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iceunhie · 5 months ago

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— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

Series Masterlist

It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x you #jamil x you #trash novel chronicles

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aro-attorneys · 2 years ago

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AA6 is giving me absolutely nothing man

#like...listen. it's not *all* bad #it's just entirely devoid of what makes an AA game an AA game #AA5 introduced Athena and (you guessed it) I actually rly like her!#so AA5 still gave me *something*#this is entirely subjective of course #im putting aa5 and 6 in the same category since they're both in the awkward post-aa4 3DS era #i think they're pretty comparable #they're both written in a rly safe manner. no daring risks no original twist to the storyline just. nothing of that #although I had an OK time with AA5 overall and had a good time even in 5-5 #(is it because Edgeworth?)#(yes of course it's because Edgeworth)#(oh like maybe im giving in to the 'pleasing the fans' thing but listen to me #it was absolutely horrible that they included Phoenix in aa4 without even a *mention* of either Maya or Edgeworth #and they're indispensable friends. like come on. so yeah whatever I rly liked to see Edgeworth talk w Phoenix it was gr8 and I cried)#anyway maybe I'll make a longer post abt aa6 maybe not I'll see #because despite my...lack of fun with it #i do love to pick media apart #I've seen some people rly enjoy aa6 and all the power to them yk!#there's definitely something there but it just doesn't click w me #I'm in 6-4 now and I finally met clown girl so there's that

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ozzgin · 7 months ago

Note

I'm the anon who asked if your requests are open and i got busy assignments + presentations that i almost forgot about the request but now i remembered and it's based on my dream i saw that night..

How about a vampire who lost his relic (presumably a ring) and reader happens find it and tries it on, now the vampire is all panicking because guess what? That was a betrothal relic and it has binded the vampire's soul with the one of reader. They can't pull it out/take it of.. oh well, now they are stuck and obviously the vampire hates the idea of being stuck with a pesky human but hey they are kinda stupid..? How tf they tripped on thin air? Or how they are still alive even after being food poisoned 5 times a month? Vampire is now babysitter for his human *sighs * what has he gotten himself in..

(Please add yandere elements later on, my brain stoopid but i want a hot Victorian era vampire being obsessed with me ^^ muah!)

(I'm sorry this is so lengthy TT)

Yandere! Vampire x Reader

Featuring a ridiculously lucky Reader who constantly manages to escape a Vampire's assassination attempts. Did someone order a supernatural edition of enemies to lovers?

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, romcom

[Monster masterlist] [Original works masterlist]

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" your friends gasp in unison, eyes fixated on the fallen ceramic pot that scarcely missed you, now laying shattered at your feet. You laugh reassuringly and wave your hand in dismissal. "It's the fifth time it happens today. Maybe there's a storm coming?"

From within the shadows, menacing eyes glowing red follow your movements. "Damn it!" The mysterious man curses under his breath. He stares enviously at the bulky ring on your finger. The ring bearing his Family signet, where part of his very soul resides. It has stayed with him for centuries, and somehow, to his utmost shame, he lost it. By the time he rushed back to retrieve it, you were carelessly sliding it down your finger. He wanted to strangle the life out of you right then and there, but he felt it: the immediate surge of contractual power, dominating his will and holding him back from breaking your bones. "It's a little tacky, isn't it?" your friend remarked. You nodded in agreement and tried to remove it, but the metal band tightened around your skin, painfully constricting your digit. It was stuck. It was too late.

Now he has to rely on cheap trickeries like this one. Sure, he may not be able to directly plunge his fangs into your neck, but the bonding curse does not shield you from "accidents", you see. It would be a real shame if that flower pot was to land straight into your head, ending you instantly and thus breaking the connection with him. Except you simply refuse to die. A mystery, a paradox, one that enrages him to no end. It's almost as if the ring is bringing you fortune at the cost of his misery.

"Have you had any luck removing that ugly thing?" the person standing next to you mentions. The vampire lord grits his teeth at the blasphemous words. This is what's become of him: a deceitful buffoon, having to sit and listen to his inheritance being mocked relentlessly. He holds back the urge of shouting that thousands have bled to death in order to forge that magnificence. "Not at all", you respond idly. "I tried taking it to a jeweler, and she said she could try to cut it, but she ended up having a heart attack right in the middle of it. She didn't even look that old, maybe it runs in her family?"

Unbelievable. The thought of reclaiming his relic haunts every second of his day, to the point he's become your shadow. Stalking your every move, your every breath, observing his prey and waiting for an opportunity to strike. He can already picture that pathetic face of yours, twisting in pain, begging for-...huh. Well, look at that, you're reading one of his favorite books. Perhaps you do have a little taste, after all. It won't save you from your terrible fate, but he might skip the prolonged torture.

There's plenty of quotes out there about knowing your enemy in order to guarantee your victory, though one might wonder where the limit of such knowledge resides. Or what counts as useful to begin with. The vampire lord is presently wondering about this very aspect, as he mouths your coffee order from a distance. Less sugar, huh? You did mention losing your sweet tooth. He shakes his head indignantly. Absolutely not! The throb of his heart is fueled by raw hatred and nothing else. One of days he will savour your demise.

Your ridiculous luck might just end today. You've taken a shortcut on your way back home, and didn't expect a shady, burly man to block your exit. A perverted grin stains his face as he approaches you, twiddling with his pocket knife. "Alone at this hour?" You frown and try to find a way out, but the man suddenly begins to heave and convulse before your eyes, grasping at his chest as the skin shrivels and dries. He collapses at your feet, body wilted as if it's been emptied of its vitality. The Vampire Lord clicks his tongue.

To think he'd rush to rescue his sworn enemy, a pitiful mortal like you. He didn't even get the chance to consider the aftermath. You stare at the stranger, confused but observant. Pale skin, crimson eyes, unnaturally sharp canines...and the fact he just drained a living being into a bloodless corpse: everything hints to one possibility. "Are you by any chance a vampire?" you find yourself mumbling. "You must've graduated from Harvard with those deduction skills", he responds sarcastically.

Everything else unfolds in a haze. Wasn't he planning to kill you and retrieve his ring? When the hell did he offer to walk you home to avoid more creeps? Why is he twirling his hair sheepishly whenever you praise his demonic powers? Oh, but it gets worse: why did he suddenly feel the urge to kiss you before returning to his cursed lair? Why did he accept your invitation to spend the night at your place instead? One moment ago, he was doing his best to curse you off this Earth. Now he's tugging stray strands of hair away from your blushing, whining face, asking you if it hurts. Damned human.

"How did you know I like this? Have you been stalking me?" you joke, nudging your undead boyfriend and setting the gift aside. "More or less", he confesses with a yawn. He recalls all that time spent dutifully spying on your oblivious self. "You know, a human like you shouldn't be able to dodge death like that." He turns to you and scans your features. Then, abruptly embarrassed, he ruffles your hair to block you from noticing his blush. "I suppose my failure was the better outcome. It's not too bad, having you around."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere vampire #vampire x reader #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend

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azmageddon · 2 months ago

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I Can’t Lose Him

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer!reader

Summary: When Azriel is injured during the war with Hybern, will your healing abilities be enough to save him?

Warnings: blood, injured az, needles, detailed medical treatment (let me know if I missed anything!), Painfully inaccurate to the original storyline

a/n: this is my first fic! I would love feedback and let me know if you’d love to hear more! This could be part of an ongoing universe where Y/N is Cassian’s twin sister and a healer.

The sound of the heavy cloth covering the entrance to the medical tent being whipped open caught your immediate attention. Your head jolted up from the wound you were currently cleaning from a warrior. Blood and dirt had oozed from his leg, but you had managed to hold pressure long enough to staunch the bleeding. Now, as you sewed the ends of his skin back together, your eyes darted around the tent, looking for whomever it was that entered in such a panicked hurry.

You saw Rhys at the entrance, looking around wildly for something, or maybe someone. When his wild eyes met yours and stayed there, your heart skipped a beat, knowing it was your worst nightmare coming to life.

You quickly handed your stitching task to one of your healers. “Finish for me, Jessina,” you asked, before rushing to Rhys’ side. There was only one reason he would be in the medical tent.

“Who is it?” You asked hesitantly, afraid of what his answer might be. When Rhys didn’t immediately respond, you knew it must be bad. “Cassian? Feyre? Please, Rhys, say something.” You avoided saying the one name you feared most out loud, as if merely saying it would make it true.

But Rhys shook his head and you knew your silent prayer for your mate would go unanswered.

“Y/N,” Rhys began, gripping your wrists, “it’s not good. Cassian is trying to get him out.”

“How bad is it?” You whispered, afraid your voice would give out.

You felt sharp talons scraping at your mental shield, which you lowered just enough for Rhys to slither through. Immediately, a scene played for you in your mind, consuming all your senses. You knew you were watching Rhys’ memory.

Azriel flew with the large Illyrian legion above him, their great wings sounding in unison like the beat of a war drum. Headed straight for the group of winged Hybern enemies, the two armies collided in a tangle of swords and wings and limbs. Rhys watched as warriors from both sides suffered injuries, but it wasn’t until a certain Shadowsinger caught the wrong end of a Hybern sword that he faced a fate of plummeting hundreds of feet to the hard ground below him. Faster and faster Azriel fell, twisting in the air with the Hybern enemy he refused to untangle himself with, clearly vowing to take down whoever he could with him. As the couple dropped closer and closer to the ground, Rhys knew the fall alone would kill his Spymaster. At the last moment, Rhys flung out his power, hoping it would create at least some type of force field between Azriel and the ground before he hit the dirt with a sickening thud, and moved no more. Rhys, too far away to make it to his brother in time, immediately called out to Cassian’s mind to retrieve him and ran to the medical tent to alert the best healer he knew.

The vision ended with Rhys slithering quickly out of your mind. “Oh gods,” you whispered, a hand flying to your mouth in disbelief. Immediately you opened your end of the bond and were met with a severe onslaught of pain, agony, and fear. The force of the emotions hit you like a tidal wave, and would have forced you to your knees if Rhys wasn’t there to steady you. It wasn’t until you closed your side of the bond again that you were able to breathe and think normally, instead of being all-consumed by the pain.

“Incoming, Y/N,” Rhys warned, and almost immediately the tent flaps whipped open again, revealing a wild eyed Cassian and a writhing, screaming Azriel in his arms. Blood covered the Shadowsinger and Cassian, dripping steadily to the floor where they stood. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta pushed through the tent flaps behind Cassian, effectively crowding your tiny medical space.

Every instinct told you to reach out for your mate, to fall at his feet and beg anyone, anything, to save him. But you forced yourself to take one look at a sobbing Azriel, and you turned away, screaming for Madja.

“Get the surgical supplies ready!” You screamed as you raced for the metal table in the back of the medical tent. Reserved only for emergent needs, the metal table was hidden behind a large white sheet to hide the horrors that happened there from the other onlooking wounded.

You turned back to your mate, thankful that Cassian had the sense to follow you. “Put him there,” you ordered, pointing to the metal table. “Gently Cassian, on his back. Watch his wings!” You closed your eyes as Cassian settled his brother on the table. The innate part of you that felt the panic rising in fear for your mate’s life had to be pushed down. You felt it coming in waves, but forced yourself to keep it contained. You knew that if you let your instincts get ahead of you, then it was a death sentence for you mate.

