#even if that means mentally destroying his other side

[amoscontorta]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[hidrogenium]

[hanasnx]

We were talking earlier and you said Jason fucks mean and I KNOW IN MY HEART OF HEARTS I'm too soft for him but maybe that's the appeal. I love all that mental shit he's got going on, like baby you are so complex 😵‍💫

-Doe

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: he fucks mean. classic indy quote tbh. calling him complex is such an understatement. tbh he doesn’t appeal to me sexually like anakin does, but the basis of his appeal is his sexual interests for me. at least right now. even tho i’m not attracted to him like i am to other characters i write for, i’m interesting in exploring him in this context briefly :))

JASON TODD fucks mean. He fucks like he hates you. There’s a double side to him that he doesn’t know how to control, a borderline obsessive nature that creates a need to destroy the object of his desires. He loves you, so he must be the one to unravel you.

“Jay… Jay! I can’t—“ you whimper, cut off by his harsh pace, breakneck and ruthless as he fucks your brains out through your cunt. You were about to tell him that you “can’t take this” but you can’t even form the end of the sentence. Brows knit deeply, you howl like a fucking dog in heat being pummeled by his sex, and his hand clamps around your throat to pin the back of your head to the wall behind you.

“You ‘can’t’? Nah, baby, you won’t. Is that what you’re trying to say? Trying to say no?” A tone of fake sympathy invades your ears, pain and pleasure shooting up your spine bringing tears to the corners of your eyes as you pant through your noisy mouth. His voice lowers, darkens, “Let me show you something.” He releases your throat, and when he’s not holding you up by it you crumple, collapsing onto his shoulder as he stoops. Thick and angry fingers dig into the plaint flesh of your thighs, yanking them up to arrange over his hips. Pinning you to the wall with his dick, the new angle makes you cry. You clutch onto him, babbling mindless whines as you shake your head, but what can you say? You don’t want it to stop, not really. The emptiness that’s created within the pits of your stomach every time he pulls out is unbearable. “See? That’s what I fuckin’ thought. Knew a bitch like you could take it.”

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 1

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?

chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru), mentions of unprotected relations...

masterlist

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"She's acting strange, I'm telling you." 

Satoru speaks through the gritted teeth of his smile, waving widely toward you while Shoko sees you out. What had been another work week filled with training and teaching had ended with drinks; this week's rotation leading the four of you to Shoko's apartment. Though of course, much like last week's invitation, you declined, instead choosing to return to your own home with promises of an early night.

Only once you're safely down the corridor, the door firmly closed behind you does Suguru turn his head to reply to his friend. A weight lifts from his shoulders, and he stands a little straighter once he's sure you're not coming back.

"Seems fine to me." He attempts to throw Satoru from the painfully strong scent, forcing a nonchalant demeanour as he takes a sip from his newly opened bottle. There's been an obvious awkwardness and distance wedged between the pair of you and the group, though Suguru couldn't fault you alone - he's equally to blame for this uncomfortable situation.

"For once, I agree." Shoko steps away from the door, shoes kicked to one side to join the other pairs in a messy pile. Although she'd grown comfortable with taking them off on the carpet while seated on the couch, Suguru's constant remarks of her apartment's disorder had gotten to her. Not because she'd cared all too much, but because it was beginning to grate at her; though this new habit did mean she'd had to clean the floors less. But, she wouldn't tell him that. "Something's up with her." Her eyes move from the heap shoes to her friends.

Suguru stalls his reply, taking an unwanted swig of beer while his heart picks up it's pace. He tries to reassure himself that there's no way they could know, that they're just too curious for his liking. It would've been unlikely you would indulge in sharing that sort of information with the others, you'd always been closed off unless it had come to him, and even then, he'd had to push. He's sure he could end this conversation now... he just needed to think of a good enough excuse. 

"Probably just work, right Sugu?" Satoru pats his back a little too hard, turning to follow Shoko into the front room while Suguru lags behind. He's grateful this is coming to a close with little work from himself, and allows himself a moments reprieve.

"I don't think it is." Shoko places the keys on the scuffed coffee table, throwing herself onto the couch. Her own drink sloshes in the bottle with her thoughtless movements, but thankfully not enough to spill over. Her eyes move upward in thought, attempting to make sense of Satoru's initial concerns, linking the possibility of your recent absences to a conversation she'd shared with you a few days prior. 

Shoko considers letting the others know, and although she does stop to consider the effects of sharing what should probably be kept between the pair of you, she decides this is better said than left secret. 

"She asked if we had pregnancy tests in my office the other day." 

Suguru tenses. He can't tell if the others notice every muscle in his body hardening, or his skin growing cold. There's a stagnant air left in place of their reactions and Shoko doesn't look to either party, trying to suppress the simmering guilt she feels for sharing what was probably personal to you.  

"It's probably nothing, though." Shoko affirms herself more than her friends, brown eyes finally flickering up from the coffee table to gauge the damage she'd incurred. She winces at both of her friends' expressions, each of them displaying some depiction of shock with slack jaws and wide eyes. "I mean, she'd have told me if it was positive." 

Satoru moves first, taking a seat beside Shoko on the couch, arm outstretched to rest over the back cushions. Suguru doesn't feel ready to take a seat, his emotional state wavering, but he knows he needs to avoid suspicions from the other two. They'd moved on, he needs to too.

"Yeah." He speaks, an attempt to convince himself that Shoko's statement is true while he sits down in the loveseat in the corner of the room. His eyes scan over various bits of clutter that seem to decorate it; Shoko was rarely home, and rarely cleaned at that. Books are stacked in various piles, a few pieces of stationary here and there, a mess of clothes pushed to one side. 

He tries to focus on his surroundings, but his gaze turns hollow as he's distracted with imaginary scenarios, consequences of an unplanned pregnancy riddled with fear. He couldn't share his inner battle with them, because half of your quartet is blissfully unaware of an evening he'd willed himself to forget. 

But it feel useless when no matter how hard he tries, he can still remember everything.

"Just crash here, it's fine."

Sleeping at Suguru's hadn't been part of your plan, though neither had staying beyond the bounds of Saturday. You look down at your phone, and with the time glaring back to reflect the early hours of Sunday morning, you agree to stay over with some reluctance. Although you'd stayed at Suguru's plenty before, there's still an uncomfortable twist in your stomach when you're sleeping beneath a blanket that smells like his washing, on a couch that smells like him. You're sure this will end as the others always had - with a bad neck and a hangover.

"See you later." Shoko raises a hand while Satoru wraps an arm around her, his much larger frame bending forward to bear his weight onto her smaller one. He smiles wryly, attempting to imitate her good-bye, though voicing only incoherent nonsense. She rolls her eyes, forcing him to take steps toward the door.

Suguru brings through a few blankets, throwing them over the arm of the couch. His hair is free over his shoulders, gentle waves flowing freely instead of tied in their usual bun.  "Need anything else?" Now the others have left his voice feels weaker, and for the first time this evening you focus on his eyes. They look tired, almost downturned, hanging lower than usual with purple blotches under the skin. 

"Could I get some water?" There's some guilt in your heart as you watch him slowly moving toward his kitchen. You're sure he's likely stressed about work, there'd been an influx of curses as of late, and he worried about his student's wellbeing much over his own. 

The TV is on - flickers of light and quiet chatter as some old movie was on, and you take a seat in front of it. It looked to be something to do with war, as uniformed soldiers carrying guns run amok. Suguru returns with your water, placing the glass on a side table next to you. You lift it up, bringing the cool liquid to mouth and taking a few gulps before placing it back over the wet ring that had been left without the use of a coaster. 

He stands beside the couch, eyes locked to the screen, lips rested into a frown. "Suguru." You pat the couch to your right, legs moving to accommodate him beside yourself. At first, you think he isn't going to move, though he eventually begins to plod toward the spot, and the cushions move beneath his weight. 

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your mouth in a hushed tone, a small waver in your voice as you watch his stoic face turn to face yours.  "Hm?" His aloofness concerned you, and with an arm outstretched you place a worried hand over his forehead. It feels warm beneath your fingers, but not enough for him to have a fever. He looks to you in his confusion; you aren't usually so maternal with him, and touch wasn't something you often choose to give. At least, not as of recent. 

He has distanced himself from you, from everyone, as of recent. The sudden closeness between the pair of you felt much more intense given that context, and he realises his breath has caught in his throat. Being a sorcerer was difficult at the best of times, but as of recent it had felt like wading through water each time he would grow closer to the school. He thought he'd kept it under control, but as you inch closer to him, he realises he hasn't. 

Perhaps leaning toward him wasn't the right thing to do, but with your hand on his cheek, you're not able to hold back any longer. 

Smooth lips lock with yours, and your once concerned hand fell mellow against him, slipping back to lace beneath the dark waves of his hair, a gentle tug. There's a subtle taste of whiskey on his lips as you continue to kiss him delicately. The subdued motions are returned, palms finding your hips to move you toward him. You set on your knees, though he tugs more, and you find yourself seated within his lap.

Suddenly, the lull of the television is drowned out by the sound of your own heart racing within your ears, the quiet smacking of lips, the slow breaths from your chest. Everything feels heightened, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and urgency - you want so much more of him. Want overpowers any other logic in your mind, and although you suspect you will come to regret this in the near future, you can't help but entertain the thought of spending more time like this, within his arms. 

Suguru's tongue finds your own in a ploy to deepen this kiss, and you shyly accept. To begin with, the motions are a little sloppy, though you're soon dancing against one another in a languid pace. He raises his tongue and glides against you, and you gracefully repeat the action, growing closer, chest to chest, hands locking one to the other as desperation grows with every drag of his lips over yours. 

When your mouth is left bare, his finds itself at the nape of your neck, open mouthed kisses and nips igniting spark under skin. His fingers tilt your head backward to allow himself more room, and a soft bite at your flesh gives rise to a groan in your throat. His fists tighten over your shirt. 

He tugs at the fabric, palm kneading bare skin before deciding to discard of the garment altogether. Soon enough, there's a trail leading just shy of his bedroom door, and he finds himself asking the question; "Are you sure?" 

You don't allow yourself to think twice, to consider the consequences that may arise from sleeping with a close friend, and ignore the bubbling in your stomach. There's a voice telling you to take it slow, though it is overpowered by want. Years had been spent beside him yearning to be more than just friends - this would prove his loyalty to him, wouldn't it?

"I want you." You feel sure of it, even if there could've been a date first, a confession of longing. If this is the opportune time, then so be it. 

When you wake the next morning, there's an empty space beside you. It makes sense, you're just friends after all, but it still stings all the same. Your skin is bare beneath the blanket, and when you sit up to glance around the room, you notice your clothes folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. 

When you're dressed and up Suguru isn't in the apartment, and you realise what this is. He's unhappy, and you were just caught up in his sheets after he'd needed stress relief. 

You don't wait up too long for him because you're sure he doesn't want to see you. In your last moments you look naively for a note he may have left for you, hoping for the promises of breakfast - though of course, there wasn't any. There's no text either, and you're back at work soon enough, trying to ignore the fact he won't even look at you anymore.  

Weeks later, you're teary eyed and looking down at the result you didn't want to see. Of course, you're pregnant.

It's difficult to come to terms with the positive before you. Out of many imagined scenarios you played within your mind since childhood, finding out you were pregnant within the staff toilets of Jujutsu High had been the last of your predictions for what should be a magical moment within your life. 

There were suspicions that led you to this moment, and perhaps you could've done this at home, maybe taken some time to discuss with someone other than your rapidly racing mind, but you simply couldn't take it anymore. Your period was a week late, you felt tired, your stomach weak - it was evident without the test that something was up. The two pink lines had simply confirmed your fears. 

Your fingers shake, eyes welling with tears that you wish wouldn't fall. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you'd planned on speaking to him about that night, to admit those feelings you ignored for far too long. Before then, there'd been little progression on the budding crush you harboured throughout your adolescence, though now you felt stupid for ever growing close to him.  

There's a few options that cross your mind among picturing yourself telling Suguru the news. You hadn't even built the confidence to tell him your feelings, how would you tell him you were carrying his child?

This was something you were hoping to reserve for a lover, for someone who'd adored every fibre of your being, who would love and support you through the difficulties of carrying and raising a child. As much as it pained you, you weren't that person to Suguru.

Your heart pulses in your chest, and you try to picture a life with him, one the pair of you would make along with a third, though you can't help but remember his lack of passion for you following those moments entwined with him. Because since that night, he'd done nothing to display any form of fondness toward you. 

You would have to deal with this on your own. 

You put the test in your pocket, pulling yourself together and placing your hand on the stall's lock before stepping out into the hall. It's a near silent journey back to your classroom, the sound of your beating heart and uneven breaths your only soundtrack, a whirring in your head that you don't seem to notice until you're at your desk, putting the test into the opening of your bag.

"You're still here?" Satoru's voice causes your body to jolt, eyes wide as you glance to your classroom door. His arm rests at the frame, head cocked to one side. You wonder if he'd seen anything, though you're sure he would've reacted by now, so you stay quiet. "Are you drinking with us tonight?" There's a smile on his face, one that hasn't changed through the years you'd known him and it takes you back to the innocence of your junior years, before any of you had really harnessed the power of the cursed energy that resides inside you.

You think of the child you hold, of their energy. Would they take after you, or their father?

"No," You clear your throat. "I've got a bunch of paperwork to fill out." It's a lie, but you sell it well with an open gesture to a pile of paper next to you. It's mostly student reports and letters, but you rely on the fact he won't notice. "Eesh." He sighs exuberantly, exaggerating his expression with bared teeth. "Sucks to be you!" His exclaim is followed by a creek of wood as pushes himself from the frame, turning. "See you tomorrow."

You sigh with relief, though it's only temporary - you have a lot to think about. 

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover

please let me know if you would like to join the taglist. please note, i will not add blank blogs. please show your support through reblogging.

[m-ilkiee]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 1: Warning Signals

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: being friends with Emma Sano is nice, until you get on the wrong side of the Sano brothers.

content warning: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, misogyny, alcohol/drug use, brief mention of violence, religious and purity culture themes, classism, slutshaming, p*rn mention, sexual assault, noncon, public initimacy, fingering (fem recieving), dacryphilia, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of vomitting, victim blaming.

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

word count: 10.1k words

note: this chapter has been edited and the storyline shifted to the original plan for the series. consequent chapters 2-5 will follow suit and vastly vary from the og series i posted before.

masterlist||chapter2||taglist

KNOWING how big both the TENJIKU and TOMAN fraternities were on campus, it was a bit awkward being friends with the youngest sister of two of the most popular guys in this school.

Any where you two went, she would always be the center of attention. You didn't really mind being in her shadow because as long as you have her, you’ll be fine. People called you a lost puppy, riding on Emma’s cocktails just to get by in university.

They didn’t know how you both have self-care days where you would paint your nails, wear facial masks and watch “Mean Girls” or “Clueless” on her laptop because you weren’t allowed to watch it when you were young. Or how the both of you always have study dates with hot coffee and exchanging annotated notes so that you both remain at the top of your game. They don’t know about the secrets you both share and the trust you both have for each other.

You don’t have to explain anything to anyone.

Emma is a pretty satisfied girl. Her college tuition is paid for in full and her time here has always been smooth. As far as you knew, she grew up being loved by all three of her brothers and they doted on her to the point she thinks they spoiled her.

-You don’t think they spoiled her -okay maybe a little with the way she spends money, but everyone has a vice. Right?

You could tell she knew what familial love is with how sweet and kind she was to you when you opened up about your family troubles.

The only issue is that her two brothers, Mikey and Izana, have been at each other's necks for some years now. Mostly Izana inciting violence at Mikey and Mikey retailiating; it’s the number one concern in the Sano household the way those two fight and argue.

From what Emma told you, Izana’s provocative nature was the gasoline to Mikey’s volatile mental state, akin to fire. Even the littlest of things that no one would bat an eye for could incite a bloody brawl between them. And as they grew older, more people were involved in their petty rivalry, since neither Emma nor Shinichiro agreed to take their side.

Despite the looming hostility, Mikey decided to throw in the towel and agree for a truce. At first, Emma couldn’t believe it. Until two weeks had passed and they hadn’t fought.

"They haven't gotten along at a stretch like this, I tell ya!" Emma had said excitedly while selecting what she would wear that day. You let out a small smile as she tossed multiple clothes on her large bed. Being the youngest had its perks, like how her oldest brother, Shinichiro paid for her to have the biggest room in one of the dorms all to herself.

You heard that on the front, he had one of the biggest Motorcycle brands and behind all of that, his real business was handling the black dragons, one of the biggest gangs in Japan.

You wonder how Emma feels about her brothers' lifestyle, but judging from her huge wardrobe and expensive jewelry, you don't think it bothers her too much.

Not like you cared either. To you, she was just Emma. Nothing more or less.

The blonde haired girl swiftly turns to you with two options in her hand, a pink sequined dress and a white halter crop top and a pink mini skirt with ruffles at the bottom. "I need to look really good today, which one says 'I'm so happy my brothers are not at each other's necks for once?' " She asked animatedly.

You've never seen her this happy since you met her, unless Draken was involved and somehow it made you happier too. It must be nice to be so close to your family members all the time and be able to mend your relationship with them.

You've never had that. You don't think of your family much. You don't wish to either, ever since your father cursed you out for rejecting a marriage proposal from one of his friends to pursue higher education and your mother stayed quiet, complicit -all the while silently seething that all her training went down the drain. The first time you ever went against their old fashioned ideals after years of obedience was met with immediate punishment.

