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asterlust · 4 days ago

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The World You Never Knew

When Gojo is sent to a small region to dispose of a powerful curse, only to learn it’s already been dealt with, he finds something far more interesting.Or, rather, someone.

Yandere!Gojo x reader

Tags: Rape/Non-con, violence, yandere/obsessive/possessive behavior, threats of blackmail, smut, P in V, v fingering, rough (more on Ao3)

Word count: 12.1K

an: A present to Poly @/Envy-of-the-apple. Absolutely stunning individual, that one, HIGHLY recommend his work. Pls go tell him that you love his porn and jerked off to it 12 times in his anons.

This is a repost from my other blog, as this one will be dedicated to dark content. Sorry, and thanks for bearing with me <3

“Ughhhhh.”

“Gojo Satoru! This is–”

“Yeah, yeah,” a lazy hand waved through the air, irritated, like swatting away an annoying fly. “I got it. Go to this town, deal with the spirit. Is that it? Really? I mean, do you have to send me specifically? Seems underneath me.”

“It’s a Grade 1. Ieiri doesn’t fight, Nanami is busy on another mission, and the Kyoto branch is busy training new sorcerers. You’re the only person left.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“This is not a request! It’s an order, Satoru.”

A deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh escaped the owner of the Six Eyes, who finally kicked his feet off the office desk and rocked his chair back into its proper upright position. “Fine,” he ground out, slapping his knees as he stood up. “I’ll go. Where is this place again?”

Yaga’s cheek twitched. “Kami-shima.”

Gojo nodded, half-paying attention as he dug around his ear with his pinky. “‘Kay.”

“Thank yo–”

Before the teacher could finish his statement, the door to his office slammed shut, prompting him to drop heavily into his seat with a groan.

He rubbed at his forehead, defeated and drained after dealing with the heir of the Six Eyes. “That child…”

All he could do was pity any village inhabitants that might cross paths with Gojo Satoru.

«___° ° °___»

“Left!”

On cue, you ducked right, dodging a nasty swipe aimed straight for your head. A moment later, a second arm lashed out, and you somersaulted to entirely avoid the series of limbs racing towards you. Dirt clung to your back as you rolled onto your feet, your arm working to wrap the heavy chains of your tsuri-dōrō around your wrist and palm.

The demon screeched and spun to face you, enraged by your swift escape. Its arms flailed, sickly green and bronze appendages that wriggled and writhed, squirming like worms on a wet stone – six on the left, nine on the right.

You and Mirio had been running circles around it for the better part of fifteen minutes, wearing down its stamina chip by chip. You had already lopped off two of its arms and a leg, scorch marks decorating its infected, necrotic flesh, but it had yet to slow down.

“Back, right, down!”

You raised your right leg, and slammed it down the moment a wobbling, flailing limb appeared beneath you. Your lantern dropped on top of it behind your calf, and you channeled your mahou into it. Its blue flame flared, blazing up the length of the monster’s arm on command, eating away at its thin tissue. The inhuman sound that escaped its gaping maw grated on your ears, but you only increased the power behind the fire, pushing until the arm burned through and fell off.

As the demon stumbled away, howling at the top of its lungs, its disembodied arm continued to twitch and thrash, like salt thrown onto frog legs. Your nose wrinkled, and you kicked it away, turning around to continue fighting, chain winding once more in preparation to be thrown.

But, to your luck, a long spear was already stuck through the beast’s center, spikes protruding like the rays of the sun to keep it lodged in place, poison dripping off the polished wood. A paralytic, specially designed to affect only demons. The stronger the demon, the more the paralytic affected them.

Your name was shouted. “Now!”

Wasting no time, you swung your tsuri-dōrō over your head twice, and launched it at the demon. The dark metal legs caught onto a flap of loose flesh and punctured into the muscle beneath, providing the perfect hold needed to maintain steady, undisturbed contact.

It screamed, but it was too late.

“Burn!” You shouted, weaving twin flames chasing one another down the black chain until they reached the center of the lantern. In an instant, the entire monster was engulfed in a blistering, cyan inferno. It wailed as its body began to flake and fall away, washi lit with a candle and released to float to the heavens. Rapidly, your target decayed, crusting and disintegrating until all that was left was a pile of ash that, too, was fading.

Before it wholly disappeared, Mirio jogged over, her hands clasped; pinkies and ring fingers intertwined, index and middle fingers set flush to one another and pointing upwards.

“Be released,” she urged. With a damp poof, the ash popped, fizzled, and was gone.

You sighed in relief, allowing your tsuri-dōrō to settle on the soil. Bent over, you propped your hands up on your knees, gulping down gallons of air to catch your breath. You’d been napping soundly under the warm sun until Mirio had shown up, panicked as she shook you awake and informed you that a demon was encroaching on the village. Given no time to stretch and yawn and prepare, you’d hopped up and ran straight into battle.

You didn’t regret it, no, of course not. But, man, you were going to be sore in the evening. You could already feel the acid leaching from your thighs, causing your muscles to twitch like soapy bubbles popping.

“Sure you’re not too old for this, ma’am?” A tease, given to you from your very own apprentice, one darling Akinori.

They were a spritely, young kid, far too eager for the fate awaiting them, the obligation they accepted when they became – pleaded to be – your apprentice. They aspired to be like you, like the rest of the Exorcists that wandered the island, and while you weren’t entirely comfortable with the pedestal they put you on (unintentionally, you knew. They were a good kid and meant well), you remembered what it was like when you were their age.

Starry-eyed, excited to play your part in protecting your home, your people, defending them from the monsters under the bed that used to scare you.

Now, all you wanted was a nap. A strong drink, too.

“Nori,” you panted out, and stood straight once more. “Shove it up your ass.”

They pouted. “Is that any way to speak to your apprentice?”

You used your index finger to flick at their forehead. “I warned you, you knew what you were getting into. No complaining, now.”

Nori snorted and rolled their eyes, but obeyed, skipping up to your side. Their stripped, paperless parasol was folded, and with a flick of their wrist, the weapon disappeared. Following suit, you let your chain fall to the ground, and both it and your tsuri-dōrō vanished in a bundle of sparkles.

Beside you, Mirio was writing on a strip of paper, a block of wood held underneath it for support. “Time of exorcism: 14:23. Well done, that was quick. It only took seventeen minutes.”

You groaned as you arched your back, hands on your lumbar to aid in cracking the vertebrae there. “Not bad. You’ve gotten better at callouts. How’s your vision?”

At the mention, your fellow Exorcist rubbed her eye, grunting. “Not awful. Aches a little, but I think it’ll go away in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy.”

She nodded back. “‘Course. Do you want to go report to the Elder about the demon?”

Cocking your head side to side, wincing at the clicks in your neck, you hummed in consideration. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get it out of the way now.”

With Nori tucked against your side, the kid rambling (again) about how cool your strength was (again) and fluffing up your ego (appreciated), your little trio made their way towards the Elder’s home, ready to turn in the report. Ideally, you’d get it over quick, and be freed to continue that late afternoon nap of yours.

Unfortunately, the world seemed to have other plans.

Stopping in your tracks, you locked onto a figure approaching from the distance, dressed nearly from head-to-toe in black, save for the shock of white hair decorated atop their head. They walked hunched over, hands tucked away in their pockets, clearly detesting whatever had brought them to this hamlet.

Noticing that you’d fallen behind, Akinori and Mirio called out to you simultaneously.

You waved them off pacifyingly. “Go ahead without me, I'll deal with this.”

“You sure, auntie?” Nori asked, peering skeptically at the incomer.

You crinkled your nose at the bridge. “Don’t call me that, you’ll make me feel old.”

“Would you prefer ‘mom’?”

You began reaching to tug off a shoe. “You–!”

Mirio grasped Nori’s arm and began tugging them away, waving at you from over her shoulder. “See you at the Elder’s house, auntie! Be careful!”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest petulantly as you watched your juniors disappear across the bridge in a fit of giggles, Nori’s laughter carried on the soft, ocean breeze to you, and you eventually sighed as you dismissed your irritation. “Damn children,” you mumbled, returning your attention to the stranger, who was now only a few meters away.

Closer, now, you could see it was a man – a boy, really. You had at least a decade on him, maybe that and a half. His cheeks were still round with youth, scrawny despite his unruly height. Wide shoulders, yes, but arms and legs like twigs. Lanky, damn near sickly with just how pale the exposed skin of his face was.

Even so, you could recognize the presence of mahou no matter where you were, and his was particularly strong. White hair, too. Strange, you thought. Albinism? Something else? It was certainly a unique look, if nothing else. You’d ask about it later, if you found the chance.

“Welcome to Kami-shima,” you told him once he was in reach, arms lowering to rest at your sides. “What brings you here?”

He stopped in front of you, head raising to show that he was wearing round shades, the lenses pitch black. Hell, you weren’t sure he could see through them at all to begin with, but he made it here and hadn’t tripped yet, so maybe it was simply an illusion that made them look darker than they were.

He was silent for a drawn out moment, then responded, a plucked brow raising. “Who are you?”

“Manners,” you chided, then gave your name. “I’m a local Exorcist.”

He quipped sarcastically, “Exorcist? What, like, you scare away ghosts? Puh, you know those aren’t real, right?”

Good heavens, who raised this boy? Even your grandpa, notorious hardass that he was, was never this condescending.

“No,” you enunciated slowly. “I exorcise demons. You’re lucky, we just got rid of one shortly before you arrived.”

He frowned, and a look of deep consideration crossed over the parts of his expression you could see. It made him look like he was pouting, like thinking was a task he wasn’t ever keen to do. Pretty easy to clock him as a spoiled, rich kid. This had to be a punishment for him of some kind.

You met him less than thirty seconds again, and you could already see why it would be.

He huffed, the noise one of disbelief. “Wait, the cursed spirit? You got rid of it? That thing was a Grade 1, how could you exorcise it?”

“The hell does ‘Grade 1’ mean?” You mumbled, and shook your head. “Nevermind. I was able to exorcise it because I’m the most experienced Exorcist in this part of Kami-shima.”

“But, you’re so…weak.”

Your brow twitched and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “Someone needs to discipline you,” you insisted. “Come on, I’ll take you to the Elder.”

In truth, while you did intend to show him your way of life, since he clearly had no clue how any of this worked, there was something about him that unsettled you. Greatly. Part of the reason you wanted to hurry and meet up with the senior was so that you weren’t alone with the newcomer anymore.

He was a jerk, sure, but that’s not what (wholly) bothered you.

No, it was the way you could feel him staring into you, through you.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but it was easy to sense the sheer power behind his gaze, the way he seemed to look down at you as if you were an insect. Maybe, that was his Strength, those eyes of his. Gods, what an unsettling thought, for someone’s power to lie within their eyes alone. All he would need was a glance. A peek, and cities would be razed.

His Weakness would be blindness, were someone to somehow reach his face and claw out those orbs, but you had a feeling that nobody would ever get the chance.

As much as you hated when people wore sunglasses, since it made them look exceptionally suspicious, you were, inexplicably, grateful that his were planted solidly on the bridge of his nose, blocking his hues from your sight. Whatever it was about them, the irritating tickle in the back of your mind told you that you didn’t want to ever peer into them personally.

Without waiting to see if he was following you, you started walking towards the village, and a few, delayed seconds later, you heard him jog to keep up.

“What’s your name, kid?” You queried.

He clicked his tongue. “Gojo Satoru,” he replied, like you were supposed to drop onto your knees and stick your head in the ground, performing dogeza for having not realized his identity sooner.

Instead, you blinked at him from the corner of your eye, and kept striding forward.

“Alright, Gojo. Nice to meet you,” you hummed. “Were you drawn to Kami-shima because of the demon?”

Gojo cocked his head to the side, further and further until his jaw popped. “Yep. Got sent to this…place on a mission.”

You let out a ‘huh’ sound. “Mission? Oh, so you’re part of another sect of Exorcists? Are you from the mainland?”

He shrugged idly. “Nah, I’m a sorcerer.”

“Sorcerer? What a weird name.”

“You people are the ones with the weird names. Demons, Exorcists, what’s up with that?”

You raised a hand on instinct to smack the back of his head, only to be stopped completely by the sensation of…air?

Staggering to a stop, you flexed your hand, sensing the strong resistance pushing back into your palm. It wasn’t like you had been frozen into place, your hand hitting a brick wall; you could still feel the energy flowing in and around it, the twitching of your muscles that indicated you remained in control of them. You were moving, just incredibly slowly, enough so that by the time you breached through this invisible barrier, you’d likely be bones rotting and returning to the earth.

Withdrawing, you brought your hand to your chest, rubbing your thumb into the center of it to swipe off the excess mahou the ability left on you. “What in the world? Is– is that your Strength?” You were so certain his eyes were his Strength, were you wrong?”

A grin split across Gojo’s lips, tugging at the corners until it pushed his cheeks upwards. “Infinity. It’s the inherited Technique of the Gojo clan. Neat, right?”

“Technique?” You repeated. “How does it work?”

“Anything that comes into contact with Infinity is slowed down infinitesimally until it almost ceases entirely.”

How fascinating, you thought. How terrifying. The power to divide a number upon itself forever and never reach zero, to apply that to himself, to others.

Just what was his Strength?

Deciding to let the Elder figure it out for you, you crossed the bridge with Gojo in tow, offering hellos to the familiar faces you passed by, who stared unabashedly at the outsider. The aforementioned outsider himself didn’t appear to mind the attention in the slightest. If anything, he relished it, waving and grinning at the older women, cooing at the young children hiding behind their mother’s legs.

Your people weren’t unkind to newcomers. Given how small the island was, the low population, visitors weren’t common. You had nothing to offer tourists; attractions, interesting structures, none of those existed. All you had were beautiful landscapes, a tepid oceanfront, local specialties, and warm hospitality.

For most, that was more than enough. Those that came knew what to expect, and didn’t make a fuss.

You believed Gojo wouldn’t behave that way, and your neighbors seemed to think the same.

The call of a youngling made you turn, watching as an adolescent boy ran up to you, arms outstretched. You knelt down, allowing him to crash into you, the force causing you to puff out an ‘oof’.

“Miss Exorcist, Miss Exorcist,” he practically bounced on his toes. “Is the demon gone?”

Patting his back twice, you hummed in assent. “All gone. We took care of it, don’t you worry.”

“What did it look like?”

You mulled over his question, deciding how to tastefully leave out the grosser details a kid his age didn’t need to know. “It was tall, with a big mouth and so many arms, I lost count,” you embellished, not mentioning the stench of rot and decay that stuck to it like a miasma, nor the way the detached arms wriggled like abandoned lizard tails.

He hooned, brown irises glittering with fascination. “So cool! Was it strong?”

“Super strong.”

“But, you’re stronger, right? That’s why you won!”

Enjoying his chiming laughter, you leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “That’s right. I’m way stronger. No big, scary monster is gonna get you, not under my watch.”

He giggled. “Can I be like you one day? See and fight the monsters, too?”

You hummed in contemplation. Not many were born with the ability to see the demons, let alone take them down. “Even if you never get to see them, it’s never a bad idea to get stronger. Gotta protect that little sister of yours if I can’t be there.”

He nodded firmly, deadly serious. “I’ll keep her safe. I want you to be proud of me.”

“I already am,” you ruffled his hair, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Now, go, find your mom. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

“She’ll make me do chores…”

“Then, you better hurry back before she gets mad and gives you more work, hm?”

He gasped, suddenly aware of the consequences of avoiding chores. He wormed his way out of your hold and scurried off, thanking you on his way.

As you stood back up, Gojo appeared at your side out of nowhere, nearly scaring you out of your damn skin.

He paid your spook no mind, his attention focused on where the kid had vanished down the tight alleyways. “They know?”

“Huh?”

“They know about curses? That you’re a sorcerer? The people of this island?”

You blinked. “They know about demons, and that I’m an Exorcist, of course, they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

“They’re not supposed to,” he claimed, brows knitting. “We’re meant to protect humanity, so they can live in ignorant bliss.”

Your lips tugged downwards in displeasure. “That’s too dangerous,” you explained. “If they didn’t know, they’d have no way to protect themselves if one of our Exorcists isn’t around. How are people supposed to survive in this world if they aren’t aware of the threats that exist in it?”

He didn’t reply to that, lost for an answer. “How do they know, if they can’t see curses?”

