’s get married.”

“I hope- excuse me?”

“Let’s get married. Can we go right now?” The question was directed to the attendant beside him, who sputtered at the prince’s sudden enthusiasm. No one, however, was more surprised at him than you. Your skirts were still clutched in your fists, your knees still bent in a curtsy. You couldn’t even manage to feel happy that he’d chosen you.

If anything, you felt angry.

He was rattling off instructions to his attendant about the wedding he’d already begun to plan, completely ignoring you. You hadn’t even responded to his proposal, if you could call his demand that. You tried to get in a polite word in time and time again, only for him to not even acknowledge you, until you got so sick of him talking you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“No!”

Finally, he turned to you.

“No?”

“I don’t want to marry you.” You ignored the consequences of your words, and avoided thinking about the awaiting rage of your parents.

The prince blinked.

Then he scoffed.

“Of course you do.”

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression not betraying how absolutely pissed those four words had made you. Instead, the first smile you’d shown him spread on your face. It was chillingly false, your eyes boring deep holes into his face as you sweetly replied:

“I’d burn down this castle before I married you, your highness. Good day.”

And with that, you turned and left the ballroom.

Haechan didn’t move for a few moments as he watched you stalk away, a picture of grace even in your anger. The women who remained and witnessed began to whisper, snapping him out of his shock. His head flicked around the room, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then, just as you vanished around a corner, he took off after you.

He’d been turned down. How? Why? He was rich. He was influential. You were neither. He felt a nagging pang of guilt, but suppressed it. You were poor. His proposal was a generous offer, for you and your kingdom. You were the one losing out by rejecting him. So why? Why was he the one chasing after you? He cursed under his breath as he caught sight of your back.

“You! Wait up!”

You heard him calling, but only sped up.

“I will call the guards if you don’t stop this instant! I-I command you to stop!”

You did. Then you turned on your heel, with a glare that would send armies fleeing, and stomped towards him much faster than he knew a princess could. He flinched as you were suddenly toe to toe with him, taller than he expected. You seemed smaller when he was sitting on his throne. You sneered at his reaction.

“Do you need your guards just to take care of one woman, little prince?”

He flushed, but you didn’t let him respond.

“You don’t even know my name. I’m not, ‘you.’ I don’t know why you want to marry me, but if you want me to agree, maybe learn that first.”

“You-” Haechan fumbled, unused to someone being blunt with him. He flared up, unable to think straight.

“You’re lucky to get an offer like this, you know.”

He saw the way your eyes widened in indignation, but kept digging his own grave as if he’d find treasure eventually.

“You won’t get an opportunity like this again. And, for your information, I only want to get married so I can finally be done with all,” he gestured towards the direction of the ballroom you’d both just left, “this.”

Despite your anger, his reason struck a chord within you. Not that that made your tone any less cutting.

“So I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re using me?”

“We’re royalty. We’re all getting used by someone, aren’t we?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and he could tell you didn’t find the idea all so repulsive. He pressed forward.

“You’re tired of it all too, aren’t you? Or do you want to keep getting shoved at princes? We’d both get our parents off our backs. It’s a good deal.”

It was frustrating, but your desire to stop meeting spoiled princes was beginning to outweigh your immense dislike of this one. And as much as you hated it, he was right when he said you wouldn’t get an offer as good as this one ever again. Maybe that’s why he chose you, you supposed. He knew you couldn’t afford to say no. (Not that that had stopped you.) It just angered you that he saw you as someone so desperate, so needy, so pitiful.

“...Fine.” You stuck out your hand in impersonal assent. “But. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I’m not done, little prince.” He restrained his scowl and motioned for you to continue. “Let’s just get engaged. That’s enough reason to end all the marriage meetings, and then if it turns out I really just cannot stand you, we’ll call it off. Fine?”

“Fine.”

He shook your hand firmly.

Despite the way you both glared at each other, neither of you could deny how pleased you were with this arrangement.

While you sent word to your family, he went directly to his, who were thoroughly, almost obnoxiously happy that he’d found someone. He forced a grin and made up some lies about how he’d fallen for you at first sight. They weren’t exactly excited about your less than impressive background, but weren’t about to reject the only girl who’d managed to catch their discerning son’s eye.

Within a day, it was announced throughout all your fiancé’s kingdom that he’d found a woman to wed. You managed to laugh about how all the other princesses must be incredibly jealous of you at this moment, but couldn’t quite get over the fact that you were one foot into a lifelong commitment with the rudest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. It was a troubling internal conflict. On one hand, he was the worst. On the other, the same could be said for just about every other prince you’d ever met. So really, it was an overall win that this one didn’t expect you to love or fawn over him.

At least, that’s what you repeated to yourself as you received the list of engagement events you were expected to attend alongside him.

“Do we really have to do this?” You groaned.

“Just shut up and smile, they’re about to see us.”

You reluctantly did as he said, forcing an exuberant grin onto an unwilling face. Your carriage turned into the courtyard, and crowds cheered wildly, as if they actually cared about your wellbeing in some way. You waved gently, relieved your upbringing was so ingrained within you that you could play your role without ceasing your fantasies of punching your fiancé in the face. As you reached your places of honor, Haechan offered a gallant hand to help you down, and you almost admired how well he played the part of a loving gentleman.

It was such a truly lovely banquet being thrown for you, it almost made you feel bad for lying. Haechan seemed to be thinking similarly, and, forgetting to be vindictive, leaned over to whisper jokingly in your ear.

“Poor fools actually think we’re in love.”

You laughed brightly without thinking. Both of you then remembered you hated each other, and stared at each other in shock before looking away sharply. You waved again, happy to be doing something that made sense to you. The hordes of celebrating nobles clapped and called out their congratulations again as soon as they saw you move, not wanting to get on the bad side of what they assumed was their future queen. That was a pretty nice feeling, and you accidentally smiled sincerely.

Haechan, still stunned by the sound of your real laugh, wasn’t prepared to see your real smile. His eyes widened. It was more beautiful than he expected, and didn’t threaten him with cavities the way every woman in his life’s did. If they were processed white sugar, you were honey with all the real sweetness in the world on your face. He hazily tried to remember when he last smiled genuinely. You turned to him with a gleam in your eye, and he took your hand before rationality could persuade him otherwise.