Ironic.

You don’t regret it, though. Because you wouldn’t have met Emma.

"The second one is a better choice." You said with a smile, gazing at her with adoration in your eyes. “The skirt ruffles makes your legs look good. Pair it with the white strap heels and you’re good.”

The blonde broke out into a wider grin, the clothes pooling at her sides as she rested a hand on her hips. “Look at you giving me fashion advice.” She teased lightheartedly. “I feel like a proud mother growing up!”

“I learned from the best.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence and you take that time to admire her. You’ve always thought Emma was gorgeous, from her bright smile, to the twinkling of her eyes when she’s mischievous, to her enthusiasm for life in general. It was a no-brainer that guys would gravitate towards Emma and try their luck into dating her. Eventually the threat of her brothers or the threat of her equally terrifying friends with benefits who just happened to be the vice president of Toman, Ken Ryugi, would be enough to back off.

You wished you were as likeable and as beautiful as she was. You were always too shy to do anything or talk to people, let alone guys that you liked.

“So have you picked your outfit for the party?”

You’re snapped out of the trance-like state to see Emma standing in front of you, her body so close, you could smell her vivienne westwood. “Me?” You asked her, your tone laced with confusion. “I don’t think I’m gonna go.”

“And why is that?”

You paused, trying to organize your thoughts on how to break this to her without ruining her mood tonight. “I don’t think…” you took a deep breath before saying. “Your brothers would want me there.”

There’s a shift in her look, so minor but you could pick out the way her smile faltered. You both knew that her brothers could be… weird around you. It was something Emma couldn’t understand for the life of her.

Izana was usually very displeased with your presence and makes it very well known he doesn't want you there with snide remarks and forgetting your own order. His friends, for the fear of him, wouldn't speak to you either. It took Emma angrily yelling at him for him to be civil towards you. But the second she turned her back, Izana would go back to his usual self, being rude and peppering it with little acts of violence like pushing your hand so that your drink spilled all over the floor and even pushed your laptop bag to the ground, destroying the device you saved money to buy for months.

Mikey was on the other end of the spectrum. He would ignore your very presence and talk to everyone else but you and the rest followed suit. You’ve tried to at least make small talk with him, anything but he would talk over you. You heard from other people that he’s the nice brother and he’s usually so easy going- you’ve seen it with your very eyes the way he interacts with Emma’s other friends, Hinata and Senju.

And it hurts you. You’ve had a crush on him for so long, longer than you even knew Emma, so you don’t understand why he’s acting so differently with you. Seeing him talk with other girls sweetly makes you green with envy, wishing that it was you. Craving for just a piece of his attention.

Maybe he just doesn't like shy girls.

Only some guy named Takemitchi would try and explain that they don't hate you. It was surprising, considering that you knew people like Hakkai - whom you attended the same confirmation class and high school with- and even he made no effort to at least speak with you whenever you came to the frat house or met on the road.

You stopped bothering to make either of the Sano brothers like you, so long as they let Emma keep hanging out with you. It was obvious that they hold some animosity for you when you’ve done nothing to them.

“Nonsense!”

Before you could say anything, Emma pulled you up by your arm and dragged you off the bed towards her closet. “That’s a load of bullshit. There’s no way I’m leaving my best friend to rot in her room when there’s a Sano party going on.”

“But-”

“Nope!” She cut you off stubbornly, before pulling out some clothes from her closet, trying to match them with your skin tone. Satisfied with the outfit she picked, she puts the clothes in your arms and practically shoves you into her bathroom.

“EMMA-”

“Don’t Emma me, (name). You’re going to take a shower and by the time you’re out, I should be back with a makeup kit that suits you.” You tried to speak again but she silenced you by pressing a finger on your lips. “We’re going to be the hottest girls at that party, whether they like it or not.”

“But these look very short-”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, bye!”

You sighed when Emma shut the bathroom door in your face, locking it so that you would do what she said.

There was no winning with Emma when she made her mind up. Might as well follow through with it.

YOU had no idea how big this party would be.

You've come to the Toman frat house before with Emma to see Mikey and Draken once, and admired how large and spacious the three story building was. Now imagine that large of a space being cramped up with nearly the whole school's population.

Somewhat, you’re grateful that the outfit Emma lent you was as short as it was. The house was so hot, you could faint from how stuffy it was.

You hold on tightly onto Emma's hand, intertwined with each other as the both of you push through the big crowd, ignoring the sweaty, drunk students as you headed for the stairs. She, being used to parties like this, was able to navigate through the raging crowd with some form of ease.

After a few more squeezes, you both finally make it to the stairs.

As you both climbed up, you could see different people, all having fun in their own way. You're rarely invited to parties, so this was still more of a nouveau experience for you. A girl is asking for a light, a tiny blunt in between her teeth until another person lights it up for her. You see some guy shotgunning another girl, before melting into a hot kiss, tongue melding with each other. Someone else is drowning shot after shot and a couple is practically dry humping for everyone to see, a poor excuse to dance with the music.

The obscene sight surprisingly doesn’t disgust you, knowing your background, it just makes you curious. How would it feel to try one of those things? Smoking? Drinking? Making out with someone? Emma had told you about her own experiences; as long as you took it easy, it could be fun. Her first time with anything was with Draken and he was always gentle with her, plus her brothers were fine with it, even making sure whatever she took wasn’t laced with anything.

However, you were taught differently. That your body is a temple that you should keep clean for God and doing any of these things will sully you.

You didn’t believe that as much as you did when you were younger, but you didn’t want to test your luck either in case it ended up being true. Besides, you would look like a complete moron if you tried anything with them.

You tried as much as possible not to make it obvious that you're staring, but that failed when you caught the attention of a tall silhouette smoking. Sharp golden eyes stared you down and you instantly looked away, not wanting to get in trouble with some random guy.

You've heard rumors about Toman or Tenjiku guys absolutely beating anyone up for just staring at them wrong. You don't want to be victim number seventy-five this year.

Finally, you both reached your destination; a room on the second floor where Mikey had asked Emma to meet him. The ground floor was always the place where non-members stayed, trashed and partied. The first is accessible to all members of Toman (and now, Tenjiku) to hang out, have a private party and smoke. The second floor is only for executives and their girls or sisters.

You're a bit worried for yourself as Emma spoke to the person guarding the door. Mikey never said YOU could come along with Emma. You're no executive. You're no girlfriend of their executives and you are definitely not related to any of them. You had told Emma to leave you on the ground floor but she insisted that no one would be angry with your presence.

You've suspected that Emma has been trying to hook you up with someone in either of the fraternities. She was always insistent that you at least get to know them.

"(Name) come on."

Without waiting for your protest, Emma yanked you into the rather pristine room that housed the executives. Your eyes drank in the sight briefly, thanking God that it wasn't filthy or smelly as you had imagined it. The execs were all playing a game of poker, with an orange haired girl -Hinata Tachibana, his girlfriend, perched on Takemitchi's lap, laughing at his bad luck.

Emma's eyes quickly scanned around the room for a brief moment until she saw her two brothers sitting side by side, both engrossed in the game. Mikey’s blonde hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hand through it repeatedly. His baggy white shirt is unbuttoned half way and slips down his shoulder, revealing a black tank top and large jean trousers. Izana is different, white hair falling across his handsome face, leather jacket discarded on the back rest of the chair, leaving him in only a tight red shirt and tighter leather jeans, various chains and accessories hanging from his neck. Two earrings dangle from his ears- you can’t remember the name or significance.

‘They’re really good looking. Really-’

Without a warning, she lets go of your poor arm and jumps on top of Mikey and Izana, tackling them into a hug. Cards fly as she squeezes them hard, to which they discard their initial anger of losing their deck and hugging her back.

"Emma, next time give us a warning, will you?" Mikey pouted. You thought it looked cute, but immediately discarded that stupid thought. The guy hates your guts, don’t think he’s hot. "You ruined my game."

"As if you weren't losing dipshit." Izana teased, his face more relaxed than you’re used to seeing. "She did you a favor. You were down to 100 chips."

"You were down to 50. Who's the loser?"

"Still you."

You could see a smile tug at the corner of her lips lift up as she stands up. "Finally glad that two of you aren't strangling each other for once." She said triumphantly, hands on her hips. Her voice has a pep to it. "Last time both of you were in the same room, it didn't end well."

"Doesn't mean I'm not thinking about it." Izana scoffed. Suddenly, his purple eyes left his sister's face and trailed onto you who just stood a few feet away, awkwardly. You watched in real time as his smile fell, his features darkening the moment he locked gazes with you.

Dear God.

"What is SHE doing here?"

His harsh tone made everyone in the room shift their attention towards you. Your blood ran hot with embarrassment, feeling Izana’s purple eyes scan you up and down in disgust while everyone else just looks at you. Mikey’s gaze burned holes into you as well, silently asking you what the fuck you were doing here.

It was obvious. They never wanted you here. This entire thing was a mistake from the beginning.

"I-I'm glad I could walk with you all the way here, Emma" you stuttered, lying through your teeth. You didn't like the way both brothers were staring at you, like they could walk over to you and wring your neck at any moment. "I'll go join the party downstairs now, so I guess I'll see you soon-"

Pulling away from her brothers abruptly, the blonde girl rushed over to you and grabbed your arm, halting your attempt at running away as she dragged you back in place. You cursed underneath your breath at Emma’s desperate attempt to try to get you to stay.

“Hold on, now (name). I’ll talk to them” Emma whispered reassuringly, before turning to her brothers and increasing her voice in full volume. "She's here with me, is there a problem?”

There was a tense silence in the room as everyone stared at you. Mikey's tone was ice cold as he directed his angry gaze at you, dark eyes scanning down your body. You shuddered when his gaze settled on your legs just briefly before snapping back at Emma’s face.

"Emma. When I sent you that text, I specifically said you should come ALONE."

You felt your heart twist in your chest at the emphasis of that word from none other than Mikey. He really hated you.

"Come on Mikey. This is ridiculous." Emma plead your case. You don't realize you're shaking until your friend squeezed your hand gently in an attempt to calm you down and you squeezed back, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. "Why would I leave her downstairs?"

"Because that’s where all the beggars like her stay."

Your eyes widened the second the words left his mouth, Emma following suit at his words. The shock was soon replaced by embarrassment as Izana looked at you with a devious smile on his face, continuing his verbal assault. "What? I was just making an astute observation. You did say she was poor, so am I really wrong?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you Izana-”

“Wait-” Mikey cuts in again, holding a hand to silence her, his eyes fixated onto your outfit, the wheels in his brain turning as he scanned your clothes from head to toe. You suddenly felt naked in the simple white top and jean skirt you wore, as he actually looked at you properly for the first time.

Your shyness is quickly short lived as his facial expression morphed from one of neutrality to nothing but pure rage.

“Is that the jean skirt I bought for you, Emma?”

Your heart dropped at how loud he barked, completely silencing everybody in the room. All eyes fell on you now, putting you at the center stage of attention. Emma quickly pushed you behind her, trying to shield you from their staring the moment she realized what was about to happen.

“Mikey, wait, I was the one who insisted she should wear it, not her.” Emma started to explain, her tone apologetic. “She had nothing to wear and i gave her those since you complained she dressed like a nun-”

“So you decided to dress her up like a cheap hooker instead?” Izana scoffed nonchalantly, his eyes flickering over to your outfit. “You know your clothes looks so cheap and washed out on her. She looks like she stands on the streets and asks for sex in exchange for money.”

"Izana!”

Emma started to reprimand her brother when Mikey cut in again to join Izana in practically insulting you. “Come on Emma, look at your friend. One wrong move and she’ll flash her panties. Don’t you think she’s looking a bit too desperate?”

Your hand flies to the edge of your skirt, dragging it down to try and cover up your legs as the gazes of the men leering at your legs. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Mikey, who is quick to point it out. “See? Even your friend knows she looks like a hooker. She’s trying to pull your skirt down because she knows she’s guilty...”

Each word seemed to stab you in the heart multiple times. You quickly averted your eyes to the ground as he continued to berate you about your looks, tearing down your confidence bit by bit with each word until you're reduced into nothing but nerves and silent tears. Everyone was staring at you now, scrutinizing gazes drinking in the sight of your exposed flesh, snickering quietly.

Unwanted attention.

"Next time, she shouldn't dress like this if she wants to tag along with you…"

“THAT IS ENOUGH."

Emma’s voice rang through the entire room, anger evident in her tone. The two brothers sat there in silence, stunned at the kind of tone Emma had just used on them right now, as if they’ve never heard or seen her this angry in their life before. You could feel her tremble violently, her grip on your hand tightening as fury radiated from her body.

You were sure she’s holding back things to say with how badly she is shaking. Like she doesn’t want to say anything that she might regret saying. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it immediately, as if biting her words back.

"We're leaving."

“EMMA-”

“Oh come ON-”

Emma threw an arm around you and guided you out of the room amidst her brothers yelling at her to come back. Your friend is gentle with you, hiding your teary face from prying eyes as she leads you through the stairs. The loud music was enough to mask your uncontrolled sobbing, but it didn’t stop people with prying eyes from turning their gazes towards you, wondering what the hell happened to you.

You had never felt this embarrassed in your life. As much as Emma tried to comfort you on your way to her room, their words kept on reverberating in your head. You knew how hard it was to get out of that mindset and now, every confidence you worked for, has crashed down like a pile of cards. Even the way they looked at you made you feel so sick to your stomach.

You've been drilled into as a young child that you're dressed the way you're addressed and because of that, you have always made sure you looked modest enough. You were used to your brothers calling innocent girls whores because of what they wore, that they were asking for it.

And now witnessing it first hand just made you feel so dirty. From the way they looked at you, to how they spoke about your body. It made you ill to the core.

You’ve never been so humiliated in your life.

The two of you managed to walk back to Emma's room, since hers was closer. Her phone never stopped buzzing all through your journey, even when you got back to her room. You could see the pain in her eyes as she ignored each call, only worsening your guilt. You wished you had stayed back in the dorms instead of ruining her night; she was supposed to be having fun, not walking you back to your room prematurely because you couldn’t take criticism.

"You should pic-"

"No (name)." Emma was quick to assert as she helped you lay down on her queen sized bed, the soft surface. "You don't need to feel pity for them, you're the one they hurt, not the other way around."

You wanted to protest when she fell on the bed beside you, yanking her covers over you both and encasing you in a hug. "You don't have to worry about them. I just want you to feel better." She whispered in your ears, rubbing your back gently. "You looked good tonight."

You could only nod in response at Emma's affirmation, wanting to so badly believe her. You want to believe what Emma thinks about you but you just can’t when you feel like abject filth. Your lips began to wobble, tears rolling down your cheeks once again as their words rang in your ears.

Months of unpacking that trauma, flushed down the drain by a single action.

Emma didn't say anything in response to your fresh tears, she only hugged you tight and rubbed circles on your back to soothe you until you cried yourself to sleep.

   “YOU implied that she’s a fucking prostitute Mikey, what the hell did I misunderstand?”

You woke up with a start on hearing Emma’s harsh tone echo throughout the room.

You opened your eyes groggily, rolling the covers down a little bit to see what was going on. She was standing at the open door, changed into her pink nightgown, her hair cascading down her shoulder as she argued with someone in the hallways. You push the covers a little further to see who she was talking to, catching a glimpse of a blond haired male standing in the hallways, blocking the only source of light filtering into the room with his body.

“Don’t yell at me, I’m still your older brother.”

‘Mikey?’

You perk up at his voice, instantly awake hearing his irritated tone. What was Mikey even doing in the female dorms by this time of the night? You glance at Emma’s sanrio clock on her nightstand that reads 00:00am. By now, no male student is supposed to be here, but knowing how influential Mikey is, he might have bribed the security to let him in.

His quiet sigh interrupted your thoughts and you turned your attention back to them, wondering what was going on. He started talking again, taking a tone much softer than before. “You’ve changed Emma. You blow me off to spend time with a stranger-”

“She is not a strang-”

“She is to me. You have enough friends Emma, what do you need this one for? What’s so fucking special about her?” His voice grows harsh again as he goes off a tangent about you. “You’re gonna get tired of her Emma. She’s a new thing but sooner or later you’ll get sick of her.”

Your heart broke at Mikey’s words. Is that what he thinks of you? This was supposed to be the easy going guy on campus that helped girls cross the street and everyone liked?

What did you ever do to him?

“Stop it!” Emma hissed underneath her breath, trying to keep her voice down but drive her point across simultaneously. “Stop talking about (name) like she’s a pet or a fucking toy Mikey. I care for her and I won’t stand you talking shit about her.”

“Em for fuck sake, just get dressed and get your ass back to the party.” Your jaw nearly dropped at how he’s quick to switch topics, ignoring what she just said. “Draken’s waiting downstairs and Izana’s gonna be pissed if you don’t come back.”

“You’re gonna ignore everything I just said right now, huh?”

“Em-”

“You and Izana can go fuck yourselves.”

“You can’t be seriou-”

Emma didn’t let him finish when she slammed the door in his face, turning the key as fast as possible. Her body sagged on the door, a quiet ‘god’ escaping her lips. Her silhouette stayed in that position for two full minutes before she walked to the bed again.

In silence, she laid beside you, wrapping an arm around your body and dragging the blankets over you both once again. You felt safe.

   THE next few days after the party were eventful.

Emma had spent them with you, hanging out in the library to study and going to your work place after a hard day at school, just sitting and talking with you when there was no customer around. You ended up in your dorm room or hers afterwards, eating the snacks you both got from shops around the school.