From the back pocket of your pants, you pulled out a wooden token – an omamori. “From the shrine,” you informed him. “Grants protection, and kinda works like a siren. If a demon is close by, the omamori creates a thin barrier around the owner that can deflect most demonic attacks. Gives them enough time to get back to safety and warn the Elder.”

“Who is the Elder? You keep mentioning him.”

Giving him a wan smile, you pushed open the door of a nearby home, jolting your head towards it.

“You’re about to meet her.”

True to your word, as you stepped inside, you found the Elder sitting in her armchair, nursing a steaming cup of tea as Nori and Mirio rambled about the defeated demon.

“–And, then, she threw her tsuri-dōrō on it, and it went fwum! Totally badass!”

Mirio smacked the back of Nori’s head. “Language!”

“Wha– but it’s true!”

The Elder laughed, her crackling voice soothing the bickering pair. “It’s alright, little Mirio. They’re still young, let them be excited,” she said, placing her cup on the side table next to her chair. “Besides, we have guests.”

Both of the younger two in the room whipped their heads around to take in your and Gojo’s presence.

“Hey,” you greeted. “Miss me?”

Nori hopped up to their feet from the floor and pointed at Gojo, completely disregarding you. “That’s him! That’s the stranger!”

This time, it was you that whacked them on their shoulder. “Manners! It’s rude to point and yell.”

They pouted. “Sorry, auntie. But, that’s him, right?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed. “Yes. This is–”

“Six Eyes.”

All present froze to look at the Elder, who gazed at the white-haired man with wonder and awe.

Gojo scoffed. “Finally, someone recognizes me.”

She shook her head. “Not you, boy. Your Strength. You wield the Six Eyes, do you not?”

You watched his jaw muscles feather, but the pride of someone being aware of his power overwhelmed any sort of irritation her dismissal incited. “I do. What of them?”

So, it was his eyes, after all. You were right.

“That’s powerful magic there, boy,” she warned. “Too powerful, in the wrong hands.”

He rolled his eyes (well, his head – those sunglasses were in the way, and he was notably very aware of them) and sucked his teeth. “It’s fine, I’m the strongest. Best hands, right here.”

“Elder,” Mirio tugged at the woman’s sleeve. “What are the Six Eyes?”

She took the girl’s hand into her own pair, palms worn soft with age. “They’re like your eyes, but much more powerful, my dear. Capable of seeing everything.”

“Everything?”

She confirmed, “Everything. Light, mahou, your heart. Nothing can hide from those eyes.”

Mirio placed a hand over her chest, evidently covering her heart, protecting it from Gojo’s intrusive gaze, were he to try and see it for himself.

It explained the glasses, at least. Likely to dampen the effect of his Strength. You imagined that having them bared was unpleasant, if the Elder’s words were true. Mirio suffered from potent headaches if she channeled her Strength for too long. Was Gojo’s Strength permanently activated?

“That’s not all to you, is it, child?”

Gojo grumbled something about not being a child, so you stepped in.

“He claims to have something called ‘Infinity’. In short, I can’t touch him,” you told her. “Elder Aisha, is it possible for someone to have multiple Strengths?”

Aisha considered it, resting her chin between her index and thumb. “It is, though it is more rare in today’s age. With less demons, there’s less need for an Exorcist to possess multiple Strengths. Your ancestor had two.”

“My ancestor?”

She got to her feet with a groan and pop of her knees, and hobbled over to a nearby bookshelf. Her lithe fingers skimmed over the backs of a few books, and eventually pulled one out. She popped it open and flipped through a number of pages, then handed it to you to observe.

On the page was an ukiyo-e painting of a man settled in seiza, flowing kimono robes pooling around him. On his left stood a bronze lantern, unlit, its chain looped neatly in coils under its base. You realized that it was your lantern.

“Your ancestor, Yoshitsune,” she tapped on his face, “had the ability to create any item the good spirits deemed necessary to ensure his victory in battle.”

“Fascinating…I had no idea. What about Gojo, then?”

Gojo made a noise.

You lifted your head from the book. “What?”

He crossed his arms, tapping his toe on the soft rug of Aisha’s living room. “This is boring. I didn’t come here for a history lesson.”

Your temperature spiked with anger. “You–”

“Of course,” the Elder interrupted you. “My apologies. My dear here,” she motioned towards you, “will give you a tour of our modest town. Won’t you, dear?” She asked rhetorically.

“I–”

At the way she pried your fingers off the book and snapped it shut, you promptly closed your mouth and swallowed down any objections.

“I’d be happy to,” you forced a positive inflection. You didn’t want to leave, you wanted to learn more (Aisha had a way of making your grown ass interested in anything), but you knew when to bow your head and accept a task, even if it was one you despised.

Tomorrow. You’d pester her tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the stranger would be gone.

«___° ° °___»

Surprisingly, he was obedient in trailing after you, a bit like a duckling.

You expected more whining, more complaining, more bitching. Your home, after all, did not seem like a place that would hold his attention for any length of time. Though, you supposed that was accurate, since it was you he was keenly captivated by.

It made your stomach churn.

So, you tried to take the spotlight off of yourself. “How long are you staying?”

He shrugged one shoulder languidly. “I was gonna leave as soon as I got rid of that cursed spirit, but since you already killed it…might as well stay. A mini vacation, y’know? I definitely need one, the higher-ups have been yapping their old, greasy heads off again. It’s so annoying. They talk and talk and talk, going on and on. Can’t stand it. They never shut up.”

Tongue held between your teeth, you let him go on, ignoring your desire to stick a rock in his mouth. Currently, you planned to show him the boring spots around town, confident you could scare him into leaving early.

“Peachy,” you muttered once he paused to take a damn breath. “Great, well, I’ll show you around, then drop you off at an inn–”

“Ooooor, I can just stay with you.”

You coughed on your spit. “Pardon?”

He kicked a pebble. “I mean, it’s way more convenient. We won’t have to cut our conversations short, and we can get to know each other better.”

The lilt at the end of his sentence sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m way older than you, it’d be impro–”

He stopped in front of you. “I don’t care.”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “Gojo–”

“I’m serious,” he asserted. “I don’t mind that you’re older.”

“That’s not– I mind.”

Gojo raised his hands placatingly, almost as if surrendering. “Don’t worry, I won’t leech off’a ya. I’ll compensate you fairly for housing me. As thanks.”

You snarled. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“You should come with me, back to Tokyo,” Gojo said. “We always need more sorcerers. Strong sorcerers.”

Whiplash. From one topic to the next, never giving you a chance to find ground to stand on.

A bubble of something trickled up your throat. Hesitance? Distaste? Anxiety? Something that made acid sting your esophagus. Your anger dissipated, replaced with disorientation. “Oh,” you responded dumbly, lagging behind. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

“Why? It’s so much better than this place,” he insisted, jeering at your surroundings. “More interesting. Plus, I’ll be there.”

That’s exactly the issue.

Your eye twitched in offense. He knew exactly how to rile you up, and it was working, to your chagrin. The constant turbulence was throwing you off balance, pissing you off. “This is my home. I won’t stand by and let you insult it simply because our way of life is different from yours. Like I said: thanks, but no, thanks.”

The boy remained silent, expression neutral, and it had nervousness twisting in the pit of your gut. You’d rather he yell at you, shame you, call you dumb or old or what have you. So long as he didn’t examine you the way he did now, unresponsive, biding his time. Picking you apart down to the molecular level, separating your atoms until you were strewn apart, latticework for him to admire.

A dissection done by your shrine god would have been less invasive. Their hands wouldn’t have felt as abrasive while digging through your guts, their nails wouldn’t have scratched your cold, stiff arms and legs. Not the same way Gojo’s glare peeled your layers off one by one, time taken to examine each and every slice with diligent fixation.

Your god would take your Strength, and return it to the world, allowing it to one day resurface so it may return to your reincarnation when the time came.

Instinctively, you knew that Gojo would take it, and keep it for himself.

He’d wrap his hands around the flickering flame of your soul, squeeze the heart of your very being, just to feel your warmth. He’d search through your body to find what his greed most desired, and cling to it, breathing in the scent of ash and cracking cherry bark that released a sweet scent as they burned, one too enticing for him to admire only in passing.

He’d take your tsuri-dōrō and let it burn everything until only you remained, cupped in his palms, held too high above the smoking soil to consider jumping off.

Not unless you wished to succumb to the blaze yourself.

You waited.

Waited, and waited, and waited, apprehension growing, sweat forming at your hairline and slipping down your temple as you anticipated the explosion that would follow your rejection, the burst of emotion too violent to keep contained inside a body that never knew how to back down, a mind that was never told no.

He opened his mouth, you held your breath–

“Just give it some thought, okay?” Gojo smiled, his head tilting to the side benevolently. “It’s an open offer.”

–nothing.

No burst, no violent meltdown, no tantrum from the spoiled brat. No demands, no threats, none of your expectations met.

It should relieve you. To some degree, it did.

A bigger part of you, the part that had bundled up energy in preparation for an argument that wouldn’t happen and had no outlet anymore, tensed up in a brief twist of panic.

He wasn’t calm, not at all. Anyone else, he could easily fool, bearing that charming grin and nonchalant stance, his tone easy and cheery, accepting the rejection with grace and humility. Anyone that wasn’t you.

Your sensitivity to mahou meant you were painfully aware of how strongly his flared.

At your refusal, it swelled fiercely, gasoline poured over unlit charcoal. It came like a heavy downpour, a cataclysmic cleansing of the sin that infested the ground you walked on, the tree canopies you hid under. A freezing rush in the dead of summer, frostbite nipping at your fingertips, craving your heat, the iron of your blood, to feast on your vitality.

Then, it was gone.

Its swift arrival was followed by an equally swift departure, leaving behind a vacuum, energy sucked out too fast. It staggered you, your equilibrium briefly interrupted, confusion and fear making you dizzy.

But, he kept smiling, pretending nothing was wrong.

You knew better than to point it out, to mention his temper, the displeasure you knew paced back and forth, a caged animal that salivated and rubbed its side into the bars, knowing it was a matter of time until it was freed, given permission to hunt its promised meal.

You bit down your prey response, the temptation you had to fawn, to placate. Apologize, tell him you changed your mind, you’d go, so long as he didn’t destroy your home.

You’re a fighter, for fuck’s sake. An Exorcist. You’re better than this.

You stifled the need to say that aloud. To assure him you weren’t going anywhere.

“Yeah,” you said through your teeth, a strained simper. “I’ll think about it.”

«___° ° °___»

The moment you unlocked the door to your house, Gojo made a beeline for your couch, dropping into it with a weary sigh. Comfortable, right at home, like he belonged.

Just make it through the night, you tried to convince yourself. Have to make it through the night. Then, he’ll be gone.

Cracking his knuckles, he stretched out his long legs and tucked his hands behind his head. “Thanks for housing me.”

The cheek, the gall. You had trouble believing you’d somehow let the kid coerce you into permitting him entry into your private space. What would your Chichi think of you now? You mourned, grumbling as you kicked off your shoes and stacked them neatly in the genkan, scowling at the way he let his fly every which way. Because you weren’t raised to be petty (though you wanted to be), you gathered his sneakers and aligned them, too.

“Yup,” you replied sarcastically, popping the p. “My pleasure.”

He ran you ragged, practically dragging you through the streets, stopping to eat at your favorite restaurant (he paid, claimed it was ‘his treat’. The restaurant might no longer be your favorite). He demanded to see the shrine, the gift shop – “we don’t have a gift shop.” – the beach – “I’m not going swimming with you.” – anything he could put his mind to.

Frankly, you were exhausted, and wanted him out of your home, but you wanted your bed more.

“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you told him flatly. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

He whinged. “What, won’t let me in your bed?”

“I’m not giving you my bed,” you spat out grumpily as you tugged open the hallway closet and tunneled through it in search of a blanket. If you had it your way, you’d let him cover himself in toilet paper for the night, but your Mama raised you better than that. Unfortunately.

He mumbled under his breath, “That’s not what I said…”

Quilt in hand, you blinked at him, not having heard him properly. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he swept away your curiosity in a sing-songy tone. “Where’s your bathroom?”

You waddled over to the couch, not quite able to see exactly where you were going until you dropped the pile of fabric onto the corner seat of the couch. “Oh, uh. It’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Wordlessly, he got up and vanished into the room. The light flicked on, the door closed, and you were alone.

Visibly, the tension in your body melted, stress you didn’t know you were holding. Your shoulders slumped, and you were able to breathe, conscious of his absence. Air bolted back into the room, uninhibited now that his stifling, dominating presence wasn’t there to consume it all for himself.

For a few sacred, precious minutes, you stood there, absorbing the peace of existing without the ghostly sensation of Gojo breathing down your neck.

The sound of the tap turning on drew you out of your reverie, and you busied yourself. Unfolding the blanket, laying it across the sofa to act as both a sheet and comforter Gojo could fold over himself, propping up a nearby throw pillow, trying not to think about whatever it was he was doing in your bathroom. Pretending. Pretending all of this was normal. A familiar guest visiting from the mainland, one that acted normal, looked normal, sounded normal, was normal.

It only lasted so long.

The door opened, and out he came, yawning loudly. Round sunglasses still in place.

His hair was mussed up, face ever so slightly damp, water droplets clinging to a few strands of pure white. Fresh, ready for bed.

Like you, he was pretending. Whether for your sake, or not, you didn’t bother trying to understand.

His mahou continued to flow through his veins, primed, never released. His energy bounded off of him in waves, lazy, seafoam lapping leisurely along the beach’s shoreline. Sand darkened by the salt and water, then lightening as the murky green receded.

While you knew that he and his sorcerer kind functioned differently from you and your Exorcist kind, you were certain that his energy was distinctly abnormal. Never resting, never sated. It salivated, greedy, intent to devour anything he got his hands on.

If you weren’t careful, it’d be you he gorged himself on, ingesting you, flesh and bone and sinew and all.

“Man, I’m wiped,” he lied, stretching his arms high above his head. If he stood on his toes, his fingertips would brush the ceiling.

Your lips tugged at the corners into a flat, stiff line. “Good timing. I finished setting up the couch for you. You can go ahead and sleep now.”

As he passed you, he tapped your ass twice. “Thanks, pretty.”

You squeaked, covering your backside, but he appeared none the wiser to your plight. Or, purposefully ignorant.

Just overly friendly, he doesn’t know any better. Spoiled brat, young, a kid.

Whatever excuse you needed to comfort yourself, you sought out, jaw wound shut. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow.

The bearer of the Six Eyes plopped down onto his makeshift bed, adjusting to get comfortable, and sighed like an old dog. Happy. Right at home.

“G’night,” he drawled.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

He grumbled something, but you were far past caring, not bothering to stop and ask him to repeat himself. Hurriedly, you locked yourself in your bathroom, hands braced on your sink, lights off. The thought of looking at yourself was unbearable, facing how much a 20-something-year-old unraveled you as easily as plucking a loose string on a knitted sweater, rows upon rows of destroyed for mere curiosity. Vapid, temporary interest.

Fuck, you couldn’t wait for him to be leave, so you could erase him from your memories using bleach and a wire brush.

Gulping down your loathing, you flicked the switch, and dared to meet the foe residing in the mirror.

She posed the same way you did, skin pulled taut over her knuckles, bones protruding from how tightly she gripped the wooden edge. Bags darkened the crescents under her eyes, cheeks sunken, scleras bloodshot. Were you a stranger, a friendly neighbor, you would have asked her if she was sick, bid her to sit down, wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of ginger and lemon tea.

But, there was nobody who could help you now, give you that comfort. Your Mama and Chichi were on the other side of the village, enjoying having the house to themselves ever since you moved out a decade ago. Sunday brunches were a given, those weekly visits ritualistic and necessary and wanted.

Showing up uninvited, so late at night, a stranger left behind in your home?

They’d have your head on a pike.

Bear with it. You were an adult, an Exorcist. Gojo was just some runt from the mainland.

You’ll be okay.

Won’t you?

Massaging your temple to encourage your blooming headache to go away already, you reached out with your free hand to grab your toothbrush, only to halt dead in your tracks.

It was wet.

A cold shiver swarmed you, raising hairs along your arms and nape, goosebumps forming.

He–

He used your toothbrush? Your toothbrush?