The smile dropped off your face, and your gaze flicked to your intertwined fingers, then to his expression, which seemed even more confused than yours somehow. He looked boyish and bashful, and you wondered if your haughty fiancé had a far more charming twin.

Lucky for Haechan, the crowd cheered yet louder at the sight of your supposed affection, and he tilted his head towards them as if to say, See, that's why. Normally, you wouldn't have believed it was part of his plan, but it was easier that way. You let him lift your entwined hands in some playfully bragging way, and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, so I get the bed.”

“That’s funny. No, I get the bed. It’s my kingdom!”

“You are not being very gentlemanly right now.”

“And you didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d enforce those kinds of antiquities.”

You scowled, and Haechan looked smug, which only intensified your frustration.

“Fine. Then let’s decide fairly, little prince.” You loved to call him that, just to see him pretend it didn’t irk him. “If I beat you in chess, I get the bed. And vice versa.”

“...Fine, small princ- annoying- um- pret- dum-”

You couldn’t help but grin at his attempts. “Nice try, but I’m not immature enough to be annoyed by a silly nickname.”

Your fiancé grimaced and got out the chess board.

Hours later, you were still playing the first game of chess.

“Y/n… Can we… Can we…” Haechan yawned enormously, which of course prompted you to as well. “Can we maybe… call a truce for tonight? It’s a big bed. We have to be up early for a garden party.”

You wanted to rejoice in his surrender, but your eyes were teary with exhaustion. Instead of the easy win you expected, you’d been in the longest game of your life. It seemed like you two were well matched for one another.

As opponents, of course.

“Fine… But just- just for tonight. We’ll play again tomorrow.”

And with that, you both crawled into the truly extravagant bed, falling asleep before your heads hit the pillows.

Many nights passed, with an unfinished chess game at the end of each. It grew into something of a habit, a nightly chess game, always accompanied by bickering, of course. Neither of you ever managed to truly best the other, with every game ending the way the first did. As they continued, the bickering smoothed into mocking conversations, and sometimes you weren’t even mocking each other, but a common enemy. You would never admit it, but the pair of you started laughing together more often than you did at each other these days.

On some fateful Tuesday, for the first time ever, you saw a clear move to checkmate. The king was unguarded. For the first time, he was vulnerable. It was glaringly obvious, and you snuck a glance at your opponent’s face to see if it was a trap, but were taken aback when you found him already staring at you. He didn’t look triumphant or concerned, but he somehow looked… nervous. Or maybe expectant? And then you realized. He was far too good a player to make an error like this one. He was offering you a choice, from one royal with too much pride to admit they enjoyed the other’s company to another. It would be easy to end this game right now, and banish him to the floor.

You chose another move, and the game continued.

“So what’s on the agenda tomorrow?” You asked, with a tone more befitting of a business partner than a fiancé. The two of you had gotten pretty used to the whole routine of feigning adoration, and typically planned cute moments to perform in advance.

Haechan looked over at you and sighed in a way that might have been more amused than exasperated.

“Would it kill you to sit like a lady?”

You looked down at yourself, eating a biscuit you’d pocketed from today’s lavish banquet, with your legs criss-crossed as you lounged on the bed in your nightgown. The white fabric was hiked up above your knees to accommodate the posture, and catching all the crumbs that fell.

“Aren’t I?”

Haechan couldn’t mask his amiable laugh at that. You felt strangely proud when you made him truly laugh. It was one of the few times his shoulders really relaxed, and he looked like the cheerful boy he might’ve been without the pressure of royalty on his back.

“So… what’s on the agenda?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. He was still looking your direction but seemed zoned out.

“Haechan?”

He flinched, always shocked when you used his real name instead of a mocking nickname.

“W-what? Oh, we’ve got a ball.”

“Ugh… Boring. You better not leave me alone with all the gossiping hags.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh, for real, could you sit properly?”

“Whaaat, I’m comfy.”

“Seriously.”

That irked you. You were just sitting, and while you hadn’t fully realized it, Haechan was someone you'd grown comfortable being yourself around. You didn’t need another person in your life telling you the way you behaved was wrong, and against your will, you had begun to expect more from him. You felt something too close to heartbreak as you wondered if he was just another person who disapproved of you.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“It’s not a big deal, why can’t you?”

“Because you’re right. It’s not a big deal, so why do you seem to care so much?”

“Can you just do it?!”

“No! Didn’t you get on me for- for ‘enforcing those antiquities’ or whatever? Now you’ve got a problem with the way I sit or how I dress-”

“It’s not- it’s not like that!”

“Then what?!” You flared up at him further, as did he, but he seemed less angry and more... agitated. You laughed mockingly. “Whaaaat are you shy seeing my legs or something-”

“YES! They’re- they’re. Um. Well…” He looked at the floor, and you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper, “pretty,” before he flicked his head back up and stammered the marginally less embarrassing, “distracting.”

Your anger instantly dissolved when he confessed that, and you flushed in a way you didn’t know you could. You stared at the ground, tugging your nightgown gently down. You’d always hated being treated like a lady, but you’d never been treated like a woman, and you found you didn’t hate it quite as much. This might’ve been the first time in either of your lives that the two of you were ever actually lost for words. Neither could formulate some witty remark or snide comment, and you just boiled in the unfamiliar atmosphere neither of you sought to create.

“Uh,” Haechan broke the silence masterfully. “I-I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You might have climbed in bed early- no chess game for the first time in ages- but you both woke up exhausted. Four feet apart, two fiancés had stayed up late replaying the night in their minds and subsequently panicking.

“G-good morning.”

“Good morning.”

The day whirled by, with most of it being spent simply getting dressed for the evening ball. You spent most of the day slapping your face and reminding yourself of how you used to act around him, and when you heard a knock at your door, you were ready.

He told himself he was, but he wasn’t.

Haechan took a deep breath and let his gaze trail up from your skirt to your face, and he stiffened. He’d grown used to his fiancé looking beautiful in the luxurious dresses she wore daily- even though it stunned him more than he’d admit the first time. This dress was no different, no more extravagant, no, but the pink tinge on your cheeks was a beauty he couldn’t have imagined.