The sharp talons scraped again, and you let Rhys in fully this time, allowing him to speak to you.

“He needs you, Y/N. You can do this,” Rhys whispered into your mind. You sent your gratitude to him mind-to-mind, and allowed him to stay inside your metal shields as a form of comfort and communication for what lay ahead.

When you opened your eyes again, Madja was at your side, setting up the supplies you might need. Digging deep into your power, you reached a hand out to Azriel, who lay on the table writhing in agony, blood quickly pooling around him and dripping off the cold metal table to the floor below. When you touched your hand to his chest, you let out a full blast of your power, giving him a jolt of pain as he felt it singe all of his senses. He cried out as your power raced through his body to assess for wounds and injuries.

The information relayed back to you was horrifying. Multiple cuts and bruising littered Azriels skin, including a deep laceration to his scalp, which was the source of most of his bleeding. Thankfully, the head injury seemed to be only skin deep, preserving his skull and brain from damage.

The same couldn’t be said for his left hip and leg, which lay at an odd angle from the multiple fractures beneath the skin. His hip, completely dislocated, and lower leg were broken into multiple pieces. A dislocated right shoulder and a few cracked ribs were the extent of the injuries on the right side of his body. His wings were badly damaged from the fall, with snapped bones and holes in the delicate membrane, but they would have to be fixed last. You could only rightly assume he had fallen to the ground and landed on his left side, because most importantly was the multitude of broken ribs on his left flank, two of which were folded inward, puncturing and deflating his left lung completely.

Rhys, who has been quietly sitting at the back of your mind, accidentally let a blast of his own terror into your mind as he felt your power relay the information back to you. You immediately caught eyes with the High Lord, and from your shared mind, you knew he was thinking the same thing you were.

The broken ribs and punctured lung was the same injury that killed his father when you failed to save him during the first war with Hybern.

“Things have changed since then,” Rhys reassured you. You kept your eyes locked as you silently communicated, pushing the rising nausea back down deep into your belly. “You’re the best healer in all the courts. If anyone has will save him, it will be you.”

“Y/N!” Nesta shouted from beside you, pulling your attention away from your silent conversation and back to reality. “He’s losing a lot of blood, you need to do something!”

“I can’t move,” Azriel gasped between sobs of pain. “I can’t move!”

You realized with a quick jerk of your arm back that you had kept your hand on his chest while conversing with Rhys, accidentally paralyzing him in the process as your power rippled over him. Now that you had removed your hand, he began thrashing again.

With a quick flick of your wrist, the bleeding from Azriel’s scalp stopped, the capillaries fused shut. “Head wounds bleed a lot, but that’s not his problem,” you said to no one in particular as you turned to look at Madja. “It’s his lung. It’s like before.”

Madja, who had been with you at the time of the previous High Lord’s death, immediately understood. “Get ready to turn him,” she said, turning her attention to Cassian and giving him instructions.

“His legs,” you said, reaching for his shattered hip. “I need to stabilize them before we move him or he may never walk again.”

A deep, pained groan left Azriel’s mouth as you ran your hand along his legs, purposefully paralyzing them this time. Forcing the bones straight, the once stoic shadow singer let out a gasp of agony as the bones ground against one another.

“You will walk again, brother,” you heard Cassian whisper, as he prepared to follow Madja’s instructions to turn him.

“You’ll have to keep him still, Cassian,” you warned your twin, “I’ll have to cut him open.”

With a quick nod and a count to three, Madja and Cassian log rolled Azriel onto his right side and positioned him to give unrestricted access to his left flank. The fighting leathers were easily cut away from his body under Madja’s expert tools. Whispering a quick spell under your breath, you felt your hands clean and sterilize themselves in preparation for the first cuts.

“Put him to sleep, Rhys,” you said out loud. The High Lord quickly approached the table and put his hands around Azriel’s head, trying to break into his mind to effectively knock him out.

When a few moments went by and Azriel was still gasping in pain and cursing under his breath, you began to worry.

“What’s going on?” You asked Rhys in your head.

“His shields,” he responded out loud, “he’s too high strung to relax long enough for me to break through. They’re ironclad.”

The rising panic threatened to overwhelm you as you faced the impending reality of having to cut through your mate’s skin to his lung while he was awake.

“You have to do it,” Madja said, confirming your worst nightmare. “We can only hope he’ll pass out from the pain.” Her arm extended toward you, scalpel in her hand for you to take.

Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out, became your internal mantra as you took the blade from Madja. Taking a deep breath, you lined it up with Azriel’s tanned skin. “I’m sorry, Az,” you whispered as the blade sliced through skin and muscle and tissue, eliciting screams of pain from your mate that echoed through the medical tent.

“Keep him still, Cassian,” you ordered as you continued to cut through to Azriel’s lung. He was still conscious, beads of sweat dripping from Rhys brow as he attempted to break through his mental shields.

When you had successfully reached the damaged lung, you extended an arm into Azriel’s body, spreading your powers through him again, concentrating on that particular area. When your powers shot through his body this time, he flinched again, nearly falling off the table to the ground.

“Damnit, Cassian!” You shouted. “Keep him still or I’m going to kill him! I’m elbow deep in his body! What’s going on, Rhys?”

“I can’t get through!” He responded, fear lacing his words and working its way into your mind. You pushed him out of your head, reestablishing your own mental shields. You had enough of your own fear, you didn’t need someone else’s in your mind as well.

You made eye contact with Feyre from across the room. Panic danced in her eyes but she opened her mind to you immediately when you made eye contact.

You send an image into her head of a small box hidden well in yours and Azriels shared tent. “Bring it to me,” you commanded. Within seconds, she was gone.

You continued to work on Azriel’s wound, using your powers to close the wound and reinflate the lung. With the wound still deep and oozing blood continuously, Madja handed you the supplies to stitch the lung closed. All the while, Azriel fought Cassian on the table, awake and writing in pain.

You sensed Feyre’s arrival back into the tent and at your side the moment she returned. Madja recognized the box and nodded her head in agreement. Without taking your eyes off your work, you instructed Feyre with the next steps.

“Take the needle out and draw up the clear liquid in the red vial. It’s an extremely strong pain tonic. I save it for emergency cases, and it’s incredibly potent.”

Feyre did as instructed and drew the liquid into the syringe. You pulled one hand out of Azriels chest and pointed to a spot along his left shoulder muscle. “Stab the needle there, and make it deep. Inject the tonic there.”

Feyre hesitated, her hands shaking the needle she held. “I’m not like you, Y/N, I can’t do something like that.”

You finally looked up at your High Lady and caught her eye. You briefly let your instinct take over and let the panic be heard in your voice as it cracked. “Please, Feyre,” you begged. “Please, I can’t lose him.”

With another cry of agony from Azriel, she eyed the spot you had marked with a bloody finger on his shoulder and plunged the syringe in deep, pushing the pain tonic into his muscle.

Within seconds, Azriel’s body laid limp underneath you, his screams of pain cut off and erratic breathing stopped. You felt your own heart stop in your chest as you feared the worst had happened. If your hands weren’t inside his chest so close to his beating heart, you would have thought it had stopped all together.

“It’s just me!” Rhys shouted, sensing the panic from everyone in the room. “The medication relaxed him enough for me to shatter his shield. I knocked him out.”

Relief flooded you and you returned to Azriel’s chest to finish your work, praying you had learned enough in the last 350 years to save him.

#azriel #azriel smut #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #shadow singer #shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #acotar

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imsosleepyofyourbull · 5 months ago

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One of the most tragic things about demons in KNY is that they’re explicitly bastardizations of their human selves, twisted or malformed into something actively malicious.

Akaza, for example, originally sought strength as a way to provide and protect for his loved ones;

His father, and Koyuki.

He hates the weak because — to him — the weak are the kind who don’t confront you head on and use underhanded tactics. They’re ugly, they lack forbearance, and give into desperation too easily;

They give into the voices in their heads that say they have to hurt others to appease themselves.

This includes the men who laughed at or scorned his ailing father, the members of the dojo who poisoned the well, and the version of himself who killed 67 people for it. Who bloodied his master’s beloved martial arts and the very memory of his father, Keizo, and Koyuki. He wanted to become strong to outgrow that kind of weakness, and he forgot that when he became a demon. His goal became an obsession with strength just for the sake of it, rather than to provide and protect.

This, I believe, is the reason why he offers demonization to — at the very least — people like Rengoku and Giyuu. A part of him recognizes a similar motivation in them, and (because the demon half of him believes his current self to be the culmination of his efforts) he offers them his supposed salvation. A way to continue seeking power far beyond what a human can manage.

His goal survives where his accessible memory died with his corruption;

He subconsciously incorporated his loved ones into his very being as a demon.

A thing that remains consistent across the demons in KNY, with the hand demon and his memory of running home while holding his brother’s hand, the temari demon and her desire to play, and so on so forth. It’s horribly tragic.

But the part that stands out to me is the fact that this seems to apply to Muzan Kibutsuji too, because his desire to live past his disease when he was human manifested into an obsession with immortality as a demon. It didn’t matter that he was healthier than he’d ever been, the sun could still harm him and so he wasn’t perfect just yet. That’s why he searched so desperately for a demon who would either survive the sun or could become a part of the twelve waxing or waning moons who would protect him while he looked.

Fascinatingly, both he and Upper Moon One (Kokushibo) overlook the immortality of the memento mori philosophy. They focused on how they specifically could live on, forgetting that their knowledge and their history could be passed down and used or remembered by the people after them. Maybe that’s why they hated Yorichii so much — because he looked at the future where he would be forgotten and thought that he would love nothing more then to be a simple footnote in this long, arduous journey to their victory.

The Ubayashiki and many of the demon slayers in between felt similarly, giving their lives for the cause and knowing that someone else would one day do what they sought to do… that the world would eventually heal from demons altogether.

#I love Akaza so much #he’s probably my favorite character in KNY #with Yorichii and Giyuu following close behind #kimetsu no yaiba #kny akaza #akaza #kny hakuji #hakuji #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #kny yoriichi #yoriichi tsugikuni #kny kokushibo #kokushibo #kny michikatsu #michikatsu tsugikuni #kny spoilers

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 11 months ago

Text

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

summary: Wanda edges you, and you take it all like a good girl.

content warnings: whew, there’s a lot. Cunnilingus, fingering, choking, collar and leash play, choking, edging, spreader bar, restraints, overstimulation, vibrator, strap-on, passing out

word count: 4.6k+

masterlist

A/N: This was requested by @mrsromanovaa ! You can find the original request here.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Soon, Darling

“On the bed, darling. You know how I like you.”

Wanda’s voice is firm, her accent rolling over each syllable as you attempt to not shiver at the command. Without speaking, you nod once and move your shaky legs towards the massive bed in the center of the room. Approving green eyes watch your movement, even as her face remains unreadable.