It was nice. Emma was usually busy with other things, so having her with you all the time seems so perfect. You enjoy the quality time you spend with her, really.

But guilt wouldn’t let you do so.

She had isolated herself from her friend group affiliated with either of her brothers, ignoring their pleas to at least talk to either Mikey or Izana. Hina or Senju would try to walk up to her on her way to class and Emma would outright ignore them. In a span of days, you’ve seen countless plushies, perfumes, expensive jewelry thrown into the dustbin, either from Mikey or Izana at the back of her dorm- their apology ripped letters ripped to shreds.

You had taken the time to piece one from Izana together and felt your heart bleed at his begging for them to “please work it out. We may not be siblings by blood but you’ll always be my little sister” and Mikey’s “Em I’m sorry for everything. Please let’s talk, I’ll listen to you.”

Your brothers had never done anything like that before. Usually, they would tell you to suck it up or even laugh at you for being too ‘sensitive’.

Then and there, you decided to talk to either of the Sano brothers in hopes you would mend their relationship. A naïve part of you thinks that this is the right thing for you to do; Emma has done so much for you, it’s time to return the favor.

You hadn’t told Emma what you planned on doing, knowing very well that it would make the poor girl far more furious than she was already. She would tell you that you have nothing to apologize for and get angry with you for suggesting to make peace with them, claiming you did nothing wrong.

The last thing you want is to escalate the issue. You just wanted Emma’s happiness.

You gripped the strap of your tote bag firmly, your eyes fixated on Mikey’s Chevrolet that was outside your department, possibly waiting for Emma to come out so that he would talk to her. Gathering all your courage, you walked towards the car and gently knock on the passenger’s seat tinted window to get his attention.

It wound down immediately, revealing the blonde haired man staring back at you with an annoyed expression.

“Are you trying to break my window?”

His rude tone made you instantly regret even trying to talk to him. Unfortunately for you, the decision was made and you stuck to it. ‘The letters, remember the letters’ You whispered to yourself. “I’m sorry Mikey I didn’t mean-”

“Manjiro.”

You blink twice at his interruption, trying to make sense of what was going on. “Huh?”

“Only my friends call me Mikey and as far I’m concerned, you aren’t one of them.”

There it is. That same attitude of that night. It almost made you angry with the way he was talking to you. You had every right to walk away from him - he was the one consistently harassing you, not the other way around, so who does he think he is?

Instead, you took a deep breath, thinking about just being the bigger person and how you want to make peace with him, so that everything returned to normal. “Okay, I’m sorry about your window Manjiro.” You added politely. “Can we talk?”

He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously and you expected him to roll up his window and just drive away after that.

“Get in.”

You were shocked, but that quickly wore off when he opened the door for you to enter. You settled in quickly, snapping the seatbelt on after closing the door behind you.

There’s tense silence between the two of you as the car moved towards a more secluded part of the campus. You anxiously looked at your lap while he drove, wondering how you were going to start the conversation with him without instantly setting him off. Your gaze eventually drifted up to his face; from his half-lidded dark eyes to his straight nose, down to his soft pink lips.

You could see the resemblance between him and Emma, from their facial structure to genuinely good skin -not to mention they were both attractive. Despite his height, you knew a large amount of girls that crushed on him religiously, you included. You heard he treated any girl he was with, from his ex-girlfriends to his situationships, down to his one night stands with utmost respect and care. And despite everything he’s said to you, unlike his brother, he never hurt you violently or physically.

You just wished he was just as polite with you as he was with other girls. Maybe you could bring it up in discussions.

The car stops, bringing you back to reality. You realized that he had parked behind an abandoned class far behind the rest of the school. According to the university’s history, this was the first ever lecture hall that was built for the school, and eventually they decided not to renovate it as a remembrance from their little beginnings.

Or they didn’t want to spend any money on it.

Mikey switched the engine off, completely silencing the environment between the two of you. It is then that the realization hits you. You’re all alone with one of the most dangerous guys in this school, in a place where no one could hear you even if you scream. The thought makes you nervous, hoping to high heavens that Manjiro doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Well?” He asked, breaking the ice between the two of you. Mikey leaned back on the driver’s seat, turning to look at you. “You wanted to talk? Start talking.”

‘Okay. I can do this’ You whispered gently, exhaling through your lips. You can do this. “Mike- I-i mean Manjiro, I know it’s awkward, after everything that happened at the party and now it’s all a mess.” You cringed at the way you’re jumbling your words, this was not how it was meant to go. “We still haven’t resolved things yet-”

“We?”

You’re taken aback by his shocked tone as if he didn’t remember what both he and Izana had said to you, but when he doesn’t elaborate further, you take matters into your own hands. “Yes. You both said some unsavory things to me that hurt me that day, and it made Emma mad.” You paced yourself, not wanting to start rambling again. “I also want to apologize for disrupting your party by taking those words to heart and if I have offended you in any way, please forgive me.”

There’s an unreadable expression on his face, as if he’s slowly processing all the words you had just said. You watched his reaction morph from surprise to blankness, nothing on his face, which scared you more than any other expression.

“Get out of my car.”

What?

You quickly turned to the man, trying to understand what you had done wrong. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go in your head. You expected that Manjiro would be civil enough to at least apologize for his actions too or talk, not this.  “Wait, Manjiro, what did I say wrong-”

“You don’t even realize you’re the problem!” You nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden increase in his pitch as he bares out his frustration with you. “Em can never fucking shut up about how I need to apologize to you whenever I try to talk to her! It’s always about you, you, you! It’s frustrating.” he snapped. “Ever since you came into Em’s life, she just can’t help herself bringing you up. It’s always shit like ‘Oh, (name) is such a nice girl, you should talk to her, she’s a good listener.’ ‘Sorry I can’t come to the outings, I have to study with (name), you know she can’t go alone anywhere’ ‘Oh, this reminds me of (name), she can’t even say the word sex without hiding her face, she’s so innocent.’ She’s so fucking enamoured with you and we’re sick of it.”

You knew the brothers were extremely family motivated, but you had no idea that you were getting in the way of them spending time together. “I didn’t know...” Your voice shakes, tone apologetic as your gaze falls onto your lap. “I…I didn’t know I was causing a rift between you guys, I’m so sorry. I just want to make up for everything and put this behind us.”

A tense silence followed, and you didn't look up from your lap to look at Manjiro, still intimidated at his sudden outburst. You could understand their aversion to you, their family is quite close and their bonds intertwined; so for a stranger to barge in and attempt to tear things apart, even unknowingly can be frightening for them.

Not like you would know what it is like for family to love you.

Eventually, you feel Manjiro turn his gaze towards you, dark eyes scanning your figure until settling on you. You held your breath as he finally cleared his throat, turning his attention to you fully for the first time, ever as he began to speak.

“You want us to make up.”

His tone was plain, as opposed to how angry he sounded a few moments ago. Somehow, you feel weird, slightly more alert than before as he pauses again, goosebumps littering your skin. ‘What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so scared as he’s staring at me?’ you questioned yourself, before shaking your head, clearing your thoughts. ‘This is Mikey I’m with. Sure, he’s intimidating, but he would never hurt a girl. He’s a good guy.’

You decided to push your odd feelings aside. You were here for peace, not to think ill of him, not especially when you have a soft spot for him in your heart. And you wanted it to happen by any means necessary. Maybe showing him you were not a threat to his place in Emma’s life would make him feel much better around you. “I know that you may not trust me, but maybe if you got to know me better, and I also got to know you and your friends, you’ll see I mean no harm.”

“Is that so? You want us to know each other better?”

It was slight, but you could hear it. The slight mocking tone in his voice and instantly you felt stupid. It was clear he wasn’t taking you or your request seriously as you hoped he would, opting to see right through you instead as he stared at you, his gaze lingering to your hands lying in your lap.

“I-i feel like you’re not taking me seriously-"

“If you wore a longer skirt, then I wouldn’t have gotten so distracted.”

You instantly felt self-conscious when you realized where his gaze truly was from that moment on, and started dragging down your skirt to cover the space between your thighs and socks. The action only seemed to annoy him. “This is my problem with you. If you knew it was short, why did you wear it then?”

“I thought it was cute-” You felt stupider, uttering those words, but before you could say anything else, Mikey cut you off. “I never said it wasn’t cute, (name). It’s a cute skirt. It looks good on you.”

Your heart jumps in excitement at his compliment, your entire body getting warm at his words. “Really?” You uttered shyly, letting your guard down as a small smile crawls up your pretty lips.

“Yeah, real cute. You’d fit as one of the actresses featured in the schoolgirl category on a porn site.”

Your smile dropped instantly as the words left his mouth. “I’m not a slut.” your voice trembled, but just like arguing with your father, it’s no use. He let out a loud scoff, his gaze flickering from your face to your lap, settling between your legs. “But you dress like one. So might as well just perform for me, hmm?”

Your body tenses as you feel a hot palm grab at your exposed thigh, crawling underneath your skirt. You quickly push his hand off your thighs, earning a somewhat shocked reaction from him, as if he’s not used to being rejected. “I’m not…” you start to explain to him, slowly reaching for the door in a bid to escape. “... I don’t do things like that-”

“Does it look like I fucking care?” The blonde man snapped back at you, his surprise giving way to annoyance and he started to grab at your thighs again, only to be brushed off by you, angering him further. “I know you’re not as “innocent” as you claim to be. Stop fucking pretending. I know you want this!”

“I said I don’t do stuff like that! Stop it!” You yelled back at him, frustrated that he can’t just take no for an answer. You try to pry the door open or undo the latch, only to discover that it was stuck and that there was no way out.

‘No, no, no, no…’

Your heart starts hammering loudly in your chest, dread filling your veins when you realized how alone and utterly fucked you are.

You’re beginning to realize that Manjiro driving the both of you to a secluded place in the middle of nowhere was most likely intentional. He must have planned this so that no one would hear you both.

“Manjiro open the door or I’ll- I’ll-” 

“Or you’ll what?” He spat back, dangling the keys before your very eyes before putting it somewhere you couldn’t see. “You wanna open the door so bad? Get the key from me then.”

You’re quick to react, lunging forward in an attempt to snatch the key for him. He easily resisted you grabbing at his body while laughing at your repeated screams to stop. It was like the more you begged and pleaded for him to let you go, the more he liked whatever game he was playing.

“THIS ISN’T FUNN- MANJIRO!”

Your screaming did nothing to deter him from practically jumping on you and pinning your arms against your chest with one firm hand, a leg separating your thighs. You twisted and turned, trying to fight your way out of his tight grip but to no avail. He was heavy and stronger than you had imagined, holding onto you like you weighed nothing at all.

His other hand reached underneath your skirt, skimming through your panties, making you squirm in your position at the feeling. Panic rises against your chest as he pushes the crotch part aside, revealing your pussy. “Wait! Wait, please Manjiro, I’m a virgin-” you try to reason with him as he traces through a streak of your hairy vulva, curling a strand in one finger before moving to your clit.

“You don’t shave?” His tone is so casual, like he isn’t doing something very abhorrent and wrong right now. His question is left hanging in the air as his finger starts to slowly circle around your clit. "Not like I care, it's better this way, anyways."

You’ve never been touched before. You’ve never touched yourself there either. You grew up in a household that taught you that anyone who isn’t your husband touching you is wrong. Your body is a temple to be kept for your husband.

So when Mikey’s slow and sensual movement against your clit begins, your body nearly seizes up with sensitivity. A loud gasp escapes your lips, followed by heavy breathing, your body shuddering with something unfamiliar and electric, sending signals that you didn’t know how to respond.

He strokes you faster, rubbing your sensitive nub in circles that has your eyes glazing over and your hips moving to feel more of his touches, wetting his car seat and your skirt with arousal. Mikey watched with interest the way you closed your eyes tight, your head lolled towards the side as your chest rises and falls, quiet ‘oh’ leaving your lips. He started to take it a step further, leaning over to your neck and trails kisses from your pulse point, to your jawline. He moved up to your ear and his long tongue darted towards the shell, licking it.

“Manjiro-” You gasped at the foreign wetness, with each flick of his tongue, sending pleasurable shivers down your body to your very core. Encouraged by your somewhat positive response, he continues licking your earlobe, his teeth occasionally grazing the shell as his fingers progressively leaves your clit, gathering your slick between his two fingers and tracing the outline of your hole.

“Shit” he groaned, feeling how wet you were. “You’re so wet right now, I could just slide in your pussy with ease.”

You wanted to protest when you felt two thick fingers inch into your unused hole. You wanted to push him off you and run out of the car until you were far away from him. Every part of your mind, your heart, everything in you wants Mikey OFF you as he forces your hole to accept his fingers.

And yet, you couldn’t even scream, you couldn’t claw at his face to scratch his eyes out for doing this to you. No. Instead, you’re arching your back and breathing his name into his ears over and over again, your hands clenched tightly in his grip as his fingers stretched your pussy out. All you do is tear up and let this sick pervert lick the salt rolling down your cheeks off, before going back to kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty when you cry f’me. Come on, keep making those noises.” 

He curled up his fingers, experimentally looking for that spot as the burn graduated to a pleasurable stretch, repeated moans leaving your lips. He fingered you, progressively increasing his speed and pleasure overriding your senses as he circled his thumb over your poor nub, simultaneously with him curling up your g-spot.

Your body responded to his touches, lips kissing up and down your neck, licking your pulse point before sinking his teeth and mouth on it, making you gasp loudly.

Everything was too much. Your pussy tightened around his fingers, thighs trembling as he brought you closer to the edge. His lips left your neck and kissed up to your jaw, then the corner of your lips, pumping into you faster until you started to spasm.

“M-manjiro I-i feel, I feel- hngh-”

You arched your back uncomfortably with a strangled cry, soaking his fingers as your vision went blinding white. Your body trembled as he fucks and kisses you through your orgasm, shaking in his grasp until you fall limp on the chair, well spent.

You’re catching your breath as his fingers slid out of your pussy, a string of your cum connecting them. Manjiro looked at his soaked fingers with interest, before popping them in his mouth and humming to himself in approval. The sight feels so wrong to look at and you can’t find the strength to look away as he licked his fingers clean of your musky taste.

You don’t say anything when he let go of your wrists and adjusted your panties so that it covered your pussy. The blonde haired man climbed back to his seat, starting up the engine of his car again.

He doesn’t say anything when you start sobbing.

   “I GOT you food.”

You didn’t respond to Manjiro, hanging your face as tears rolled down your face. It’s the position you had assumed since he climbed off your body, something he couldn’t get you out. He thought that maybe if he got you some food, maybe you’ll ease up and eat.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Kissing his teeth, he entered back into the driver's seat before closing the door behind him, tossing the food at the back seat. You could tell from the way he was muttering underneath his breath that he was growing more annoyed with you. “Honestly, I don’t know why the hell you’re crying. You’re still a virgin. I didn’t force myself on you.”

You didn’t know what else to expect from him. That he would even offer you a shred of apology for what he did? The way his words are so callous, lacking any form of tact in the way he’s brushing off what he just did tore you apart.

Emma had painted this man as someone who would hang the moon and stars for her. Someone she knew she could call if anything was going to happen to her, who would fight through hell and back for her safety. She had told you of how he beat up anyone that touched her wrongly and how he would try to make her forget anything unpleasant. To Emma, Mikey was her knight in shining armor, her hero.

This was a man you had loved with all your heart. Manjiro was your first ever crush, and the more good you heard about him, not just from Emma, but from other girls too, the deeper you fell for him. You had admired him from afar, your heart set onto him as you hoped to be at least close to him. Despite everything, he was the sun in which everyone revolved around, the heart throb of your dreams.

But when you turn to look at him through your teary gaze, watching him rev up his car engine with a nonchalant expression on his face, all you see is a vile soul.

You felt sick.

“I’m going to tell Emma.”

Your voice was quiet, hoarse from all the sobbing but the anger was evident. There was no way you were going to let him get away scott free. You knew that the police would be as good as useless because you’ll have no evidence by the time you manage to file a complaint. The school authorities won’t help you either as Shinichiro Sano was one of their biggest benefactors and everyone in the faculty loved Manjiro despite his tendency to be disrespectful.

But if you told Emma, you know she’ll believe you. Even if the entire world was against you and for him, you would still be able to get her to take your side and stand with you.

You’re sure name dropping his little sister would make him scared at the very least. Mikey loved her to death, she had this perfect image of her sweet older brother that he has to uphold at the very least.

Without skipping a beat, he dropped his own phone straight onto your lap before continuing to focus on the road. Eyes wide, you turned your head to Mikey to see any form of reaction, even him flinching slightly.

Nothing.

Your mouth hung open at how he just blankly stared at the road ahead of him, his grip on the steering wheel normal as he drove you back to campus. As if he’s innocent, like he didn’t force his fingers into your panties and violate you.

His nonchalance irritates you; it’s as if he doesn’t care what you say or do to him.

“What?” you questioned him, wondering where the hell he dropped his humanity? Any other person would have reacted; begging you, threatening you or even giving a flimsy apology. “-why did you drop this on my lap?”

“You wanna call her? Go ahead.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Not like you told me no when I was fingering you.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Then how does it work?” He cuts you short, taking a right turn to park outside of your faculty building. He puts the car in park before turning to face you. “You walk up to my car to ask me if we could talk, wearing that kind of skirt that gave me access to you. When I told you to get out, you didn‘t leave. You never told me to stop and you didn’t struggle. You know what you did instead?”