“You look… decent.”

He celebrated internally for managing to say something an unflustered him might have said, although some tiny part of himself wished he could pay you a compliment normally.

Your sigh slid into a laugh, and you found your rhythm in your rapport again.

“And you look just adorable, little prince.”

He glared, but was relieved to hear the dig. He offered you the crook of his elbow, and you clapped your hands to your cheeks once more before taking it. He flinched at the sharp sound, and observed your cheeks grow red again from the impact.

“Youch.”

“It’s not that bad, honestly. I’ve been doing it all day to wake myself up.”

Haechan hummed a response. He couldn’t form words; all his brainpower was focused on figuring out why that statement had just disappointed him so. As he rounded the corner towards the ballroom, though, he shook it from his mind.

You entered the ballroom to the usual thunderous applause. Haechan led you down the immaculate gold staircase, and you clung to his arm, the perfect image of a lovestruck princess. No one noticed you holding on a little tighter than usual tonight. The band struck up a song, and you took the hands of possibly the only person you'd ever considered a friend. He led you to the center of the floor and began to waltz. It was always a satisfying feeling to watch the crowds make way for you. You looked everywhere but at your partner, and aimlessly wondered if you’d even been in this ballroom before. Just when you thought you’d seen every room in the massive castle, you’d be led to a wing you didn’t even know existed. The idle thoughts occupied you, which was probably for the best, since it meant you didn’t notice the way Haechan was looking at you.

The dance ended, and you went separate ways to entertain people who made you feel like your brains were melting. Seriously, one day your mind was just going to leak out your ears and spill onto the polished floors. It was amazing how you could spend hours talking to one person night after night, but half an evening with these sycophants made you contemplate faking your own death.

Finally, your reprieve came in the form of an attendant, whispering in your ear that the crown prince was requesting your presence.

“So sorry ladies, my future husband and I are just inseparable.”

They gave you condescendingly knowing looks, their eyes practically screaming, Just wait a few more years, child, you’ll tire of each other. You had to turn away quickly so they didn’t catch you sneering at them. Whatever. You wouldn’t be with him in a few years anyway, you would have gone your separate ways by then.

Right?

Something about that thought didn’t feel right. Not even sad, just… not right. You thought rapidly as you let your attendant guide you. What was your original agreement? If I realize I… Wait… If I end up still hating him, then the engagement’s off? Those were the terms. Which meant, if you didn’t hate him, then inevitably you’d end up mar-

“Y/n!”

You looked up sharply, not realizing you’d crossed the ballroom already. However, even when looking forward, you didn’t see the person who’d just called your name. Your eyes flitted about, searching for the familiar face. You took a few steps in no particular direction, massively confused, and then suddenly terrified when a hand reached out from behind a curtain and pulled you to join its owner. Not the type to lose composure and scream, you clenched your jaw so tight it almost broke until you saw your fiancé's face shrouded in the shadows of the velvet drapes.

“What took you so long?”

His question wasn’t at all rude, as it once might’ve been. It was one of genuine relief to see you, as if you were his solace amongst all the fools at the ball. You met his eyes for maybe the first time this evening, and they were bright and warm and looked at you the way no one ever did. Like you mattered. Like he wanted you there. Not the facade you put on for everyone, he wanted the real you.

Oh God, I don’t hate him at all.

“Earth to y/n?” He chuckled as you snapped to attention. “Finally, you’re here. Is this the worst ball yet or what?”

“Yes! It’s seriously unbearable.”

“I knew you’d agree. By the way, have you still been slapping your face? You shouldn’t in front of guests, they’ll think you’re crazy.” He teased you over your red flush without giving it a second thought. You hadn’t touched your cheeks in hours. The realization only made you blush even more. He leaned in close, and you stood stock-still with surprise.

“Do you want to vanish for a while?”

“What?” The absurdity of the idea finally overwhelmed all other distractions from your mind. “How can we leave, we’re the guests of honor?”

“Please, nobody cares. They’re all busy trying to climb the social ladder anyway. Besides, we’ve got this great hiding spot.”

You stifled a laugh. “Yeah, squeezing between a window and some drapes is what I call ideal.”

“Hey, it’s got, like, enough room for us!”

That was a bit of hyperbole on Haechan’s part. You both barely fit in the narrow space, and you thanked the stars you hadn’t worn a larger hoop skirt tonight. Suddenly you were back to evading making eye contact again. A hush fell over you as you thought about how incorrect his statement just was, and you both grew acutely aware of how you couldn’t position yourselves in any way that would allow you to put some distance between your bodies. You cursed yourself for not postponing your life-shattering revelation about the man before you until after this little endeavor. Haechan’s mind raced as he saw the red on your skin remain even in the dim light.

You could only avoid each other’s gazes for so long.

He locked eyes with you, and you envisioned pieces moving across a board, your king running out of ways to escape its fate. There was only one end, and you were starting to love the idea of surrendering. You whispered harshly in the sarcastic way that felt comfortable to you, still too prideful to admit your defeat.

“So are you going to kiss me, or am I going to kiss you?”

Haechan answered by pressing a palm to the back of your neck and pulling you towards him perhaps too eagerly. A second later, you’d both pulled away, frantically looking around to see if anyone was peering in on you both. You relaxed when you confirmed no one has discovered you.

“This isn’t... a good time, Haechan.”

“I could not agree more. Way too risky.”

Neither of you waited a moment more to lunge towards each other again. His lips found yours roughly, his breath already ragged with overworked patience. You grabbed his lapels, no less desperate for this moment, your lipstick smearing onto him. Your fists crushed his boutonniere, and his fingers wove into your hair and ruined the curls. There was no party beyond the curtain. You and him were alone, both desperate to memorize the taste of each other, and nothing else mattered but that. His lips parted, and yours followed suit. His tongue just brushed your lower lip, and you felt a thrill run down your spine. Your arms wrapped around his neck unconsciously, trying to get closer to him than was possible, but nothing could stop you from trying. You caught his lip between your teeth, your instincts running wild, and you wondered how either of you had endured up until this point. Now that you’d gotten a taste of each other, it seemed almost impossible not to get addicted. He gripped your hair, his other arm wrapping around your waist and not letting go. It slid down to grab your thigh and wrap it around him, your dress’s layers barely inhibiting him. Every inch of you was so aware of where it made contact with him, and you hungered for more. All facades were shed. You were both just heat and teeth and desire, without a shred of nobility between the two of you. You’d never experienced anything so perfect.