Taking a few calming breaths, you position yourself on top of the soft comforter. You’re thankful for its dark maroon color, sure that you must be dripping as you move onto your back. After all, Wanda hadn’t been subtle with her teasing glances and forward touches throughout your date night. She knew which buttons to press, what words to say, and which times to whisper directly in your ear as you shivered beneath her.

Even thinking about the evening the two of you had shared brought a pleasant warm buzz to your chest, and you refused to acknowledge what that buzz could mean. Shaking yourself from your rapidly spiraling thoughts, you smiled gently at your girlfriend, pleased at the wink you received in return. Excitement filled you as she moved to kneel on the foot of the bed, her fingers grazing your ankles as her eyes began to glow scarlet.

Oh yeah, your girlfriend had totally awesome powers. And, she wasn't shy about using them around you. Suck on that, Vision.

Wanda twisted her fingers, an object slapped into the palm of her hand, and all thoughts of her ex boyfriend left your mind as you realized what she held. The two of you had talked in depth about different things to try in the bedroom, but seeing it in person was slightly terrifying. But, also incredibly arousing at the same thing.

You refused to think about what that meant for your psyche.

The spreader bar was placed between your spread ankles, Wanda’s knees just barely touching it as she began to run her hands over your calves, fingers light and teasing. Oh, you were definitely dripping now.

Evidently, Wanda could either see the evidence right before her eyes, a smile creeping onto her face as you willingly spread your legs further for her, or she could smell it. That was one of her favorite phrases to say, and one that never failed to turn you on even more than you already were.

“God, you smell divine. Is that all for me?” She’d ask, and you’d somehow find yourself giving her every part of you that you had to offer. Sometimes you wondered how the events of an evening had unfolded, your brain went a little bit too fuzzy sometimes, only remembering how you felt during the experience. Wanda would reassure you, telling you that subspace was normal and nothing to be afraid of, and of course, you believed her.

“Darling?”

Ah, there you went again. Getting trapped in your own head. It wasn’t your fault that you got lost in a train of thought. Or, maybe it was. Actually, thinking about it, it was totally your fault because it was your own head, right? And-

“Focus, love.” Wanda’s voice cut through your inner monologue, halting your thoughts immediately. In the space of a millisecond, you felt your brain get squeezed through a tube, the bedroom becoming sharper as you seemed to re-enter your own body. Green eyes peered down at you, searching your own as Wanda’s fingers gently stroked your face.

“Sorry, I,” You didn’t get the chance to speak, Wanda’s finger pressing gently against your lips, understanding in her eyes.

“It’s alright darling, are you ready to continue?” Her voice was low, reminding you of the heat pooling in your gut. You felt another wave of arousal, and nodded quickly.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Wanda smiled approvingly, and you were grateful for the single lamp that glowed warmly in the corner of the room. At least she wouldn’t be able to see most of the blush that spread across your cheeks. Then again, judging by her knowing gaze, she definitely knew what her words did to you.

Moving slowly, as if not to scare you, Wanda moved her hands firmly up and down your calves. It seemed almost as if she was giving you a massage, but when she grasped one ankle firmly while bringing one end of the spreader bar towards it, you knew that you were in for a long night.

“Too tight?”

You shook your head, eyes wide as you experimentally flexed your ankle. The strap attached to you didn’t budge, and you could feel the tension of the metal rod as Wanda moved to attach the rest of the spreader bar to your other ankle. She gripped the middle of the metal, giving it an experimental tug.

Your body jolted, hips moving closer towards your girlfriend as she pulled you closer by the spreader bar. Her smile was nothing short of wicked, and you shivered at the hungry look in her eyes as they roamed your helpless body. At least your hands were free.

Wanda gave you a look, twisting her fingers once again as your wrists were wrapped in scarlet wisps and pulled tight against the headboard. You sighed, of course she was in your head, the tricky little witch.

“Behave.” She commanded, and you resisted the temptation to roll your eyes, knowing that would only bring punishment. You really didn’t want that, not after the hours of teasing she’d put you through during dinner.

“Please, Wanda.”

“That’s not my name.” Her eyes were hot, fixed on your body as you squirmed slightly beneath her watchful gaze. The tension rolling in your gut was becoming overwhelming, and your clit throbbed as you feebly thrusted your hips towards her.

“Please…” You begged, taking a deep breath, calming your racing heartbeat.

Raising a single eyebrow, Wanda tilted her head. Your heart jump started, racing once again at the movement. Her hands moved teasingly over your inner thighs, fingers mere centimeters away from your messy pussy. She was teasing you, the promise of her fingers finally granting you the relief you so desperately needed sending you over the edge of embarrassment.

“Mommy…” You knew it sounded pathetic, but you couldn’t really control how your voice sounded at the moment.

Wanda was pleased, a low sounding hum reverberating through her chest as she thought about her next moves. You waited patiently, knowing that this was the moment that she would decide if she was going to tease you for the rest of the night, or give in and pleasure you until you begged her to stop.

Both options sounded great to you, so you weren’t too worried about the outcome of her decision.

Deciding to test the strength of the newest restraint, you tried to push your ankles together. Your legs didn’t move an inch, and you realized that you were well and truly fucked if Wanda decided to tease you. There was no escaping, no matter how hard you tried.

Again, you really didn’t want to think about what that could possibly mean.

“I think,” Wanda started, and your ears immediately perked up. “I think that I need a blindfold.”

After announcing that very helpful and definitely not-at-all frustrating announcement, Wanda got off the bed, smirking at you as she made her way into your shared walk-in closet. You sighed, throwing your head against the pillows as you tried to control your reaction to her words. You knew exactly which drawer she was rummaging around in, and thinking about the multitude of toys within it made you want to squeeze your thighs together. Anything to reduce the unbearable ache between your legs.

Oh, wait. You couldn’t. Wanda had made sure of that with a high quality spreader bar. You moved your legs again, realizing the only thing you could do was bring your knees towards your chest. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t get your legs to fully close.

Giving up, you steadfastly ignored the rush of arousal accompanied by juices flowing from your pussy at the knowledge that your legs were permanently open for your girlfriend. In all honesty, you wouldn’t have it any other way. More arousal leaked down your inner thighs, and you smirked at the thought of what Wanda would say when she found a puddle of your own arousal beneath you.

“You know,” Wanda’s voice startled you, and your eyes greedily took in her naked form as she made her way towards you. You didn’t imagine the extra sway to her hips, and you licked your lips as she moved to kneel beside you on the bed.

Cold hands caressed your face briefly before Wanda placed a strip of fabric securely over your eyes, tying the back of it tightly as you raised your head helpfully. She continued speaking, even as you felt her weight shifting around on the mattress.

“I’ve been thinking,” She moved towards your ankles, settling herself between your legs. Her hands gripped the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, kneading the muscles. “I want to use my mouth tonight, my tongue feels restless.”

You groaned, the sound coming out as more of a moan as Wanda chuckled somewhere near your drenched pussy. The last time she’d used her mouth, you almost passed out from the sheer amount of pleasure she had brought you, your clit over sensitive for the rest of the evening.

Before you could properly prepare yourself, her tongue was pressed against you. She moaned, the vibrations hitting you perfectly as you tried not to roll your hips.

Wanda liked it when you were still, or at least attempting to be still. She’d spent weeks training you, edging you for each movement you made while she slowly traced your clit with a single finger. You knew better than to move your hips while she was pleasuring you.

But holy fuck did it feel good.

It was almost enough for you to forget yourself, and forget all the training that Wanda had drilled into you. But you refrained, wanting to be as good as possible for her. After all, bad girls didn’t get to cum.

You wanted to cum. Very, very badly.

Wanda began flicking her tongue against your clit, the deep ache within you rising like a wildfire. The flames of your orgasm licked at your skin, and you let out a long moan that was supposed to be a plea. You felt her chuckle against you, her fingers digging into your hips as she buried her face deeper against your swollen pussy.

Certain that you would find bruises all over your hips the next morning, you experimentally shifted your weight. The steady pressure of Wanda’s tongue against your protruding clit stopped, and you choked down the complaint that threatened to escape you.

“Why did you move, sweetheart?” Wanda’s eyes gazed imploringly at you, but you wouldn’t fall for it. Her tone was sugary sweet, but you sensed a trap. “Didn’t mommy teach you better?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You winced at how breathy you sounded. It was pathetic, but Wanda’s fingers relaxed slightly from their tight grip on your hips, so you continued. “I forgot myself, you just make me feel too good, mommy. You’re very talented with your tongue, please do it some more.”

You felt like it was a bit overboard, but Wanda seemed satisfied and you were willing to do almost anything to cum. Strong fingers twitched against you, and you stiffened as you realized that Wanda was still in your thoughts.

‘Emphasis on the word almost.’

A small smirk worked its way onto Wanda’s face, even though you couldn’t see it, but you felt it against you as she began sloppily making out with your glistening pussy. Her tongue slipped roughly against your clit as your juices coated her chin. You were like a drug to her, your taste both invigorating and addicting at the same time.

Wanda couldn’t get enough. She could stay between your thighs for hours, reading your body language with each new stroke of her tongue, the sounds of your sighs and whispered moans wrapping around her head and pulling her headfirst into the very essence of you.

It took everything in her to pull away from you, the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm too overwhelming to ignore. Besides, she wanted to play with you for a little while. Also, you were adorable when you panted and tried not to squirm, chasing the last few droplets of pleasure she could draw from you before pulling fully away.

“Mommy, please…” Your voice was whiny, and it only took a millisecond before you realized your mistake.

“Good girls don’t complain,” Wanda summoned something, a piece of fabric that you couldn’t quite make out. Her eyes bore into yours as she continued, “Mommy doesn’t want to hear that, and you know better. Haven’t I been good to you? Aren’t I making you feel good? Soon, darling.”

Before you could say anything, the fabric she was holding was stuffed into your open mouth. Letting out a soft grunt as you readjusted your jaw, you stifled a moan as the taste of Wanda’s arousal hit your tongue.

Pulling off the beautiful form fitting dress she wore, Wanda smirked as you realized what piece of clothing she’d summoned. She felt a wave of possessiveness enter your mind as you eagerly sucked on her ruined panties, your thoughts swirling at the knowledge that you had made her this wet.

Pulling your ankles up, Wanda slipped between the spreader bar and your body, letting the backs of your thighs rest atop her own as she kneeled before you. Her hand drifted, teasing fingers tracing your hip bone as she admired the glistening heat between your legs.

Letting her gaze travel over your body, she admired every inch of your skin as she made her way towards your face. Wanda knew that she would never get tired of looking at you, her eyes eagerly taking in every curve and contour of your body, mapping out different paths as you flushed beneath her.

Green eyes finally met yours, and you saw her smile. Her fingers brushed over your mound, grazing your clit and collecting some of the wetness pooling between your thighs. A single finger traced your slit, teasing you as she chuckled.

“Did you want something?”

You let out a huff of air through your nose, tilting your head as you stared at her. Taking a chance, you let your hips move slightly. It was just enough to wordlessly plead with her, begging her to soothe the ache between your legs.