“Sto-”

“Ah ah- Manjiro” he mocked you in a high pitched voice, making you cover your ears in humiliation, not wanting to hear anything from him. You wanted to throw up, ruin his car. You want the ground to swallow you whole, anything that would take him far away from you. “Ah, mmh Manjiro, mmh mhhh ah ah- you moan like a pornstar by the way. You seem like you enjoyed being treated like that.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you felt was bile rise up to your throat. A part of you nagged that he had a point; you never said anything that sounded like ‘stop’ or ‘no’ and how you positively responded to his touches. ‘You even orgasmed.’ A gnarly disgusting voice bubbles up in your head, in defense of Mikey. ‘It was obvious you enjoyed it. Every second of it.’

You tried to deny it. Try to block out that voice as you attempt to remember everything you were told about assault. You’re fighting a war in your head, against the intrusive voices as you picked up the phone to tell Emma. ‘She’ll believe me. She’ll believe me-’

“Face it. You’re just overreacting because you liked what we did.”

Those words were the final nail to the coffin. The phone lies in your limp hand, finger just above Emma’s line to call her. Everything that led up to this point involved your choices. To stay in his car. Not fighting harder. Never screaming no.

You let him dirty your temple.

Mikey spared you one more look, dark eyes scanning every inch of your crumpled form. He slides the device out of your hand, placing it back in the middle of his car before grasping your hand in his.

“Alright, stop crying.” he soothed in faux sympathy, thumb tracing over the back of your palm. “I’ll take you shopping and buy you new clothes, hmm? And I’ll buy you anything else you want. Okay?”

You should known better to believe him. After everything he has done to you, from consistently insulting you, to assaulting you and then making you feel guilty for giving him the opportunity to do so.

And yet, you’re nodding along, agreeing with him and letting his warmth engulf you. “Okay.” You said in a small voice, your free hand grasping the hem of your skirt tightly.

“Look at me.”

You felt another hand grasp your chin, forcing you to look at his face, dark eyes peering at your face. “I don’t like that look on your face.” You wince as his fingers tightened around your jaw, your heart hammering against your chest when he commanded you once again. “Smile.”

You don’t know what else to do. With Mikey, it’s like going to a war knowing fully well you would lose.

And so you do as you’re told. Your lips lifted at the corners forcefully and you gave your best smile. He returned it with a smile of his own, genuine to the point his eyes dilated.

“Good girl. You look so much better.”

Your mouth went dry at his statement when he withdrew from your body and unlocked the door for you. Deciding not to ponder on it, you reach for the handle to leave. You had a class in an hour’s time and you were supposed to meet up with Emma beforehand to return her laptop that you borrowed for her project.

“Wait.”

You paused in your tracks, your hand hovering above the door handle. What else does he want from you?

“Your makeup is ruined. Fix it. You don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea that I hurt you when we were just playing with each other.”

Bile rose into your mouth once again at his words, but you hold yourself from doing anything that would set him off. You only nodded in response before opening the door and exiting the car. Tears threatened to escape your eyes as you hurried off to class, your throat burning with anger as you gripped both your tote bag and the food he had gotten for you, hard. Your body shook with each step feeling the intensity of his dark eyes burning into you.

You never touched the food, throwing it in the trash bin due to your appetite eluding you, replaced with a sinking feeling of pain and humiliation into your stomach. You don’t make it to the rest of your classes either, opting to lock yourself in a toilet, a loud cry ripping from your throat into your palms as your heart breaks into tiny pieces.

How could this have happened?

Bonus Scene:

MIKEY never tore his gaze from you as you disappeared into the building. Dark eyes watched as your ass bounced in that jean skirt you had worn today, nearly reviving the boner he had prior. He had to admit, notwithstanding his absolute disgust for you, you were a sight for sore eyes - pretty, naive, inexperienced and tight. So goddamn tight.

He’s never been with an inexperienced girl before. Not even when he lost his virginity in high school. It didn’t hurt that you also had the sexiest thighs he’s ever seen either, soft and doughy underneath his touch.

You weren’t as stupid as he thought -far from it. Mikey knew your strategy; picking your battles carefully. You’re rightfully afraid of both him and Izana. You were even more afraid of losing face with Emma, the only friend you managed to make here, which is why you came to him because you felt guilty for making her mad at them.

If played right, they could have you underneath their thumb like they do with the rest of Emma’s other friends. All this was to keep an eye on their little sister in the long run, to restore the natural order and balance that was their system. Family came first, then the gang, then their friends and finally, if they cared enough, their lovers. It’s a cycle that Mikey is used to, being the center of attention in Emma’s life and sharing that space with Izana. Even Draken knew that there are times he shouldn’t intrude when the two brothers are with her.

But you had no regard for the order of things. You just tried to insert yourself into his and Izana’s circles, as if you were somebody of any importance and not just another, a little gnat.

To Mikey, you deserved to be crushed like the annoying gnat you are. Seeing you cry and tremble underneath his touch, hearing you moan and beg him like a slut made him feel good.

Mikey looked at the building again before looking at his watch. He had to attend his criminology lecture by 3pm since he had a presentation today and it was already 1:30pm, having taken out time to talk to you. The frat member he gave his presentation to edit must be waiting for him at the coffee shop.

“I might not be able to meet up with ‘Zana.” He muttered, picking up his phone to dial him up instead. Finally, after the fifth ring, his line went through, his rough voice echoing through the phone.

“Mikey? What is it?”

Mikey could hear a bit of shuffling from the other end of the phone, and a quiet “Izana” spilling from a rather feminine voice, only for Izana to bark at the girl to shut up, effectively silencing her.

“Did I catch you at the wrong time?”

“No.” He grumbled. “Do you have any updates on Emma?”

“In a way, yes. I do.”

“In a way?”

“I have a feeling you’re not going to like my plan, regardless.”

Izana sighed from the other side of the line, probably sick and tired of the constant mind games Emma was playing with them and to be fair, even he was sick of it as well. Their little sister was easy to annoy but easier to please; so for her not to be as forgiving this time was frustrating. Mikey had played every game in the book he knew to please Emma and even Izana had put in far more effort than he cared to, but nothing worked.

Unless…

“It involves her, doesn’t it?”

Mikey could hear the irritation in his brother's voice, but then again, if they wanted peace to reign and for Shinichiro not to get directly involved in this issue in your favour, they were going to have to play it the smarter way.

“Not like we have a choice. Emma’s attached to that girl by the hip. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

Also, it doesn't hurt to have a little fun on the side.

author's notes: reblogs, comments and asks are highly appreciated. my taglist for all my fics are wide open, so do ensure to sign up. please be very patient with me as for updates, school has started and i may not be able to be consistent, but i will try my very best to finish this story this year.

I do not consent to my works being promoted, published or translated on any site or social media without my permission.

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[writteninlunarlight-years]

~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~

This is a lovely commission from a moon of mine. They wish to be anonymous, but I do have a brief description of the headcanons. I would like their reactions to finding out their s/o is self-harming, how they would try to help them day to day, and what new coping strategies they would suggest/get them to try. I'd like this with Lucifer, Alastor, and Vox. Romantic Lucifer, Alastor & Vox caring for Reader

TW: SELF-HARM MENTIONED, COPING SKILLS (These may not work for everyone), ANGST/FLUFF

Lucifer:

When Lucifer found you that day, he was devastated. You were so frail and small in his arms, and it hurt his soul.

He cleaned you up carefully and bandaged all your wounds. Holding you close to his chest, telling you how much you mean to him.

It was common knowledge to everyone how much he cared for you and how he compared you to the angels in heaven themselves.

He didn't leave your side for weeks, helping you through every emotion and thought that crossed your mind.

He was honestly a little overbearing, making you feel worse that he was dedicating his whole life to you.

When you brought this up with him, he calmed down on the clinginess but still routinely checked up on you.

He enlisted Charlie and Vaggie, two of the people he trusted most in the world next to you, to find better ways to help you avoid reverting to harm.

He took the learned material seriously and began helping you set up healthy routines again slowly.

He helped you with big tasks that felt way too much at the time while still giving you the independence you needed.

He made sure you two went on 'hot girl walks' once a day to help you get more vitamin D.

He conjured a whole gym area for you in the hotel after learning the endorphins in exercise would help.

If you ever had a dark day or a bad event, he would re-cling himself to you.

Even if you protested, he was right there, ready to go and assist you.

He told you daily how much he loved and cared for you and helped remind you how needed you are in this realm.

Alastor:

Alastor rarely felt broken in his human or demon life. Not often did anything shake him to his core.

The day he found you, though, near death and fading, he was a broken man indeed.

You were not allowed to leave his arms no matter how hard Charlie or other inhabitants asked him to let you be looked at by another.

He had years of wound care experience, so he took to cleaning and tending to you.

Was it mentioned that he was in complete demon form the whole time? Well, he was, and he was so angry at the world but so gentle with you.

He wasn't as clingy as Lucifer; instead, he was a silent observer, only coming when asked.

He refused to let you out of his sight, though, making sure that if you weren't physically with him, his shadow was nearby.

He basically destroyed your room by looking for anymore harmful objects. He made up for it, though, by getting you brand-new everything.

"A brand new you is refreshing, my love letting go of the bad.'

He helped you dye and cut your hair when you decided to go with the whole new me look.

He took your eating habits to heart and ensured you had three meals a day, all prepared by him.

Good nutrients would significantly improve your mental health and give you more energy and stamina.

Every morning, when he woke by your side, he would remind you, "You are never fully dressed without a smile, my love."

Vox:

Vox is a big baby on almost anything, especially when things don't go his way or play out how he expects them to.

He never expected to be serious and somber about anything detrimental until he found you that day.

He was terrified of losing you, and his immediate reaction was to hold you close and get you to a hospital.

Man has every tech device in Pentagram City, but he knew what you needed was far beyond his scammy gizmos and gadgets.

Once in the hospital, he was pacing the room, wearing a grove into the floor.

Once you were cleared and ready to go home, he asked you simple fundamental questions, ranging from a simple "why" to a more in-depth "How can I help you?"

He knew that when you answered in shrugs and 'I don't know,' he would have to do the grunt work to help his love.

He talked to doctor after doctor and scoured the web to find all the best remedies to help you.

He took up yoga with you, and right after yoga ended, he would sit with you in a warm bath and talk about what you thought.

When you fully started opening up to him about the dark thoughts clouding your brain, he was already prepared to help.

He helped you cleanse your social media and even recommended good, worthy shows to distract you from your thoughts.

Vox loved you more than life itself and couldn't imagine a world without you in it.

He made sure every day you knew that you would look in the mirror at him lovingly holding you and remind yourself of that, too.

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.4

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: Y/N, restrained and tortured, learns from Francis that her regeneration causes others to suffer in her place. As the pain intensifies, she weakly mutters his name before passing out.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3927

Wade was a broken man, trapped in a relentless cycle of despair and obsession. His life, once marked by chaos and humor, had become an endless string of sleepless nights and futile searches.

The warehouse, which had once been a safe place of his independence and creativity, was now a pitiful reflection of his deteriorating mental state. It was cluttered with stacks of documents, photographs pinned disorganised on the walls, and maps dotted with red circles and frantic scribbles. Every inch of the space was covered in evidence of his failed search for Y/n, and the air was stuffy with the odor of stale coffee and unwashed clothes.

Wade's physical appearance mirrored his mental decline. He had lost weight, his once muscular frame now gaunt and sickly. His suit, once his pride, was now old and stained. The red and black fabric was faded, a wretched testament to his endless struggles.

His face, usually masked by his signature humor, was now painted with deep lines of exhaustion and despair. His eyes, once sharp and full of mischief, were now hollow and bloodshot, reflecting the sleepless nights and relentless guilt that hunted him.

The daily routine was monotonous and the same.

Wade would spend hours looking over the maps and documents, his fingers stained with ink and coffee. He would pace the warehouse, muttering to himself as he memorised every detail of his search. The endless cycle of hope and disappointment had messed up his sanity. Every time a lead turned out to be a dead end, it felt like another nail in his coffin.

Weasel had tried everything to break through to him. He had been by Wade's side through every failed attempt, every new lead that went nowhere. But as the years wore on, his patience began to wear thin.

Dopinder, too, had grown weary. He had watched Wade's descent into obsession with a heavy heart, and the silence in Altheas apartment was often emphasised by the sound of Weasel's frustrated sighs.

One evening, after yet another dead-end search, Weasel finally exploded. His face was flushed with anger and exhaustion as he stormed into the room. The narrow space, filled with the waste of Wade's obsessive quest, seemed to close in around him.

He slammed a stack of papers onto the table, the documents scattering and fluttering across the floor. "Wade, this is fucking insane!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "We've been at this for years! We've gone through every fucking corner of this city and beyond, and there's nothing. She's gone. You need to accept that!"

Wade, hunched over the table, looked up with hollow eyes. His face was pale, his expression a mix of desperation and confrontation. "Don't you fucking tell me that! She's out there. I know it. I can feel it. I promised I'd protect her. I can't just fucking let go."

Dopinder, who had been standing quietly, finally spoke. His voice was steady but laced with frustration. "Sir, he's right. This obsession is making you lose your mind. As you know, I once felt similar to Gita because of my cousin. It's time to face reality. Kidnapping Bandhu and going after her as you told me was not the move. She's not coming back."

Wade's face twisted in torment. "I can't stop. I made a promise to her. I have to keep looking. If I stop, it means I failed her."

Weasel's anger softened into a weary sadness.

"Wade, look at yourself. You're barely holding it together. This obsession is destroying you. It's okay to accept that she's gone. You can't keep going like this."

The argument had reached a fever pitch when Althea, arrived unannounced. She entered the room with a smirk sensing a suffocating atmosphere.

"Well, well, well," Althea drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at you, Wade. You're like a fucking stray dog, clawing at every lead and getting nowhere. Pathetic, really. You've been digging through garbage for years, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing but a dirty room and a broken spirit."

Wade's eyes flared with anger and pain. "Shut up, Althea. You have no idea what this is like."

"Oh, I have an idea. You're just like a cockroach, scuttling around in the dark, hoping for a crumb. And look at you now- your obsession has turned you into a fucking joke. A pitiful, little joke."

The cruel words cut deep. Wade's resolve finally began to crumble under the weight of his guilt and the relentless pressure from his friends. He slumped into a chair, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the immensity of his failure.

Weasel placed a hand on Wade's shoulder, his voice soft but firm. "You did everything you could. It's time to take care of yourself. You've been searching for years. It's okay to let go."

Wade's voice was a broken whisper. "Fine. Fine. She's dead. I get it. She's gone." The admission felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

The room fell into a heavy silence. He sat alone in the dim light of the warehouse, feeling a hollow emptiness that no amount of searching could fill. The dream of finding Y/n and making things right had ended in crushing defeat.

Guilt catching up on him, eating away at whatever was left of his sanity. He should have been there for her, should have protected her. He would failed her, just like he had failed Vanessa.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

As Wade's search faded into a resigned acceptance of her death, Y/N's reality became one of unending horror.

Francis, the man responsible for her capture, took pleasure in her suffering, using her as a pawn in his twisted game of revenge against Wade.

The sterile, metallic walls of her prison reflected her pain back at her, a constant reminder of the nightmare she could not escape. And as the torture escalated, so too did her resolve- she would survive this, if only to make sure Francis paid for what he had done.

Each day, Francis would enter, his footsteps echoing down the corridor before the door creaked open. He was always methodical, almost clinical in his approach, but his eyes betrayed a sadistic pleasure in what he was about to do.

He would start with the physical pain.

The tools varied- sometimes it was the sharp blade of a scalpel, cutting into her flesh; other times, it was the searing burn of heated metal pressed against her skin, leaving behind the burned smell of charred flesh.

But no matter how much she bled or how deeply the burns seared, Francis always had more in store for her, never satisfied with just one form of torture.

As Francis stood over her, his expression cold and unfeeling, a stark contrast to the cruel image that flickered in his eyes. His hands moved quickly as he secured the straps around her wrists and ankles, ensuring she could not move even an inch. Y/n's breaths were shallow and weak, each one a reminder of the agony her body had endured.

"Comfortable?" Francis asked, his voice dripping with mockery. He leaned over her, his face close enough that she could see the sick pleasure in his eyes.

Y/n managed to muster a weak glare, her voice a raspy whisper, "Go to hell."

He smiled, a cold, predatory grin that made her stomach turn. "Oh, we're already there, sweetheart." He nodded to one of his servants, who stepped forward with a large, filthy rag and a bucket of water. The sight of the bucket made Y/n's heart race, a surge of primal fear washing over her.

"Let's see how long you can hold your breath," Francis said, his tone almost casual, like they were discussing the weather.

The servant threw the rag over Y/n's face, the old fabric scraping against her raw skin. Her world became dark, the air around her thick and suffocating. Panic set in immediately, her body instinctively struggling against the restraints, but it was useless. She was trapped, helpless beneath the weight of the rag and the knowledge of what was coming next.

Francis stepped back, savoring the moment before giving a slight nod. The servant tilted the bucket, and the water poured out in a steady stream, soaking the rag and filling her mouth and nose. It was cold, a shock to her already trembling body, but that was quickly replaced by a more immediate terror.

Y/n exhausted, her body screaming for air, but all she could do was choke on the water. It felt like she was drowning, like her lungs were filling with liquid fire. Her mind screamed at her to breathe, to cough, to do anything to expel the water, but it was impossible. The rag was an unforgiving barrier, the water relentless as it flooded her senses.