It– sure, you forgot about getting him a new one, but surely he would have known to ask for one.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breath heavily through your nose, slow and deep inhales. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fucking fine. It’s a toothbrush. You were lucky that you had spares, and even if you didn’t, you were able to use your finger in a worst-case scenario.

Pointedly avoiding the now tainted toothbrush, you rifled through the top drawer of the counter, locating a brand new one. You ripped open the packaging, ran it under the water, added toothpaste, and scoured at your teeth aggressively. You went at them like you hated them, like there was blood stuck in them, drenching the wells of your molars, staining the enamel. Behind your incisors, on your cuspids, to the back of your tongue, gag reflex triggered.

You brushed, and brushed, and brushed, panting when you finished. Fluoride in your stomach, stinging your nasopharynx, the cost to feel clean, at least here.

Had you felt safer, were there not a stranger down the hall, you would have sat down in the shower and let scalding hot water wash away your revulsion and make you anew, burn away the dirt of where he dared to touch you, of where his eyes strayed.

Choking out the toothpaste, mouth aching from the cold water you punished yourself with, you nearly clawed at your face to rinse away the oil and grime of the day, wanting to be done already.

The sooner you were in bed and fell asleep, the sooner the next day would come, and you’d be free again. Free from those eyes, that mahou, that person. If he could be called that.

if he could be considered human.

Tenderly, you opened the door and peeked down the hall, finding Gojo’s back to you, fast asleep.

Thank fuck.

Cautious as a mouse, you tiptoed to your room, skillfully avoiding all the creaky spots in the floor. You didn’t feel safe ‘til you shut and locked the door, which you leaned back onto. Gods, you were exhausted. The weight of the day hung on your shoulders, causing your feet to drag and stumble over the pile of clothes on the floor.

Bewildered, you looked down, and found a shirt, tank top, and pair of pants strewn across the floor, tossed haphazardly.

Why were they on the ground?

You didn’t recall having left them there, but then again, you weren’t the most tidy person, and tended to be forgetful. Maybe, you dropped them on your way out that morning, unworried, figuring you’d toss them in your hamper when you got home.

It rubbed you the wrong way, scales made of teeth that shredded into you, but…who else, if not you? Gojo never left the bathroom, the door remained closed the entire time he occupied it. You didn’t own any pets, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a stray cat got in. Though, you didn’t see or hear any critters scuttling around. A check of the hamper indicated that nothing hid inside it, either.

There was nobody else to blame.

The conclusion felt wrong, yet you came up with no other ideas.

So, all you could do was pick them up from their resting place on the floor and toss them into the hamper, alongside the clothes you were wearing.

Where you usually took your time getting ready for bed, liking to pamper yourself. the sensation of being watched hadn’t left you since Gojo arrived on your island. The less time you were naked for, the better, in your opinion.

Quickly, you swapped out your blouse for a loose, oversized T-shirt and slipped on a clean pair of panties. Normally, you didn’t wear more to bed, disliking the sensation of bottoms rolling up your legs while you slept, but you needed to put on something more than just underwear. You were safe in your room, but it wasn’t enough.

You searched through your dresser, tugging out the pair of sleeping shorts you found and drawing them up your legs, over your hips, finishing them off with a small bow at the front.

There. Better.

Sort of.

Not much, actually.

It’d have to do. You were sleepy, tired of the day, threadbare. Your bed called to you, and you had no intention of ignoring it.

The sheets welcomed you soothingly, embracing your form in that familiar hold you were longing for, coveting. Fluffy comforter, downy pillows, comfortable mattress, everything you required to smooth down your hackles, at last able to lower your guard. You were safe. Safe. Safe.

Images danced on your ceiling, hazy recollections and fantasies, absentminded planning, zealous to have your individuality returned to you. Dreams of taking a day off, visiting the docks, hiding from your student that would inevitably drag you to a nearby field to ‘train’, AKA watch you swing around your tsuri-dōrō. A day to yourself. All you needed was a day to yourself, and everything would be good again.

Right as your lids began to slip shut, succumbing to your exhaustion, something pressed against your lips.

Soft, warm, plush, pillowy.

Your eyes snapped open in an instant and you were sitting up, pushing away whatever was touching you, leaning over you.

In the dim, silver light of the moon, you saw him.

Gojo Satoru.

His sunglasses weren’t on, but, god, you fucking wished they were. Without them, there was nothing to conceal the horror that greeted you upon making eye contact.

Blue.

They were so, so, viscerally blue. Wide, shimmering, glossy. Fairy crystals that shone the same way the moon did; they imbibed all the light in the room, practically glowing from the sheer vim they contained alone, digesting the slivers of night.

You gasped, scooting back minutely. “What are you doing?”

How did he get in? You didn’t hear your door open, and furthermore, it was locked. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t–

The door’s open.

It was open, swung wide to show the lightless hallway, a chasm left in dearth of his mahou.

“I’m kissing you.”

“Wh– I know that,” you snapped, eyes shifting back to him. “I’m asking why you’re kissing me.”

He blinked, considering you as if you were a few degrees short of intelligence. “I like you.”

Fuck. This is what you were worried about, on some level. You should have known. People always seemed to enjoy putting you on a pedestal, unconcerned for the discomfort it caused you. You weren’t someone to be idolized, not like this, by someone like him.

“Look, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected. “Call me Satoru.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Look, Gojo,” you emphasized. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I’m not– this,” you pointed between yourself and him, “isn’t happening. You’re too young for me, we met today, and I’m– I’m not interested, alright?”

He frowned. “I told you that I don’t care how old you are.”

“I care,” you specified. “I care that I’m much older than you. It’s– it’s wrong. Okay?”

Lashes of pearl fluttered. “Why? I’m above the age of consent. I am consenting.”

You exhaled, growing frustrated. “That’s not the point. It’s not about the age of consent, it’s about the differences in maturity, the power imbalance. Besides, I’m not consenting.”

He kept quiet for a long moment, taking in your features, processing your little tirade. Outwardly, he gave no reaction, and you didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

But, he started to lean back, retreating from you, and you breathed out the air you were holding in relief.

Idly, defeated, he dipped his head. “I get it.”

You relaxed, muscles losing their tension. “Good, I’m glad.”

“You’re playing hard to get.”

Before you could react, he was on you, tackling you back onto your bed.

“Get off of me!” You screeched, shoving at his chest, trying desperately to lift his weight from your body.

His size was deceptive, his might hidden under layers of black cloth. You were older, you had more experience, you were supposed to be stronger. You were a teacher, you were an Exorcist, for fuck’s sake.

Yet, it took him no effort at all to pin you down, knees thrown over either side of your waist, weight settled to keep you immobilized. You struggled valiantly, fighting with all your might to dislodge him. Nothing. He didn’t so much as budge.

“I can play hard, too,” he promised, lips split, harsh pants of excitement escaping him. “That what you need, huh? Someone to knock you down a peg?”

You opened your mouth to scream, but he slammed his hand against your lips, a demented look glimmering in those terrible orbs of his. You tasted the salt of his flesh, dug your teeth into his palm, but garnered no reaction from him; none aside from the low groan that rattled in the base of his chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Shh, shh,” he hushed. “What’ll your neighbors think if they came in and saw this? You, in bed, with me?”

You froze, heart leaping to your throat. No, no, he wouldn’t.

“Are you really gonna let them see you taking advantage of me?” Slowly, he pulled his hand away, smirking down at you.

You peeled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, your maw suddenly painfully dry. “They won’t believe you. It’s my word against yours. I grew up with these people, they know me.”

“Did you know, most of the time, people are completely unaware that their loved one is a murderer?”

Your lip trembled. “What?”

He nodded solemnly, pouting. Degrading. Condescending. “It’s true. When interviewed, family, friends, they all say they had no idea, their loved one would never. They know them, after all. So, they’d know if their father was a murderer.”

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned closer, too close, he was going to swallow you whole. One hand toyed with the hem of your sleep shirt, twisting it, smoothing it out. “Everyone has secrets. Who’s to say this isn’t yours? Liking younger men?”

“I don’t like younger men.”

“How are they supposed to know? All they’ll see is you sharing your bed with someone who is too young for you. Your words.”

You were torn.

He was lying, manipulating you, scaring you with the thought of being ostracized by your community for something that wasn’t true. You knew it wasn’t true, you were certain that your community would know it wasn’t true.

But, how were you supposed to explain that he overpowered you? This young man, in his early twenties at most. Yes, he was strong, but you had age, experience. You should have been able to fight him off without issue.

You couldn’t.

He found no fight when he dug the spindly lengths of his digits into the edge of your shorts, and yanked.

The fabric tore on its way down your thighs, jolting and exposing more and more skin in short bursts as he tugged the material off, off, off. He spared it no mercy, disregarding your sniffles of protest. You could hear him mumbling that he’d buy you a new pair, as many as you wanted, better, prettier, as if that was what you were upset about.

His nails scratched at the bared flesh of your legs, merciless in his efforts to strip you, fighting against his odd positioning over you that he didn’t want to change. You squirmed, kicking out as best as you could. It freed one foot in the process, and he decided that was all he needed.

You blinked, and he was between your thighs, hands hooking under your knees to tug you closer, wrapping them around his lithe waist. To your absolute, utter horror, he pressed his hips directly into yours, the seam of his uniform digging into the split of your center, and you felt it. Him.

Hard. Undeniably, ruthlessly solid, flesh turned to stone. It froze you in the midst of your struggle, and he took the opportunity to grind into you, firm, unforgiving. He rolled against you, huffs and wimpish grunts spilling from his lips, and your panic was brought back tenfold. You jerked and twisted with renewed effort, trying to claw at his arms, his shoulders; wrap your fingers around his throat and squeeze until he went limp, until his chest jolted, then stilled.

For all your exertion, it did nothing to deter him. In fact, he moaned when your nails caught on the soft skin of his stomach under the rucked up edge of his top, dragging angry, vicious red lines into the pale give of the muscle beneath.

“God, I can feel you, so warm,” he hissed through his teeth, snowy lashes squeezed shut as he focused his energy into leeching the heat from your core.

Distressed, you whined, a pathetic noise unbefitting of you. Too ugly, too weak, too unlike yourself. This wasn’t happening, it simply wasn’t.

“Look at that,” he purred. “Wet for me already. Knew you were pretending.”

You startled. “I’m not!”

He set his finger against the gusset of your underwear and slid it upwards, through the natural dampness that had gathered there. He must have mistaken it for arousal.

His teeth shone white, canines sharp, primed to bite into your jugular and shake, rip, tear. Snap tendons and gnaw muscle. Eat you.

“‘Course, you are, don’t have to lie,” he patted your hip contemptuously. “I know I’m pretty. I know the effect I have on women, it’s okay, I won’t judge you. I like it.”

You inhaled to berate and lambaste and criticize him, but he didn’t let you start. He rolled his finger around your clothed clit, and all that came out of you was a pitchy, shaken noise. He focused on it, jabbing it, and was convinced your yelps of discomfort were pleasure. It was evident, his nescience, on how your body worked, what felt good for you. Granted, you doubted it’d feel good even if he did know what he was doing.

His impatience won out when he removed his hand after less than thirty seconds of scraping over where your clit was, missing half the time. Antsy, he hooked the band of your panties, tugging at the cotton material more and more discontentedly until he grabbed at it along the stitching on the side and pried it apart, thread and fibers splitting and popping.

“Hey!” You bayed.

His lips left a wet smooch on your temple, and you cringed. “It’s okay, it’s alright, I’ll buy you more. Or, better yet, don’t wear any in the first place.”

His fingers slid through your folds and you coughed on a hiccup of surprise, jerking away from him. He fastened his hand to your hip, keeping you from going any further. Hell, this was pure hell. Nothing less, nothing more; raw suffering in the form of a man intent on dragging you down to the depths with him. He’d carve a home from the molten rock, a cubby made with his own two hands, and he’d bury you in it, somewhere you’d never be able to escape and leave him.

Two fingers propped at your cunt, then pushed in, slow and piercing. You sucked on your teeth, face scrunching in discomfort as the long things poked and jabbed at your soft internals, deeper and deeper. He didn’t stop at the first, nor second joint, sorrowfully. He kept going until he physically couldn't anymore, stuffed to the knuckles, the knobby things barely grazing the nub at the top of your vulva.

You hated it with every fiber of your being.

It was uncomfortable, unpleasant, and so very far from enjoyable. Oh, but who were you to fool yourself? He wasn’t doing this for you, of course not, no matter how hard he tried to convince you that he was. That he wanted you to feel pleasure, sweet and gratifying. When he fingered you, it resembled a clinical examination more than a sexual act, the kind where you and the doctor avoided looking at each other as they tested your pelvic muscles and checked for abnormalities.

He pushed his fingers in and out, not bothering to curl them, scissor them, do anything special at all with them. They were just…there, scoring lines into your pussy, neutral.

Your relief upon their removal was short-lived. His hand fumbled with the hem of his pants, allowing you to notice that his belt had already been loosened, button and zipper undone, pulled low. Blue and white striped boxers sat on display for a brief period, then were pulled under his stiff length, revealing it to you.

Long, not especially thick, curved upwards, the tip an angry pink that neared on red.

Fuck no. No, no, no, this was not happening, not to you.

You might as well have been fighting against a stone golem, though, for how little he reacted to your attempts at escape. He paid no mind to your spitting, your thrashing, your begging pleas for him to not do this to you, to reconsider, your assurances that you’d forgive him if he’d just stop right this instant!

If you didn’t know any better, to him, you were nothing more than the annoying buzzing of a fly trying to get his attention. Something for him to swat away, squash uncaringly.

Your heart dropped to your toes when you felt the tip of his leaking cock notch against your unprepared hole, your chest seizing, your lungs collapsing beneath the sheer weight of your raw, unfiltered fear.

Then, with no consideration for you, he shoved forward, and seated himself to the root in one vile, painful thrust.

You didn’t realize you were crying until your voice broke, splintering apart in your throat.

Above you, Gojo was panting, whining, practically trembling where he sat, pelvis flush to yours. Your spine arched off the bed, burning pain pulsing inside your core from the forced stretch. You were no prude, but it’d been so long since you’d lain with anyone. You were barely wet enough for a sheen to show on your folds, let alone take anything inside you without the careful prep he lacked the skill to partake in.

Gojo didn’t care for it, evidently.

He was too impatient, too needy, too eager. He yearned too much, and didn’t stop to think about what he wanted, just that he wanted it now.

You sobbed, hiccuping, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes to race to your temples. He cooed at the sight, leaning forward, closer to your face. The movement carried him further, his tip nudging against the squishy ring of your cervix, and you wailed.

“Oh, shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he purred. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry, I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“Pull out– pull out!” You yelled at him, pounding against his chest.

He grinned. “Want me to move already? D’aw, who am I to deny my woman?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, no, no–!”

Your imploration came a moment too late, and fell on ears that were never going to listen to you.

Satoru drew back until the ridge of his glans tugged against the thin webbing of your entrance, and then, he barged back into you, splitting your walls apart to make room for himself.

The friction was agonizing, unforgiving. It scraped against you, sandpaper on fragile glass, painstakingly etched and painted patterns and designs worn away in rapid passes by an uncaring hand. He was intent on erasing the marks placed on you by time, by the ones you grew up with, loved, hated, missed, and replace them entirely with stains made in his visage.

Tattoos you’d never be able to remove; hundreds of eyes with endlessly cerulean depths that sucked in any unfortunate to see them. Lines and crosses and nooses that, no matter how hard you scrub, would continue to choke you forevermore.

You opened your eyes, vision blurred with tears, and startled to find pitch black voids.

Accretion disks of swirling tanzanite orbited pools of bottomless ink, meres that spanned miles across, nearly consuming the cornflower of their enclosure. Were it not for the tight rings keeping them confined, you were sure they’d spill and flood the world, drown you in their infinite expanses, under their waves. It’d fill your lungs until they burst, pour into your veins until red bled out and left you suffocating in the eternal void that was Gojo Satoru.

His inexperience shown through in the rough, jerky movements of his hips, the way every other thrust seemed to nudge into that one spot that made electricity race through your joints, while the ones in between punched directly into the sensitive nerves at the furthest point inside you, fornices bullied and bruised.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing in wet splats on your chest and collarbone where he hovered, hot breaths fanning across your tacky cheeks. You cringed at the sensation, trying to angle your head away.