The two of you finally parted, your lips wet and the rest of you looking disastrous. He pressed his lips to your cheek, getting your own lipstick on your face, and you pulled his palm up to kiss it over and over again. Too breathless to continue and too worked up to just stop, you let the clock tick by as you left soft kisses all over each other.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, half concerned but half amused. Between sentences, you still found places on his face yet unkissed, and remedied them. “We can’t go back out looking like this.”

“What are you talking about? I look great.” You were both too elated to remember you should be worried about your predicament, but he did seem genuinely proud of the pink smears adorning his face and neck, the teeth marks framing his lips, the fierce creases in his lapels. He brushed his fingers on your cheekbones, and looked even prouder of the mess he’d made of you. It felt like a dream to be touching you like this. Even more unreal to know that he was the cause of your disheveled hair and your chapped lips. He may or may not have imagined a moment like this before, late at night when he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, but it was buried in the back of his mind and nowhere near as euphoric as this reality.

“No, but seriously, we can’t go out like this.”

“No yeah, for sure, you’re absolutely right.”

You managed to escape thanks to the tight-lipped attendant who’d led you to a curtain concealing a prince in the first place, but found yourselves rather tight-lipped too. Once you’d both washed off the lipstick and the teeth marks faded, you didn’t know how to face each other. You just crawled into bed and discreetly squirmed as you thought about all that had happened. What was more embarrassing, that you realized you might, maybe, possibly, have feelings for each other, or that the other person might know about them? It was already late when you turned out the lights, but you both stayed up longer, plagued by worries.

They must be so smug since I was all over them, I’m such an idiot.

God, I can’t believe how intense that was. What if they hated it? What if I was bad at it?

Did they only kiss me ‘cause of how much I was kissing them?

Are we like… friends? They probably don’t hate me, so…

That was really unbelievable.

I think I might really… feel something for them.

I hope they feel the way I do.

The hurricanes of concerns led to a restless night, and a mortifyingly awkward day afterward. You couldn’t even look at each other, let alone speak. Even the servants seemed to notice the tension, and you could hear them giggling when they’d disappear into the corridors. You tried to tell yourself that that was great, that it really sold your act as a couple of lovebirds, but that just embarrassed you all the more. Your fiancé was just as tormented, the blush that was sparking gossip reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

Eventually, someone had to break the silence. If not with words, then with the slamming of a chess board down on the usual table. And that’s exactly what you did, not that who slept in the bed was something that still concerned either of you. No, now it was just routine, something you enjoyed and shared with each other, and something you were going to use to discuss your current feelings.

“C-come play, little prince.”

Even the nickname didn’t manage to get him to flare up. He walked over, still with the air of importance that was second nature to him, but his pounding heart almost echoed against his ribs. You set up your black pieces and he took the white. He moved a pawn towards you.

“So…”

“Yeah.” You slid a piece across the board. He nodded, his cheeks burning. You both knew what you had to say and what the other person was going to say, but that only made it all the more difficult to verbalize.

“I guess I don’t hate you. As much as I used to.” You said hurriedly, your voice forcibly steadied.

“Oh, what an honor.” Haechan’s snarky response was accompanied by a trembling hand moving a rook. He yelled at himself internally, and attempted to be as honest as he could. “I… suppose you’re not unbearable.” The biting words didn’t sting, nor did they flow the way they once did. It saddened both players, even though it had only been a day since you both had been without the banter of your best friend. Slowly, you started to regret the night before, the ecstatic memories being clouded with the fear that you might lose the most important person to you because of it.

“I-”

“Oh, sorry, you start-”

“No, you-”

“No-”

“Okay, fine!” You huffed, accepting the initiative. You pushed your rook straight forward. “I… have always hated the idea of getting married. Everything about it- the formalities, the responsibilities, the princes, ugh. Awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not done, okay!” Pieces shuffled around the board as you tried to organize your thoughts. “If I… had to marry someone…” Your sentence trailed off, and Haechan leaned forward, ears itching to hear the conclusion. You stared at the board, and he steeled himself. It would’ve been a blow to his persistent pride if he just waited for you to say everything.

“I’m…” What did he need to say first? His mind blanked, and he just let the words fall from his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but remained fixed on the game. “For what?”

“For not listening to you. The first day we met. I didn’t… treat you the way I should’ve. I’m sorry for that. But I’m… also glad it happened. If I’d acted differently then maybe you wouldn’t be in front of me. That would be, uh, not ideal. But I’m sorry.”

“Um. Thanks. I’m glad it happened too. Otherwise we might still be pretending to be well-mannered in front of each other.” Haechan snickered, and you did too. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, and he could feel himself growing bolder. He moved his queen across the board, closing in on his target.

“Man, where would I be without my unladylike, insufferable fiancé?”

“Probably whining like a child to some other pitiful creature who deserves better.”

The clouds in your minds began to clear as you exchanged snarky remarks. It felt right- pretty words didn’t like to be forced from your lips. He smiled. You looked up, your line of sight lingering on the lips you knew well before finding his eyes. You left your king unguarded, ready for it to be captured.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind marrying you, little prince.”

“Do it then.”

You swept the unfinished game off the board, feeling like you’d won, and he met you in the middle. He kissed you, barely more composed than the night before, but you had no problem with that. The two of you smiled against each other’s lips, incredulous that somehow you had found someone to love, something you used to believe was impossible. Little bursts of laughter interrupted the kiss as giddiness took over.

“Didn’t I say something like I’d burn down this castle before I wed you?”

“Just let the wedding planner know,” Haechan sighed with joy as he gave in to the temptation of your lips again.

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montygreen · 3 years ago

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Hiii there! Hope you don’t mind me coming at you for nhie talk but I just associate you with it so much!! I obviously binged my way through season 2 in one sitting and OMG I’m so satisfied!! My only complaint is that I really wished it was longer bc damn it all went by so quickly and I feel like we could get so much more of each storyline bc they were ALL SO GOOD!!! I’m really happy with the path they gave each character, it’s so hard for me to even choose a favorite arc. What are your thoughts on the season?