"Do you know what the worst part is, Y/n?" Francis's voice cut through the roaring in her ears, his tone conversational as if they were chatting over tea.

"Wade's not coming for you. He's probably already forgotten you, moved on to the next whore who'll get caught up in his mess. You're nothing to him now. Just another casualty of his fucked-up life."

His words were a blade, slicing through the last threads of her resolve. Y/n wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong, but all she could do was gag on the water that filled her throat, her body arching off the table in a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating torture.

Francis watched her struggle with cold detachment, his hands clasped behind his back. "He's not worth this, you know," he continued, his voice low and insidious. "You're suffering for nothing. For a man who doesn't even have the decency to keep searching for you. How long do you think you've been here, Y/n? Days? Months? Years?"

Her mind spun, disoriented by the lack of oxygen and the overwhelming need to breathe. Time had lost all meaning in this place, each moment stretching into an eternity of pain and fear. She did not know how long she had been here, but it felt like forever. And the thought that Wade had given up on her, that he had moved on... it was a torture all its own.

Francis nodded again, and the water stopped. The rag was ripped away, and Y/n gasped, coughing violently as her lungs finally found air. Her body shaken violently, trying to dodge the water that had nearly drowned her, each breath a ragged, painful gasp.

But Francis was not done. He leaned down, his face close to hers, his voice a poisonous whisper. "He's not coming for you. No one is. You're all alone, Y/n. And this... this is your life now."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the pain and terror, a spark of defiance still flickered. She would not let him break her. Not like this.

Y/n turned her head, her eyes meeting his with a fierce determination. "Fuck... you," she spat, her voice hoarse but filled with venom.

Francis straightened, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "We'll see how long that fire lasts," he said, stepping back as the servant prepared for the next round of water.

And as the rag was placed over her face once more, Y/n braced herself for the flood, for the darkness that threatened to consume her. But she would hold on to that little hope, no matter how small it was. Because it was all she had left.

Days turned into a blur of pain and despair. The cycle of waterboarding became just one of many methods Francis employed to break her spirit. The physical torment was relentless, but it was the psychological warfare that truly triggered her. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in ensuring that she remained as mentally shattered as she was physically.

Francis knew how to break a person from the inside out. He was a master of manipulation, weaving a web of lies and half truths designed to trigger her spirit.

He would lean in close, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered cruel taunts. "You really thought Wade would come for you?". He would say, his voice dripping with malice.

His words were like poison, getting into her mind, making her question everything she had believed. She tried to resist, to cling to the hope that Wade was still out there, searching for her, but with each passing day, that hope vanished.

The isolation, the constant pain, and the relentless psychological assault began to wear her down. Francis took every opportunity to remind her of how alone she was, how forgotten she had become.

He had a way of getting inside her head, twisting her thoughts until she did not know what was real anymore. He played mind games with her, altering the timing of her torture sessions so she could never expect when the next wave of pain would come. Sometimes he would leave her in darkness for days, the silence broken only by the distant echoes of other prisoners' screams, a constant reminder of her own doom.

As the years dragged on, Y/n changed. She had lost track of how long she had been trapped in that hellhole. The days had bled together in a blur of agony and despair. The torture had done more than scar her body- it had twisted her mind, turning her into something she barely recognized.

The physical pain was constant, but it was the psychological torment that truly broke her. The things Francis had done to her, the things he had made her believe about Wade, had planted a seed of hatred in her heart, one that grew with every day of her captivity.

The isolation was suffocating. Y/n found herself questioning her own memories, her own worth. The lines between reality and the lies Francis fed her began to blur. She started to believe that Wade had forgotten her, that she was not worth saving. The thought of him moving on, living a life without her, filled her with a rage she had never known before- a rage that Francis eagerly thrilled.

Six years had passed in a relentless blur of pain and suffering since the accident, leaving Y/n in the dark, cramped cell. Her bruised body and broken spirit showed the unending cruelty she had endured.

The cell was a dark, oppressive space, highlighted only by a sliver of moonlight that struggled through a foggy window. Y/n laid crumpled on the cold concrete floor, her body twisted in exhaustion.

The air was heavy, the stench of old blood and sweat mingling with the scent of despair. Her clothes, once white, were now an old and torn mess, barely clinging to her damaged frame. Her skin was marked with bruises and burns, each one a testament to the relentless cruelty she had faced.

Breathing was a struggle, each inhale short and shallow, as if her lungs were weighed down by the enormity of her torture. Her eyes, hollow and unfocused, drifted across the cracked walls. She mumbled to herself, her voice barely more than a whisper, choked by the weight of her guilt and despair.

"They're... they're suffering because of me," she murmured, her voice breaking with the weight of her own realization. "They're dying... and I'm... I'm still here..."

Her thoughts were a mess, separated by the horror she had endured and witnessed. The echoes of distant screams and cries seemed to mess with her mind, though she knew they were not her own. Each cry, each plea for help, was a stark reminder of the suffering she had become intertwined in.

She tried to push away the images and sounds of others' suffering, but they seemed to get into her consciousness, an unending reminder of the pain she had without intention caused.

"Why... why can't I stop this?" she mumbled, her voice stammering. "Why am I the one who's still alive, when they... they're not?"

She felt a intense sense of disconnection from reality, as if the walls of her cell were closing in on her, pressing her down with the weight of her guilt. The thought that her continued survival meant the maintenance of others' suffering was unbearable. She was a vessel of pain, a curse that dragged others into hell with her.

In the silence of her cell, the only sound was her quiet mumbling and the occasional shudder of her body. Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic blur, a never- ending loop of self-blame and guilt. Despite the crushing weight of her situation, a small, flickering hope remained. It was this tiny spark, barely noticeable that drove her to plan her escape.

The day of Y/n's escape had finally arrived, though its outcome remained uncertain. Her heart pounded in her chest as the guards dragged her into a dark metal room, the weight of her chains clinking with every step.

As she was forced to lay on the cold metal table, her body trembling from the effects of the latest torture, a spark of resistance still burned within her.

They had locked her in a small, dark box this time, the temperature slowly dropping until she could see her breath in the air, until her fingers went numb and her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

The cold seeped into her bones, turning her blood to ice. She could feel the frost forming on her skin, tiny crystals of ice biting into her flesh. It hurt- God, it hurt- but she refused to scream. Screaming would only give them the satisfaction of knowing they had won.

The box was so small that she could not move, could not even shift her position to relieve the pressure on her aching joints. The darkness was suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. She could not see anything, could not hear anything but the faint sound of her own breathing, growing shallower as the cold tightened its grip on her lungs. She focused on that sound, using it to ground herself, to keep from slipping into the abyss of madness that threatened to consume her.

When they finally pulled her out, her body was shaking so badly that she could barely stand. They threw her back onto the table, chaining her wrists and ankles so tightly that the metal bit into her skin. She could feel the blood trickling down her arms, warm against the chill that still clung to her. Francis stood over her, a smug smile on his face as he looked down at her shivering form.

"You're stronger than I expected," he said, his voice cold and clinical. "But everyone breaks eventually. It's just a matter of time."

Y/n did not respond. She did not have the strength to. She lay there, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths, her eyes half-closed. To Francis, she looked like she was on the brink of passing out, just another victim of his sadistic games. But Y/n was far from unconscious. She was waiting.

Francis turned away, motioning for the guards to prepare her for the next round of torture. They moved around her, their footsteps heavy on the concrete floor. Y/n waited until one of them leaned in close, unlocking the chain around her wrist. In that split second, she struck.

With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, she grabbed the guard's arm and yanked it toward her, using his own momentum to pull him off balance. Her hand found the sharp shard of ice she had hidden, formed from the frost that had coated her body during the freezing torture.

She drove it into his throat with all the force she could muster. The man gurgled, blood spurting from the wound as he collapsed to the ground, the life draining from his eyes.

"Fuck, she broke ou-"

The second guard barely had time to react before she was on him, the makeshift weapon flashing in the dim light as she drove it into his chest. He staggered back, clutching at the wound as blood poured from between his fingers. Y/n did not stop to watch him fall. She was already moving, her body fueled by a desperate, animalistic need to survive.

Francis turned, his eyes widening in shock as he saw her standing over the bodies of his guards, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "You-" he started, but she did not give him a chance to finish. She lunged at him, the ice shard slicing through the air, aiming for his throat. But Francis was quicker than she had anticipated. He dodged to the side, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip.

She struggled, but he was stronger, his hand tightening around her wrist until she could feel the bones grinding together. Pain shot up her arm, but she refused to let go of the shard. She twisted, bringing her knee up into his gut. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for her to pull free.

Y/n did not waste any time. She turned and ran, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she sprinted down the hallway. She could hear Francis shouting behind her, calling for more guards, but she did not stop. She did not look back. All she could think about was getting out, getting away from this place and the horrors it held.

The facility was a labyrinth of sterile hallways and locked doors, but she knew it well. She had been dragged through these corridors enough times to memorize every turn, every exit. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, her lungs burning with the effort, but she pushed herself harder, refusing to let the exhaustion slow her down.

Finally, she burst through a door and into the open air. The night was cold, the sky a dark, starless void above her. But the chill was a welcome relief after the suffocating confines of the facility. She did not stop running, her feet pounding against the ground as she made her way toward the fence that surrounded the compound.

She could hear the guards behind her, their shouts growing louder as they closed in. But she did not care. She was almost there, almost free. With a final burst of strength, she launched herself at the fence, scrambling up the chain-link like a wild animal. Her hands were slick with blood and sweat, making it hard to keep her grip, but she refused to let go. She hauled herself over the top, her body crashing to the ground on the other side with a painful thud.

She did not stop. She could not. Ignoring the pain that shot through her limbs, she pushed herself to her feet and started running again, disappearing into the night, leaving the facility and Francis behind.

But the damage had been done.

As she ran through the darkened forest, the memories of the past years haunted her, flashing before her eyes like a twisted film reel. The torture, the pain, the manipulation- they had all left their mark on her. She was no longer the woman she had been when she first entered that facility. That woman was dead, buried beneath the layers of trauma and hatred that now consumed her.

And as she ran, one thought burned brighter than all the others: Wade Wilson had abandoned her. He had left her to suffer, to be broken by Francis and him.

[kooki914]

Nobody asked and yet you're getting it anyway, my Dess interpretation! Tbf I love a lot of other people's Dess designs maybe more than my own based on complexity/symbology alone, but this is what my original take for her was so I'm sticking to it. Extremely long list of factoids for her under the cut!

Dess hasn't seen a hairbrush in 8 years.

Opening her first fountain was an accident, and so was entering the dark world, but it was something she desperately needed at that point. She was knighted by Spade King, before being dubbed the Roaring Knight by the general public after she opened the second fountain and people started (correctly) assuming she was trying to cause the apocalypse.

Dess is mtf trans! She was out since she was 9, and took puberty blockers for a while, but stopped after she disappeared because she, y'know, didn't have access to them anymore. Strangely, even though she's been off of them for so long, there's very few side effects. You can just see her Adam's apple sometimes and muscle mass started building for her easily, but that's it. She's silently grateful that her dad didn't pass down any beard-making genes.

The reason why it's been so mild is due in part because of the effect of being in the "void" for too long, aka the space so dark and isolated you can't even feel your own limbs. She was stuck in the code of the game, basically, and it's had adverse effects on her mentally and physically, the only positive effect being less testosterone production in her body.

The physical effects are odd. Though she's grown and her body's age is what it would've been if she never disappeared, she's still in the same clothes she was when she ran away, but they sized up with her. The black nail polish she had on is still there too, not even chipped. As previously mentioned, her hormones are out of whack but, somehow, she's still clearly a grown adult, as if she just went through a very, very mild puberty.

The mental effects of being stranded in the literal nothingness are as expected as they are odd. The standard effects of not having contact with another person for so long have, somehow, never taken hold. It's like the social part of her brain was just put on pause. However, part of the madness she DID get was her very much considering her memories might just be made up. As if she was always here and managed to, somehow, delude herself into thinking she had a life outside of this place, when she never did. Essentially, she stopped existing, but retained some level of consciousness.

The whole "not existing for a while" thing as well as the fact that she's pre-hrt trans means she absolutely hates mirrors. Give her a mirror and she'll give back about a hundred shards of it. When she was younger she usually just had dysphoria over looking too boyish (hence why she never cut her hair) but nowadays she has weird feelings about something as simple as Having Knees (the existential horror of having a body after being formless in the nothingness during your formative years).

Her journey as the Knight was mostly about rediscovering herself, trying to find purpose and trying to help the people around her. She spent her whole life feeling helpless, and wanted to destroy that feeling, for everyone. Her violent behavior was rewarded by the equally maladjusted Spade King, and they teamed up under the pretense of helping all of darkner kind.

Dess set out to cause the Roaring, per his instruction, without knowing what it even was. All she knew is that, apparently, she was the only one who could, and that gave her a sense of purpose. Once she learned it'd bring about the end of the world, she was so detached from the world that she carried on anyway, not concerned with the life that could be lost because, god, she spent so long outside it, how COULD she know what life was worth now?

Dess went by neutral pronouns (they/it) as the Knight because it was another mask she used to distance what she Knew of herself and what she Had to be (kind of like Asriel calling himself "Flowey" in Undertale, actually). Being called "her" was too familiarising and humanising, being called "he" made her break out into hives and start killing, so she stuck with the alternatives for utilitarian reasons. Somewhere along the way she got sick of it and started missing her feminine pronouns, but decided to just stick to the bit anyway. The world was gonna end soon anyhow, who cares?

Once she's out of the role of Knight and back in the light world, you bet your ass she's switching back to exclusively she/her. Fuck neutrality, this girl needs gender affirmative language.

Rediscovering music, and specifically playing and making music, was one of the things that helped Dess get back in touch with being a person again after the whole Knight debacle. She plays piano and harmonica of her own volition, and the violin because of her mom's insistence, but her true favourite will always be the guitar. She was a little small as a kid so playing it used to be difficult, but now that she's an adult having it in her lap is easy, and honestly it just makes her feel alive. One of those dreams she had as a kid that she forgot about along the way, y'know?

Her and Asriel were just family friends at first, but when they ended up going to the same class together too, they quickly became best friends. They were there for each other through everything, Dess got Asriel into games, he was there when she came out, and they were practically inseparable. Asriel was a hard worker and Dess was a super active sports kid, they balanced each other out well and were known as the highest achievers in their class, the golden kids.

Kris and Noelle got dragged into their adventures basically on accident, Noelle because Dess was the one babysitting her all the time, and Kris because they wanted to spend time with their brother. They often spent time outside together because Dess loved being anywhere but at home. She didn't mind Azzy's house, though. Kris was a lot to deal with sometimes and Dess scolded them in a lot of the same ways adults scolded her (minus the hitting them over the head with stuff, what was all her). She has no idea the impact she's had on their behavior.

She was always kind of violent, but when she was younger it wasn't really an issue, more like an excuse to get her into sports. She learned to act out because causing problems was the only context in which she'd get attention from her very busy parents. With Noelle specifically, Dess took on a semi-parental role and quickly developed a habit of taking on way more burdens than she could handle. Even with Asriel as a best friend and the Dreemurrs as a surrogate family, the control her mother Clarice commanded over her life was just too limiting. It all boiled over.

Dess started lashing out at other kids around when puberty hit, starting fights and genuinely hurting people. She never got expelled because her mother was the mayor, but Dess started getting grounded more and more often, which meant less and less time with her only real friend, and more with her very dysfunctional family. She loved Noelle, but her little sister became another responsibility, another liability that could get Dess in trouble, it was way too much for her to handle maturely when she was only 13.

Dess "disappeared" because she ran away from home. She hated living there, but neither of her parents could admit that, hence her disappearance being so "mysterious" to the other townsfolk, they genuinely thought she vanished from inside the house. It was only after Kris admitted they saw her in the woods near the bunker that night that the case got more complicated, and the legend only grew more terrifying.

Her original plan was to just catch a bus to out of town and hope for the best, but when she ran into the woods in pitch blackness, she couldn't find her way around. She was too reliant on light, and couldn't manage in darkness. She found the bunker in her aimless wandering and, hoping to sleep off the night and make up excuses in the morning, she went inside. She couldn't have known that nothing was in there.

The effects of her sudden disappearance rippled throughout the whole town. Most obviously, Asgore got fired for not being able to find her and Rudy quit his job to be a stay at home dad for Noelle's sake. Less tangibly, Asriel and Clarice both started burying themselves in work to avoid grief. Kris and Noelle socially shut down for a few years, it's why neither of them have any real friends other than the strained relationship they have with each other. Asriel took on Dess' habit of "be anywhere but home" when his parents started having marital problems, and Kris latched onto him even harder to avoid losing any more people in their life. Through all this, Dess was nowhere, silently wondering if anyone even noticed she's gone, if her life was even real to begin with.

One of the strange things that happened to her while stranded in nothingness was almost being able to hear someone mumbling to themselves. When she called out, the voice vanished, only to re-emerge an uncertain amount of time later and excuse himself for getting startled. He just doesn't get guests often, you see. And guests get him even more rarely. It was refreshing to hear a consciousness separate from her own, but his mind was even more broken than hers, unable to answer her questions about what was real and what was imagined as he seemed to think he himself was a product of unreality. Plus, he never really stayed for too long and he never wanted to talk about himself either, as if mentioning his own name could shatter him to pieces.