Oh, but Satoru – he only saw that as an invitation, one he had no qualms about accepting.

He buried his face into the side of your neck, latched onto the skin over your fluttering pulse, and sucked. Hard.

You sobbed, spine arching, forlorn as he branded you in the form of broken capillaries and teeth-shaped indents. He suckled, cruel and vile, slobbering onto you like a mutt. Purebred, but he was no better than the beasts he put down, rotten to the core, that was the only thing that could explain this, him.

He kissed his way up your jaw to your cheeks, nipping at them; to your lobe, licking into the shell of your ear, and you recoiled from him. His chest vibrated with a hoarse chuckle, enamored with your violent indignation. He sought to lock lips with you, but all his humor fell away when you avoided his mouth, upper lip curled into a sneer.

A hand roughly grabbed your jaw, pressuring you to look at him, the anger that marred his unfairly beautiful features. Brows pinched, eyes narrowed, fire licking up the column of his spine to spread like poison on his tongue.

“Do not run away from me,” he snarled, nose almost tip-to-tip with yours, invading. “You’re gonna kiss me back, or I’ll get the entire fuckin’ town in here and make sure they know you forced yourself on me. Got it?”

You drank down your antipathy and resentment for him, aware now that, if he was willing to overpower someone over a decade his senior for his own pleasure and gain, he’d absolutely make good on his threat. If he was willing to ruin your body, he was more than willing to ruin your life.

What choice did you have but to open your mouth and let him spit into it? How could you do anything but give in, let him mash your lips together, let him shove his tongue down your throat and feed on you until all that remained of you were bones and teeth and hollow eye sockets?

The basin of your mahou hemorrhaging through the puncture wound in your chest, run through a sieve to gather the flecks of gold and red blood cells that comprised your entire being. Plasma leaching from your marrow, spilling into a worthless puddle on dry soil to water a flora long dead. Lungs suctioned flat to your thoracic vertebrae, organs shriveled, body reduced to a useless shell, a pitiful imitation of life.

For once, you blessed a man for his inexperience, as it meant Satoru was done with you in a couple minutes. They stretched forever and ever, vanishing beyond the horizon, but it was done, he was done. He spilled inside you, but that was an issue for a separate time, something else to be dealt with when you weren’t under the body of a demon wearing the skin of a man. Evil embodied.

Should have exorcised him as soon as you saw him, you shamed yourself.

But, it was over. He would get off you, and you–

You startled when you felt the pad of his thumb nudging at your clit, uneven back-and-forth swipes that halfway resembled circles, and started sliding in and out of you once more.

“Gotta make– gotta make a wo-woman squirt if ya wanna – fuck, you’re so warm – wanna knock her up. That’s what he–” he choked, stilling for a second, then harshly pounded into you out of the blue.

It shocked you, your mouth dropping into a silent yowl, tears sprinkling your clumped lashes like weeping stardust.

“That’s what he told me,” he spat out, rage flashing in his eyes, across the furrow of his brow. “Maybe, not everythin’ was a lie, eh? Maybe, he was tellin’ me the truth about somethin’.”

He was gone from this world, you could tell. It was in the way he no longer saw you, the woman he’d shoved onto her own bed, the person who’d taken pity on him, housed him, taught him how she lived, survived. He had this far away look, this seething hatred, this pulsing need, this agonizing sorrow that ate him from the inside out. A wound that scabbed, but never healed, always present, always twitching in time with his heart, reminding him of its presence.

Heartbreak.

Gone as quickly as it came, he was seeing you again, and you wished beyond everything that he was still in that distant headspace of his, where you didn’t exist, where you could pretend none of this was real. A bad dream. A demon that slithered through the cracked-open window to infest your mind and feed off your nightmares.

His eyes made that impossible, sadly. All they did was remind you, assure you, that this was as real as ever.

Slowly, he leaned down, lashes never fluttering. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, breath fanning into the conch, and he spoke.

“Let’s find out together, yeah?”

«___° ° °___»

“Here’s how this is going to work,” he wrapped one of his arms around his neck and pressed on the elbow to stretch it, taking the opportunity to scratch his back while he was at it. “You’re gonna tell that little group of yours that you’re coming back to Tokyo with me–”

You bristled. “No.”

“–or, I’ll tell them that you took advantage of me while I was sleeping.”

Nausea roiled in your stomach. “You wouldn’t.”

He leveled you. “I will, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

You stared at him, trying to figure him out, call him out on his bluff, but you knew he wasn’t lying. Saliva coated your mouth, and you had to swallow to hold back the urge to spill acid onto the floor.

When you spoke, your voice was far too soft, too broken. A pitiable whimper. “Please, don’t.”

The boy shrugged casually. “I’m being nice, you know, by giving you a choice. It’s up to you. I’m happy to do it either way.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

You didn’t flinch when he cupped your jaw as tenderly as he would a lover’s, swiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll take good care of you, promise,” he swore. “Make sure you want for nothing. Give you all you want. I have more than enough money for both of us. For a whole family. Whaddya say, hm?”

You never did have a choice, did you?

Not from the moment you were born on this island, not when you obtained your Strength, not when you were trained to be an Exorcist, or when Akinori attached themselves to your hip in spite of your vehement refusal to tutor them.

And, not from this.

From becoming Gojo’s.

Having gone into autopilot, you obeyed his orders, fearing what he’d do if you didn’t. No need to pack anything, he said, I’ll just buy you new stuff at home. Better than these rags. Come on, let’s go. Early birds and worms and all that.

The village was as peaceful as ever, this time of day.

The fishermen had set out to the sea about an hour earlier, right before dawn broke through the nebulous heavens. Those that stayed behind roused late, taking the chance to catch a bit more shut eye.

You, too, would have been enjoying a long rest, were it not for the tidal wave that loomed on the horizon, threatening, waiting for you. White-crested waves, foam spitting up from their roiling motions; an endless abyss that pined to swallow you whole. It whispered that you had a choice, an order to give, one it would happily deliver on.

Sacrifice yourself, or let all you love be washed into the ocean, your own personal Atlantis.

Akinori, Mirio, and the Elder also weren’t able to enjoy the extra rest, much to your guilty conscience.

They stood in front of you in a row, each wearing their own miens of disappointment, of hurt, of grief.

Aisha glared at you, really. You’d made a promise to protect this land, your home, after all. And, now, you were going back on your word, your vow. She had every right to despise you, to scorn you. She didn’t, though, you knew. You wished she did. She saw right through you, past the cracks in your façade, the lies you fed her about wanting to learn more about demons and be stronger for them, better.

To save the world.

In reality, it was to save only yourself.

Please, understand, you begged silently. There’s no other way.

Mirio had her hands clutched in front of her, gazing anywhere but at you. Her brows were pinched in the center, and you yearned to lean forward and press your thumb to the wrinkle forming there, to brush it away with that signature cheeky smirk of yours, and a caution that she’d age faster if she made faces like that.

You kept your hands, stained and bloody, to yourself, not wishing to taint her with your sin.

Akinori appeared uncharacteristically serious. Severe.

Gone was their impish demeanor, their mischievous nature. In its place sat an emptiness, a chasm formed too soon; a ball of ice drained before it could freeze its core to keep itself whole. Your heart ached for them, your stomach twisted into knots, your throat squeezing tighter and tighter until you were sure that your vocal cords would burst from your neck.

“You’re really going, then,” they said. A statement, not a question.

Still, you nodded.

“There’s so much to learn out there, beyond Kami-shima,” you reasoned, lying through your teeth. The words tasted like ash and acid on your tongue. “Power we never knew existed. Imagine it – I’ll get stronger, then we’ll never have to worry about demons invading our home ever again, yeah?”

“You promise?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Gojo standing a distance away. Far enough that he resembled a stick figure, but still close enough for you to feel his stare burning into your back.

You swallowed, and faced Nori again, whispering to them, needing to ensure it stays between you and them, and nobody else, especially not Gojo.

“You have my heart,” you said. “Keep it safe for me until I can get it back, okay?”

They peered deep into you, glancing between your eyes, trying to seek out the deeper meaning in your words – if there was any. You simultaneously hoped they would and wouldn’t find it; a selfish desire to be seen, to be acknowledged, and the knowledge that they’re safer knowing nothing about you. Forgetting about you.

Nori nodded once, tersely.

You took that as your cue to leave.

Taking your hands off their shoulders, you drew in a deep breath, let it out, and gave the trio a smile you could only hope was semi-convincing.

“Don’t wait up for me, yeah?” You laughed. It sounded strained. “I’ll see you all again.”

Whether or not they knew it was a lie, you said nothing more, and didn’t stay to hear what they would say. It would break your heart worse than the whole interaction already had, worse than the knowledge that your chances of actually returning home were slim to none.

Picking up a light jog, you left them behind, joining Gojo at his side. He didn’t hesitate to pull out a hand from his pocket and link it with yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing until the bone inside ached.

He smiled innocently up at you, anyway. “Finally done?”

You glanced over your shoulder, hoping to see that your little family had already left, praying they hadn’t. Uncertainty over your own emotions fizzled under the surface when you saw they were there, watching you, unmoving.

For what you knew would be the last time, you mouthed goodbye to them, and closed your eyes, blocking them from sight.

“Yeah,” you coughed out.

His smile could be heard through his voice. “Great, I was waiting ages. You talk way too much, y’know? You’re gonna love Tokyo. I’ll take you to all the good places…”

You tuned out his voice, letting him ramble to his content as he guided you away from the village, away from Kami-shima, away from the one home you knew. Where you were born, where you lived, and where you were certain you would die.

When he squeezed your hand, you brought yourself back to the present, longing to sink into a void. To disappear, never have to deal with this, with him.

When did you ever have a choice, though? The moment he saw you, it was over for you.

“There’s no place like home, right?” He prodded, poking your side with his elbow.

“Mhm,” you agreed with a rigid growl, clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth. “No place like home.”

banner by saradika-graphics

AN: thank you for reading :D I hope you enjoyed ♥

#tw: noncon #tw noncon #asterlust writes #The World You Never Knew #TWYNK #dark!gojo x reader #yandere!gojo x reader #yandere x reader #yandere!jjk x reader #yandere!gojo #dark!gojo #this is a repost from my other account #so please don't worry #I'm not out here stealing a fic from someone else #chimera-dreams is my account

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naomihatake · 8 days ago

Text

The blood dripping from your eyes

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ pairing: Sylus x female reader

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ themes: fluff & angst, hurt/comfort

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ summary: Sylus had never been so scared of being feared, not until that moment, when he came back home bathed in blood. Being greeted by his beloved when he entered the Onychinus mansion, the air got knocked out of his chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ content warnings: reader is MC, blood (no graphic violence), fear & anxiety, Sylus needs a hug (MC delivers)

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ word count: around 1k words

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ A/N: I rarely ever see fics in which Sylus is comforted — of course, he is treated gently most of the time, but since he's indestructible against other enemies, he is his own worst enemy when worries get to him. So yes, Sylus is at the receiving end of comfort this time around.

She wiped the blood on his cheeks with a gentle hand, running the tips of her fingers over his skin until the grim had been washed away, until she could feel the warmth of her lover (until she washed away his worries).

The small white towel she picked up was now tainted in crimson. The red turned into a strange shade of pink under the stream of water in the sink.

Sylus stood stiff in front of her — he didn't dare move nor breathe when her other hand was holding onto his shoulder. He's never known a fear quite as intense, the fear of being feared. Dread had crawled up his throat since she entered his room and he found it hard to calm down. All he could do was curl and uncurl his fingers by his side (he didn't dare touch her).

“Sy?” came out her soft murmur.

Such a gentle sound he couldn't believe it carried the weight of his name (his nickname was so sweet on the tip of her tongue).

His lips parted and he could swear there was a witty answer he wanted to say, but it somehow got stuck at the base of his throat. (What did he even want to say? He didn't remember.) All he knew was fear. For a moment, he pitied those who knew such a feeling. (For a second, he even pitied himself. No, it was the devil in the back of his head that was disgusted by his own fear.)

The next thing he knew was the tender hand that settled on his cheek and the thumb moving over his purplish under eye. Sylus was met with a gentle gaze, the kind of gaze he's been dreaming of and yearning for. The Gods couldn't fathom how much he's missed that look in her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

She'll be the death of him. She already was. (Hopefully, she won't have to meet the same fate in this lifetime.)

“Ain't I disgusting? Scary? A mon—”

A monster. However, her thumb settled on top of his lips and he was at a loss of words.

“You're mine.”

Sylus sucked in a panicked breath, something within his chest snapping, ugly and somewhat possessive. Ugly and fearsome, like a beast snarling at the bars of its cage (a poor heart beating frantically in between his ribs).

“Even if you were to be one, you'd still be mine,” she whispered again.

With her thumb, she pressed gently against his lower lip. With a slow and deliberate caress, his lover looked down at him with a warmth he's never been greeted with before, with a warmth he's only seen in another lifetime.

Sylus cannot remember exactly how he ended up in this situation. All he knew was that his business had been a violent success, thus his blood soaked clothes and tainted skin.

The following second, he had been greeted by his beloved as he had entered the Onychinus mansion. Everything had been a blur of frantic heartbeats and anxiety teetering on panic. Her eyes had been worried and a little dull even, but she brushed him off. ‘I've had a long day, but I missed you too much not to drop by.’

His fear-fueled brain didn't register that sentence properly. And that's how he ended up sitting on the edge of the large bathtub, with that beautiful (and too kind) woman standing between his legs as she washed away the blood (and all his crimes) from his face.

“But if I am to be very honest, you're not a monster for me,” she shrugged like it was just another Tuesday. “I'd be hypocritical to say you're some kind of hero, but the least I can say is that whatever you are, you're mine. As a matter of fact, you're just the boss of Onychinus.”

She regarded him with a simplicity that left him gulping down in shock, fingers curling into fists against his thighs.

It was now or never.

“I'm scared that one day you'll see me the same way you did in the beginning,” his voice trembled against his will.

Even the crimson in his eyes seemed to tremble under her gaze. Even the blood in his veins rushed through his veins, as if to lap at her feet like the darkest of waters.

The finger on his lips moved and before his nerves could spike up, she cupped his face in both of her palms. There were still a few traces of red on his skin, but she ignored it.

“That'd be very uninspired of me,” she huffed a tired, noncommittal chuckle.

Her thumbs rubbed circles on his sculpted cheekbones. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his forehead. (The beast inside the cage of his ribs had stopped snarling.)

A gasp managed to escape his trembling lips.

“Don't worry your mind with such a thing, my love. We're past that phase. I am. I don't fear you or anything that has to do with you.”

Sylus tentatively raised his hands and let them curl at the slope of her waist, holding tenderly onto her. His heart ached, but he didn't want to break eye contact, he didn't want to look away, not when he was looked upon with such gentleness.

She wasn't scared of him. Hasn't been for months.

And if she decided to bestow such gentleness upon him, who was he to deny her?

A/N: Thank you for reading <333 I'd happily hear your thoughts on this

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ohimsummer · 11 months ago

Note

"fuck that fleshlight!" satoru and "??? okay, sit down" reader who proceeds to use it to jerk him off and make him cum over and over while he whines and begs for her hands or cunny instead 😋

— minors dni, whiny (and kind of bratty?) + subby! satoru :33, f! reader, overstim, handjob at the end, kinda proofread

“aww, don’t you just look sooo cute like this, ‘toru <3”

satoru doesn’t feel cute. what he feels is tired, exhausted, on the brink of insanity, all from the mercy—or lack of it—of your hands.

“hmm, how many orgasms is that?”, you tap a finger on your chin and ponder to pretty much no one, as satoru’s mind has long since begun melting out of his ears. “5? 6? can’t believe you’re still going, you must be obsessed with this thing!”

“i—i’m—“. the words sizzle up and die on his tongue, and satoru opts for a weak shake of the head to deny your claim.

“still no? oh, baby, that’s not what he’s saying…” you give your boyfriend a faux pout, unsheathing his length which still stands high and proud, and all prettied up in creamy layers of cum.

you place an index finger right on the tip, dousing your finger in precum and playfully swaying his cock back-and-forth. a giggle at his blue eyes following the motion, before satoru gives a weak thrust against your finger and whines at your touch.

“please.”, he bats pretty white lashes at you, a gesture that usually has you bending to his will in seconds. but not today. that’s no fun.