A single finger entered you in one thrust, burying itself knuckle deep in your pussy, and you nearly sobbed in relief. You let out a long moan, letting Wanda know just how pleased you were, and missed the smirk that flashed across her face. Your eyes were closed, head thrown back as she began to move at a steady pace, curling her finger every so often and grazing that spot inside you that sent bolts of pleasure coursing through you.

It was just enough, the perfect pace to sate the hunger that had been slowly building within you.

The thrusts increased, Wanda adding a second finger as she watched your face contort around the makeshift gag. The pleasure changed, becoming overwhelming as your orgasm attempted to rise. You knew by now that Wanda wasn’t going to let you cum just yet, and despaired at the thought of being brought to the edge again.

“Mnnfh, plmh mmhmm.” Your attempt at words turned into a groan, and Wanda let out a low hum. Her other hand reached up, wrapping around your throat loosely as she curled her fingers inside of you.

“Soon, darling.”

The pleasure just kept building, your clit throbbing as it begged for attention. If she would just touch it, anything would help you fall over the edge. It took everything in you to not roll your hips, any attempt at repositioning so Wanda’s hand would go where you wanted would be met with a complete absence of touch.

Pleased at your self restraint, Wanda gave a few more deep thrusts before removing her fingers completely. Before you could whine, or even process her movement, she tore her panties from your parted lips, shoving her fingers onto your waiting tongue as she bent down.

The taste of your own arousal hit you, mixing pleasantly with the aftertaste of Wanda’s juices. Then, you felt a tongue licking gently at your aching pussy, collecting as much of your arousal as it could. You felt her tease your clit, circling it softly, and lamented at the lack of pressure.

Wanda worked you up again, her fingers slowly moving in and out of your mouth as your tongue swirled around them. It was an effective gag, small moans escaping you as her tongue steadily applied more pressure. Your orgasm reappeared, and you desperately wished that you could close your legs around Wanda’s head. Anything to keep her where you needed her most.

Almost as if she was reading your mind (oh, wait), Wanda pulled away. Pleasure coursed through you, fading quickly as the stimulation ended, and you let out a whimper.

“Color?” Wanda asked, her voice soft as her fingers twisted again. A vibrator floated into her grasp, your eyes tracking it as you uttered a muffled ‘green’. You recognized that toy, it was one of Wanda’s favorites. The settings were adjustable using a knob, so she could set it at any intensity she wanted.

“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asked, pulling her fingers from you briefly to let you respond. You opened your mouth, the pleas about to spill out, when the vibrator was placed directly against your clit.

Jolting, you breathed heavily, and Wanda just raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t even turned the toy on yet, but just the smallest amount of pressure against your throbbing clit was sending you headfirst into subspace.

“Yes, please.” You didn’t care how desperate you sounded, the only thing in your fuzzy mind was the thought of finally falling over that edge. The one she’d kept you on for hours. The one that would rack your body with pleasure, the edge that only your girlfriend could help you fall over.

The vibrator clicked on, and you felt your legs start to shake. Wanda’s hand held the toy firmly against your clit, her other gently rolling your nipple between her fingers. You recognized the setting as relatively low, but it still sent pleasure shooting through what seemed like every nerve in your body.

“Would you like to try something, darling?” Wanda asked, and you struggled to try and respond. She continued, “We talked about it earlier this week, remember the package we ordered?”

Your eyes lit up in recognition, a feeble nod the only thing you could manage. You remembered the soft red collar and leash that you both had liked, but hadn’t expected it to arrive so soon.

“Call it an early Christmas gift.” Wanda’s voice was soft, full of caring as she watched your reaction.

“I want to try it,” You said, your voice as strong as you could make it. Wanda’s eyes lit up, crinkling at the edges as she smiled widely at you. Evidently, she thought that the perfect response was cranking up the vibrations against your clit.

You shuddered beneath her, hands grasping uselessly at the magical restraints as the pleasure became overwhelming. You were mere seconds away from your orgasm, you could feel the beginning stages of it creeping up on you as your muscles went rigid.

Wanda pulled away, and your clit protested by pulsing rapidly. She paid you no mind, letting you thrust your hips feebly as she summoned a few more items. They all moved to rest neatly on the bed, and Wanda held up the red collar.

Her touch was almost reverent, stroking the soft leather and ensuring that it wouldn’t bite into your sensitive skin. Your eyes locked on it, watching as she brought it closer to your neck. Nodding your consent, you felt your heart race wildly as she fastened it securely.

Two fingers curled around the leather, sticking themselves between the collar and your skin to ensure it wasn’t too tight. Tugging experimentally, Wanda’s eyes snapped to yours when you let out a moan.

“That felt really good.” You breathed out, pupils blown as Wanda gave it another tug. This one was more forceful, and you felt your clit throb as more of your arousal leaked onto the mattress.

The smile on Wanda’s face should have scared you, it was dark and wide. Ideas and fantasies swirled behind her green irises, but the only thing you felt was excitement. And extreme arousal, but what’s new?

Metal clinked, and you watched in anticipation as Wanda clipped the leash to the gold loop attached to the front of the collar. She wrapped the leash around her hand, once and then twice.

“Fuck.” You almost didn’t realize that you had spoken, the word slipping out as Wanda gave the harshest tug yet.

A scene of Wanda tugging the leash while fucking you from behind flashed behind your eyelids as you took some steadying breaths. You longed to feel the collar pressing against your throat, whenever Wanda would use her hand to choke you, it always made your orgasm much more powerful. It really heightened all of the sensations you felt, and you couldn’t wait to use the collar more often.

“Would you like to try that, darling?” Wanda’s voice filtered through your thoughts, and you flushed as you remembered her presence in your mind.

“Yes, please.” You sounded eager, your eyes bright as Wanda chuckled and twisted her fingers once again.

After some maneuvering, you were on your front. Your hands were still securely attached to the headboard by unrelenting wisps of scarlet magic. Wanda urged you to your knees, the spreader bar making it impossible to close your legs.

Something pressed against you from behind, and you immediately remembered the strap-on that Wanda had brought over. Either she had already lubed up, or you were soaked, because she slid the entire length of the toy into you in one stroke.

A moan escaped you, muffled by the pillow you pressed your face into at the feeling of her strap fully inside you. It was everything you’d been waiting for, your walls clinging to the toy as she began snapping her hips. Fucking into you, Wanda experimentally tugged on the leash, and your head rose unwillingly from the pillow.

“Oh,” She said, her voice raspy as she tugged again. A strangled whimper sounded out, a gush of wetness hitting her thighs as she easily slid in and out of your slick pussy. “I like this collar on you very much.”

“This was a great idea,” You agreed, all your senses heightened as she choked you from behind.

With white knuckles, Wanda pulled on the leash as hard as she dared, not wanting to go too far during your first time using the collar. Using it as leverage, she angled her hips, thrusting deeper inside you, the toy hitting your g-spot perfectly.

Your orgasm builds once more, pleasure spreading from your over-used pussy to the rest of your trembling body. Words left your mouth, but you couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. It was most likely broken pleas and moans, a desperate attempt at convincing Wanda to let you cum.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to cum without her permission, or even without her helping fall over the edge. Sure, you’d tried masturbating, even though it was explicitly against her rules. However, you weren’t able to make yourself cum, not after your body had gotten used to Wanda’s touch.

“Please, mommy. Please let me cum. I’ve… fuck. I’ve been so good for you, haven’t I? I really want to cum, I can’t take it anymore. Please, no more edging.” Your voice gave out quickly, moans replacing your words as Wanda seemed to fuck you harder.

“Fuck,” Wanda grunted, tugging the leash again. “You have been good for me, darling. And because you begged so prettily for me, I’ll let you cum.”

Her next words were muttered right in your ear. “You can cum as many times as you want.” She placed a harsh kiss against your neck, most definitely leaving a bruise that would last for days. Then, she kneeled up straight, her hips snapping steadily as the strap forced every drop of pleasure out from your aching pussy.

“Cum.”

Almost as if your body had been waiting for that command, your orgasm washed over you. It was unrepentant, waves of pleasure racking your body as you all but collapsed. Wanda’s firm hold on your leash kept you from suffocating yourself in the pillows, the sensation of being choked only heightening your orgasm. Everything felt more vivid, Wanda’s fingernails digging into your hip, her strap slamming into your gushing pussy, your nipples dragging along the silky fabric beneath you with each thrust.

Wanda’s hold on the leash slackened, and you sucked in deep breaths as blood rushed to your head. Your orgasm kept dragging on, the constant stimulation from the strap-on triggering a second one.

The hum of a vibrator sounded out, and you half whimpered and half moaned. Your clit throbbed, and you wanted to scream. Wanda placed the vibrator against it, the sensitive nub having emerged from its hood a long time ago.

White stars filled your vision, your limbs turning to jelly as a third, powerful orgasm ripped through you. The waves of pleasure quickly turned painful, Wanda’s hips not slowing for a second as she twisted the knob higher on the vibrator.

You came again.

And again.

Pain and pleasure melded together. The only thing you could sense was Wanda’s presence, everything else fading as she forced your body to cum again. Her hand tugging your leash, her collar wrapped tightly around your neck. Her skin, slapping against yours as she forced the strap deeper.

Her voice, sounding out. Her words, not registering as you came again. Her hand, twisting your face towards her as your vision started to darken. Her eyebrows, threaded together.

Her eyes, that lovely shade of green, forever ingrained in your mind.

And then, nothing.

—-

“Darling, I need you to wake up. Please.”

A cool hand was stroking your cheek, shaking as it wiped away tears that you hadn’t realized you’d shed. Warm breath hit your lips as Wanda sighed in relief, your eyes fluttering open.

Everything was blurry, but your lips still turned upwards. Smiling goofily up at Wanda, you attempted to move. Your limbs felt like lead, your muscles sore as you twisted a strand of her auburn hair between your fingers.

“I was so worried,” Wanda began, but you shushed her.

“Don’t,” Your voice was hoarse, and you cleared your throat. “I enjoyed every second of that, Wanda. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Wanda’s voice wobbled, her eyes concerned as she moved to lay down next to you. You threw your leg over her hip somewhat clumsily, still feeling as though your limbs were deadweight. Tucking your face into the crook of her neck, you inhaled deeply, letting her vanilla scent wash over you.

“I’m absolutely positive,” You reassured her, already feeling your eyes closing again. “Now let’s just cuddle for a bit, and then you can order us food while I get the shower ready in, um, about an hour.”

And with that, you promptly fell asleep.

Wanda smiled, stroking your hair as you curled around her. Honestly, how did she get so lucky? She thought about the ring sitting hidden in her office desk drawer, and felt a wave of love overtake her as you pulled her closer in your sleep.

She just had to wait until after the holidays. Soon, you would be her wife. Wanda couldn’t wait for that day to come.

Soon.