The reason Dess didn't lose her mind from to his influence like Jevil and Spamton did was because she's just fundamentally pragmatic. You can throw philosophy and existential questions at her all you want but as long as she talks and thinks, she exists, which means reality is Something, even if it's completely eluding her grasp. It might also have something to do with her being a (homestuck warning) Void player, meaning the idea of the innate meaninglessness of life and unanswerable questions about reality itself don't really sound earth-shattering to her.

She used her knife to open fountains at first, the one she brought with her from the light world, but along the way she picked up a rapier and decided it was way cooler than a knife so it's her go-to now. She's not actually that good with swords, though. She uses them like baseball bats. Despite this, Spade King still praises her as if she's the best warrior they've seen in generations. It might've gone to her head.

Her relationship with King is fundamentally a mentor and a student. He gave her flawed information, but taught her a lot about herself, the world she found herself in, and the role she could choose. And, that's the most important part, he let her CHOOSE, because he was genuinely under the impression that she was just a really powerful darkner and not a lightner. His strictness and high standards reminded her of her parents, mostly her mom, but his willingness to give HER control over her own destiny is what made her favour him over every other adult in her life. Discipline that treated her like a valued person rather than an asset was basically unheard of for her until then. Plus, reminding her of her parents gave Spade the bonus of every time he encouraged her on anything it'd activate the "parental approval" neurons in her brain that were terribly starved up to that point.

From Spade's point of view, the Knight (as a darkner) is everything he wants to be, but can't be. At first he mentored her mostly as an excuse to live vicariously through her, but in getting to know her better he discovered they have a lot more in common than he first thought. Unregulated emotions, unresolved pasts, the constant feeling that you need to do More and Louder in order to make any kind of impact... he started to genuinely care about her. If/when he's redeemed, finding out the Knight has been a lightner this whole time might not even be that much of a betrayal. Seeing her face and learning her name as she apologies for lying is like reconnecting with his own wounded, younger self. Letting it be water under the bridge means he doesn't lose connection to himself again, doesn't lose connection with his best student. Plus, December IS a nice name.

She met Lancer, but didn't pay him much mind. She was busy with overthrowing the other Kings and was too tired to be a babysitter again. Due to her rancid vibes as the Knight (and the fact that she quickly became the favoured child even though it wasn't her intention) Lancer doesn't like her that much. She left Card Kingdom pretty quickly, anyway (Spade's advice to seek another worthy kingdom to grant a fountain to), so she never got much of a chance to get to know him, even if she wanted to.

Her relationship with Queen is even more fraught. Due to Queen's tendency to mimic the "mother" personality for every lightner she meets individually, as well as her more Explicitly Controlling tendencies, Dess quickly became rebellious and then antagonistic towards her. Queen tried to choose FOR her, to get her to open fountains on HER terms, and Dess wasn't having it. Yes, following Queen's instructions would've caused the Roaring much, MUCH sooner, but, like. Not at ALL in a satisfying way.

She has no idea who Gaster is. When asked, she'll assume he's a Darkner. If asked about the man in the nothingness, she'll shrug it off. Now that she's out, she doesn't know if he's actually real or something she just made up in her head, though she laughs that off as well. "I sound a lot like him when saying that, huh?"

Learning Asriel goes to college is complete whiplash for her. Her sense of time is WRECKED. Like, yeah, she can wrap her head around Noelle and Kris being teens now, but ASRIEL??? What do you MEAN he's not still stressing over chemistry exams and cramming for spanish class, and is, like, actually studying something he's interested in???? Unheard of.

She makes fun of him SO much for his little beard stubble, dude. It's all in good fun, but like, you can only be called "mini Asgore" so many times by your childhood best friend before it starts to cut deeper. On the flipside he has literally nothing bad to say to her. She nearly caused the apocalypse, but like, he gets it. He would've done the same in her shoes (hooves??). He thinks her Dark World armour is so kickass and he could never pull it off like she can.

Unsurprisingly Asriel has a crush on Dess. He always kinda had one, even when they were kids, but reconnecting as adults just Fully bashed him over the head with the fact that he's had repressed feelings for her and he has NO idea what to do about it. He's anxiety incarnate and thinks Dess already KNOWS he has a crush on her and just isn't saying anything because she's playing it cool, or doesn't wanna hurt his feelings, or thinks he's too lame to date or something. He thinks she's the coolest person who ever lived and has no idea how to cope.

Meanwhile in reality, Dess is a clueless aro/ace. She doesn't really know what having a crush even means. She thinks being a couple is, like, flirting and fighting behind closed doors (you can tell the only couples she knew personally were her parents and Asriel's parents), so she thinks it's just exhausting and doesn't know why anyone bothers. When Noelle tells her she has a crush on Susie Dess is like "Hell yeah, love is love........ wait do you mean you like her or you want her to crush you with a boulder" and Noelle sweats for a while before replying with "b-both?"

Dess has never been to Castletown. Most likely will never go.

Her and Kris reconnecting is a bit awkward at first, mostly on account of the fact that Kris and their posse are the ones that had her bash her over the head as the Knight to get her to behave in the first place, but Dess doesn't really focus on that. Kris thinks they hurt her, she just thinks of them as a little hero. Susie kinda helps facilitate them talking like people again, at least at first, because she has no baggage with Dess other than hitting her with an ax over dark fountains and getting stabbed in return, but like... Out of all the people they fought Dess is the only one who actually said sorry for being a jackass, so it's all good in Susie's book. Kris is just happy to have Dess back, man, that bunker and their memory of it has been haunting them for entirely too long, now.

Like Kris and Asriel, Dess learned how to play piano in church. Unlike them, and unlike Noelle, Dess has actually become fully agnostic after her time in the void. If there IS an angel looking out for her, it certainly isn't one that could've helped her, so what's the point of worship? Plus, Asriel and Noelle are two angels looking out for her as is! Why add divinity to that? (I am extremely subtle, I know.)

To this day, she's still apologising to Asgore for getting him fired. He is still apologising for not being able to find her. It's a pity party.

No-one tell her parents but she smokes weed. Once she reformed from being the Knight, she had a lot on her mind, man, weed is the most harmless thing she could've taken to cope. Seam is a good dealer, they have the good stuff.

She's absolutely called King "dad" by accident before. He doesn't really mind. No-one tell Rudy though, he's gonna be pissed.

On that note, I feel the need to add that she was never as close to him as Noelle was, because he only really started being an active parent after Dess went missing. It's kinda tragic, and he feels REALLY guilty about it, but if he ever verbalises that guilt he's gonna actually crumble into dust. His confidence is all a mask as is, actually admitting that he was kind of garbage at being a dad with his first kid is just gonna make it so much worse. But, until Dess hears an apology, she's not really gonna be able to actually mend their relationship, so they're at an impasse.

Inversely, her time away from the light world kinda made Dess forget the way her mother acts. She sorta got a bit of "once away from the abuser you forget the abuse", especially knowing she herself was a kid when it all happened so she kinda started justifying her mother's actions to herself when away from her. After like 2 weeks of living with her again Dess fully remembers why she ran away and packs her bags to live literally anywhere else. Preferably with King if that's an option, though that might just make Lancer move out as well.

She doesn't know what minecraft is.

[thicctails]

I C R A V E more gbc au stuff: particularly with Bill: were the twins aware of Bill before gravity falls? what do they tell the twins about bill once they get there? how does bill and his parents even go about reconnecting?? I want to know more about the direct aftermath of the reunion. It's not hard to piece together Bill and Fords relationship from the journals: did they read into it the wrong direction or smth? Like Bill fucking traumatized Ford: Euclid and Scalene's estranged long lost son fucking severly traumatized and manipulated a realtive of their adoptive kids: there's gotta be more complex feelings there? Does Bill blame them for his medical trauma? do Scalene and Euclid regret that? did they have differing opinions on it back when? also like, now Bill is legit insane: what with him having been percieved insane or a ticking time bomb of insanity before how do they feel about that? do they have differeing opinions?????

FNSKJDFNSDKJ DSI C R A V E MORE FERERJSNJKFDNFKE

PLEASE FEED MEEEEE

Ask and ye shall r e c e i v e

Both Scalene and Euclid were under the impression that Bill died when Euclidea inevitably collapsed in on itself. They told Dipper and Mabel that they had a child, but never went into much detail, as it hurt too much to talk about.

(You can imagine how fucking gutted they were when they saw images of him all around the Shack. Journal 3 was just a big fat gob of salt in their open wounds)

Reconnecting for them is like a healing an infected wound: you have to cut out the rot, grit your teeth for the burn of cleaning it out, work to keep the infection away, and accept the fact that there will be a scar.

Bill is so fundamentally broken and mentally unwell that not even the Axolotl can really fix him. The best he can do is help Bill get to a point where he can begin again in a different form. But getting to that point is the real trouble. It's rotten work, a path laden with pain and suffering and hurt feelings, but it's the only option worth fighting for.

Scalene and Euclid feel immense guilt for the mistakes they made raising Bill. They allowed themselves to be pressured into trying to make their gifted son normal, and everyone they ever loved and then some ended up paying the price. Bill may have started the fire, but their misguided good intentions handed him the match.

Bill himself is a whirlwind of emotions. He is unexplainably relieved that his parents are alive, but that also means that he can no longer possess a false bravado and pretend he intentionally slaughtered his entire dimension. His past is red and blue and in his face, and the voices have only gotten louder since he saw his mother's heartbroken face. Not only that, but they have, in his eye, replaced him with two of the people destined to destroy him! They look at Shooting Star and Pinetree with all the fondness they used to look at him with, and it makes his insides burn.

They also are constantly setting off each other's triggers, like some kind of sick oroborus of trauma. Bill's powers often manifest as pyrokinesis, which isn't great when your parents are still living with the horrific injuries caused by said fire. On the other side of the coin, Euclid has been soothing the twins with gentle TV static since they were little, since his preferred method of manifestation is screen-based technology, (whereas Scalene prefers music and books) which has caused Bill to spiral into a violent panic attack more than once.

As for Ford... well, neither Cipher parent is fond of him, as i've stated, but while they don't know the entire story of how his and Bill's time together was, they know enough to know that it ended in violence and misery, and they are not so heartless that they do not feel pity for the man and disgust towards their son's actions. They make it very clear to their eldest, when they can stand to speak to each other, that he is to never possess another member of the Pines family.

He only breaks that promise once, though it was for a good reason. Gideon needed a good beat down, and Pine Tree was too hurt to make that jump without help.

[s0lemnhypn0s]

(Warning for this post I'm half asleep so I might be incoherent or have disjointed topics. Bare with me, I'm trying to express my thoughts the best I can.)

(and WARNING! i discuss personal paranoias at one point during this, which include the topic of bugs and self harm)

"Billford is ironic we're shipping them ironically" "We don't actually want to see them together" "We don't think theyre a good pair" "its irreconciliably abusive" "its one sided"

ok I'm gonna put forward a take that might be poorly recieved: I think you all are misunderstanding Billford (And each character individually) and just reducing it to "bill abused ford" takes away so much of what makes their dynamic fascinating. And also claiming "Erm its a bit" while engaging in something you "recognize" as abuse only does a disservice to the topic of abuse and how it relates to the mentally ill (I will get into that later). You are treating the relationship as a joke and only acknowledging the abusive aspects when people come at you is just pretty scummy of you. Speaking as someone who experienced a near identical abusive relationship, where my paranoia was preyed upon, causing me to still suffer from the paranoia of being watched by them or that my abuser will eventually send someone after me.

In general, the existence of abuse is a complicated one and abuse is not a catch all, end all term. Not all abuse is built the same. Billford is undeniably abusive, but there is not a period after "abusive", are you picking up what I'm putting down. It's not just "Bill was exerting power over Ford and thats it"

Lets start with: We all recognize Ford is paranoid, but we don't seem to recognize Bill as paranoid in the exact same way, dare I say - Even more paranoid than Ford. I mean, ford got his "Trust no one" quote from Bill directly saying his rule of thumb for trusting people is to just trust no one. He doesn't trust others - He simply doesn't. And this is part of where Bill Cipher's manipulation of SPECIFICALLY Ford comes in.

Now I am going to speak from a personal anecdote of my experience with paranoia and delusions - Me, I will try to "safeguard" against my every little fear and belief that something will, undoubtedly, undeniably, be out to hurt me, and these safeguards are often extreme in nature. They don't make sense to the people around me, but they make sense to me. Sometimes they hurt the people around me. Sometimes, they hurt me. I believe this is the same with Bill Cipher himself. He is taking measures to make sure his worst fears do not come to pass. And because Bill is decidedly not human, only interacts with humans when he deems neccesary, those measures often take the form of something even more extreme than, idk, me shaving my head because I thought bug eggs were in my hair or trying to cut open my skin because I thought something was living in it. They take the form of something abusive (Which is also just... Something that happens with the mentally ill sometimes. I see you guys trying to separate our mental illness from our actions and claim "thats not making you do that". I see you.). Him trying to guard himself from something so terrible(facetious) as Ford's percieved betrayal ultimately becomes a self fufilling prophecy.

Not to mention, if you guys didn't notice. Bill without a doubt projects his own insecurities onto Ford. "I make you feel important" Ford makes Bill feel important. "No one loves you" He was ostracized in his dimension. "Who will miss you" He destroyed his entire home, nobody would mourn Bill, because they were all gone, long gone. "I'm sending someone to steal your eyes" Might be a stretch, but I look towards the silly straw poem "A different kind of eye doctor, who wants to make his patient blind" Obviously the use of "blind" here is metaphorical, but I feel its still in some ways applicable.

Bill very evidently experienced medical abuse and ostracization in Euclydia, something exceedingly common for those labeled as mad. (Which also brings me to the topic of people saying "I'm so glad they didn't make Bill a sympathetic villain in the book of bill" bc. Hi. I'm a guy thats experienced ostracization and medical staff forcibly medicating me in order to fix me. I think he is sympathetic actually). Not only that, Bill Cipher had a trillion years to fester in his resentment and his guilt, and you think that like. Didn't effect him at all. I really and truly beg to disagree.

Not only that: I think Bill felt a kinship with Ford. Ford was ostracized, he was betrayed by the world (and "betrayed" by his brother), he was regarded as a freak for what he was born with, just as Bill was regarded as a freak for his mutation in Euclydia. Bill thought Ford was just like him. Bill thought Ford would understand him, and furthermore would jump at the opportunity to burn the world down with him. And. to his credit. Ford does, in some capacity, understand him. As much as Ford could understand, with Bills lies within lies. Bill craves the intimacy and fears the touch. He uses fear to get Ford to love him, not only because he thinks it will safeguard him from what he fears most, but likely because it is all he knows, all he was taught. Love through fear. Our love is painful, but we only want to help. Pain in love is natural. It's right. It will only hurt a little. This is how you know we love you. He was shocked when Ford rejected him. He thought he did everything right. He had everything planned, for them to be together for eternity.

And bare in mind also that - Bill. Most evidently. Views himself as a monster. When Ford asks about what happened to his dimension, who destroyed it - Bill responds "A monster.", he says "Sixer, it would eat you alive" when Ford offers to help hunt it down. He lets his mask of jovial, mysterious mischief drop just slightly, and we understand just a little bit more of how he feels about the euclidean massacre, how he understands himself through his actions. And what he understands, is that this is just his nature. "I liberated my dimension, Stanford", a lie but not in the way you'd think. He lies, acting like what he did was intentional, as its the only way he could ascribe "reason" to what he did. It couldn't have been an accident. That is just how I am. It wasn't an accident, and I liberated them. (I wish I could go back.) And I come back to the idea of a self fufilling prophecy, because its again- That exactly. Bill decided this was all he could be, he did everything that would make him a "monster" after the accident that caused the euclidean massacre - And so, he was. A sick prognosis that he created and fufilled with his own two hands, he became the monster he and his home dimension envisioned him as.

Abuse is a complicated subject. What Bill did was abuse, yes, but I also distinctly believe it to be a case of abuse between two mentally ill people, one of which is so old, his hate his anger and his regrets, all are ancient and yet so fresh.

I feel another part of the problem is people are taking Bill at face value. Which is exactly what he wants to do because then you dont get at what hes doing all this for and why. You don't get past the exoskeleton to the tender flesh beneath. But stop taking what he says at face value. Read into it more. Analyze the triangle.

Also it might be controversial (hyperbole.) , but I do thing it means /something/ that during Ford's part of the book of bill, where Bill and Ford's relationship is recounted from his perspective, Bill is notably absent, whereas in the rest of the book, he is guiding us through it and constantly maintains a loud presence in it. You could interpret this in a lot of different ways I think, but the way I've chosen to interpret it is as a mix of shame, regret, and an unwillingness to revisit their past together. Perhaps even Bill having enough respect for Ford to not interject his telling of their story together, if you want to get real complicated about it. Paradoxal, if you will.

(Also I find the theraprism to be a most fucked "end" for Bill Cipher due to the medical abuse he experienced as a child. Something something, mad people can never escape the institutions which seek to "fix" them.)

anyway if you read through my mad sleep addled ramblings CONGRATS! i'm probably going to make edits and add to this when I wake up in the morning but i needed to get this out or id forget. billford is abusive but its way more complex than just... abuse. Abuse is a complex subject and it exists on a spectrum, for a lack of better words. and dont twist my words - That isn't saying "this is less bad abuse", this is saying "its complicated and just leaving it at abusive does their relationship a disservice"

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 4

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you’d had left?

chapter warnings: mentions of declining mental health (suguru), general angst, secret pregnancy/child

masterlist

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A brown head of hair follows you from your car to the apartment. It's an uncomfortable journey knowing you're back in Tokyo again, so close to a life that feels so distant from you now.