“i told you no already.”, you huff, and satoru tries hard to return your pout, but it’s not effective when he keeps having to suck in heaving, raspy breaths of air.

“don’t look at me like that.”, you scold him again. “you wouldn’t be in this mess if you used this—“ you waggle the abused fleshlight in the air “—like i so kindly requested.”

“don’t want it.”, satoru whines and he rolls his hips again to brush his sensitive tip along your hovering finger, wrists straining against the restraints behind his back. “it sucks. i want you, instead.”

“you can’t have your way all the time, ‘toru.” you can see the shattering of his heart reflected in his eyes.

he tries again. “please.”

“no.”

“please.”

“satoru—“

“pleaseeeeeee!!”

you must admit, satoru when he is desperate is quite the sight to behold. perhaps you’ll toy with him a bit longer, even if you’re over his whole “anti-fleshlight” business.

satoru senses your hesitation, and blinks lashes again at you in another pitiful plea. “just once, pretty please? then you can do whatever you want, i swear.”

how funny. as if you need his permission to do anything, but it’s cute anyway that satoru thinks so.

“okay then, fine.” the fleshlight is tossed to the side, forgotten for the time being. “i’ll let you use my hand because i don’t think you’re deserving of my pussy, yet. sound fair?”

with newfound energy, satoru gives frantic nods of his head, quick and eager to accept your deal. “f—fuck, yes, that’s fair, very fair!”

“good.” and you watch his eyes glued to your hand, which forms a ring around his twitching cock. “ready, set…go!”

😽: @anthoosies @staryukis @risuola @luvvmae @bubblez-blop @deepenthevoid d @domainexpansionmypants @starlightanyaaa @angelina7890 @rosso-seta @satoruxsc @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @neptuneblue e @biscuitsngravie @babytoshiii @kissesfrombelle @v0ctin @purplegemadventures @luvvforliaa @apatauaia @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @manyno @the-monster-under-the-bed

#.𖥔 summy answerz .ᐟ ๋࣭ ⭑#anon! ‎♡‧₊˚#gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Voice of Treason

Squid Game S2 Spoilers ahead!

A/N: just a lil' drabble written on my phone, but this man got a chokehold on me so I needed to get it out of my system

A bloodcurling scream echoed through the hallways as you witness player 390's lifeless body drop to the ground.

You didn't even know his real name.

Both you and 456 had been forced on your knees, wailing on the ground as you mourned the death of your allies, well aware your own demise was imminent.

This whole ordeal was futile from the start, but you had decided that you'd follow this reckless fool to the grave rather than dying for the sick entertainment of a rich elite without even putting up a fight.

"Where is 001? What did you do to him, you bastard?!"

In-ho's face dropped behind the angular plastic of his mask, taken aback by your worry for him despite of your own hopeless situation. "Why do you care?" the distorted voice spoke callous despite his inner turmoil. "The man you got to know is long dead."

You collapse at this revelation and you let out heartbroken sobs, hugging your belly as if to cling to the last thing that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Gi-hun observed your interaction with great pity. It was understandable to develop feelings for another while trapped in such an insane life-and-death situation, especially since 001 had been especially protective of you due to your circumstance.

But player 456 that has become a mentor towards you had warned you several times to not give in to this irrational sentiment, reminding you that the man you fell for had an expecting wife waiting for him back home.

"Take them away" he orders his henchmen, withdrawing the gun before tearing his eyes away from you. "The game needs to continue."

"Take him" the man dressed in all-black ordered his henchmen, gesturing towards player 001 before busying himself with you again. "The game needs to continue."

Gi-hun's pleads to spare you if not for the unborn child's sake went on deaf ears as a bag was put over his head and he was dragged away.

The Frontman lifted his gun again, the shaking of his hand barely noticeable as the barrel stroke almost gently across your cheek, a black trail of gunpowder trailing his movement. With one swift movement he put it underneath your chin, forcing you to look up to him one final time.

In a last act of resistance you spat at the man's feet, your relentless glare imbued with hatred as it bore into his skull. "You're a monster!"

"I know."

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

While you assumed sadistic glee as his motivator, In-ho was shocked with himself, caught in a labyrinth of his own mind. After a while of letting those conflicting emotions ravage his heart, he withdrew his weapon, signalizing the guard behind you to knock you out before sending a bullet straight to his head.

What he plans to do cannot allow any witnesses, even among his own ranks.

*~´*~´*~´*

God knows how much time had passed since then, but when you finally regained consciousness, only one question was burning urgently:

Why are you still alive?

You jolted up in a rush of adrenaline, scanning the unfamiliar room you were brought to. The interior was almost completely dipped in pitch black, even the furniture was no exception.

A new game, maybe?

Eventually your eyes caught the silhouette lurking in a corner of the room, leaned over in a huge armchair. That damned mask of his did nothing to hide the piercing glare you could feel underneath.

Feeling your rapid breaths and how your body started to tremble uncontrollably, panic threatened to consume your every sense.

Your mind was invaded with countless horrid scenarios to why a deranged man like him would take you back to - as it appeared - his private bedchamber.

The sheer sight of him was a nightmare, but seeing him approaching you with firm, deliberate steps shook you to the core. He pries off one of his gloves, laying them on the nightstand besides you with his whole demeanour perfectly composed.

A violent tremor jolts through your body as he reached out for you, however he merely places his hand onto your belly, unable to hold back a muffled gasp as he feels it kick beneath his palm.

"I had a doctor check on you while you were unconscious" he disclosed as if it was some sort of generous act. "The baby is perfectly fine. A little fighter, like it's mother."

It was meant to be a placating gesture but it had the complete opposite effect on you, not daring to guess the reason for his sudden interest.

Your face contorts in disgust and you shuffle away from his touch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket over your belly, as if to shield it from this homicidal maniac. "Why- What do you want from me, you fucking lunatic?!"

There was a while of strained silence between your question and his answer.

"I told you to stay back, you foolish girl" he sighed, striping the hood from his head but his hand hesitated on the buckle of his mask. "But you insisted on joining this pathetic revolt."

The moment he unveiled his face your world scattered for the second time today, as you were confronted with the face of a dead man - at least the one you had mourned and wept for just shortly before.

Oh just seconds ago your greatest wish was to be able to see him one last time, to confess the things you had preserved until it felt like you'd burst with that secret admiration for him.

Right now however it was like staring straight into the abyss.

He forced his lips into a crooked bow, that fake excuse of a smile you had always thought to be remnant of the hardships he had to endure. But now you saw it - or rather him - for what it truly was.

This couldn't be real. It mustn't be real.

You replayed those words in your head over and over again, but they morphed into a nonsensical jumble, blurring with the overwhelming torment of confusion and betrayal.

He gazed at you with bated breath as he awaited your reaction, desperate to find any hint, at least a glimmer of affection in your features.

"Young-il?" you stammered with a meek, broken voice that buried him underneath a wave of shame he wasn't aware he could still feel.

He shakes his head. "No. My real name is Hwang In-ho...I'm sorry."

You knew the whole time, didnt you?

Something about him was off from the very start. The way he carried himself seemed to robotic, as if he was merely playing a role. Deep down you had always wondered about how his story never fully added up, so many times you ignored any suspicious behavior of his out of some twisted dependency.

And ever since you personally witnessed how he snapped the other contestant's neck without any remorse you had a plaqueing feeling that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

There was a wordless aggreement to keep quiet about this particular incident, due to your egoistical necessity of his protection.

That's when it dawned on you - he had already pulled you down to his level, made you his accomplice through your silence. And even now, all this time not even a single thought about the fate of your comrades had crossed your mind until now.

He only barely outranks you in selfish cruelty.

"Was-" you choke on a sob, feeling his thumb tenderly wipe away your tears just to be replaced with new ones. "Was it all a lie?"

"Not everything." In-ho spoke with a hint of melancholy in his bearing. "I did have an ill wife, back when I first participated. You remind me of her a lot actually...strong-willed and yet gentle." There was an undeniable reverence in his tone and the way his hand was still gracing your cheek. "I participated and won just for her...but when I returned, she was already gone."

You were torn between the seething anger and an irrational urge to comfort this grief-strickened man, in your shock the severity of his words not leaving you unscathed. "That- that still doesn't excuse a single one of your actions!" Refusing to give in you spat venom at him either way, reminding yourself the aching of your heart should be nothing but newfound hatred for the man.

"I'm aware" The Frontman neither aggrees nor denies your accusations, as it doesnt't matter to him at all. His voice is unbearably cold, the softness of his in it you were used to now replaced by a sharp edge. "I don't expect anything...no understanding or even acceptance. But i cant- won't let you go."

You could see it in his eyes that his stoic facade was crumbling, he was teetering on the brink of a bottomless pit, begging for a lifeline, needing for your presence to save him from the darkness within.

"I wanted to help you become the winner." In-ho takes a hold of your hands, squeezing them ever so slightly in the naive hope to convince you of his pure intentions. "That wasn't my plan initially, but I decided to risk it all to keep you safe. I swear I will protect you and our child, no matter what."

Our child. Such a small word yet such a huge impact. The implication sent a shiver down your spine, understanding it was like swallowing shards of glass.

In-Ho leans his forehead against yours, his own eyes glistening with usnhed tears. "You're my redemption, my salvation..." He trails off, suddenly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling your lips to crash over his. It was a searing kiss, one that demanded surrender, that commanded obedience, a vow to keep you at his side whether you want it or not.

You writhe against his hold as he cradles you in his arms, but his embrace is like a steel vice, suffocating and unyielding just as his love.

"I couldn't save her..." he rasps in a hoarse whisper, every syllable laced with utter determination. "Allow me to at least save you."

#squid game #hwang in ho x reader #young il #player 001 #frontman #fanfiction #writing #reader insert #hwang in ho #young il x reader #player 001 x reader #the frontman x reader

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 5 months ago

Text

The Prophet spoke, and the faithful knelt

Summary : You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

Pairing : Viktor x Reader

Word count : 3.2K

Warning : Explicit

You couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at you with something other than disgust.

The bumps on your skin were large and deformed, like warts on a toad's back. Dark, unnatural purple spots had consumed most of your body, your veins glowing faintly inside your flesh. Staring at them, pulsating like worms making their way through your organs, still gave you unparalleled nausea. You were the kind of monster little children of Piltover feared in the shadowy corners of their bedroom, and you couldn't remember a time when it had been otherwise

The others like you all lived in small, crummy camps, where the warmth of a teared-up blanket was something worth killing your neighbour for. If the value of human life was close to none in Zaun, here, it was worth absolutely nothing.

A wasteland inside a wasteland.

Most lived off scraps left by bars; there were few other ways to get food. The familiar feeling of hunger digging its sharp claws into your stomach had never lessened. For water, there were only the thick metal pipes, going above to supply the golden city, which sometimes leaked drinkable but rusty liquid.

The best days, the only bearable days, were those where you found half-used needles of shimmer in the trash. For a few blissful hours, you were someone else, somewhere else, and nothing in the world could hurt you. Then it was back to being cold, hungry, and alone.

You had tried to live a semblance of a life, once, when the craving for shimmer hadn't been so all-consuming. But addicts were bad for business: customers didn't like seeing them, with their empty eyes and malformed bodies, and they were a very poor investment for an employer. How many months, or days, before they would abandon their job in favour of chasing their never-ending high?

Then there were the whore houses. One could get a few pieces of copper, if their body wasn't too ravaged by the drug. Damaged goods still sell, but for a fraction of the price. And yet there it was no better either: patrons would come in, use you, and leave, without ever looking you in the eye. Like you were less than human.

But not him.

He looked at you without ever flinching, without ever shying away. There was no sign of disgust or pity in those strange eyes of his, but an endless compassion, something that went beyond your comprehension. As if a simple glance at you had allowed him to read every corner of your soul.

You could have sworn time had stopped the second he locked eyes with you. In the warm amber of his pupils swayed a reflection of pale blue, like sunset on the ocean.

You had fallen to your knees without ever willing your body to do so, pressing your forehead against the cold gravel. It feels natural, almost instinctive, to bow in the presence of a god. For what other word could describe him, his presence, his aura?

Did someone like you, ugly, broken, filthy, deserve to see beauty like this?

A gentle hand brought your face back up towards the sky, lithe fingers tucked under your chin. Soft, so soft.

His eyes were back into yours, the sunset having morphed into a pool of liquid gold. Tears had begun to fall from your eyes, rolling down your scarred cheeks and onto his delicate hands. He shushed you before you attempted to speak, like he already knew whatever words you would tell him.

“It's alright. I will take care of you.”

The digits slid slowly across your face, impossibly smooth, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the touch, revelling in the feeling of a sensation you had all but forgotten. He softly pushed the dirty hood off your face, hand settling on top of your matted hair. You closed your eyes; whatever this man was willing to give you, be it salvation or judgement, you simply knew you were ready to accept it.

And then, everything became light.

—

You saw him perform miracle after miracle following that day. He brought people back from the depths of hell, which they'd lived in for so long, with the simple touch of a hand. He brought back the smiles, the joy, and the hope all of you had given up on.

To your community, he was everything.

The familiar presence of his voice called for you inside your mind. It was so comforting, having him there, feeling him as a part of you. Knowing he would never leave you, that he would never let you be alone again.

He looked like a statue when you found him, seated in his cave, still and ethereal beyond your mortal comprehension. The gods had crafted his face from porcelain; his body from the world's most precious metals; his eyes from the sun and the sea; and his smile with the very essence of magic.

“Here you are. I was beginning to worry.”

That was not true; both of you knew very well you had heard his voice and were rushing to come to his side. Yet, the idea that a being such as him would worry about someone like you made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Herald?”

“Mm?”

He blinked, calmly, peacefully, as his eyes met yours once more. No other feeling compared. His pupils glowed inside the barely lit cave, a gentle and divine light emanating from his face.

The words were hard to get out, and you found yourself fidgeting with your hands, looking away from his perfect gaze.

Get a hold of yourself, you admonished your brain. You had practiced this moment more than once.

You were certain he knew exactly what you were about to ask him; he knew every thought going through your mind, after all. Which meant he knew of the nights you spent dreaming of him, of his body, and of the hundreds of ways you craved the touch of your messiah.

But he simply looked at you, calm and composed, the hint of a smile barely on his lips.

Briefly, you wondered if he was teasing you by letting you stew in your anxiety.

“I have come to realize,” you began unsurely, voice almost breaking, “that you always take care of others, Herald. Always take care of people like me.”

He observed you with that indecipherable gaze, still not moving an inch. You gathered all your courage to stare back at him as you pronounced your next words decidedly:

“But does nobody take care of you, Herald?”

He smiled, properly this time, yet still calm and moderate. It was beyond beautiful, his delicate features marked by soft dimples, the hint of a mole over his lips. You would have given your life in a heartbeat if it meant he would have smiled at you like this once more.

“I don't require such things anymore,” he explained serenely, fingers absentmindedly tracing the complex patterns of his arm. “This body doesn't feel cold, or hunger, or want. It is pure of all the desires the man I once was might have had.”

You swallowed with difficulty; was he rejecting your advances? You could not bear living without knowing you had done everything for him, given him every inch of your being.

“But that man,” you tried once more, moving a timid step forward, “he is still part of you, isn't he? Wouldn't it only be fair to take care of him too?’

There was not a hint of confusion in his expression; he understood exactly what you meant. Yet one of his eyebrows had slightly risen, perhaps of amusement or appreciation for your boldness.

“If you have something in mind,” he simply replied, his thick accent hypnotic, “you should show me.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You would show him what his gift had meant to you.

Gradually, reverently, you approached the frugal throne where he sat, a simple rock formation at the back of the cave. You kneeled at his feet and gazed up, unsure if you were allowed to touch him. He gave you a light nod, a glim of endearment in his eyes.

With deference, you slid the fabric of his tunic to the side, parting his knees to give you access. You felt your cheeks heat at the realization he had no underwear, trepidation bubbling in your lower stomach. Then you stopped right in your tracks.

Where there should have been… something, there was nothing.

Your mouth opened in surprise, but no words managed to find their way out. You spluttered, confused, gaping at the being above you.

A low, small chuckle.

His luminous eyes were teasing, barely enough so that someone else would not have recognized it; but you did.

“I could not resist to watch your reaction,” he admitted, “My apologies.”