—-

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months ago

Text

FOOLISH SPRING WINDS, BLOW MY WAY ; SATORU GOJO

summary; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo — who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends (..but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided), fluffy n sweet overall, satoru doesn’t know how to make friends + thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, he’s a little shit but he means well, switching povs, lots of gojo slander (but reader sees the light eventually), big shoujo vibes, they’re both tsunderes <33

a/n; i ended up scrapping the series i wrote this fic for originally, so i thought i’d rewrite it and repost it on its own!! teentoru is such a grumpy little kitten i need to squish his paws

satoru gojo is annoying.

it might seem blunt, but after many weeks of careful thinking, you’ve decided no description could possibly fit him better.

when you first met him, on that first day of school, you had no idea what to think. no real expressions or tonal shifts to clue you in on who he was, how he felt — nothing but the slightest peek of a terrifying blue to set your nerves on edge.

in hindsight, you’re almost certain it was intentional. he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand — observing you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his surname.

it’s a kind of power; a safety measure.

… but evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. the very next morning, he was already beginning to loosen up, after getting more accustomed to the new environment and classmates. showing you his true colours; just a little hint of cerulean, a single dip of paint on the blank canvas of his soul.

and with the revelation of his genuine personality — your unease around him festered even more.

where could you even begin to describe him? for one, he’s childish. and cocky. and loud. arrogant, selfish and flamboyant — just generally an asshole? you could go on and on. none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly up to something, eager to push someone’s buttons, to get attention. like a bratty toddler. uninterested in manners, or even common courtesy; he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it.

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless.

as if that wasn’t annoying enough — you have no choice but to admit that he does have a certain presence to him. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though. you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall. freaky, long limbs. like a noodle and an alien had a baby.

but, more than anything — above all else — what frustrates you most is the fact that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it… gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those baby blues eyes and those snowy locks of hair. and he has no issue getting what he wants.

absolutely zero.

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way. like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. you can only assume he’s never given much thought to the prospect of being a decent guy, because that’s the only thing he sucks at.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

… annoying is still the most fitting word, though. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone, in his entire life.

and, yes — maybe you’re being a little harsh to him. but why should you bother being jovial when he won’t return the favour?

gojo is annoying; and when you say that, you mean annoying to basically everyone. as a basis for existing. always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. you’re no exception to this rule, of course. but you’re almost certain that he has it out for you specifically.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re sure of it.

compared to geto or shoko, you aren’t very self-assured — and you think he must have sensed it the moment he laid eyes on you. sensed that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease.

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin. it started as soon as introductions were over, and it still hasn’t gotten better. he loves catching you off guard, throwing you an unneeded comment or two, just to see what reaction you’ll give him next. almost like he’s solving an equation — said equation being you, the limit of your patience. and you keep giving him what he wants; a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. you can never seem to successfully ignore him. he’s just far, far too good at being insufferable.

… and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. even when you try to get along with him, it backfires. you don’t have a single thing in common. you don’t understand him at all.

(and that suits you just fine.)

a heavy sigh slips from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the surface of the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, your mind muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts and discomforting feelings.

you’re exhausted. completely and utterly spent, even though the day’s barely begun — running on three pitiful hours of sleep, all broken up and jumbled by nightmares that wouldn’t stop spooking you. not a single wink of proper rest.

and it’s painfully obvious. in your face, your posture, the dark crescents beneath your eyes; in the way you can’t help but drag your legs as you walk, your hair disheveled, little sighs and grumbles slipping from your lips for every step you take. all you can do is sluggishly blink the exhaustion away.

you just feel so tired.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, no real reason to get out of your comfy bed, leave the safety of your cozy little dorm room. but you need breakfast, right now, or else you’ll literally explode — so you still get up on shaky legs and try to mimic the appearance of someone… even moderately well-rested.

it doesn’t work, but that’s besides the point.

so you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen. walking idly — clumsily — enjoying the sight of fleeting, fluttering cherry blossoms through the windows you pass. little pink butterflies.

once you’ve crossed the threshold, you’re relieved to find the open space entirely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, not even a mischievous gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world — but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t want anyone seeing you like this, tired and meek, a little vulnerable.

(least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.)

with laboured, groggy movements, you waltz around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. enjoying the soothing melody of the pan sizzling, singing along to the purring of espresso being made. it’s nice and pleasant to your sensitive ears, as you blink under the rays of sunlight shining in, throwing together a lazy breakfast.

you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables once you’re finished. eager to soak in the peace and quiet, wolf down a sandwich and copious amounts of caffeine.

but, as always — the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes out across the open air is a chipper one, a familiar one. a voice you were desperately hoping not to hear today.

all you can do is continue to sip from your cup of coffee, inwardly wincing, silently going through all five stages of grief simultaneously — before accepting your unfortunate predicament.

(that’s just your luck, isn’t it?)

finally, you raise your weary head, knowing exactly what sight you’ll be met with once you do.

and, lo and behold — there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, a little woflish, wearing those ugly sunglasses and making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, hate and worship at the same time. he plops down next to you like it’s nothing, a little too close for comfort, unconcerned about your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in that sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s a teasing tilt to it, too — the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

under normal circumstances, you’d flip him off. maybe even just glare at him, silently, or raise a brow in challenge.

but you’re far, far too tired to. too anxious. too in need of sleep, in need of a peaceful breakfast that he oh so cruelly ripped from you. all you can muster is the energy to glance his way.

for just a second, your eyes meet. not like you can actually see them, from behind his glasses — but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny, bright and excited. too much to handle, right now.

”… morning.”

as soon as the mutter has left your lips, you take a tentative bite of your sandwich. gaze trailing sluggishly back to your plate.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff — but no such luck.

you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, study your face, the way those twitchy fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of the cup you’re drinking out of. the way your eyes shift from place to place, unfocused, your eyelids flicking shut every couple seconds. slow.

he’s always been observant — but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired.

gojo is silent, for no more than a mere moment; contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before. did something happen?

…

(— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.)

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, a little teasing, showing off the white of his teeth. even though you look out of it, he can’t help himself — despite his own intuition telling him to let you be.

you’re just too fun to tease. suguru and shoko only ever raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog, but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, distract him when his mind is too full of noise.

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness inside his chest.

but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets.

what he expects is for you to glare at him. tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation — either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day.

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. that traitor. shoko is nowhere to be seen, either, probably off smoking in some random alleyway. or hanging out with one of the kyoto losers.

… the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years… but maybe he’d feel just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while after waking up, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. no one to talk to, no one to look at. he was practically dying of boredom. but then he entered the kitchen — and saw his saving grace. his dear little irritable classmate.

he was so relieved. content in the knowledge that he’d get to push your buttons to his heart’s desire, bask in your playful banter and cold, joking little looks until suguru finally comes home.

only this time — you don’t react at all.

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. you just keep eating your breakfast, and drinking your coffee, in total silence.

gojo waits, just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything.

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows, as his glossy, cherry-tasting lips curl down into a little pout.

honestly, he’s kind of annoyed. just what is your problem? what is with you, today?

… it’s no fun if you’re not playing along.

gojo can’t help but grumble, a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

…

whatever. so what if you’re not talking to him? so what if you won’t even spare him a glance? gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest.

not even a little bit.

…

but, really — would it take so much effort for you to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired.

or, what — did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive… are you? or is that it?

what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. he knows you know. so why are you acting so….

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it can reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you, not right now — doesn’t want to feel that discomforting pang in his chest.)

a strange sensation bubbles up in his chest. something frustrated, a little unnerved; at your lack of a reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more.

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

(… it’s fun when you do.)

the silence lingers on, stretches out across the room, festers and grows as you gulp down your breakfast. all while gojo keeps on sulking, still sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, but you pay no mind to it; methodically washing your dishes in silence.

you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either. still sitting there, seemingly deep in thought, grumbling something under his breath.

he watches as you leave, gaze trailing after you, until you’re completely out of sight.

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried so hard not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek, meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

this time, no nightmares came to haunt you. having practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, your body finally decided to give you some peace of mind, some well needed rest. thankfully.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs — enjoying the feeling of your veins waking up, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than enough to give you the little jolt of energy that you need.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time just rotting in bed — maybe you could take a walk around the schoolyard instead? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and the grounds of the school are just littered with them.

even just the mental image is enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, reaching a hand out to push your door open. excitement stirring in your veins.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

all you hear is a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of something colliding with the door. a low curiosity overtakes you — eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place, just laying unassumingly on the dusty floorboards. as you crouch down to get a better look, you recognize it instantly; a small carton of strawberry milk. a plastic straw plastered on its side, and an evil looking cow mascot staring at you from the front. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines — your personal favorite. you drink it every time you need a tiny pick-me-up, the sweet taste always managing to soothe your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it, silently, in deep contemplation. holding it in your hand as the gears turn inside your head. could someone have dropped it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

… did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

…

your mind stills.

(no way.)

when you think about it — that’s the only explanation that makes sense. shoko and geto aren’t there, and you barely know any of your senior students. yaga-sensei would never give you strawberry milk without a lecture on the dangers of cavities, either.

that just leaves one possible culprit.

but you can’t wrap your head around it. why would he do something like that? he doesn’t like you — you know that much. so it couldn’t possibly be him.

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you like it, contrary to your other classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto wouldn’t go for strawberry milk if he could choose something else. it might as well be the only thing you and gojo have in common — the one thing that binds you two together.

a single carton of strawberry milk.

it’s almost comical.

(if it’s really true — if he really did do it… then you wonder why. maybe he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy.

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you, to believe that it’s true — if only because you kinda like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision.

where could he be? in the kitchen, still? in his dorm?

just as you begin to wonder, a flash of white dances in the corners of your vision. when you glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud, in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about.

you stop.

then you start walking again. with more decision, this time. hurrying to the exit.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging idly as he gazes at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin. pink petals dance all around him, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking.

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights, instantly regretting your decision. blinking nervously. you walked here almost entirely on impulse, but now that you’re face to face…

(it’s a little scary.)

… still, it’s far too late to back out now. you can’t do much except join him, so that’s exactly what you do — albeit a little hesitantly.

trying to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. feeling the steady bench beneath you, breathing in the scent of sweet-smelling cherries and soap.

an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something.

it’s a little tough. mustering up the courage to say anything, even just to face him. the decisiveness you felt just a moment ago has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re too nervous to verbalize anything.

but eventually, after a deep breath or two, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?”

it’s almost a whisper. soft and fragile, mumbled beneath your breath as you stare at the cherry trees in front of you. you know his eyes are on you, though. you can feel them, almost feel their weight in the palm of your hand. like marbles.

weakly, you raise up the carton of strawberry milk. glancing over at him, not quite managing a smile, but trying your best to look somewhat appreciative.

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back up at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes.

then he turns his head away, swiftly, his hair tousled by the movement — a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard him speak through.

when you look a little closer — you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. it makes your lips curl up into a small smile, but you barely feel it.

(like this, he’s actually kind of cute.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow his bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but you can’t help but stare, as sneakily as you can muster.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. fleeting, hard to get a grasp on, so pretty, and so out of reach — despite being so close.

if you wanted to, you could reach over and touch him. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul — and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you, straight away, blooming on your tongue. you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing even further — it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles, a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate.

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes, as they float up into the sky; as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light.

gojo is the first one to break it — in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”… you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher the sudden statement. you can’t get a good read on his expression, with those eyes of his conveniently hidden; he must have regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place.

and you burst into laughter.

gojo blinks at you, caught off guard, his eyelashes flapping like a little dove scrambling to get off the ground — staring at you like you just grew a second head. that makes you laugh harder, a bout of giggles spilling past your lips — you just can’t help it.