There are many boxes to unpack, and when accompanied by a young child, the task feels insurmountable. To credit her, she does make an attempt to help, picking out a few toys from one of the containers with a smile, though just as quickly becomes distracted by the prospect of actually playing with them. This does make things easier for a short while; you're able to unpack some dinnerware into empty shelves, folding down just one cardboard box before she's back at your side. "Mama!" She toddles to you with tears brimmed at her lash line, a doll in one hand, it's arm in the other. "Help, please."

You offer a soft smile, crouching and accepting the broken toy. It's easy to slot the arm back into place with some jostling (a manuvre you've learned from experience with this particular toy), and she's smiling once more, a shriek of excitement when the doll is returned to her in one piece.

Her expression lightens your mood, how beautifully she wears her emotions. There's so much innocence to children you hadn't expected before meeting her, so much joy. Her brown eyes are locked onto her barbie as she babbles, some nonsense, though some actual words do crop up - mummy, love, play.

You'd spent your entire pregnancy wondering what she would look like, whether she would take after you or her father, and to little surprise when she was handed to you, she was the image of Suguru. Even more so with age. Brown hair and eyes, and she has his nose too, with a calm temperament and warmth that you also accredit to him.

Being a single mother is hard, and seeing so much of him within her is bittersweet. He's the man you fell in love with, but he's also the man you had to leave. There's so much you've wanted to share with him too; her first steps, words, her first birthday. Despite this, you know even if alone you've raised her well, and she is so loved. You've brought her this far without sorcery, but now a blue flame surrounds her. She's an early bloomer in the cursed sense, and just as you'd feared, inherits her father's technique meaning she'll likely be a special grade... something you'd wished so deeply to avoid. 

There was change on the horizon, beginning only a few days ago when you'd been told to pack these very boxes, and push your daughter into a future you hadn't willed. You feel sick when recounting the memory.

"No." The sight of his face brings a burning to your throat, a sinking feeling as if a bowling ball had been forced into your chest, dropping to weigh within your stomach. Two years in hiding, to end involuntarily by no one other than Gojo Satoru. White hair draped over his forehead, blue eyes meeting your own. They look tired, aged somehow, though you can't seem to care when that weathering is accompanied by remorse, lips downturned.

"Invite me inside." His voice is quiet, low. It's late, and you're sure he's exhausted, yet he's at your door instead of his own. There's a small spark of hope that perhaps he simply needs a place to stay, though this is snuffed out when you look back to his face. He knows. "Satoru, why are you here?" Your voice trembles on the verge of tears, but he doesn't comfort you, instead remaining silent as you try to steady your breaths, eventually regulating them enough to step to one side. There's some hesitance as he walks past you.

You lead him to the livingroom, and as he trails behind his gaze wonders the painted walls of your entryway, pictures decorating an otherwise bland white. Most of which appear to star a small child from the ages of infancy to two; the same dark hair and brown eyes that he recognised within his close friend. There's dimples in each cheek when she smiles with her mother's lips.

"You had a girl." He means it to echo a question despite already knowing, though it sounds to be a statement. Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his, and you nod.

"Keiko." Usually her name on your lips brings you joy, but telling Satoru only makes your heart ache.

"Satoru, please tell me why you're here."  You swallow thickly, afraid of the news you're about to be privvy to. He offers little reprieve with his reluctance, and you expect the worse. "You have to come back, to Tokyo."

There's a numbness that begins at your throat, and slowly, like mould spore growing through a piece of fruit, you find yourself rotting before him. You're plagued with dread as you picture your daughter, only two years of age, opened up to a world you wished to shield her from. "Why would I need to do that?" You act as if you're unaware, yet you understand clearly. She's gifted, even if you hadn't wanted to give her this strength.

"She has Cursed Spirit Manipulation." When those words leave his lips, you realise you truly have lost this case. This is it, this is what she will be forced to use. Your jaw tightens as you form a response, though you're unable to begin when Satoru elaborates. "Two weeks ago, a small girl was seen chasing a grade four, and upon capturing it, the curse was ingested."

You frown. "Who reported this?" Satoru hears the panic in your voice, no matter how strong you try to be. Just like when you were teenagers, you feign confidence against him, yet in equal power, Satoru can see right through you. 

"A grade three sorcerer working within this district reported it to the higher ups. They've decided her potential is too strong to ignore."  You're staring at him wide eyed, and he feels guilt as he watches you grieve this life. Satoru wouldn't tell you how he'd practically pleaded with them to let her be a child before introducing her to the horrors of this world, because he didn't want you to know he'd failed you. 

"What if I refuse?"  "You know the answer, do I really have to spell it out to you? There is no other choice." His words imbue a hopelessness into you, and you finally give up, walking past him to take a seat on the couch. The cushions sink under you, and your hands rest upon each leg. There's one question you have left.

"Does he know?" Monotone, dead. Your tone sends a chill over Satoru's spine; he's never seen you so genuinely defeated. Even when he'd found out about your pregnancy, you held yourself together better than this. But even with all of Satoru's experience, his strength, he still couldn't empathise with that of parenthood. Megumi was the closest thing he had to that, though he understands that the relationship the pair share is nothing close to the love you would have for your own blood. 

"You left with no word as to where you'd gone. If I told him it was to have his child, what would he have done?" There's some bitterness to his words, and you cringe.   "Didn't he question the fact there's a child with his technique?" 

Satoru moves from one foot to the other, crossing his arms as he watches your meek state. You're slouched and sweating, and your eyes haven't lifted from the same patch of carpet for the past two minutes. Though with his quietness, your gaze lifts, stopping at his lips. 

"He doesn't know." 

You nod once, taking your teeth between your lips. This is worse than being lectured, you think, enduring the judgement of a person you value highly, feeling their revulsion of a decision you made long ago. "Don't you think he had a right to know before all of this?" You stay silent, your arms closing in closer to your body as if to hug yourself. "It's only right he hears it from you, before this goes any further." 

Only, you still haven't made that call, and told him the truth. You watch your daughter walk toward the school, her hand in yours, while Suguru is none the wiser. It's a secret you knew would be revealed within the next few hours, unrevealed as long as you'd been able.

Shoko's leaving the lab when you enter the halls. You don't notice her at first, instead preoccupied by the small girl beside you, though when your eyes lift from the little fingers wrapped around yours, you stop dead in your tracks. 

Not many things shock Shoko. She likes to think she's seen all, and likely knows most of what goes on even if only surface level, but when she sees you in Jujutsu High with a child clutching at your hand, she comes to a standstill, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

 Keiko takes a few steps, her little feet tapping on the hard floors, though soon notices her mother's halted action.  "Mama, come on."

Shoko's brow raises, a sharp gasp on her lips as she pieces things together. The child looks to be around two, and not long before that you'd left - this must've been the result of that pregnancy test you'd requested long ago. And as she stares at her a little longer, taking in at the warm toned brown eyes, she realises why you'd left. This child had to be Suguru's, her features were far too akin to his to be coincidental.

She says your name, though it sounds foreign to her now. She wonders when the last time she'd called out to you was, and when you peer anxiously to her expression, she realises how you've matured, mellowed almost. There's a protectiveness she can sense, you're definitely more closed off, but that's understandable considering the fact you've been gone and likely without much social contact.

"Hi." Part of you had hoped for a better reunion, but with how things went it was only understandable that Shoko wouldn't be running to hug you anytime soon. "You’re a mother, huh?" There's little goosebumps over your skin as you swallow, nodding slowly. Of course, she'd remember your offish self asking her for tests, and she'd be able to piece things together. "What's her name?"

You knew Shoko wouldn't bring harm to you both, and if she's worked out your daughter's father, she wouldn't press you on it. "It's Keiko." You look down to your daughter, who's holding your hand a little tighter in the presence of a stranger. Funny, growing up you'd thought these people would be your children's family, yet here your baby is, backing up at the sight of a woman she'd never met.

"Keiko," Shoko crouches to her eye level. "That's a beautiful name." Shoko offers her a smile, and Keiko's hand loosens up a little, though it's still clammy on your palm. "Thanks." It's spoken quietly, and the 'th' sounds more like an 'f', but it's coherent enough.

"What are you both doing here?" Shoko's looking back to you now, standing up to meet your level once again. Mouth opening, your free hand comes to your arm to fiddle with your jacket. "The higher-ups found out about her technique." "Manipulation?" You pause. So, she's figured it out. "Yeah. They want him to show her the way, I guess." "But he doesn't know." "No, he doesn't." You offer her a half smile in hopes she would forgive you. "I was kind of hoping he'd find out before i got here, but he hasn't."

Shoko wants to tell you it's your job to tell him and that you need to face your fears, but she keeps her mouth closed in order to save your feelings. Instead, she nods quietly, arms crossed. When the air is too stale to bare any longer, you breathe it in, deciding to take you leave before you would combust on the spot. "I've got to find Yaga, we have a meeting." Your words are rushed and you almost stumble as you walk past her. 

"Who was that?" Keiko questions in her own muddled words, and you force a happy expression when meeting her gaze. "Mama's old friend, from school."

Suguru sits back in the beat up couch, bitter instant coffee still swirling as he places it on the low table. The staffroom has definitely seen better days, he was sure this furniture would've been used back when he'd attended Jujutsu High, with stains and scratches over old wood, rings from mugs of coffee much like his own. Budget cuts had meant money was syphoned into other things, much less into staff.

"A meeting, with Yaga?" He repeats Satoru's words carefully, brow creased. He watches as the brown liquid begins to settle, a few bubbles at the surface meeting in the middle. "Yeah, something about a new student." The explanation makes much less sense to Suguru, because this year he's supposed to be taking on more missions, and offering a supporting role rather than holding his own classes. "And why would that concern me?" His voice is tired, he's tired. The school is working them all into an early grave, he thinks. What was supposed to be more of a career break had somehow turned into more work than he's ever had, and he realises the only way out of this is to leave Jujutsu society for good - much like you did.

Suguru can't deny he feels responsible for your sudden leaving. As if a phone call would've fixed anything between you after he'd not only slept with you, but left you to fend for yourself afterward too. He thinks about you a lot, much to his own distaste. It's his fault you're not here, after all.

"You'll be teaching them part time." Suguru outwardly sighs, a hand flying up to massage his temples. "Of course." It was drenched in acidity, and Satoru shifts. He's still standing, muscles tense as he watches his friend stress himself further. It's been a difficult few years, and he is sure Suguru is at the end of his tether. Satoru worries that your return might just be the thing that breaks him entirely.

"What do you know, Satoru?" When he zones back into the room, glancing away from the disgustingly beige walls to peer into his friend's brown eyes, he realises he'd worn his concerns too evidently. "Not much," He lies, something he's found himself doing consistently as of recent. "She's young, though. A child." He tries to soften the blow by letting on that piece of information now, because he knows Suguru will be disgusted to find out they're having him begin training with a child who cannot yet read, let alone understand what a curse is.

"How young?" Suguru's intuition tells him that something is awry here, but he can't place his finger on what exactly it is. Satoru is definitely withholding something important, and he understands that he's not going to find out what until he's in Yaga's office. "Fine, don't tell me."

With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the couch, all the while Satoru is stood in silence, that pitying look he hates being bestowed unto him. The coffee on the table is going cold, not that Suguru has much of a stomach for it anyway.

a/n: soooo yes, reader ran from her problems (sorrrry) but it looks like suguru is about to find out everything...

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover  @mrsoharaa @magey0412 @thisbicc @aemiliabruno @zeunys @sukunaspillow @caixgee @ssetsuka @pinkpunkdynamite @harlamarie @chilicopsticks @khoochie @hojoslutoru @karazorel @idkuluka @itztamar @magey0412 @strflp @kaeyakaikai

[mswyrr]

They spent the entire season showing the collapse of everything Alicent had invested meaning in and earning her final choice.

Things that came apart over the season:

-her father's role in all this; his approval (and fear of his disapproval) has driven her for her entire life! (bad move on multiple fronts, Aegon)

-her belief that she could do what this patriarchy promises and "influence" her sons toward a good direction (Aegon dismisses her but Aemond really drove the nail in with flagrantly slaughtering smallfolk and making his intent to force his sister to do it too clear)

-her belief that she had any allies and her skills in leadership and her track record of hard work actually meant anything to *anyone* (this was a cooperative effort by Aemond, Larys, and Criston - good work, fellas!)

-her belief that she could, if nothing else, at least protect her daughter (huge emotional pillar for her)

And if we look at her prior actions putting Aegon on the throne and protecting him with her life - both fit within those structures she had mentally and emotionally which this season ripped down.

I think the final one was the thing that took it over the edge, though -- the prospect of Helaena being used and hurt and destroyed as a person -- kind of like how degrading Aemond and his connection to his long-term sex worker was his final straw that made him want to kill and supplant his brother Aegon.

People keep pushing each other too far this season. Taking out the last thing that stands between them and a radical change. Pushing people until they're willing to lose things just to break the current dynamic.

Dae/mon pushes Rhaenyra too far, then the entire war does and she "breaks bad" in 2x07 (see my meta linked below for more on my pov on that); Aegon pushes Aemond too far; and the entire group of "green men" systematically pushes Alicent too far.

All the while, she had that offer from earlier in the season, when Rhaenyra risked everything to come speak to Alicent in her mind. She was mulling over it and thinking of what she could have said, should have said. At the same time, however, Rhaenyra was moving away from being that person [my meta argument on that here]. So the person she finally comes to make peace with isn't the same as she was in the Sept. And once again they tragically can't get on the same page. It does all fit together, even with issues in the writing.

And writing on Alicent's arc simply isn't as uneven as people are saying - the theme of people pushing each other too far and how they showed the pillars of Alicent's support crumbling were both clearly done.

And, yes - Alicent still has feelings for Rhaenyra and as all of this has been happening she's been having a midlife crisis and wishing she had just run away with her first love when they were girls. But that isn't her sole motivation!! It's just what comes spilling out of her because of the state she's in. It creates an appealing alternative to the hell she's living in at the Red Keep. But it wasn't THE single motivating factor.

On a show where fathers have behaved truly monstrously--up to and including their selfishness setting this civil war in motion to begin with--it's fascinating that people refuse to believe a mother can be pushed too far. That kinslaying and slaughtering whole cities and rejecting and humiliating her and threatening to mentally torture her daughter until she breaks wouldn't change her mind about her priorities.

The "green" side becomes owned by Aemond, a wilful (as far as she knows; I'm speaking of her pov here) kinslayer moral reprobate who is violent to his sister and wants to force her to do things that will break her mind. Alicent cannot expect that Aegon will be able to stop him. That's what the side is now, as far as she knows. And she thinks he's a monster who must be stopped, at any cost. That's why she told Rhaenyra "we both know what he is" about Aemond in the Sept. WHAT not who. Things like kinslaying and slaughtering smallfolk mean something to her. And her daughter is everything to her.

Team Green overall took her for granted and thought she'd always be their doormat, and Helaena too. And Alicent finally had enough. Again, given how monstrously the fathers on this show behave, I think they "showed their work" on her radical change of heart well. It's just some people believe nothing can ever justify a mother betraying her sons and I think that makes total sense, given everything.

Honestly, once Helaena was on the chopping block, it would have been out of character for Alicent *not* to do everything--destroy anything--to protect her daughter. She feels like protecting Helaena is the only good thing she's ever done in her life.

People can dislike the ending. It's always valid to dislike something in a story, it's fine. But disliking it doesn't mean it wasn't built up solidly, narratively speaking. The writers put a lot of work and narrative space into it, actually--this was one of the most developed parts of s2!--and weaving it into the season's larger theme of characters pushing each other to the breaking point.

[starry-bi-sky]

thinking about Dan in CFAU and just how different he needs to be (in my opinion) in order for Danny's whole thing to work. Canon Danny with Dan's influence, would never even consider thinking of killing anyone even after losing people close to him because he'd be scared of becoming like him. CFAU Danny however has been festering in this hurt and anger for years and wants the Joker dead and is plotting it. I don't think he'd do that with Dan's influence.

I explained how Rath came to be in this post here. Things happened in TUE as normal -- Danny's family dies, he lives with Vlad, Vlad rips out his ghost half. The difference here is that not only was Danny in a grieving state (something exclusive to banshees that the post goes into) but he also doesn't end up fusing with Vlad.

What happens instead is that Danny's ghost half, consumed already with grief and now enraged by being murdered and lied to by Vlad, destroys him completely and disappears into the ghost zone. He traps himself unintentionally in a negative feedback loop of grief, and as a human spirit banshee, cannot mentally handle the constant agony and sorrow he's experiencing. What happens is that he ends up driving himself insane with misery.

So the difference here, ultimately, between Dan and Rath, is that at the end of the day; Dan is fully aware of his actions. He knows what he's doing is wrong, and delights in it. He acknowledges his lack of humanity and feels no remorse in doing what he does.

Rath? He's... not. Not really. Dan is a hulking mass of muscle; tall, towering, terrifying. He loves what he does and does what he loves. Rath, however, appears as a scrawny young boy in raggedy clothes far too big for him, hunched in on himself while dirty, unkempt hair curtains his face and hides whatever he doesn't have ducked down in his curled-in form.

Rath is locked in a constant, unending state of sorrow and misery. He, for lack of better words, is unable to perceive the world around him properly and lashes out terribly and violently at anyone or anything that catches his attention. The only thing that he knows is that his family is gone, his other half is gone, that everyone he loves is gone, gone, gone.