His delicate hand covered the area of his groan, and a faint light shone between the cracks of his fingers. The sound of metal forming, pieces sliding with one another, echoed inside the empty cave. When he removed his hand, it was as if the member had always been there.

As you had always pictured in your dreams, the Herald was well endowed, even in a softened state. It was without question like a regular human’s, but devoid of any veins, marks, and bumps. Not a single hair adorned the base. It was all perfectly smooth, the head only distinct from the rest of the length with its thickness.

He was art, in the most primordial sense of the term, and you could do nothing but admire him.

“This body shapes to my will,” the Herald explained at your look of awe, “It had no need for genitalia, so it did not have any. At least… before now.”

Your fingertips slid timidly on the indigo skin, feeling the polished texture. The contact felt pleasantly electric, like his body brimmed with untapped energy. The first small lick was somehow nostalgic, the feel of popping candies bursting pleasantly on your tongue.

When you wrapped your lips around him, you could immediately tell his taste was unlike anything you'd ever had before. The coppery flavour of metal mixed with something so enticingly sweet it could not be anything other than the taste of the arcane itself. An encouraging hand petted your head softly, fingers threading through strands of your hair. You moaned with your mouth still full of him; a single touch from him was enough to have your core burnt with want. You sped up your pace, taking as much of him in your mouth as you possibly could. The energy pulsated against your tongue, his cock hardening to your rhythmic pace. The thickness of his tip kept hitting the back of your throat, cutting oxygen for a few blissful milliseconds at a time and making you see stars.

It was perfect.

And yet, after a few minutes, you realized something was wrong.

You'd been with your fair share of men and women before. The twitching, the moaning, the cramping of the thighs from the building pleasure and the coming release- it was all absent.

You pulled back with a soft ‘pop’, looking up at your prophet once more for guidance. The same all-knowing visage stared back at you, that boundless compassion he had for all mankind. You understood what was happening, now.

“Herald,” you said slowly, voice horse from taking him, “why have you called me today?”

Silence. It looked as though he was thinking over his next words, choosing how best to explain things to you.

“I could sense you needed guidance,” he finally answered, “Support. I merely wanted to help in the way you needed me.”

Helping you. He was helping you once again. Even now, when you begged him to let you help him, he was still only thinking of others.

“You're not satisfied,” the Herald deduced from your crestfallen expression, “Why?”

Tears of frustrated devotion prickled the corner of your eyes, and you felt like a pathetically pouting child:

“My goal was not to satisfy myself. It was to please you.”

Perhaps you had dreamed it, but a glimmer of surprise flashed in his sunset gaze, gone too soon for you to ever be certain.

“Allow me to try once again, please. I will do better,” you requested, resting your head against his inner thigh, his cock still perfectly hard against your cheek. Looking up at him from under your eyelashes, you whispered your next words like a prayer, hoping it would reach him: “It is all I want to do from the deepest part of my heart.”

The smile again, so slight and yet so luminous. Perhaps he hadn't cured your addiction to shimmer, and had simply replaced it with the profound need of him. A drug you never wanted to be freed from.

“Very well,” he acquiesced, voice low, “you may do it again.”

This time, you could tell there was a genuine look of surprise in his neutral expression when you stood. ‘So he can't tell my thoughts immediately as I have them,’ you reflected silently. ‘I can use that.’

It was without asking that you made your way onto his lap, legs bent on both sides of his thighs. The position wasn't very comfortable, rocks digging into your knees; but he was so close to you that you felt the warmth of the arcane emanating from every pore of his body. The pleased look he gave you at your initiative made you feel emboldened, and you guided his cock to your entrance, lining yourself to slowly slide down on his length.

“I do not wish to interrupt,” the Herald made you pause, thick eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “or to appear to stroke my ego, either. But I believe it would be wise to… prepare yourself, prior to taking me.”

You looked away in embarrassment, confidence fading, not wanting to reply directly. To explain how you had prepared yourself for him in your tent, in the slim hopes this moment might happen, would certainly be the death of you.

His eyebrows rose back up, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He understood.

“I almost forgot how prepared you always are. Clever girl.”

You felt yourself tighten at the compliment. You committed the words to memory, engraving them in your mind forever. You would never forget when your Herald had praised you.

You patiently lowered yourself onto him, inch by inch, getting accustomed to him. A little shamefully, there was an undeniable selfishness of wanting this moment to last as long as possible.

When you took him whole, it was almost too overwhelming to bear.

His size was an undeniable component, both in length and girth. You had to wonder: had he been so big when he was but a regular man?

‘Yes’, a familiar voice supplied in your head. Had you not known better, you could have sworn his tone was slightly cocky.

But it wasn't just his dick, either. The flow of energy running through you from the point of your connection was dizzyingly intense, coherent thoughts barely stringing together. It felt like the high of shimmer but unbelievably more potent, simultaneously cutting you open and putting your body back together. This was being alive.

“Breathe,” he reminded you, a guiding hand sliding to the small of your back. Even now, he still took such good care of you. Overwhelmed tears had begun to fall down your eyes without you sensing their presence, and you tried to regain some semblance of your senses.

For a while, minutes, maybe hours, only the sound of your panting resonated through the cave. You gripped the Herald's shoulders tightly, scrunching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. His impartial expression never changed, but neither did the way his hand held you in place and comforted you. Once it felt as though your lungs were getting air again, you began moving.

All of it seemed like a dream; the feeling of fullness between your legs, the slow drag of his cock inside you, the warm wetness of your juices slipping out with each trust. If there was no heaven for sinners, then you had found your own right here. You picked up the pace, settling into a fast and wild rhythm. You scanned his features for any sign of disturbance; the slightest hint of red coloured his pale cheeks, the faintest laboured breath coming from his lips.

So he was still a bit human, after all.

You kept moving with renewed vigour, not able to contain wanton moans of pleasure.

“May I try something?” he asked, voice low, deeper than you had ever heard him speak.

You let out a sound of approval that dissolved into nonsense when the tip of his cock hit the spot you had carefully been avoiding. This time, he moved, ramming over and over against your cervix, too deep for comfort, shaping you to him and only him. You were so close, right on the edge, begging him for release with gibberish.

He had undeniably felt your incoming demise, and with one last push inside your core, he leaned his head forward, bringing both of your foreheads together.

In that moment, you were him as much as he was you, a single mind in perfect balance. You saw everything he saw, felt everything he felt. The weight and lightness of the cosmos, the thousands of strings connecting him to his followers, the understanding of the final step for humanity.

The Glorious Evolution.

And with that, you came, body spasming uncontrollably against his. You fell into the crook of his neck in exhaustion, sobbing, wondering if you had just died in your prophet's arms. Far away, as if he was in another room, you heard his comforting voice shushing your whines, his long fingers caressing your cheek. He looked at you as if you were the one to be admired. Too much, it was all too much.

Perhaps an eternity had passed as you came back to your senses. Things felt tangible once more, corporal, the now cold feeling of your wetness drying on your inner thighs. There was a feeling of awkwardness, of embarrassment, and you hesitated between staying still or pulling him out of you. Were there proper steps to follow after something like this, or any steps at all?

“You didn't…” you commented, unsure what proper term to use to not seem crass.

You didn't cum. You didn't fill me.

“I am not certain that would still be biologically possible for me,” he answered with little emotion, seemingly neither bothered nor frustrated by that fact.

Even if he hadn't been linked to your mind, your disappointment would have been palpable. You had wanted him to experience some of the relief he had given you, to release all that could have troubled him inside you. You wanted to care for him.

Selfishly, perhaps, there had also been the want to carry your prophet's seed so no one would ever question who you belonged to.

“However, to the extent this body can still feel pleasure…” he continued, not missing a beat, otherworldly gaze deep in yours, “you took great care of me. Thank you.”

This time, you smiled.

You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

And there was nothing more important to you than that.

#viktor arcane #arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #arcane smut #mine #machine herald #TWO YEARS later and I'm back in the 24/7 Viktor brain rot like I never left...#regardless of my negative feelings towards the finale (check my tumblr for more on that)#nothing would ever keep me from wanting to write pages and pages of poetry about him.#and p*rn #definitly a lot of p*rn #does tumblr still censor that tag? who knows anymore....#anyway thank you for reading smooches

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sixosix · 2 years ago

Text

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.”

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space?

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of.

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up.

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #lyney fanfiction

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postmoe · 7 months ago

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Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"

#yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #il capitano #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #x reader #il capitano x reader #isekaiied #genshin impact capitano #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader

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yanderefarm · 7 months ago

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yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

#top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #yandere ideas #yandere x male reader #sub yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #yandere pet

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pinejayy · 9 months ago

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╰┈➤ Traitor || One Piece x Reader

featuring: monkey d. luffy, trafalgar law and eustass kid

summary: you leave them and go your separate ways, including leaving the crew. after two years they come across you and you’ve joined a new crew…

warnings: angst, spoilers, curse words, corazon mentioned, death threat..

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy is completely heart broken, how could you…the first person who he’s fallen in love with, just join The Blackbeard Pirates. Yes he knows you guys didn’t end off in good terms but seeing with in this crew made his blood boil. And of course it made Luffy worry for you…

How could you! Join the crew of the man who caused his bother’s death. The man who threw Ace into the arms of death. He hates you….but god damn….he cares about you.

Even the rest of The StrawHats were disappointed. How pity can one person be?

But deep down Luffy still had feelings for you, and he desperately wanted you back into his life, in his arms….back on the Sunny.

“How could you! I trusted you….Y/N…please answer me!” Luffy yelled at you, and you just stood there aloof. You didn’t expect to run into your ex lover here. Thankfully he was alone…

You just sighed and looked away “Look Strawhat…Teach offered me a spot on his crew when I was at my lowest, when you weren’t there for me.” You spat out, Luffy cringes at the name ‘Strawhat.’ It felt more harsher coming from you. “Please Y/N….come back to the Sunny…we miss you..I miss you.” He pleaded, and stepped towards your direction and to which you immediately back away.

“No..” To which broke Luffy even more. “Look you ruined what we had between us with your childish behavior. And I needed a crew who doesn’t mess around.”

“Please don’t go! Please!! He’ll take you away like he did with Ace!” He began to cry out, falling onto his knees. Getting some looks from people around. To which you turn you head and began walking away. Leaving him in a broken state..

“Y/N PLEASE COME BACK! DON’T LEAVE ME!” He yelled out and sobbed out as he watched you leave. To which Zoro came running to his side. “PLEASE…I need you there when I become King of the Pirates..”

Trafalgar Law

Law knew when you guys went your separate ways it wasn’t on good terms, both of you had different opinions on life and he was too busy with his Captain Duties to deal with you. But when he found out that you were apart of the Doflamingo family he was completely heart broken.

He’s told you past stories about this man and how much of a monster he was and the second you guys go your separate ways you decide to join his stupid family.

Law doesn’t know if you’re really that stupid or really that pity. But it hurts…

But watching you in the arms of that man made him go feral. He still cared deeply for you…Doflamingo probably forced you into his arms right…RIGHT?!

Law eyes widen as he watched you walk in the room, he was currently chained up with sea stone making him helpless. He struggled against the cuffs “Y/N…please don’t tell me you’re with him..” He pleaded, his eyes began to gloss over. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. But seeing you with this monster was going to break him.

Law came to Dressrosa with Luffy to put a stop to Doflamingo but he didn’t expect you to be here as well. You watch Law struggle against the chains to which Doflamingo laughed at his attempts. “Poor Law, didn’t expect your little ex toy here?” He mocked.

“Y/N isn’t a toy! Don’t call them that!” He yelled at him, and he looks at you. “Please Y/N…what are you doing with this man…you know what he’s capable of doing…” Law struggled even more, hissing at the pain. He watched you, and what broke his heart even more that you didn’t even speak. Did Doflamingo do something?! This man is capable of killing you and it’s hurting Law.

“Now Y/N be a doll and let’s get going we have important business to attend to.” He said and patted your head to which you smile and nod, walking out of the room leaving both men alone.

Doflamingo smirked as he watched Law. “Reminds me of Corazon.” Making Law tense up, he didn’t say anything he just kept staring. “You know Law…I’ll make sure the day I kill Y/N, I’ll do it front of you.” He smirks out, and stood up. Which left Law speechless. And with that Doflamingo is walking towards the door. “I’ll make sure to send Y/N off to wherever Corazon is..” Levaing him alone in the room.

Law just sat there, tears streaming down his face. This man was planning on killing you. And in front of him. First Cora…and now you. He’s going to take everything he cares about. Law just sat there with his head low, sobbing softly. “Y/N…”

Eustass Kid

Kid was pissed off, how could you! How could go running around with the Red Hair Pirates!! They are the reason why he lost an arm! He was pissed off, he wanted to yell at you.

Yes! Yes Kid knew that when you guys broke up it wasn’t the most nicest words in exchange but he didn’t know you were going to be a pity bitch and join that one armed bastard. Shanks!

Now he looks at you like a backstabbing person and he doesn’t tolerate backstabbers, and he promises the next time he comes across you he’ll make your life a living hell. He’ll beat up Shanks! And right in front of you!

Kid really hates Shanks, what you have a type red hair pirates with one arm. Kid won’t admit it but seeing you with Shanks and his crew he’s heart broken, he can’t believe he shared his feelings with you.

“What the hell! Are you fucking stupid Y/N! How could you join a crew like Shanks!” He yelled at your direction, and you couldn’t help but hide behind Shanks. And this made Kid rage even more. How pathetic could you be?! “You back stabbing bitch…” He growled at your direction.

To which you narrowed your eyes and scoffed. But you decided not to give in, so you turn your head around and look away from Kid’s harsh eyes. And he was stomping his feet on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “Look at me! Please! You fucking bitch! Look at me!”

“That’s enough Kid. I don’t appreciate you talking to one of my crew members like that especially towards Y/N.” Shanks replied, to which Kid laughed at his face. “Screw you!”

….

And before you know it, there was a battle between Kid and Shanks, well it was more like Kid being thrown against something and falling. You couldn’t help but look away. Not wanting to see the aftermath…no…

Just covering your ears…and wanting this to end…

Everything soon came to an end with the Victoria Punk into pieces and Eustass Kid thrown into sea…swallowing him into his watery death..

….

Kid….

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radioisntdead · 1 year ago

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Good evening folks! Here's a drabble I wrote as a warm up, not my best work but it's short And it was written at three am, Enjoy!

The radio man's Wife

Alastor x female reader

Warnings:

Human Alastor, murder, Not much Alastor in here but he's here, victim blaming the dead people

You could ask anyone who had met her and they would tell you that The local radio host's wife was the sweetest person they had ever met, a real angel on earth, she'd help out her neighbors, delivering fresh baked goods to those in need, she'd help take care of the neighborhood kids while their parents got away for a night,

She was a saint, who was to know that she had married a monster? She was just another unwilling victim right?

After all,

She was just so kind!

but even those who appear kind could do the cruelest of things, sweet words secretly drenched in venom, dressed in soft unsuspecting colors, her eyes that held nothing but fondness for the person she married and distain for those who stood against him, for those who ran his name through the mud.

She'd gleefully turn a blind eye to the wicked acts he did, being nothing but a bystander, at most she threw a few sickly sweet words to the victims that left them feeling sick to the pits of their stomaches before they perished.

She'd clean up any remaining mess he left behind, making any leftover carnage into fertilizer for her beautiful garden, mopping up the blood stained floors, or digging up a deep grave in the nearby woods for him to drag a body or two into.

She willingly laid next to someone who had countless people's blood on his hands, she'd give nothing but a love-filled smile at him,

She'd dance with a repeat murderer while soft jazz played on the radio each night after dinner, after the dishes were done and dried He'd take her hand and they'd dance.

She'd give a small kiss on the cheek, telling him to stay safe and leave him to his business slaughtering folks.

After all they deserved it right? They weren't truly good folks, Her and her dear Alastor believed ? that wholeheartedly, and Honestly it's their own fault for being easy targets

Right?

No one would believe you if you told them beforehand that the charming radio host, Alastor was a cold blooded murderer who had claimed multiple lives,

After all he was so charming, always with that smile on his face that could make anyone swoon, although you could never exactly know what he was thinking, people adored his voice and his radioshow where he'd play the tunes of the time, and briefly speak about the recent disappearances of people, telling everyone to stay safe.