”did —” you wheeze, softly, thoroughly amused. trying and failing to bite back the laughter. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you. a little stunned, for a moment. the sight only makes your smile bloom further, eyes crinkled as you meet his gaze. from the angle you’re viewing him through, leaning back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes. they’re awfully pretty — blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, tiny splotches of white.

they look like the blue sky.

you called them menacing, before, but now you aren’t so sure. they seem soft, in the sunlight, especially when seen like this — right after catching him off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious. something to savour.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though.

after a moment of two, he scoffs — turning away yet again. a soft, soft pout on his lips.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding nothing but irritated, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you. now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly — the tips of his ears turning redder at the sound.

(he really isn’t so bad, after all.)

for a while, you don’t say anything else. afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than ever before — and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees. childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you’re starting to think that you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet. a little sweeter than usual, though you choose not to dwell on it.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. not dishonest.

you suspect that gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you aren’t sure. after all, you’re vehemently avoiding his gaze — a little embarrassed by your own sincerity.

he doesn’t know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel unsure of himself. your tone is soft, almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you again. as always. afraid to let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though, more of a vaguely amused huff than anything.

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you only chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.”

gojo should be irked, should grumble and bite back, but you don’t give him the chance to.

”i just… you know,” you taste the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”… and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.”

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little flustered. gnawing on your bottom lip.

”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap. feeling a heat on your nape.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all.

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust off your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation.

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex — before he has to accept that it exists. only this time, he doesn’t succeed. the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. he hears them loud and clear.

and he flushes under the light of the sun.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.)

what actually ends up leaving his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it.

”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered. it doesn’t.

one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

tossing the now-empty carton into a trash can, you try to calm yourself down. feeling oddly excited, as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. but you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him. there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye, hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes, a blur of colours and facial features, sparks and dots.

you wonder if the whole world looks like a painting, to him.

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities. it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement. to see how well it holds up. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it. it’s there, despite everything — in those eyes, in that single carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention. all eyes on him, at all times.

you think that sounds just a little exhausting.

even as you return to the safety of your dorm room, you still can’t help but wonder. there’s still so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach. almost lonely, in a way. you wonder what he looks like, when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for.

(what is an actor without their audience?)

and, despite everything, after all is said and done — you really, really don’t understand satoru gojo. not at all, not in the slightest. not one bit.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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bogleech · 1 month ago

Text

ALSO ON STORENVY HERE

ONCE UPON A DARK TIME IN THE TERROR AGES SOME MORON SCARED THE WORLD TO DEATH (GEE THANKS PAL!!!!!!!) BY WRITING A STORY CALLED "THE DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD." THE STORY WAS SO DARK AND GROSS THAT ANYONE WHO READ IT GOT SCARED IN REAL LIFE ALSO.

NOW MANY CENTURIES LATER THE SAME TWISTEFIED AUTHOR IS PUTTING THE STORY IN REAL PAPER YOU CAN TOUCH ALTHOUGH THE STORY IS STILL FAKE (………OR IS IT…………..) ALONG WITH SEVERAL OF THE ORIGINAL RELATED STORIES AND A BUNCH OF BRAND NEW ONES TOO SCARY TO PUT ON THE INTERNET!! ALSo the new stories aren't entirely in caps lock anymore because that got old if they were LOUDER you would get scared so hard you would quite possibly die to death for all time. This small thin paperback prints and ships in time to ruin thanksgiving or maybe christmas!!!!!!!

BRAND NEW STORIES INCLUDE:

THE MOST MURDERED GIRL IN THE WORLD: One day a girl did not listen to her mother, and got murdered by all the murderers in the world at once. The power of almost 100 murders at once transformed her forever…but into what!? The clue is in the title, but you'll never guess. heh heh heh.

THE TRUEST CRIME: one day there was a crime so terrible you will not be able to read what the bad guy did without throwing up your guts at how evil it was. Let's just say it sends 100 MILLION BABIES to prison…and that's only the beginning………

THE BODYLESS DOG: what happens when a dog gets its body cut off and doesn't die!? Well he isn't happy about it I can tell you that much.

VAMPIRE HANDS: this story is about YOU and the time your hands turned into the hands of a vampire. Maybe you think having to keep your hands in tiny coffins all day long doesn't sound so bad but that is only one of the more than one things you have to do when you have vampire hands!!!!!!

THE INVISIBLEST KNIFE: in this story you accidentally kill everyone and everything you care about and even ruin a hot dog completely. Don't worry! There's no such thing as the invisiblest knife! I am looking around right now and I don't see it anywhere. Do you??

WHEN ALL THE STEEL TURNED INTO WORMS (and it was not my fault!!!) this is one of the LONGEST stories (more than two pages!) in the book and is about when one day all the steel in the world became worms that were scared of humans so if you even looked at a car it would fall apart from all the worms running away into the dirt. Again these are descriptions and not the whole stories so this is just one of the things that happens!

THE DAY IT RAINED THE HEADS FROM SPACE: what happens when a really sharp human space probe meets a planet where everyone is the same exact height and always stands in a line on a perfectly flat plane?!?!?!?!?!!?!!?? Well they aren't happy about it I can tell you that much.

THE DOG THAT WAS TOO LONG: you like dogs, do you??? Well sometimes wishes come true but sometimes…sometimes wishes suck and were stupid to make actually. Fool.

THE WEIRD GUY: don't worry, there's no such thing as a weird guy, and if there was, it would not turn out to have been you all along! Pretend you didn't read this massive spoiler.

THE GHOST'S GHOSTS: everyone knows a ghost is twice as scary as a regular person, but what about a ghost's ghost? Obviously that would be twice as scary as a regular ghost. A twisted tale of how the human race is exterminated several hundred times in a row.

DARKNESS MOM: the worst most awful most disgusting scariest monster in the WORLD!! You will TERRIFIED to read about this mom who is TOO TALL and has a GROSS TOO LONG TONGUE and SHARP MONSTER HANDS and if she GETS YOU she will make you be IN TROUBLE all the time for like NO reason!!! NOOOO!!!!!!

THE THINGS THAT DID THE WRONG THINGS: you better not read this secret government list of things that do the wrong stuff!! The secret guys will catch you and you'll have to go to secret jail so you don't go telling everyone about anomanolies such as THE WORST TURTLE (three words, FOOL: spikes on it) or THE CLOCK THAT TELLS TIM (tim is alright though this is not his fault)

THE HALF MURDERER: what if a normal person and a murderer had a baby? It's more likely than you think! Or shall we say…half more likely…mwa ha ha ha

THE REVENGE OF THE DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD: THE LONG FEARED SEQUEL (WARNING: this one is in capitol letters again, it is PULLING NO PUNCHES!)

…………AND MAYBE SOME MORE IF I FEEL LIKE IT! *actually some more are already in it I just might add a couple more than that even

#horror #creepypasta #halloween #halloween 2024

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too-much-tma-stuff · 7 months ago

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Not Without Me (part 3)

Part 1, part 2

Jason was still absolutely furious, and grieving about what had happened with Bruce, despite Danny’s best efforts to comfort and look after him. The Joker’s death had helped a lot but there were so many other villains out there, and now with the knowledge that Bruce would never change Jason’s thoughts turned to Tim. The new Boy Wonder, going out night after night and putting himself in danger for the sake of adults who Should know better! Leading the Teen Titans and Still working with Batman, when did the fucking kid sleep?!

What was it going to take for everyone to realize he shouldn’t be out on the field?! Maybe an argument could be made for some of the more powerful teen heroes like Superboy, but Tim was Just a teenager! A super smart one sure but he could get hurt so easily, he could die just like Jason had. Was it going to take a serious injury to show them what a bad idea it was?

And maybe a part of Jason did blame Tim, not for his death obviously, but for taking Robin from him when it had been his pride and joy. It had meant everything to him, and it seemed like between the original Boy Wonder and the new genius boy Jason had nearly been forgotten.

So no he wasn’t thinking particularly logically when he got ready to go to Titan’s tower, and the closest thing he had to a plan was to get Robin alone and beat the shit out of him until he agreed to put the suit back in the memorial case where it belonged! The anger spiraled up and out as Jason prepared to leave, working himself up into a cold, green tinged fury.

He hadn’t told Danny what he was planning to do, and he hadn’t on purpose. Danny was loyal and sometimes almost too submissive, but Jason seriously doubted his boyfriend would let him do this. Maybe that ever-permissive Danny would have stopped him should have been a sign to Jason he really Shouldn’t, but he was not thinking logically in that moment. His blood was rushing in his ears, which was probably why he didn’t notice someone else was there until the door slammed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Danny demanded and Jason looked up to see him standing in front of the door, arms crossed and legs planted staring Jason down. His head was lifted and there was a stubborn set to his jaw that Jason Hated seeing because it meant Danny was not backing down. Alright, he hated seeing it directed at him, when Danny directed this at other people Jason thought it was hot as hell.

“Out,” Jason practically snarled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stomping towards the door in the vain hope that Danny would get out of his way.

“Like hell you are, not till you tell me Where you’re going worked up like this! What happened?” Danny demanded, and did not move an inch. When Jason got too close and tried to push past Danny he grabbed Jason and pushed him back hard. It was easy to forget how Strong he was.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” Jason snarled at Danny who stepped forward, infuriatingly fearless.

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? Good, then we can actually have a productive conversation about this.” Danny accused, jabbing a finger against Jason’s chest.

Jason grabbed Danny’s wrist without even thinking and twisted, throwing Danny over his shoulder and to the floor. He tried to bolt towards the door but felt a hand around his ankle and fell heavily as well. He’d only managed to roll over onto his back before Danny was on top of him, his own sharp teeth bared in fury. “You’re not running away from me, Jason!” He hissed as Jason struggled under him, still with just barely the presence of mind to be trying to get Away! If he started fighting Danny, or beating him properly there was no way Jason would be able to stop until he’d tired himself out and wouldn’t Want to go after Tim anymore.

Danny wasn’t going to let go though, and Jason’s eyes widened behind his mask when Danny lunged down, his teeth clamped down on Jason’s shoulder, tearing through his shirt and into his flesh easily. He howled and flipped them both over, the pain and perceived threat of someone near his vulnerable throat finally making him lose control.

By the time the green retreated from Jason’s vision again his knuckles were bloody and bruised. He was breathing heavily and his shoulders ached, and not just where Danny had bit him but the muscle ache of exertion. Under him Danny panted, eyes closed tight and bruises still fading slowly from his skin under Jason’s stunned gaze.

He pulled off his helmet and cupped Danny’s face with gentle hands. Danny opened his eyes again and looked up at Jason, eyes bloodshot and suspicious. Jason gave him a small smile and Danny relaxed, smiling back and lifting his arms to drape them around Jason’s shoulders, they were heavy, Jason could practically see that fatigue dripping off of Danny. He kissed his boyfriend gently and sweetly, peppering feather light kisses over any lingering bruises as Danny gave a soft, happy sigh.