Don't apologize, I love discussing NHIE and I have so many thoughts!! This is gonna be so, so long, I'm sorry in advance, so I'm gonna toss the rest under the cut.

I do wish it was slightly longer, I watched the whole show Thursday and I feel like I tore through it, and yeah I would have totally wanted slightly more with each storyline, but alas that tends to be how I feel about 8-10 episode Netflix shows LOL

Personally, my favourite character arc was Kamala's. As a fellow woman in STEM, the scene where she stands up to her bosses in the lab and puts her name on the paper anyway and submits it was freaking aspirational, and the journey she went on with feeling undervalued for her contributions, especially as a woman of colour was really relatable. (Please let men be less dickish to me when I have to do lab work during the future of my educational career lol)

I also REALLY loved how much Paxton grew this season. Giving him a POV episode and giving him that amazing relationship with his grandfather, just humanized him so, so much. During season 1, I was just totally apathetic to Paxton as a character, since he really lacked a personality (I think this was intentional on the writer's part since he was really depicted as the object of Devi's affections and this perfect hot guy without flaws -- but I didn't make him compelling lol.) My point being, I actually quite like Paxton now, I still have my opinion on Devi and Paxton's relationship, but I'll get to those in a bit.

I also loved Nalini's arc a lot too. I was really worried the reason she wasn't going to move to India would be because she got a love interest in the States, but instead of the show didn't do that at all. I LOVED how she brought a bit of her home to her by having her mother-in-law move in, and I just love how now the Vishwakumar household is an even more multigenerational household!! Also, I just love Nirmala!!

Next, we shall discuss Aneesa, my love!! What a fantastic addition to the cast, I'm so happy to see another Indian teen girl character (my love for Devi is, of course, eternal) but it's cool how Devi and Aneesa both are very similar and very different. I also loved that they made Aneesa Muslim!! My dad's side of my family is Ismaili Muslim, (and therefore it is the religion I used to sort of practice) which is a subset of Indian Muslims, so it was amazing to see an Indian Muslim on screen. Aneesa's relationship with Ben was pretty adorable too, and though I'm team Ben and Devi forever, it was really great to see that episode where Devi had to deal with them dating and be mature about it, I think that showcased some important growth for her.

Devi in genera grew so, so much this season. I think she learned some incredibly important lessons about selfishness and it was good that she had to face all of the consequences for all of her actions. The two-timing decision was bad, but I couldn't even be mad at it, because it fit with Devi's absolute lack of emotional maturity at the beginning of the season, and from that and the consequences of that, I think she's really, really grown.

I loved Fabiola's storyline about forming her own identity as a queer person too, and she and Eve are >>>

Throughout all of this, I've barely touched on Devi's relationships with Paxton or Ben, I've realized.

I love Devi and Paxton as friends, the scene with them rapping to study in episode 3 was adorable, and I just want them to be homies lol. I loved their dynamic as tutor and tutee, but Devi was very right that she can't hold his hand forever (not a huge fan of the narrative framing what she said to him as a wrong, rather than how she said, literally the one thing she said this season where I was like.... wait, but she's right.) The reason I don't think their relationship works is because Devi really struggles to stand up to him. When she's with him, she really had blinders on regarding almost everything else. Like, it took Eleanor, Fab, Ben, and her dad visiting her in a dream to convince her to tell Paxton she wasn't happy being his secret girlfriend (because everyone could see it.) Whereas usually, Devi is perfectly capable of standing up for herself. Because Devi has this idolization of Paxton, there's this inherent imbalance in power in their relationship that just... doesn't work for me, romantically at least.

Also, I think there's something to be said about how when Devi changes for Paxton it's all superficial: it's about popularity and appearances and wanting to be cool, but when she changes for Ben, he pushes her to be more selfless and caring and overall just a better person.

Devi and Ben's scenes this season were all amazing. Either they were FILLED with so much fraught tension or they were just so freaking soft with each other, these idiots have 0 in between. It's very clear that Devi's two-timing hurt Ben so much more than it hurt Paxton (stealing this thought from when Bhargavi @parkersedith and I discussed the show, but ingeniously pointed out that when Paxton expresses hurt it's all about his image how she "made him look stupid" or but for Ben, it's real, deep, visceral hurt. She broke his heart and that's why it took him much longer to forgive her. Their scenes in the finale were so much. Like with the scene in the bathroom where he gives her a pep talk and tells her Paxton doesn't deserve her (and the implication of those words is so clearly that Ben believes he does deserve Devi), the little banter at the dance, and Eleanor being the romcom hero we need and telling Ben Devi wanted to pick him, so despite him being so hurt about not being her first choice (which you can see SO CLEARLY with "Devi, you followed him. At the party, you followed him, and you left me behind") the revelation that he actually was her first choice -- oh boy am I excited for season 3.

If you made it to the end of this ramble, congrats, it was a lot! I still have more thoughts, so message me if you want to discuss the show!!

#leila answers #isakvaltersen #never have i ever #nhie spoilers

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fallenlightsif · 3 years ago

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"Can you hear me?" and/or "What was I supposed to do?" for my lovely celestial prince Florian 🥺

Feel free to tear my heart out, dear 😊🥰💞

My imagination's been going absolutely haywire ever since I played the demo and found out MC dies AND comes back. Y'know, as you do. 😂

Thank you for writing such a fascinating story and giving us such a wonderful older brother, I adore him and would not hesitate to die for him–

Good luck with Chapter One and don't forget to take care of yourself!!!💕💕💕💕

"Can you hear me?" and "What was I supposed to do?" for Florian.

(This is a scenario in which Florian and the MC had a less-than-stellar relationship pre-resurrection but Flor had a crush on MC and MC was dating E but is falling for Flor post-resurrection.)

(Their relationship can be very nuanced depending on your choices in-game.)

Also, I'm so glad you enjoyed the prologue! This ask really made my whole week 10x better!

Florian's footsteps were quiet, but the click of his boots still echoed in the near-silent room. He approached you cautiously, and you could feel his hesitance from all the way across the office.