He is a zombie apocalypse wrapped up in the form of a malnourished child, wandering the world in search of people who are not there, and becomes furious if you're not them. He is constantly crying, but he's been crying for so long that he's all but lost his voice. Meaning anyone trying to keep an ear out for him has to listen for soft, pained gasps and quiet whimpering, and wonder if the sound they're hearing are hurt survivors, or the very thing they're running from.

As a result, Rath's influence on Danny isn't that he's scared of doing something bad and becoming like him. He's scared of losing control of himself and dooming himself and others to eternal misery. As a result, he's adamant that things that he's done were not done out of pure emotion, but were active choices he made.

Up to and including killing the Joker. There's enough grief and rage behind his views on him that anyone could argue, especially knowing that Danny's a ghost, that he was not in the right mind when he did it. He was blinded by his emotions and was not in the right mental capacity, he had no control over himself. It'd work as a convincing argument.

If it weren't for Danny himself arguing against it. Killing the Joker was a choice he made, fully and willingly. It was autonomous, premeditated murder and he won't accept anything else -- it was not a fit of passion, it was not act of insanity, it was a decision. He won't accept it being anything else but revenge either, and if anyone tries to claim that it was a necessary evil he will yell at them. He didn't do this for the betterment of the public, that was just a fortunate side effect. He did it for himself and Jason. If you wanted it to be a necessary evil, then you should've killed him yourself. It was a selfish evil and he knows it.

In the end, Dan’s existence would prevent Joker’s death. Rath’s existence only solidifies it.

Rath's complete difference from Dan is one of my favorite parts about this au even if he never makes a direct appearance.

[pyreo]

I'm comparing the Dungeon Meshi manga to episodes I just watched and now I gotta capital-p Post about this one episode (spoilers past Episode 12)

So this part is an emotional side-step from the central throughline so far - Laios and Marcille got Falin back successfully and reunited, and they got that payoff from the very beginning where they thought it would be impossible. But Chilchuck is very much a part of these layers of development, so after that dragon finally dies, we stop for a second - Laios and Marcille are recovering, Falin has disappeared again - how does Chilchuck feel at that point?

It's the perfect stage to insert that because he didn't really share in that sense of victory in the same way as Laios and Marcille recovering someone extremely close to them. And that's on purpose because he keeps everyone at arms' length. As soon as that arc hits its end and Falin is recovered, there's at last space to ask - why is Chilchuck even here.

He's asking himself that through the chapter. Now that they've lost the person they intended to save, he regrets agreeing to come.

And starts shouldering responsibility for everything ending up this way. We saw that when he got stuck in the mimic room before - he refuses to let himself ask for help, or he'll try to take burdens alone to lessen relying on others. The original Touden Party was six people, and when Laios insisted on going back underground they were two, and he knew they would die, and figured maybe, maybe if they were one more, with his skillset, maybe they'd have a chance. He couldn't let them walk back down just to die.

And he's going back to that mindset - their lives are on me. He thinks he could have prevented this if he'd chosen differently. Essentially, the walk alongside the orc woman is him working through a guilt spiral.

He sees a second chance to correct that mistake of joining the party. He wants them out now, before they die. The orc asks him how they defeated a dragon and, in explaining it, he reminds himself of all the risky, ridiculous things they had to do, and he isn't satisfied with just getting lucky. Laios got his foot bitten off, on purpose! This proves to him that if they go any further they will not survive. And he hints at this dissatisfaction a couple chapters later, wishing his teammates prioritised things other than winning at all costs...

Like, obviously. The point of this chapter is Chilchuck pretending to be a self-serving coward. To the point where others react with disdain, even disgust, towards him because he wants to lie to Marcille and Laios to ensure they turn back. He's desperate to get out of a hopeless situation by any means necessary, and will destroy his standing in the group in a blink if it means nobody else dies. He has to go on a stupid mental health walk for his stupid mental health and talk through his little bout of panic and doubt.

'You called me a coward so don't be surprised when I act accordingly'

He needs someone very blunt to tell him 'dude you're not being a coward for wanting your friends to get out of hell alive. you're a coward for making excuses instead of honestly telling them your concern is genuine' and he BSODs about it. He needs to rant and externalise that frustration over their recklessness at a third party. He needs to scream that they are idiots because he's the only one for which the ends don't justify the means and he can't keep losing his mind over everyone's safety. Down to a point, the orc praises their ability to survive the explosion from the dragon's fuel sac, and it only justifies Chilchuck - Falin didn't even know she could cast the spell that stopped them all being killed, and they cannot continue getting lucky like this.

Anyway. The reason I stopped to think about it was this part-

Where he recovers Laios's monster-infused sword. The thing that made their situation in the dragon fight go from bad to worse, that he swore at Laios for in every language he knew. The most angry we'd seen him. And now he calmly picks it up and praises it for being the only one of them smart enough to make a run for it.

He's projecting, obviously. He's internalising the label of 'coward' and changing himself to fit it. And, look at him, he's so tired of this. It's evidence of his sheer exhaustion that his anger immediately disappears and he actually gives it a compliment. Him and Laios's sword, the group cowards, the only one who agrees with him.

Then, because he had a walk before getting into the argument, he's organised his feelings and drops all the walls and pretense and just says it.

There's a rule of writing where you contrast your high energy sequences with parts that are slow and mundane, to make the difference more apparent. I think that's why I like this bit so much. The fight against the dragon is long, and the emotional stakes are enormous. Right after that we have the bath scene with Falin and Marcille, and Laios ruffling Falin's hair, and this part that pauses everything to explore the stuff that Chilchuck finally needs to say. And it's wrapped in this neat little solemn journey to pick up their supplies and remember how it felt when all five of them had a meal around a real dinner table at last.

And because he doesn't resort to individualistic trickery, because he explains his point as a duty of care rather than pitting himself against the others, he gets backed up. Senshi agrees that they don't have the supplies to continue, and the orc lady mentions her brethren will return later and can give them support, all of which together breaks down Laios's singleminded devotion to his cause.

Personally I think the manga's better suited to comic timing, but in the anime you can get fleshed out little moments, like Laios's face journey as he realises the other three are making a good case for their survival.

This was my favourite part so far, and I like how both Chilchuck-centric episodes have separated him from the others. Because he won't reveal anything he's thinking otherwise. lmao

[lizardaggro]

on the flip side (twst bully!au) pt 3

here we are, the long-awaited (it was literally like 1 day) part 3!! i wanted to declare on one of the actual chapters since those get seen by the most people that I DID NOT MAKE THIS AU, credit i believe goes to @azulsluver. i swear i don't hate you guys, leaving everything on a cliffhanger, but the good news is i have a lot of time on my hands due to chronic illness so i can update super often. also i gave up on the purple theme on posts bc tumblr hates me and always leaves the end of the word count black.

part 1 part 2

genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, mild yandere (will be escalating throughout the series, but no non-con) word count: 1246

You couldn’t really afford to space out and think about it though, not when he was right in front of you. Riddle tapped his foot impatiently, clearly irate at your lack of response. “Well?” He asked. “Do you not even have anything to say in your defense?”

Oh dear. However were you supposed to get rid of him when he was so intent on getting some sort of answer out of you? You had no idea what he wanted! He was more difficult to threaten, too, since you’d made up your mind that you didn’t want to be like your tormentors and completely ruin others’ lives. No, your end goal was just to make them leave you alone. After everything you’d been through, you really didn’t want to see them again.

It might seem strange to some people, that you weren’t dead set on destroying any semblance of normalcy they once had. You had all the ammunition you needed, of course. The Overblot victims would be the easiest to topple, considering what they’d done in and leading up to that state. But you didn’t think you were a particularly vengeful person; at least, you didn’t want to be. Crowley had always said that you must’ve been sent here to get his precious students to work together, so clearly you weren’t like them.

“I never asked for this, Riddle. Any of this. So if you think somewhere in your fucked-up mentality that you’re doing me some sort of favor, you’re dead wrong,” you intoned. Indeed, even though you just wanted them gone, you missed the days when you were all friends. Back when you thought everyone had your back no matter what. Oh, if only you knew what they’d do for you. It wouldn’t be hard at all to push some of the more unstable students over the edge. Those who felt they didn’t have anyone else. Much like a certain dragon fae who never did seem to get invited to things.

Riddle looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, he was drenched by a great torrential rain. Where did that come from? Didn’t the forecast say it was supposed to be clear skies and sunny for the rest of the week? Your question was soon answered, as you had two more visitors.

“Silver? Sebek? What brings you here?” You inquired, not at all amused. When those two showed up at the same time, it could only mean one thing, and it wasn’t good. Riddle looked like he had caught on as well, since he stepped in front of you, as if that would do any good.

“LORD MALLEUS REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE!!” Sebek boomed. You’d made progress on his volume in the past, so you were sure he did it just to annoy you. Silver just stared. He always stared, you felt like. Sometimes you swore you could feel his eyes on you even when he was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, gee, I wonder what that’s about,” you snarked. “Poor little princey-poo doesn’t want his embarrassing little secrets getting out? Well you can tell him to fuck off.” You must’ve been feeling especially brave, since normally you knew that defying Malleus Draconia was as good as a death sentence. He wasn’t even that bad, compared to some of the others. He just… locked you in his room and made you listen to him talk, with no room to get a word in edgewise. He’d go on and on about one thing or another for HOURS, with no regard for your schedule or your bodily needs. Clearly fae had a different sense of time than most.

It was the loss of control over your own life that you hated; that, and that if he really still considered you a friend, he never bothered to do anything about your bullies. You knew he was more than capable; you’d witnessed his strength firsthand on multiple occasions. You didn’t know what his endgame was, and frankly you were too scared to find out. He could trap you there forever and you wouldn’t be able to do a single thing about it.

Sebek was not amused. He raised an arm, likely to strike you, but Silver placed a hand on it, effectively stopping him. “Don’t. You wouldn’t want Lord Malleus to see a bruise on them,” he reasoned. You didn’t get it. Since when would he care? Sebek roughly shoved Riddle out of the way, despite all his objections, and nonchalantly slung you over his shoulder.

“What the hell?!” You screeched, pounding your fists on his back. “Put me down! I’m not going!” You weren’t sure why you were objecting so vehemently; this time wasn’t any different than the others. But something about the dark gray clouds pouring rain on what should’ve been a lovely day just told you that this was not going to be good.

But alas, your plight was ignored. The three of you made your way to Diasomnia in silence. No one bothered to stop and stare in the halls, as you being carried off by people was somewhat of a normal occurrence. You could swear Savannahclaw and Diasomnia even had some sort of twisted capture-the-flag game going, for whatever reason.

When you entered the gothic-style castle, you were greeted by none other than Lilia. Much like Malleus, he’d never bothered you too terribly, only engaging in less-than-welcome pranks. You knew he was far older than he let on, so you supposed he didn’t see the point in such childish endeavors. There was, however, one thing you feared about the man: his cooking, which he tried to shove down your throat at every opportunity. How Silver grew up healthy you’d never know.

And so, of course, you were greeted by a plate of… well, goop, to put it nicely. “Here, have a seat, dear, I made lasagna,” Lilia offered with what you assumed was supposed to be a warm smile. To you in that moment, with the fumes starting to reach your nose, it looked like a shit-eating grin.

“I’ll pass, thanks. That is to say, I’d rather die than eat that shit, because it looks and smells like it’ll send me straight to hell,” you deadpanned. Sebek let out an unholy screech and started ranting about how dare you refuse Lord Lilia, even though you knew he wouldn’t want to eat it either. You did your best to tune him out. Silver looked relieved, surprisingly enough. You supposed he was able to empathize since he grew up eating the stuff.

Luckily for you, Lilia just sighed and walked off, taking his culinary abomination with him. The three of you who remained shared a look. “How are you still alive after all these years?” You asked Silver. He shrugged. If even he didn’t know, you’d just call it a miracle.

“SILVER, QUIT FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY! LORD MALLEUS IS WAITING!” Sebek practically screamed in your ear. You really wished he would stop doing that. But you had more important things to worry about, like your impending death by dragon fae. Once you arrived at Malleus’s room, Sebek set you down and pushed you inside. You heard the lock click behind you. You gulped, feeling the pressure of being alone in a room with a presumably angry and very powerful mage. You looked up to see a pair of emerald eyes staring you down. Oh boy, this was not going to be fun.

taglist: @twistedcece @slxt4h1m @teawhere @pleasehugmeaether @reivelmin @aoiyx

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

Homelander x gn!reader

A really bad day.

Warnings: crying, Homelander (he's not the one crying tho)

He'd just been sitting on the couch reviewing some documents for Vought, when his ears had picked up on your presence entering the building. His focus immediately shifts completely to you, about fifteen floors down, as you enter the elevator to his suite.

Reason for his piqued attention are the tiny sniffles his super hearing has picked up. They mean that you either have a cold or that you are crying.

Either of those would be an immediate call for high alert for Homelander. Humans are so very fragile...

You can't be sick, he reasons. You hadn't been sick in the morning, when you'd left for work.

So you're crying.

And yes, the sound is muffled, like you're trying to hold it together and not quite getting the hang of it, but it's still notably the sound of tears.

Homelander's eyebrows furrow. Somehow, that's worse than you being sick.

From his current position, he listens intently to the sound of the elevator moving upwards until there's a telltale ring and you shuffle inside his apartment complex.

He hears you take off your shoes while he's drifting towards the hallway.

You see the movement in the corner of your eye and look up at him, eyes meeting his. When you realize that he's really here, your eyes begin to water again.

Immediately he is by your side, holding your shoulders and checking your body for any injuries.

He finds nothing physically wrong with you but before he can ask, you fling yourself into his arms and start sobbing uncontrollably.

Your hands find his back and then he feels the muscles of your arms squeeze him with all your non-powered-regular-human-strength might.

He freezes. This is new.

Homelander listens intently to any new sounds but thankfully the crying seems to be the only noise of distress you let out. Or at least he can't make out any whimpers of pain or something of the sort.

Slowly, afraid to startle you, he relaxes his body. Strong ams wind around your form and pull you closer.

He's honestly scared he might spook you with moving too much, as if he were handling a small animal.

Homelander doesn't like dealing with crying from others, unless it's tears of happiness. People he saves often cry out of relief or from the shock but most of the time he leaves those to the paramedics or other heroes around as soon as possible.

You're his partner. He can't do that here.

This is the first time he's seen you cry, now that he thinks about it. It would make sense for you to cry sometimes, as it is in the normal range of human emotions but the two of you have only been dating for about two months now and known each other for four. So this display of emotions from you is entirely new to him.

'Come on, Homelander', he thinks, 'get your act together'.

He's not going to hand his crying partner to somebody else just because he doesn't know how to deal with human emotions very well...

So he tries to remember his training. What did they tell him to do in these situations?

Oh dear, your hands must hurt with all this clenching going on at his back. He just knows your muscles must be tired at this point.

Not for the first time, he curses his upbringing. Dealing with emotions had come rather short in his education. The focus had always been on how to destroy, never how to comfort.

But that one time they'd given him a lesson on how to deal with people in distress for of his public image.

However, that doesn't really apply here, he reasons. It might even be impersonal. You're not some random fan he can pat on the back and leave!

So when he picks you up, arms draped over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, he's operating purely on instinct. He's seen a man do this in a movie once and it had worked there, so he takes the gamble.

To his relief, you tighten your grip on him and cling to his body like a little koala, tears still wetting the material of his suit.

The mental image is quite cute, he will admit. Then again, so are you.

Walking back to the couch, he settles the two of you into the soft pillows for a little comfortability. You can't just keep standing in the hallway forever.

Noticing the fuzzy blanket he'd bought for you few weeks ago because his place is always cold, he shifts you around and clumsily wraps you in the soft, red fabric, until you're sitting in a cocoon on his lap.

You've stopped crying at this point as well. There's still the occasional sob or sniffle but for the most part you're just clinging onto him and hiding your face in his neck.

He pats your head awkwardly and you let out a tiny laugh that gets muffled in his neck.

It's quite nice like this, he notices. Not the crying, of course. But have you this close, needing physical comfort which nicely feeds his own cravings for your touch.

He'd actually quite like you like this, all vulnerable, if it weren't for your upset state and the crying... He doesn't like those...

After a while, he experimentally places a soft kiss on your head and you pull away slightly to look at him.

Your eyes and cheeks are red from crying and your face is a little puffy but it's kinda cute in his eyes.

"Do you feel better?" He asks, continuing to stroke your hair.

You nod and take a deep breath.

"Better," you sniffle. "Thanks for being here. I- I needed that hug and I just really felt like seing you. Sorry, I had-... I had a really shitty day..."

His brain stops at that, having just had a revelation.

Constellations in his mind shift just the tiniest bit.

You trust him.

You came to him for comfort.

Not because there was nobody else either but because you genuinely wanted to see him and thought his being there would bring you calm! You felt like seeing him would make you feel better!

The most dangerous person in the world (not that you realize that) and you came to him for comfort.

Deep in his chest, pride and satisfaction begin to swell, along with a new kind of warmth he's never felt before. He doesn't even try to fight the broad smile that sneaks onto his face.

"It's fine! You can always come to me for comfort. I don't mind!" He reassures you, cheerfully,

"I really don't mind."

His arms tighten around you just the tiniest bit. Well, there's no way around it. Seems like he'll just have to protect you from now on.