It's truly the charming ones you should look out for.

It was only revealed when someone hunting in the dead of night mistook her dearest Alastor for a deer, shooting him swiftly through the head, killing him almost instantly, leaving him to be bitten and torn by man's best friend.

The phonecall she got when it was discovered was heart wrenching,

Her beloved Radio host went from charming to his name being thrown around, treated like a monster, [Which he was, he killed people] his office was cleaned out swiftly after being searched for anything alluding to his crimes, the home they shared was searched and torn apart for evidence as she sobbed into the arms of a supportive, unsuspecting neighbor,

After everything went down she was either scorned or deemed a unfortunate lady who unknowingly married a murderous monster, she had parts of the community that took pity bring around casseroles and give her words of comfort.

It couldn't have been more then a year since Alastor had gone, a family member of one of his victims wanted revenge, however since the murderer was already six feet under, why not go for his widow?

In the dead of night carrying a gun he crept into the home she once shared with her beloved, he moved passed the picture frames on the walls, from events, Their wedding photos and pictures of family, all were hung up neatly.

He opened the door, a creaking noise rung out throughout the house,

He moved forward towards the bed where the widow laid, deep in a slumber she'd never wake up from,

The man lifted up the gun and shot her right in the heart, She didn't know what hit her.

Arising from the ground she brushed herself off, the sight of brimstone and the harsh smell of sulfur filled her nose,

She didn't know what killed her, maybe a heart attack? Perhaps she choked on something in her sleep? Well there was no use in wondering, what's done is done, and from the looks of it she definitely ended up in hell, wasn't surprising after all she did help out her husband in his crimes.

With a quick look at herself, she made a face at the animal ears that protruded from her head, along with the matching tail on her back, shaking her head she began walking around to explore the place.

She supposed it was time to go find her dearly departed darling now wasn't it?

Good evening folks! Thank you for reading!

I'm making my way through requests and a couple of them will hopefully be out within the week! Stay tuned!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine

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writingtraumaforever · 5 months ago

Text

“There’s Nothing To Talk About.”: A Sonic the Hedgehog 3 Mini-Fic

Notes: Based off this post by @corffee . Minor Sonic the Hedgehog 3 Spoilers!

Summary: He was left disappointed the second those handcuffs were pulled out. Communication wouldn’t be an option, that was clear no matter what the obnoxious blue hedgehog said. He should’ve known better. Should’ve expected as much from those associated with GUN. Still, he was disappointed. And confused as to why he was disappointed. A feeling of betrayal seeping into his core and leaving him feeling even more lost than he already was.

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Shadow has never once met anyone or anything like him.

He was led to believe he was the only of his kind. A creature of mystery. A monster among humans.

Turns out humans were the monsters.

And Shadow was their reckoning.

But this.. this blue hedgehog.

What was he??

Shadow had initially been shocked by the sight of him— well, all three of them, really. A fox, an echidna, and a hedgehog. None human. None of earth. His mind wanted to be open. Intrigued by beings that were more like him than those they lived among. His instinct wasn’t to fight, it was to question. His curiosity led him despite seeing them jump from that GUN helicopter, thinking for only a moment that communication may be possible. That perhaps if anyone could understand, it would be others like him.

Different.

Outcasts.

“Monsters”.

He was left disappointed the second those handcuffs were pulled out. Communication wouldn’t be an option, that was clear no matter what the obnoxious blue hedgehog said. He should’ve known better. Should’ve expected as much from those associated with GUN. Still, he was disappointed. And confused as to why he was disappointed. A feeling of betrayal seeping into his core and leaving him feeling even more lost than he already was.

So instead, Shadow warned them to leave. Not stand in his way.

They didn’t heed his warning, and he put them in their place. Once again warning them to not follow.

He’s learning very quickly that the blue hedgehog is unreasonable. And impulsive.

And fast.

He chased Shadow on foot, keeping up with ease. One glimpse down told Shadow he didn’t need the aid of air shoes, he was simply that quick. Gifted with natural speed, it seems.

He dodged every shot Shadow took at him, managing to disarm Shadow in the process.

Another few moments later and the hedgehog was curled up and rolling alongside him, dashing against his back tire as they made chase down the busy streets.

It all just made them more similar. More the same.

So why was this hedgehog trying to stop him??

Why was he protecting them??

He must not know what they’re capable of.. that humanity isn’t worth protecting.

They’ve made their beds.

Now they must lie in them.

The climax of the rather aggressive introduction came with the two colliding and creating a energy spike that shook the city into darkness. Both hedgehogs are sent flying backwards, hitting the rooftop of the building below like falling, sparking stars. Shadow grunts at the impact, his head throbbing and his body aching..

He’s never been.. hurt. Not from anything more than needles and experimentation.

But this hurt.

This knocked him dizzy.

But he knew he couldn’t let his guard down with his rival still near, shaking his head to try and regain some composure as he pushes himself up on his feet and looks around to spot the blue hedgehog—

He‘s out cold, curled up in a defensive position with blue sparks flickering through his quills weakly.

Shadow sighs at this, releasing some tension in his throbbing body as he rolls his aching neck and slowly approaches what he assumes is the protector of humanity..

That’s what he was meant to be. Their protector.

No.

Their weapon.

Fear prevented this, though. Steering them to instead rid themselves of him before he became what they considered too powerful.

They’ll do the same to this hedgehog eventually.

He’ll see..

Shadow almost pities him.

Standing over him, he uses the toe of his shoe to lightly nudge him in the side and roll him onto his back. The hedgehog groans but doesn’t awaken.

He’s indeed alive. Resilient, it seems.

Shadow’s eyes shift around them, looking for any signs of the two he had arrived with to be following. They apparently weren’t able to keep up, but they’d be coming soon, he’s sure. If the way the fox and hedgehog reacted to the echidna’s defeat was anything to go off of, they obviously cared for one another..

This also intrigued Shadow..

Were they.. a family..?

Shadow’s glowing red eyes fall back to the hedgehog at his feet, sighing to himself before crouching down to take a knee beside him. He lets his gloved hands cradle blue quills, lifting his head up and resting it in his lap so he can rub and rummage his fingers through them. Searching. Assuming they work similarly to his own in ways or storage.

There’s so much junk in this hedgehog’s head�� it’s infuriating.

Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for, pulling out the modified handcuffs the hedgehog had flashed him downtown. Popping them open, he moves to clip one around the hedgehog’s wrist, lifting his arm to the attach the other to a nearby pipe. Once this is done, he moves to carefully lift his adversary up from his lap and prop him against the pipe. He’ll come-to quicker sitting up..

He needs to get moving. Find where he came from. Find whoever released him..

He needs to see where he lost her..

But he hesitates. His eyes skimming over the hedgehog before him..

He does look quite similar. Coloring aside, they have similar noses, similar body types..

Shadow wonders if… maybe he came from wherever Shadow came from..

They have differences, though. Shadow’s eyes are sharp and intimidating.. this hedgehog’s are wide and exciting. Like they can’t be quick and big enough to take in the world around them.

Shadow’s fur is long and unkempt, rugged and course from decades of being in that cryo-tank.

This hedgehog’s looks soft and brushed.. clean and taken care of.

Shadow’s face frowns.

This hedgehog’s smiles.

Shadow is dark.

He is light.

Shadow gives off intimidation and fear.

This hedgehog gives off safety and courage.

In many ways, his spunky and obnoxious attitude makes him think of—

He should go.

Moving to shift closer to the hedgehog, he looms over his sleeping form and whispers into his ear,

“Don’t try to find me.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a warning..

It’s a damn courtesy.

Standing from his crouched position, Shadow turns away from the hedgehog and walks to the edge of the rooftop overlooking the darkened city. He sees orange and red streaks dodging through buildings and down streets in their direction..

His brows furrow a bit, turning to look at the hedgehog one more time. Watching him groan and shift slightly with a pained expression..

No..

They’re not the same.

This hedgehog has someone..

Shadow has nothing.

With a trick of the light and a flicker of energy, Shadow vanishes into the night.

The fox and echidna wake the hedgehog.

Shadow is accompanied only by his demons.

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metalomagnetic · 8 months ago

Text

Either must die snippet

***A dear friend asked on discord if I have some EMD writing left, so here it is.***

----

Harry hadn’t stopped screaming since he entered the kitchen; he’s furious. It’s been a long time since he exploded in such righteous anger.

Cheeks red, jaws set, and those damned eyes of his glinting. Why, it’s almost like before, back in the war. Of course, now at least he can appear somewhat intimidating, what with the size of him. He doesn’t intimidate Voldemort, but it is easy to imagine he could make a random individual cower. Voldemort would like to see Harry going off like this on some pesky journalists or one of his stalker fans. It would be entertaining.

As it is, it’s not entertaining at the moment. It irritates Voldemort to be screamed at.

One flick of his wrist, and he could silence Harry. Another flick and he can send him crashing into the wall. To resist temptation, he drums his fingers on the table, reaches inside to find patience. It’s getting harder and harder to be patient these days. He had to suffer it for a while, but now he’s back in power. A Minister, not a war lord, yet people learned not to trifle with him, not to glare at him, not to talk back.

Even Harry learned, as the years passed by. He minded his business, and he let Voldemort be. Yet it’s not worth the trouble to put him in his place, now. He can already imagine the dramatics that would follow. Harry would break again, and Voldemort will either have to lock him in an attic, never to be allowed in public, or he’d have to put in the effort to build him back up, and he certainly lacks the patience for that. Hermione would be insufferable about it. Delphini would cry.

Harry must be aware of these unpleasant outcomes, too, because while he screams, he doesn’t dare do more than that. He cries, too, tears of pain and frustration and pure despair. That improves Voldemort’s mood a tad. Harry always looks good when he’s crying. “I asked for one thing!” his voice breaks, rough. “One thing! You have everything, and I said nothing- you use me, you use my name, you- I only asked for one thing.”

What a lie. Harry might not verbally ask for much, but those pitiful eyes of his ask plenty, and Voldemort gives it to him. The ungrateful brat.

“And you couldn’t let me have it! You’re a monster!”

Show him, a voice begs, a voice that was dormant for so long, but it’s waking up lately. Show him the monster. Show him how patient you’d been with him all these years. Show him how it could have been.

Voldemort ignores it. His fingers curl around the table, momentarily, because just drumming them isn’t enough anymore, he itches for his wand, but then the crisis is avoided, and he is in control, he won’t snap. He does stand, because it’s safe to do it, his temper is in check, and Harry tired himself out with his tantrum. “You asked for her life,” Voldemort reminds him. “She is alive.” Moly Weasley lives. Thought it seems a misfortune befell her earlier that day. Well earned. Delicious revenge. Harry, sadly, is not the type to enjoy the poetic justice, the mastery in this delivery of punishment.

She lives, like he wanted, she isn’t even in pain, but the score was settled. Fleetingly, he wonders if Bella is happy, if she laughs gleefully in the afterlife. Perhaps not- Bella was never one for poetry, for subtlety. She got her vengeance in blood and screams. Harry stares at him, shaking his head. “I hate you,” he whispers. Voldemort did not want to break him, but he broke, anyway. So fragile, this boy of his, despite his impressive muscles, he shatters like glass. “Nothing new,” Voldemort replies, and walks out of the kitchen.

As soon as he reaches the garden, he feels his anger rising, now that he isn’t focused on not hurting Harry until he explodes into a pile of blood and bones. He gets angrier and angrier with every step. He feels as impotent as Harry must feel. No matter how mad the boy was, how obviously hurting, he did not even think to draw his wand at Voldemort, or punch him, like he once did. He would have- for Molly fucking Weasley, he would have. Harry has few limits, but the Weasleys are one. Harry would crash and burn with them, for them, the world be damned. He didn’t, however, because he must know, deep down, that it wasn’t Voldemort. But he can’t admit it to himself, not consciously. Voldemort is a convenient scapegoat. Voldemort is a monster, rotten and evil, and it’s easier for Harry this way. Easier than the truth.

He Apparates to Lestrange Manor, and he thinks of Bella again. How odd- he hadn’t truly thought of her in years, but now he feels her around; when he walks to Lestrange Manor, is feels like before, like when he’d walk this path and knew he’d find her and Rodolphus inside. He doesn’t, of course. He finds a copy of her, instead. Bella left him copies of herself, echoes that remain to dwell the earth in her absence. Voldemort walks past Andromeda, strolls through the Manor, until he finds Rodolphus’ copy.

Voldemort knows Rabastan is guilty as soon as he lays eyes on him. That stiff posture, the fear in his eyes, even if he keeps his chin up, defiant. “Your wand,” he snarls. Andromeda followed him, she’s frowning, confused, asking what the matter is. The matter is that Voldemort was disobeyed. “Leave,” Rabastan begs her. “Leave,” Voldemort snarls at her. Andromeda is a cheaper copy of Bella, in all senses. Tamer, sadder, broken. But wiser. She leaves.

Rabastan gives up ‘his’ wand. It’s not his, of course, just like Voldemort suspected. He knew, as Harry was screeching, as Voldemort sat there trying not to snap, he was thinking how all this could have been accomplished. Delphini is at Hogwarts, after all. Impossible for her to also be at the Burrow. Unless she Apparated there. But she wouldn’t risk doing all that with her wand. It became quite obvious who would have given her a wand. “It had to be done,” Rabastan dares to speak. “You moved on, but I can’t; not until justice was served. You moved on, but Delphi couldn’t.” Delphini is a far better copy of Bella, compared to Andromeda. But, as Voldemort feared- you do not fear!- as Voldemort suspected, she is no true copy of her mother. Oh, she’s her spitting image, she has some Black traits in her personality, but no- Delphi is his copy. The anger reaches its peak. Voldemort always treasured Rabastan over most others, awarded him more leeway than most others. But Rabastan is no Harry, he’s no Delphini, and Voldemort snaps.

He reminds Rabastan who he serves, whose mark is on his arm. Useless, of course. Rabastan was never one to cow for pain, nor learn from it. Yet his pain serves to soothe some of Voldemort’s anger, lets him take it out on him. Another convenient scapegoat.

(-)

She does walk like Bella, a confident, defiant tilt to her hips. She walks loudly, proudly, as if used to have others look at her in awe, covet her. She brought her heels, even if the path to the Forbidden Forest is not exactly best suited for heels. Whenever she angers him, she knows to make herself look even more like her mother.

Once, when he searched her mind, he saw Rodolphus teaching her this, on the night before he left her at Rowle’s. “It’s best if you look like her,” he told her, advising her to let her hair free, to wear the dresses Bella favoured. “He treasured her above all others, and, in time, I hope he’ll treasure you, too.” She doesn’t stop at a respectable distance, like Bella would have done when she knew she messed up, when she angered him. No. Delphini comes close, closer than anyone dares.

She’s taller than Bella already, and the heels almost bring her up to his chin. She looks up, and those are his eyes, that is his glare, his defiance, his stubbornness. “What potion did you give her?” “My own invention,” Delphini says, and pride flushes stronger on her face. “They won’t detect it.” “And if they do, then what is the problem, no?” Voldemort asks. “Who is going to suspect a perfect school girl? And if they do suspect her, who is going to blame the Minister’s daughter? Who would dare arrest her?” Delphini shrugs.

“If you plan on using my influence to stay out of trouble, if you know you can easily fall back on me to protect you, then you should discuss things with me before you do them.” “Why bother,” she spits. “You would have said ‘no’. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He should have tortured Rabastan more, because not all the anger is out of his system. Furry comes back hot, coursing through his veins, going to his head. “Ask for forgiveness, then,” he hisses, and he takes the step that separated them, towers over her. If she wants to play these games, he’ll play them. She will lose. It’s time for her to learn to lose- Harry spoiled her, far too much. He ignored Voldemort’s warnings that Delphini shouldn’t get away with everything she does, that he should push back, whenever she tests them.

As always, Harry’s kind, tolerant heart, explodes spectacularly in his face.

Delphini doesn’t cower, not truly, but he can detect the current of fear that passes through her. Strangely, it does nothing to improve his mood. Terrifying people usually soothes his fury, but now it just taints it with an unknowable feeling. “I thought you loved Harry,” he says, softly.