“I need a bath,” Danny murmured softly. Even though the wounds healed the soreness lingered sometimes, baths helped, even if there wasn’t blood down Danny’s face and staining the collar of his shirt. Jason must have given him a bloody nose a few times over.

“Of course,” Jason murmured and got up off of Danny, helping him to his feet before scooping Danny up in a bridal carry. He was light, Jason’s arms weren’t too tired to carry his lover. In the bathroom Jason set Danny down on the counter and kissed him again softly before putting the plug in the tub and started the water running. He grabbed a dark coloured cloth and wet it before handing it to Danny so he could clean the worst of the blood off his face.

Out of habit he turned to leave, Danny still hadn’t let Jason see him with his shirt off so when he bathed he did it alone. But not this time it seemed, Danny grabbed Jason’s arm before he could leave the room, eyes wide and a little panicky. Shit, Jason didn’t mean to upset him! Did Danny still think Jason would try to sneak away once he was out of sight?

“No, please stay,” Danny said softly, looking like he might cry which was a knife in Jason’s heart honestly.

“Of Course I’ll stay, I just thought-, I mean you’re not going to bathe with your shirt on,” He said, trying to make a joke as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Danny. For the moment he’d almost forgotten why he was angry before, they’d have to talk about it soon but taking care of Danny came first.

“Well, no, but I don’t want to be alone right now and you’re going to have to see the scars eventually anyway. I just don’t like looking at them, or thinking about them really, but… ya.” Danny sighed and leaned back, finally stripping off his shirt as Jason braced himself, then carefully controlled his reaction and pushed down his nausea.

Danny’s scars were… extensive. They didn’t make Jason sick because they were unattractive of course, far from it, but because of the story they told. There was the lichtenberg scar Danny had shown him before, branching up his arm and curling over his chest, but that was probably the least disturbing. The most were the surgical wounds. Straight and clear forming a pronounced Y on Danny’s chest and abdomen, there were straight ones down both of his arms, and a vertical one up the front of his throat, though that one was just slightly less pronounced to the point it could be missed on first glance, out of contact with the rest of This.

Jason knew Danny didn’t scar easily, even when Jason had stabbed him in the shoulder the wound had not scarred. How bad, how extensive, how Deep had these wounds been, that they scarred like that?

Jason realized he was staring, and Danny was looking at him with concern slowly transitioning into panic. Jason stepped closer, leaning against the counter between Danny’s legs when he opened them for him, resting his hands on Danny’s soft hips. He pressed his lips against Danny’s forehead, hearing it as Danny let out a shuddering breath he must have been holding.

“I just… wish that hadn’t happened to you Danny. And I really wish it wasn’t taking so long for my hackers and agents to find out Where the other GIW bases are, I want to tear those people apart,” He said. He could feel the Pits stirring just slightly inside him, though they were too spent to really react right now.

“I could probably find them myself if I tried, but honestly I’m scared. I’m not sure I’m ready to face them again,” Danny said softly and Jason sighed.

“I get that Danny, it’s okay,” He promised. He wanted to blow up those bases ASAP, especially since they might be hurting other people, but he couldn’t Force Danny. Hopefully his people would find out more soon and Jason might be able to handle it on his own, maybe with some help from old friends.

The bath had finished running so Jason turned away from Danny to turn it off while he undressed the rest of the way. Jason gave him a hand to steady him as Danny stepped into the water and sank down into it with a sigh. Jason sat beside the tub, leaning against the edge and holding one of Danny’s hands as he relaxed. He’d wash off the remainder of the blood when he was ready to get out so he wouldn’t be soaking in bloody water till then.

“So, where were you headed That upset?” Danny asked, watching Jason with half lidded eyes.

“You know, one of these days I’m actually going to be going to do something time sensitive and you stopping me like that is going to cause problems,” Jason grumbled without heat. He knew he was a liability at times when his rage really took over and needed Danny with him then more than ever. Danny knew it too judging by the disbelieving huff he gave Jason in response. “I was… not being rational, I was freaking out about the new Robin.

“He’s just a kid like I was, I don’t want him to die,” Jason muttered, crossing his arms over the edge of the tub and resting his chin on them.

“So what were you planning to do? Kidnap him?” Danny asked calmly.

Jason avoided his gaze.

“Jason… you weren’t planning to hurt him were you?” Danny asked, and his disappointment was cutting and gentle. Jason’s shame was deep and heavy, making him shrink into himself.

“I thought maybe if I showed him how dangerous it was, how easily he could die he might Want to stop,” Jason muttered, barely audibly.

“You DID die and nearly the first thing you did once you came back was hop back into costume! Do you really think that would stop him when it didn’t stop you?! He doesn’t seem like he’s any less stubborn,” Danny accused him.

Jason groaned and buried his face in his arms, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. He was right of course, Jason had been being an idiot, driven by emotion and the blood rushing in his ears. He should have talked to Danny about this ages ago. “No, it wouldn’t have stopped him. So what do we do?” Jason asked, his voice muffled.

He felt Danny’s other hand in his hair and leaned in to the soothing touch a little, letting him card his fingers through Jason’s hair. “I know you’re not going to like this Jason, but I don’t think we can make him stop.” Danny said softly and Jason let out a sound that was half a groan and half a growl. “He won’t stop for pain, if we kidnap him we won’t be able to keep him and drawing that much attention to ourselves would definitely be a mistake. We can’t make him stop, but we can probably help him.”

Jason hummed and peaked at Danny who was gazing into the middle distance thoughtfully. “Danny? What are you thinking?” Jason asked a little warily.

“What did you need when you were Robin? What would have made you stop?” Danny asked, looking back down at Jason.

It was his turn to fall silent, thinking deeply about that question. He sighed and shifted, leaning his back against the edge of the tub and stretching his legs out in front of him. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling in contemplation. “Someone.. Who would support me unconditionally. Bruce didn’t Make me be Robin, but a lot of the time it felt like it was the only way I could get his attention. Being rewarded for Not going out… help?” He said with a vague little gesture of his free hand.

“Can we try to do that for him? If we can get in contact with him we can offer him support, places to hide if he needs a break from Bruce, help with homework? Whatever he needs. At first he’ll probably take advantage of that as an opportunity to spy on us, but as long as we’re careful about it, that could be our in,” Danny suggested.

“What would I do without you,” Jason sighed, looking at Danny with his damn heart in his eyes as Danny gave him a fond but sardonic smile.

“Apparently, nearly beat a teenager to death,” Danny said and Jason groaned, his head thunking back against the side of the tub.

“How long is it going to take for you to let that go?” He asked preemptively.

“Never,” Danny replied blithely. “I will bring it up every time I need to remind you Why you need to talk to me before doing something drastic.”

Jason groaned again, but he definitely deserved that.

--------

Instead of breaking into Titan Tower to fight Tim, Jason broke in to leave him a note in his room.

Hey Timmy (A.K.A. Replacement)

I know I’ve made a pretty damn terrible first impression but I want you to know that it’s not you I’m mad at. I understand wanting to be Robin, I loved the role more than anything before it killed me, and even though I don’t want any more dead kids I don’t think I can make you give it up.

But you know it’s dangerous, we both do. If you ever get in over your head, you need a place to hide, get in over your head in a fight? Hell, you need help with your homework. I'm really good with English and Hyena knows more than anyone I’ve met about Astronomy.

If the old man is with you we won’t let you in, but if You need anything you can call me, or come to the Alley. As long as you’re alone you are welcome, and I swear on my own grave no one will hurt you.

Red Hood

Masterpost

#Hyena!danny #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #dead on main #tw abuse #physical abuse #tim drake #fanfiction #Jason todd has anger issues

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212-apricity · 19 days ago

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siren songs and stolen kisses - jj maybank masterlist

🌊new series alert!!🌊

im beyond exicted to finally share my brand new jj maybank x reader fic series with you guys<33

its called "siren songs and stolen ksses" so expect all the drama, thrill, and romance we love in the original show, but with a twist — you’re a Cameron.

synopsis: Growing up as a Cameron means power, prestige, and tension with the Pogues. But for you, there's something (or maybe someone) drawing you closer to the chaos on the other side. Following the series' events, "siren songs and stolen kisses" will put you right at the centre of the action — from high-speed chases to summer nights by the bonfire — but now with a Pogue who’s ready to risk it all for you.

episodes are dropping irregularly but frequently, so stay tuned and don’t forget to bring a life jacket — this journey’s going to be wild.

started: 11th november 2024

last updated: 24th november 2024

status: ongoing

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

intro

1. pilot

2. the lucky compass

3. the forbidden zone

4. spy games (tbd, stay tuned!!)

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astray-anomaly · 20 days ago

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The first Chapter of Sea Level!!

TW: Hurt, character injury, violence, mention of death and experimentation

Here is the Ao3 link, if you rather not read it on Ao3 the chapter is below the cut!

12-5-25

13:42

For two days the whole Hadel Blacksite was drowned in complete darkness ever since the crystal was taken and with that all power was gone from the site, even the backup power was now offline. Meaning that small computer couldn’t work anymore, the same computer Sebastian was now wrapping up in a waterproof crate he had found in one of the storage units. Putting all of the extra wires and pieces in place along with a few classified documents he had left. He then covered them up with extra layers so they wouldn’t shuffle around as much to avoid any damage. Afterwards he shut and sealed the crate.

He swapped out the Scrambler on his back in favor of the crate, it was a bit heavier with all the extra equipment inside but he could carry it relatively easily. He quickly checked the radio he had on him, still no signal. He groaned and shoved it back in his jacket. He needed to get it, he did make a promise to get them out of here, he didn’t want to break it. True he had no intention of keeping it in the first place but damn it, he just had to get attached to this stupid old computer in only the two months they’ve known each other. Even if he still had doubts this was possible, he had to try to complete his promise, this was the one good thing he could do now with nothing else left.

It was worth a shot to get out of this forsaken hellhole then wait to get gunned down or probably die of starvation. He knew Urbanshade would soon send down groups of their guards again to clear out the place and start to repair it despite the multiple devastating damages to the site. Urbanshade would never just abandon this place, they would eventually get this place fully functioning again so he didn’t want to be there when they arrived. It was between the chance of seeing the sun again or death. Even if he was gonna die, he wanted to do it looking at the sky one last time.

He was hoping they would be able to reach Innovation Inc. once at the surface. It was one of the rival companies of Urbanshade he had been able to contact before all the radios were cut off, none of the others responded. Maybe he could finally get them both the help they needed if he had found that company, but he has to get out of the Hadel Blacksite first.

The only guide they had now was the dimly lit esca on Sebastian’s head and his poor night vision as he started his journey through the twisted and broken hallways of the facility. More and more water had begun to leak in as the outer pile system started to implode on themselves from the outside pressure. Even though the pressure here was the same as it would be just at the surface, the facility could only take so much after the power was gone and the pipe system was the first to collapse. So the whole facility will be flooded with water, leaving everything left to rust. But he knew Urbanshade wouldn’t let that happen so he had to get out quickly.