Your office. Your old office, at least.

"You came back." His voice was quiet, the remark less a question and more a statement.

"I did." You sigh, running your fingertips over the hardwood of the desk.

Emil took this office after you were banished. Your heart twists at the thought of him, but you couldn't forgive and forget. Not this time.

Not after all he did, everything he took advantage of. Your eyes meet Florian's again, and he frowns slightly, a concerned pinch between his brows.

His concern is so genuine, so pure. So different than anything you'd experienced before; people who hid behind layers of intrigue and masks so brilliant you never saw their true faces until it was too late.

You'd been unpleasant to him before. You thought he was perhaps foolish, to rebel so needlessly. Too emotional, too attached. He cared too much.

You realize now these are not his faults, but instead his virtues.

"I almost didn't think you would." He gives a nervous smile, lips tilting up ever so slightly.

The words hurt, but you know they aren't unfounded. You'd never been fond of him; why would you leave the opportunities you'd found beyond and return to his side?

You look at his eyes, brilliant and golden, and wondered why indeed. You remember that, even when you dismissed him out of hand, he used to look at you like you hung the moon. He'd gaze at you when he thought you wouldn't notice, but you always did.

Never before had you sought that look from him, but you did now. You are left wondering if you'd ever see it again, wondering if this prince turned king still holds the same affection for you.

A bitter smile twists your lips, "I don't blame you for thinking so."

"Not to say I think you're disloyal." He rushes to say, "You aren't. You never were, and you paid the price for our mistakes. That is why I'm surprised you came back."

"What was I supposed to do?" You shrug, "Leave Ebia? Never return to my home? The prospect is just as gut-wrenching as it was years ago."

He's quiet for a moment, "Emil is still out there. You could go to him."

The words are sour in his mouth, even though he tries to hide it.

Blood roars in your ears for a split second and you close your eyes. Pain and relief are at war in your chest; regret over what you lost so cruelly and relief that Florian still cares enough to be upset.

You open your eyes to his concerned face, and everything snaps back into perspective.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, looking seconds away from snapping his fingers in front of your face to startle you from your melancholy.

"I can." You assure him, sparing him a small smile.

He freezes for a moment before returning the gesture.

"I returned because I wanted to." You gaze at the office, "You were excited when your mother named me your advisor. Why?"

"You're brilliant." The words seem to slip out before he realizes he's said them.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words escape. His face flushes a deep red, but he carries on regardless.

"You're second to none when it comes to magic. The way you navigated the court even made the nobility envious. You were suited for the position in every way." He pauses, "You still are."

There's an awkward pause that hangs in the air until-

"You still haven't named a new advisor." You note, "Not after Emil."

"None have lived up to the precedence set." He responds.

The precedence set. Your precedence.

"Is that so?" You muse quietly, looking out the large window behind the desk.

The wind makes the flowers of the royal garden sway in the wind. You had seen the white lilies dedicated in your name, the brass bell to invoke your spirit. Far beyond any honor given to a mere advisor before, let alone one as apathetic to their monarch as you.

"The position is yours." He speaks into the silence, "If you so desire."

"I do." You say, "Desire."

And you do desire. You don't long for intrigue anymore; you have no want for shadows and politics, rivalry and struggle, any longer. You have seen death, you've been subjected to the abyss that comes after, and you're cold.

You still wake up shivering, fingers brushing over the scar just beneath your belly button, exhaling ice and death as you sob your way back to the land of the living.

You're so tired of the cold.

His hand brushes against your shoulder, the touch just short of shy. He gives you plenty of time to withdraw if you want, to pull away. You don't.

He's warm, and you're so tired of the cold.

You do desire, despite the fact that you shouldn't. You don't deserve him, never have, but he still sees fit to hold you in his heart. Maybe you can work to earn your place there.

Perhaps you don't need to work for it, you realize as you meet his gaze. It might be the most reliving and confusing thing you've confronted yet; Florian's affection is freely given, nothing needed in return.

You don't have to be anything other than yourself for him, and it's a scary thought.

He smiles again, the expression becoming increasingly familiar, and this one is much wider than the others.

"Then, advisor, you should get some rest." He motions to the quarters attached to the office through the double doors, "I'll send for you in the morning."

He pauses to dismiss the mage light by the door but glances back at you and refrains.

After all this time, he remembers you fear the dark. He knows instinctively it's worse after what you've been through. He also knows you'd never admit either of those things, so he doesn't make you.

The relief you feel at the gesture is overwhelming and the flickering gold light illuminates him as he leaves.

Maybe you do deserve happiness after all, and even if you don't, maybe that doesn't matter.

#Fallen Lights #Florian Vasil #short story #he loves the mc so much #literally no matter what he has a crush #unless you're like cruel to him obviously #but frenemies to lovers #is an emotional roller-coaster

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xhisokas-harleyx · 3 years ago

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okay but imagine hisoka and fem!reader going for an undercover mission, in a ball (well this gives me an excuse for hisoka in a suit with his hair down looking kinda normal yk aaaaa) and he and reader are waltzing across the ballroom, with the mutual pining, the flirting back and forth, constantly one upping each other without making it too crudely sexual while maintaining eye contact no matter what (bonus points if reader doesnt get flustered outwardly) <333

I’m sorry this took so long! Vacation and a few other things happened. I took a little creative liberty with this one I think... Hope you enjoy! 😊

Part 2 is out, link at the bottom :)

I’m getting to the other requests soon!

Song Inspiration: Fire on Fire; Sam Smith

Word Count: 2700

Hisoka x Fem Reader: Fire x Fire

You sigh as you look up at the clock that acts as a guardian for the entry hall you are sitting in. As of now, you’ve been waiting for Hisoka to enter the room for about 45 minutes. You have finished your hair, your makeup, and dressed accordingly, which took a decent amount of time- however, your male counterpart for the evening is still not ready.

“Hisoka… how much longer?!” You call to the upstairs bathroom, and you sigh melodramatically. You’d have thought he was ditching you if it wasn’t in fact a mission that HE himself had invited you to. “We’re going to be late, and that will attract attention!” You groan.