“I do!” Her fingers curl into fists at her side. Her neck is bent back uncomfortably, trying to keep Voldemort’s gaze. “She’s alive, isn’t she? Like he asked. She loves Harry, didn’t forget him, and she’ll no doubt dote over him, like a mother. In fact, now that she only remembers loving him, she’ll love him even more! I took nothing from Harry! He can have his pretend mummy! I only took away the memories of all her living children! It’s only fair!”

Delphini’s voice gets louder. Defensive. “She stole my mother from me! So it’s only fair she forgets all the beautiful memories she has with her children, memories she didn’t let me form with my mother. It’s only fair she will only remember her dead son, like I have to remember my dead mother, every time I step foot into the Great Hall, where that harpy took her from me. From us! You lost her, too! And now Molly Weasley cannot remember her husband, either! It’s fair, it is!”

It is beautiful, he agrees. It is poetic and it is just. It is perfect. However.

“You knew he’ll blame me for it; you understand he’s devastated; you understand how he’ll avoid me now, how he’ll suffer, how he’ll moan and whine at me for months on end, start drinking again, retreat into his spare bedroom and rot there for who knows how long. You are perfectly aware Hermione will blame me, too. That it could potentially harm my work. You knew this would affect me. And you did it anyway.” He cups Delphini’s face, and she finally flinches, though she doesn’t draw back.

So beautiful, this child. So intelligent. She loves Voldemort, understands him like no other. His perfect girl. If Voldemort would have ever wanted a daughter, if he’d have been given the chance to make her, build her from scratch- this is what he’d have imagined. Only, he still wishes she would have been more like Bella, or Rodolphus, or Harry; it would have been easier. For him, and for her. Alas, she is not like them. She is like him.

“She deserves it,” Delphini insists. “She hurt me!” Ever her tears are perfect, pretty shapes, clear, trailing down her cheeks. “That never works with me, Delphini,” he reminds her, using his thumb to brush one tear away. “I know!” she hisses. “Nothing works with you! That’s why I didn’t ask! Because you give Harry everything he asks, you are so attentive to provide him with what he needs, but you never care about what I want. What I need. I asked you to punish her, you promised me, remember? When I first met Ron. You promised me! But then Harry asked you to spare her, and you did what he wanted. You forgot about me, about my pain-“

“Shut up,” he says, softly. “I allow you far more than I would anyone else. Harry is my prisoner, he does only what I allow him to do, even if he deluded himself into thinking otherwise. I give you freedom. I don’t make decisions for you. I accept you as you are. But-“ he takes his hand away. “Do not trespass against me, Delphini,” he warns her. “If you want to hurt others, don’t use your mother as an excuse to do it. More importantly, don’t hurt people that are useful to me. Ask before you pull something like this again. And when I say ‘no’, better heed it. Or leave. Go far away, and make trouble there. This is my country, and nothing happens inside it without my say so. I worked for sixty years to subdue this island. If you want that kind of power, you will have to work for it, too.”

#it's fine Harry will refuse to believe it was Delphini and he will eventually forgive Voldemort #in other news Fleur is SO HAPPY now that she got rid of Molly and her smothering #probably Hermione is secretly happy as well though she will never admit it #either must die #harrymort #tomarry #Harry Potter #lord voldemort #Delphini

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jinkiezzsstuff · 1 year ago

Note

ELLO GOVNA, I hope you're doing wonderful.💘💘I have just a short request

Established relationship Alastor x fem reader who likes to wear lingerie to bed. Or just because she finds herself pretty in it, with literally zero intent to seduce Alastor, she just loves to wear em..(and she'll go all out when it comes to it, even wearing the long sheer robe that has the faux fur) Could be smut or fluff I don't mind…maybe even both 👀

I just simply adore your writing, so I had to request this.🫶

zuddeeee i’m so sorry for getting this to you so late! i loved this so much but struggled writing it for some reason! i hope this is good and that you enjoy it thank you so much for the request, praise and your patience it means the world to me 😭

warnings: SMUT 18+ yall, fem reader no pronouns used aside from ‘you’, alastor isn’t completely sex averse but there’s areas of discomfort mentioned, alastors magic used, reader tops not in a dominating sense but literally on top, alastors antlersss, kinda short smut part maybe? hmmm what else, not proof read because i was so anxious to get this out lmk if you see mistakes! swearing, hmmm that’s it i think

word count: 2.6k

Alastor made the rare decision to actually go to bed with you tonight. It wasn’t like Alastor didn’t want to sleep in bed with you no, that wasn’t the case at all. More so, he wae just so busy, not to mention he could never find himself fully asleep, the deer aspect of himself left him jumping awake at any tiny sound his sensitive ears could pick up. That would be too cruel to you, keeping you up with his pitiful nonsense.

However you insisted he slept with you tonight, for some reason you’d been more clingy then usual, perhaps it was just that stage in the relationship, or perhaps he’d been away too long without notice? Whatever the case mattered not to him, he just knew you were clingy and he’d be a monster to deny you of his affections. Tying his red bathrobe closed, Alastor kicked off his deer slippers and sat back in bed with a book. Despite being in bed, his suit was still on beneath his bathrobe, feeling still hesitant to let himself get fully comfortable.

Smooth jazz hummed from Alastor filled the room as he waited for you to join him. He wasn’t privy to your nightly habits, so he had no idea how long you’d take before you returned. Alastor thought it was rude and intrusive to stick his nose into what a lady did before bed, no matter how long your relationship had lasted he wanted you to be able to have your privacy within life. I curling your nightly rituals within the bath and bed room.

Light spilt out from the brightly lit bathroom, lighting up the dim room. Alastors head turned towards the noise of the door and light on the floor, eyes widening at the sight before him. You began walking toward the bed, a long silky robe flowing with every step you took, through peaks and openings Alastor saw your skin, and where he didn’t see skin he saw deep burgundy lace.

His tail made movements beneath him as he watch you drop the robe, slipping down your figure and onto the floor just by your side of the bed. You faced his eyes with your body clad in luxurious looking lingerie, something he’d only ever seen in hell on skimps; never yourself. “My dear, what’s this?” His tone was teasing as you slipped underneath the cover, sitting up against the headboard with him. “What do you mean hun?” Alastor raised his eyebrows at you, surprised by then genuine confusion in your tone and eyes.

“Ahhh I see my dear! Subtly indicating it’s time for some good ol’ barney mugging!” Alastor chortled out tilting his head along with his laughter. You didn’t hide the confusion on your face at his words, rarely did Alastor catch you off guard with his weird old timey speech, but this one had you puzzled. “Good old what now?” Alastors tendrils came of from beside you and tugged you into his side, nestling you underneath his arm, and pressing you to his chest. “Mischievous little you, always making me say thee uncomfortable terms; sex. You dressed up so desirably, and wanted to stay tonight because you wanted attention.” Alastor whispered softly down to you, as you twisted your head up from your awkward position to meet his gaze.

Smiling softly, you pat his chest softly giving in, and coiling around him as if he were your teddy bear. “Al, I didn’t dress up to try and get sex out of you, I genuinely just wanted to have you next to me tonight! I always dress like this for bed, you’d know if you came to bed more.” You lightly jab, still smiling sweetly at the deer above you. His eyes flickered with varying emotions that you couldn’t quite pick up on, although his smile never faltered remaining the same throughout. “I didn’t think anybody wore those types of garments to sleep.” Alastor admitted slumping further down on the headboard of the bed, he didn’t feel ashamed of jumping to conclusions on the type of outfit you doted, however he was still racking his brain on the fact you just wanted him here; why?

“You should really change too Al, these ain’t comfy.” You muttered nuzzling yourself into his neck, the tips of his hair tickling your face, and his pesky suit collar getting in the way. “Darling i’m the radio demon, demons don’t undress.” Humming absentmindedly in response, your hand danced down his chest, caressing the large quantity of fabric that seperated your hand from his chest. Reaching the belt in his robe, you were easily able to untie it, and your hands made there way back up to unbutton every button your fingers touched. Alastors static flickered with warning, but you knew he’d never hurt you like that, so to you it was no more threatening that a disapproving look.

Although he didn’t like the idea of being in a vulnerable position where anybody could catch him lacking, he allowed you to undo the buttons in his top slowly, even helping you at times when you couldn’t get one undone. “i know you’re uncomfortable at times, but you don’t have to be naked, just more relaxed.” You say as his white button up was finally opened, leaning back from your position you tugged at the robe indicating you wanted it off. Following in suit, Alastor sat up with a flat hum falling out of him, you wasted no time pulling off the robe, jacket and button down shirt all at once, before chucking it off onto the floor.

“I love your flesh, y’know that?” You coo, running your hand over every scar and decorated line that scattered across his body. You flopped back on the bed with a smile, Alastor slowly lowering himself beside you right after. “For a sinner who isn’t a cannibal my dear, that was awfully cannibalistic of you.” You grinned at him, scooting up beside him and repositioning yourself under his chin. “What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me.” Alastors hand came down the back of your head and trailed down your back, toying with the lace and band of your brassiere. “I still think you should take off your suit pants, by the way.” You muttered eyes blinking slowly, feeling exhaustion wash over your body in waves, there was something about being settled down neck to Alastor that made you feel sleepier than before.

“Hmm, s’pose I could indulge you this once.” Alastor grumbled succumbing to your wishes, with one hand he unbuttoned his slacks and unzipped his zipper, then with the help of his tentacles he pulled his pants off and tossed them aside. Your leg immediately came up to wrap around his torso, feeling his warm flesh beneath your thigh and calf was enough to make you slightly throb, which made you feel a bit guilty; after all you said you weren’t seducing him. Thankfully as your leg rested underneath his bellybutton on his pelvis, you felt shivers run through him, which he tried and failed to play off as a yawn.

Guess you weren’t the only one thinking naughty tonight. “Would you…” You trail quietly wondering if you should ruin the soft moment between you two. You heard a staticky hum sound from Alastor, almost like a rattle, and decided to simply go for it. “Would you like it if I was trying to seduce you? Would you wanna lil barney- whatever.” You breath out a laugh at the silly term. Alastor hummed thoughtfully, his claw tracing up your back with slow purpose. Alastor didn’t feel as though he knew how to answer, yes he did enjoy the indulging act every now and again with you, however it could be tedious at times.

“Can i ride you?” You blurt out sitting up. Alastors ears flickered rapidly as his eyes widened, his smile barely faltered but everything you needed to know was in his eyes and ears. Smiling coyly, you bring your own clawed hand up to caress his face. “Do your cheeks get tired from all the smiling?” You asked slowly and gently shifting your hips on top of his own, setting yourself down on top of him, lent forward toward his face. “Painfully so,” Alastor whispered his static gone as he watched through lidded eyes you grind your body against his own slowly. “I bet you’re so tired all the time honey, you need to be taken care of.” You cooed pecking his chest, below you cold feel the swell in his boxers, the lights in the room also began to act up.

“Absolutely done in my dear,” Alastor responded lowly his hands coming up carefully to your hips. “Do you intend to help me?” You nodded with a smile, and dropped your core down onto his aching bulge. With a hiss Alastor gripped your hips, nails cutting into you as you carefully grind your clothed core against him. Anticipation bubbled within you and you held back the strong urge to quicken your speed and ravage him fully, but you knew how Alastor felt and didn’t want to secretly overwhelm him in an uncomfortable way.

Lifting your hips, Alastor tried to yank you back down to him with a static growl coming from him. You tsked at him, fighting against his strength and reaching below your bodies to carefully release him from his briefs. “Don’t fight me Alastor, I'm just trying to help.” You grinned pulling the pricey pair of panties aside, revealing the glisenting of your heat. Alastor watched eyes wide as you slid slowly against his length, folds encasing his cock and covering him with your arousal. Alastors hands came down to grip the sheets, hoisting himself up slightly with his elbows to watch your sinful display.

You watched the gears turn in Alastors head, it was obvious to you how hard he was struggling to let you maintain the control. His ears were drooped down to the sides of his head, his smile lessened and struggling to stay high as you teased him. You set you body down fully feeling the head of him poke at your sensitive clit, making you jolt your mouth falling open into a silent moan. Alastor hissed like a snake, air escaping through his clenched teeth as you dragged your hips back and forth against him slowly.

Alastor was always in control when you two had sex, it was the only way he’d have it typically, let him maintain his image and aesthetics of control, being subservient just didn’t suit him. God forbid anybody walk in to see the state he was in. Alastor tensed at the thought, head craning towards the unlocked door, his eyes widening. He didn’t like feeling anxiety but he did feel it now, and he feels it anytime he’s put in these positions he hated it. The sensation in his stomach made him want to pull his hair out, the feeling of fear making him feel insane. How could someone like him feel these stupid emotions?

“Hey,” You whispered, halting your movements, and slowly resting your hand on his cheek. You noticed his demeanour suddenly shift as he began eyeing the door, your gaze followed but it was lacklustre as there was nothing there. “Al, we can stop if you’d like?” Alastors hair was puffed like a cat and his ears were pinched back instead of their previous position relaxed at the sides. “We’re just so terribly exposed my dear,” Alastor muttered glaring at the door. “May I… alter, our surroundings?” You watched him trail decisively, trying to remain indifferent on the outside when clearly he was squirmy. “Sure thing hun, do as you need.”

Smiling you watched as his demeanour shifted from on edge to confident, the hair on his head once puffed now relaxed. Smooth jazz filled the surroundings, reverberating off the walls and around the room, then your jaw dropped slightly as you watched Alastors magic to encase you safely in the wispy dome he conjured around the bed. Your eyes casted down at him, eyebrow quirked with disbelief, he only grinned cheekily up at you, arms finding their way to rest behind his head. “Ahh safe and sound my dear, where no sneaky prying eyes could see your beauty, and my fragility.” A soft laugh track played out at his exclamation, and unknowing admission of his feelings.

Angling your hips forward and down you reviled in the feeling of him twitching needily against you. “I suppose you are right, I admit Vox makes me paranoid.” Alastors static crackled madly at the mention, normally he didn’t let himself get away with showing this type of anger towards such a lowlife, but the admission that Vox put you on edge? That pissed him off. “Relax Al, i know you can take of me if I need it.” You assure petting his hair affectionately, which he typically didn’t enjoy but for the moment he allowed it.

His grin was calm as he found his zen again, relaxing into the mattress and the feeling of you squirming above him. With a hum Alastor pulled his hands out from behind him and snaked them beneath you two, grasping his dark grey member that was covered in your slick arousal. “I think it’s enough teasing dear, it’s beginning to become ever so painful.” He teased with a coy tone in his voice, you whined as he prodded your entrance slipping in the head of his cock with ease. You heard a echoed hiss of feedback play out of the static as he slid deeper into you, your back arching as you felt yourself sink down fully. “Oh shit Al, i know I'm gonna cum fast.” You whined, already rocking yourself against him. Alastor was as stiff as a board, his hands reactively flying back to your hips digging his nails into them, as he strained against the animalistic urges to ram into you like the wild animal he was.

His antlers grew large, spanning across the length of the bed as you began to ride him, his knees coming up giving you something to grab onto. All that could be heard, was the distracting jazz, and the echoing skin slapping that reverberated through the bubble. Alastors nostrils flare at the smell of you encasing him, he tried to hide the whines he made by swallowing but it was no luck once you began to clamp down on him. Crying out loudly you fell forward hands on each side of him as you crazily fucked yourself on him, selfishly chasing your own orgasm. Although Alastor didn’t mind, he felt himself holding on to the edge of his climax as he watched your face contort and listened to your pleas for him. A ballistic growl ripped out of Alastors chest as he came, giving into the desire to be disgustingly horny; he encased your hips with his arms, moaning your name into your ear as he thrusted into your body vigorously.

You gripped his antlers as he did so, feeling your clit bump against his pubic hair and flesh, you could feel yourself getting so close but this one was dragging out. You begged Alastor not to stop as you throbbed and clenched, and when you did Alastor pulled his head back to meet your lips. His tongue sliding into your mouth, warm lips against your own and clashing teeth was enough to make you come. Your body convulsed against his, whining and crying into his mouth as you made a mess of him and your bed. After a moment where you both rode out your high, you finally detached from the lips, your body’s simultaneously falling back, his against the bed and your body against his. Alastors magic collapsed around you, the shield once encasing you gone, the jazz that once carried through the crackled off moments ago. The two of you panted, wordlessly recouping. “I think i’ll sleep with you more often dear, i have to admit, that was quite the sleeping aid.”

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