At least now there were more places to swim than having to slither through the cold hallways decorated in broken furniture, shattered glass, and sharp scraps. Sebastian had already caught his tail on a few pieces, even though most of them didn’t cut through the hard scales a few small parts managed to catch themselves in his flesh, making him bite back a painful hiss. Still he kept going forward.

All of the docks were blocked off by now so the plan was to find Z-317’s old containment cell and follow the passageway out to the ocean. The one that Sebastian had originally opened before when releasing Z-317 during the lockdown.

If only he could get there faster but his injured tail had to drag him down, yet it was better to be slow to not alarm the other creatures still roaming the facility. Even after releasing them they were still animals, they had to hunt, no doubt they would attack him on sight if they ended up spotting him. Even if he could fend for himself, that computer on his back was not as strong as he was, one slip up and it could possibly be over. He wouldn’t let that happen.

He had already been roaming around the dark facility for what felt like hours, at this point he was convinced he was going in circles, right, left, right- crash

Sebastian froze at hearing a loud noise behind him, screaming starting to echo through the halls. He’d been here for just long enough to recognize which entity was which just by their screeching alone and out of every single creature it just had to be this one.

Sebastian darted his way to find a side room or some sort of tunnel as quickly as possible as Pandemonium’s screaming drew nearer and nearer. When he couldn’t he just punched in one of the broken doors and pulled his way through, at least the mantis shrimp DNA was useful for something. He quickly curled into one of the corners as the room started to shake.

He held his breath as the creature’s roaring passed, it was silent for moments afterwards and Sebastian started to uncurl his tail from around himself and pull himself out the corner only for the screeching to start up again. Sebastian panicked, moving down the hallway as fast as he could. There was so much rubble scattered everywhere that he had to slither around, no wonder this hall was blocked off.

Sebastian growled in pain again as something else dug into his tail, he kept his shrimp claw holding onto the crate on his back as Pandemonium got nearer. He eventually spotted what looked like a way out, at least he hoped but he couldn’t escape that easily. Pandemonium was just behind him.

“That's it you ugly bastard!” He snarled angrily, swinging his tail back to hit the creature and basically ripping his shotgun out of the hostler. Shooting repeatedly at the mutated beast's face, managing to get the two main eyes, making the creature shriek in pain. Sebastian then took his chance to run for it, even with the two main eyes gone there were still many more staring at him.

At least the shock and pain from the creature gave him enough time to make his escape into the underwater tunnels, he didn’t stop to look back, not for one second.

Eventually everything was quiet again and Sebastian could relax a bit. However when the adrenaline died down he was hit with the agonizing pain in his tail from a big metal scrap impaled in his side,painting the water red. He bit his tongue as he held back tears. The salt water just made everything sting more, still he continued his way down the tunnel, trying his best despite the excruciating pain.

He finally got to the exit, dragging himself out of the water and crawled up the ramp. He laid down on the cold concrete floor, catching his breath and coughing up some blood. He had to sit up, pulling the crate off his back and pushing it to the side as he examined his tail that was dripping in blood. He still had a medkit left even if it wouldn’t help much, it was something.

He quickly scavenged through the small kit and pulled out the antibiotic ointment and bandages. He then looked back at his tail and saw just how badly the metal had stabbed itself in there, still it had to be taken out.

He bit down more on his tongue to the point of making it bleed as he gripped onto the metal tightly. Closing his eyes as he pulled, wailing as it was removed but was able to cover most of the noise. He couldn’t alarm any more monsters down here.

He threw the piece of metal back into the water, leaning back and holding his tail while also holding back tears. He reached for the antibiotics and started to apply them to the gaping wound, not even reacting to the cold sting anymore. He took whatever was left in the bottle and applied it to the more minor injuries, he didn’t want to waste bandages trying to wrap them up since they weren’t as severe. Once the bandages were applied to the large wound he laid down on the ground, catching his breath and closing his eyes. “..Fucking hell..” He groaned, knowing he had to get back up, after a bit he strapped the crate onto his back again and continued on his way.

Unfortunately now he was even more lost, not exactly sure where they ended up after having to make a quick escape from Pandemonium in a panic. So they could have been farther or closer to their destination, Sebastian prayed they were closer as he navigated through the dark corridors.

After an hour of mindlessly dragging himself around he noticed a familiar pair of large heavy doors, this was where the controls to the containment cells were, they were closer now.

He used the keycard he still kept from killing that one elite guardsman to unlock the door again. The door didn’t seem to open much with the mechanism damaged so he was forced to squeeze through. The inside was a complete mess, even the control console was torn apart by one of the creatures.

Sebastian continued his way through the labs and containment rooms. Keeping his gaze down on the floor so he didn’t have to see anything that could possibly trigger his memories. The smell here already made him feel nauseous.

He counted the doors until he finally saw the one that read Z-317. The room was taken up mostly by a large aquarium where the Eyefestian would originally be kept in. Now the glass was cracked and the tank was mostly drained with water spilling on the lab floor.

He debated on what to do for a moment, instead of picking carefully at the glass he decided to punch it in. Wasn’t the best choice but it was the quickest. He shook his hand off, his ears perked up when he heard the wailing sounds of another creature nearby, Frogger.

Sebastian carefully pulled himself through the glass and dropped into the water. Swimming down before the creature could bounce back to see him. Once at the bottom he let himself relax as the cold water completely engulfed him, releasing the tension in his body. He was no longer being chased, he could finally relax for a second. They were so close to the end now. He found the doors which lead the way out of here, they would finally get out to the ocean.

He slithered through the door and continued into the dark tunnel. What felt like an endless void with only his own esca to guide him which was getting dimmer with each passing minute, showing just as much energy he had left in him.

He swam through the tunnel for minutes with barely any light. His injured tail trying to push him along as much as possible. Until he finally saw a glimpse of light up ahead followed by the sound of rumbling footsteps. He had forgotten that the Trench Bleeders were still mobile because their power was separate from that of the Hadel Blacksite, they were still being controlled from somewhere else.

Sebastian darted to the light, swimming with all his strength until he heard the wretched sound of metal bending. “Shit-“ He cursed, noticing that the tunnel was closing in on itself. He swam faster even if it hurt to push himself, the water still stung. Hearing the creaking of the metal getting louder until finally-

He shot his way up through the exit and soon fell back onto the ocean floor as the tunnel crushed in on itself. Yet he wasn’t out of his troubles yet, he had to move, he had to get up. The Trench Bleeder was right over him, the lights from underneath the giant mechanism's foot blinded his already poor seeing eyes, he was about to be crushed if he didn’t move now.

He forced himself to get up, pushing his way through the water as the Bleeder’s foot came crashing down, shaking the whole place and making Sebastian’s entire head ring. After that everything went pitch black.

12-6-25

4:18

Everything was aching when Sebastian had opened his eyes again, he suddenly became aware of every part of his body that hurt, he could barely move to lift his head. His esca flickered on as he looked around to figure out his surroundings, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He found himself in some small cave in the ground, he took a breather and rested his head back down on the smooth rock, he was still so, so tired.

He had to remember why he was here, he had to get out of here or both him and p.AI.nter would die, or worse, p.AI.nter would be forced back to roblux mining. He couldn’t let that happen, he had to make it to the surface, he had to make it to Innovation Inc. he couldn’t just give up now. There was no time to rest, no matter how tired he was, he already got the rest he needed. The hardest part of the journey was already over.

Sebastian forced his body to move, wincing at the pain in his tail and spine. The crate was weighing him down a bit from his body being weaker. He swam out of the cave into the open water, everything was dark, the Trench Bleeder looked to be long gone by now, how long had he been asleep?

He didn’t stop to think about it, starting to swim upwards.

“Where are you going?”

Sebastian suddenly paused at the familiar voice that echoed in his head. He turned around to be met with the bright green glow of multiple eyes staring right at him. He used his hand to shield his eyes from the shining light before slowly lowering it back down and looking back at the curious radioactive shark before him.

“Well?”

“I thought you had left a long time ago, there is no prey for you here, not anymore.” Sebastian replied, staring down the creature, meeting her gaze.

“Where else would there be for me to go?” The shark circled curiously around Sebastian, moving closer.

“The surface.” Sebastian answered. “That’s where we are going, to get help.” He paused. “To go back to my home.”

“The surface isn’t where I belong, that is where you come from. I have no home to return to.” The Eyefestian responded blankly.

“Do you not remember anything?” Sebastian looked curious.

“No. If there is a home for me I doubt it would be very welcoming now. These depths are now my home.”

“You know you could come with us, you don’t have to stay in this place, with all the bad memories.” Sebastian reached out his hand, offering.

“I know you want me to, but I know you’ll do just as fine without me. Plus I’ve made some good memories down here too.” Eyefestian gently pushed her snout into Sebastian’s hand. “Go see them again..”

Sebastian just nodded, gently petting Eyefestian. He had so much to thank her for, she was there ever since the start of his experiments. She was the only creature to know what he truly looked like before and he was the first one to be able to appreciate her beauty without dying.

No further words were exchanged before Sebastian watched Eyefestian disappear back down into the dark depths again.

He wiped his eyes before focusing back on his mission, firstly making sure the crate was still fully secured before continuing up. Swimming for minutes on end as his tail guided him through the water until he felt the sudden crushing feeling of the pressure shifting, feeling like his whole body just collapsed in on itself within a second. Trying to catch his breath as his throat was squeezing and his body froze.

He was no longer in the Let-Vand Zone, he was in the deep sea now.

It took him a moment to get used to the extreme pressure change until his body slowly began to relax and he could breathe at a stable pace again. He checked the crate on his back, nothing looked crushed. The crates were very reinforced but that didn’t mean they could last long, he had to get to a lesser pressure level quickly.

It was harder to tread through the dense water, but he forced his tail to push himself through with as much force and speed as possible. Even if he could breathe normally everything still felt suffocating, making him feel lightheaded. He wasn’t even sure how fast he was moving with the water crushing his whole body.

Everything was completely black, not even his vision helped, he wasn’t sure if he was even moving upwards anymore, he could have been moving in any direction and he wouldn’t know unless he ended up hitting something or managed to breach the surface. It made him paranoid of anything jumping out at him, it was too dark, anything could come from any direction.

All he could do was hope he would run into nothing, he had to keep pushing. He was determined to get to the surface, his determination being more powerful than his own exhaustion. The more he swam, the more the pressure seemed to lift off of his body and he could finally move faster. It felt so freeing to be able to stretch out and move around without having any more worries, he wasn’t entirely free yet but he was getting close.

He swam for another hour, his tail barely dragging him along, until finally he saw an actual light reflecting from off the ocean’s surface. Dashing up to it in his excitement and breaking through the water. The smell of fresh air filling his nose, the gentle wind blowing through his wet hair, sounds of seagulls flying overhead and the gentle waves moving. He made it, he actually did it.

Sebastian smiled happily as tears poured down his cheeks. He used his hand to shade his tired eyes as he looked in the distance at the rising sun that had come up to welcome him back to the surface.

#pressure roblox #roblox pressure #pressure au #pressure fanfic #sebastian solace #pressure sebastian #p.ai.nter #painter pressure #sea level au #pressure sea level au #writing #dark writing #angst with a happy ending #anomaly.writing #art #anomaly.art

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