“Speaking of attracting attention…” A smooth, low voice coos from behind you, and you jolt up from your seat on the bottom of the stairs and wheel around. “…You call that undercover?” He says, as his tongue flashes across his bottom lip, a sinful gaze in his golden irises.

~Because I, for one, can’t keep my eyes off of you.~ He refrains from saying that last part.

There Hisoka stands, with a raised eyebrow, admiring you with a smirk as he plays with one of his cufflinks. His pink hair is down, covering his eyes only slightly, but not enough that you can’t see the hungry look in his golden irises. He doesn’t have any makeup on, and he is wearing a clean white suit with a tie and napkin that matches the color of your dress.

Quickly, you close your mouth, fighting to regain your composure and not allow him to see your reaction to his appearance. This mission was going to be hard enough without him distracting you throughout…

Little do you know, Hisoka is currently appraising your appearance as he strolls slowly down the stairs. Your sleek (f/c) dress hugs your curves perfectly, covered in sequins that catch the light of the chandelier at random intervals. Both of your outfits are a bit flamboyant- but honestly, could you expect any less from this efficient duo?

“It’s all about catching them off guard, hiding in plain sight.” You say to him, tipping your chin upward and placing a hand confidently on your hip. “The more attention we attract, the better chance we have of fooling those around us and identifying our target early.” You smirk as you meet his witty remark with your own explanation.

Hisoka lets out a small chuckle before he opens the door for you. “You know as well as I that that logic makes no sense.” He points out with a coy smile.

“Sounds good though, doesn’t it?” You retort, walking past him without so much as a glance.

“As does everything that comes from your lips.” He says it in a deep and yearning tone that catches you by surprise, even for Hisoka.

You fight the urge to tense up- this party hasn’t even begun yet, and Hisoka is already trying to get under your skin as you’d suspected he might. Luckily, you know exactly how to bat him off.

“Hurry up.” You order, completely ignoring him; it was phase one of your plan. Much to your chagrin, this pursuit only excites Hisoka, his eyes twinkling as he watches you get into the limo that will take you to the party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On your way to the ball, Hisoka watches you silently as you look out the window, the stars flying by as you speed to the event. You don’t even notice, until you feel that familiar bloodlust rising from his direction.

“You’re going to have to control- that – if we are going to stay undercover. We don’t know how many Nen users are going to be here.” You say nonchalantly, looking to him.

In the low light, Hisoka doesn’t speak at first, almost as if you’ve caught him looking when you weren’t supposed to. He notices how well your makeup is done- and how much care you have taken in styling your hair tonight. He loves those golden earrings you are wearing and makes a note to steal them from you later.

You notice his silence. “Hey, Hisok-“

“We are almost there, madam.” The driver tells you, interrupting your snapping to bring the pink haired man’s attention back to you… even though it hasn’t left you he saw you sitting on those stairs.

You thank the man, and you take this opportunity to affix your knife under your dress, rolling the long fabric up to your thigh and strapping it around your leg. You know exactly what this will do to Hisoka; and yet, you do it anyway, deciding to fight fire with fire.

Hisoka’s eyes widen under his bangs, and he stifles a soft moan. He does his best to look away, knowing that, despite this game you two play… he must control himself around you. Because, somewhere deep inside, he is amazed that you even agreed to come with him tonight, and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

Luckily, you are very determined to stay unabashed.

Still, his bloodlust peaks at the sight, and you use this as an opportunity to order him again.

“Nen off. Now.” You demand, dropping your skirt back to its normal position and flashing him a side glance as the limo stops.

“Oh, is that an order?” He questions, kicking an eyebrow and biting the inside of his lip, fully expecting to trip you up. He just can’t help himself. He can’t resist the urge to play this game with you, and is so impressed with the fact that you willingly (and expertly) play it too.

“Absolutely.” You reply without missing a beat. His eyes focus on you, unsure how to take your hot and cold attitude, and your apparent disinterest in his flirtation. Still, he obeys, and clears his throat, exiting the limo and moving to your side to open the door for you.

You get out gracefully, refusing the hand he is holding out to you, which both infuriates and encourages him.

“The target is an older Nen user with blue hair. Rich guy. Tons of ladies. Right?” You whisper to Hisoka, trying to confirm the details so you can begin to scout for your victim. “Conjurer?”

Hisoka doesn’t answer you for a moment, and instead, seems distracted before coming back to his senses.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Conjurer. Those women he hangs with are replicas of the prostitutes he’s said to have murdered. Perhaps talking to them could be our key to finding him.” You weren’t questioning how he knew all of this, but glance at him.

“So you’re going to use this as a speed dating service.” You state, rolling your eyes, though your comment is meant to be more funny than mean. Hisoka, however, looks to you with a confused expression.

“You wound me!” He chuckles in response, dramatically clutching his chest, but taking great care not to reveal the actual hurt underneath. Is that what you saw him as?

There is an awkward silence between the two of you, but as you walk into the entryway of the mansion, you put on your acting expressions and begin to scout out the crowd. There are hundreds of people, live music, drinks, and conversations happening all over the large abode, and in an instant, you feel a bit overwhelmed.

“We should split up.” You suggest. Not that you wanted to leave his side, but wouldn’t it be easier to find the target this way?

Unbeknownst to you, your suggestion slightly upsets Hisoka. He had hoped you would stay together, but he doesn’t protest; he nods, and you two go your separate ways. However, you find yourself glancing in his direction as he slips through the crowd, a pang of guilt stabbing your heart.

~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later, you have still had no luck locating this bastard, and have decided to stop at the bar for a drink. You know that you’re supposed to be working, but how can you relax at all without a break? You order a drink from the bartender, and promptly begin to down it, leaning on the bar and analyzing the crowd. You can’t help but think of Hisoka, and how handsome he looked in his proper outfit which was so different than what you normally saw him in.

Often, you wondered if his flirtation was just that and nothing else; or whether there could be a chance that he feels morefor you. There were times when he could be so caring toward you… but he did have the tendency to be fickle and dishonest with his emotions.

As much as you hated to admit it… you felt morefor him. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, you liked that about him. You had the ability to see through his apathetic exterior to the human underneath. You didn’t know whether that made you a hopeless romantic, or just plain crazy.

Suddenly, you see a flash of pink hair in the far distance, breaking your fantasy. It is Hisoka, shining like a diamond just next to the dance floor. A wave of relief washes over you briefly, and you set down your drink to make your way toward him, quicker than you’d imagined.

However, the sight you see there before you made your stomach flip, and you question the flirtation you’d just fantasized about. Through the crowd of people, you can see Hisoka talking to a bunch of nicely dressed ladies, a drink perched in his hand like he was some aristocrat. They seem to be laughing at just about everything he said, and one of them has the audacity to playfully touch his lapel, which set you off.

Now you were disobeying your own advice as your bloodlust piqued. Your fists clench and you begin to trudge toward the large magician, who doesn’t seem to notice your presence. That could not be more false, however, and he smirks to himself as he feels your approach, parting the crowd and traversing the ballroom dance floor.

Your high heels, however, have another idea: to ruin your night.

Your heel twists, and you trip over your own feet, a few people gasping as your body flies toward the floor. However, your momentum is stopped by the stern body of your audacious savior.

Hisoka pulls your arm past his neck, his strong arm wrapping around your waist and holding you flush against his body. A few of the people clap at the display, the women especially noting how dashing this charismatic man is, and how lucky the woman in his arms must be.

Obviously, they didn’t know the real Hisoka…

“If you wanted to dance, you could have just asked.” Hisoka notes softly, with a hubristic undertone. The way he holds you, however, is soft and careful, his fingers spread along your waist as he pulls you to your feet. You scoff, and look away, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from his pleasing embrace. Still, you’re mad at him, and you don’t show your flustered expression outwardly.

Without your permission, Hisoka begins to move your body in tandem with his, guiding your hips to the beat of the new song playing in the ballroom.

“You look angry, (Y/N).” He notices your expression and rigidity but doesn’t stop moving his feet. It’s a rather timid tune at first, however, at the bridge of the song the tempo began to pick up, and you easily accommodated. You two begin to tango across the floor, much to the delight of the people watching your display in awe.

“We’re supposed to be working, and you’re over there flirting.” You scold yourself inwardly as you realize he’s going to have a heyday roasting your obvious jealousy.

“Ah, and you were working at the bar when you were sipping your cocktail?” He retorts fluently, surprising you. He has been watching you this whole time and was perfectly willing to never let you know it!

Hisoka whips his hair out of his eyes, his bangs parting just long enough to reveal to you a flash of his enchanted yellow eyes. Somehow, that hungry, almost pleading look behind his irises melts away your fear that he doesn’t feel anything for you. And from that moment on, you can’t break eye contact with him, as if he’s holding you under some sort of spell.

~God, that was hot.~ You think, but you are determined to keep your cool and not show all your cards, so you shoot him an equally suggestive look that makes his blood boil. Your eyes make him go crazy. He can’t take that look in your eyes, the way you encapsulate your emotions within them makes Hisoka lose his breath and feel a little weak in the knees (not something he’s used to). Both of you are too caught up in each other to realize how much you are both leaking bloodlust.

“Jealousy looks good on you.” He smirks, twirling your body around him, and catching you in his arms.

“Hm.” You smile, beginning to have fun with this performance. “I look good on you, wouldn’t you say?” You retort boldly, not expecting Hisoka to take it quite so seriously. His smile fades, and as you twirl back to him, the song dies down, and Hisoka bends you over his knee, hanging your body in his balance.

His gilded eyes have never looked more intense and sincere. Your comment seems to have uprooted his act, and his forehead presses to yours as it seems he is devouring your soul with his eyes.

“I couldn’t agree more, y/n.” He breathes against your lips at the closing note of the ballad, hoping that you’ll confirm his hopes and take the leap of faith he needs you to in that moment.

Your heart begins to skip beats, and you can’t hold your act any longer. Your cheeks are painted with a deep red shade, and your neck begins to crane. Somehow, on the fly, you are unsure. What would all of this lead to?

Your thoughts of leaving Hisoka hanging are interrupted by the annoying screech of one of the women from before, spewing a slurred, “Way to go, Mr. Horatio!”

Horrible fake name aside, this makes your jealousy skyrocket as you realize she’s talking about your white knight.

You turn back to him with the fire of Hell in your eyes, and meld your lips with Hisoka’s with such ferocity that it takes him off guard, and for a moment he is completely star struck. The taste of your lips ignites such a passion within him that his hand moves to your hair, tilting your head back with a gentle tug to allow him better access to your sensitive parts. His obsession for you is on full display, and he doesn’t care who sees it.

As you break for air, his lips move excitably to your neck, the both of you completely forgetting that you are in the middle of a mission and a whole crowd of people. Neither of you seem to care, and if Hisoka has his way you’ll end this party with a bang.

The guards have a different plan.

“The Magician! I’d recognize that Bloodlust anywhere!” Someone shouts, sending a force of guards your way. Hisoka can’t help but smirk in that general direction, and without a thought, he unleashes the full weight of his bloodlust, and scoops you into his arms protectively. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, darling. Let’s head out.” He purrs. Somehow, even being chased by a force of guards, which he could easily annihilate, he is as enticing with his voice as ever. You have not the power nor will to disobey that honey-like, nuanced voice that turns your resolve to ash. Instead, you are content with the view of his hair flying in the wind as he gracefully bursts out of the mansion, running with you in his arms.

You’re completely enthralled with him, and he knows it; he feels the same about you. But as the house vanishes from your sight, your eyes widen as you remember one key detail.

“Hisoka… WE DIDN’T KILL THE TARGET!” You panic, as he slows; you’re far enough away to be safe now.

Hisoka chuckles warmly, which confuses you.

“Not to worry, y/n. I killed him days ago.” He says matter-of-factly, anticipating your reaction at hearing that the party was completely unnecessary. “My place?” He skips past it like it’s a minor detail.

Your body tenses.

“Hold on…YOU WHAT?!”

~FIN~

…I could see a very NSFW Part Two for this... -///-

Part two is here!!

https://xhisokas-harleyx.tumblr.com/post/660568203654774784/in-x-this-x-moment-hisoka-x-reader-pt2-to-fire

I loved this prompt. So cute. Hope you all liked it! <3

#hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #hxh #hunter x hunter #love #reader insert #fanfic #y/n x hisoka

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