#pointing a fun at a man and he tells you stop being foolish....

[martyrbat]

the brave and the bold #156

[ID: Batman being threatened with a gun after confronting a criminal. The man shouts, “You may have discovered the truth... but you'll never live to tell anyone!” He points the gun at Batman's head, who remains unimpressed. He informs the crook, “Don't be a fool, Tyler! That gun won't help you now!” END ID]

[risuola]

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

[faeryarchives]

Hug Me!

gn!reader x malleus draconia

your lover wants to drown you with their affection but doesn't know how, until you beat them to it.

note: ok so it's been a while since i last wrote something i am sorry if it is a bit rusty 😔 and i tried writing in a 2nd point of view let me know what you guys think abt it ^^

Walking down the trail back to the Ramshackle Dorm feels nostalgic after being stuck in the training camp for a while. Finally going back to your own dorm after a week of chaos is such a great feeling. Stretching your arms up in the air, you let the warm breeze welcome you back home.

"Never thought there would be a day that I would miss our precious dorm." While you seemed to be happy being back, Grim on the other hand is on a whole new level of joy, feeling free from everything - eyes sparkling and the fire of his ears start to go brighter.

"My sweet soft bed! No more errands from those professors and students finally I can sleep in peace."

"Grim wait- and there he goes." Before saying another word, the cat monster immediately speed towards their dorm leaving you alone on the trail. '

Silly Grim, I'll make sure that he gets his favorite tuna later.'

The prefect continue walking down the trail enjoying the scenery - birds chirping, tree leaves dancing in the air and a certain dorm leader standing in front of their garden.

Such a wonderful sight brought a smile to your face as you quietly walked behind the person - trying to give them a scare by covering their eyes but then unexpectedly your surprised (eye color) eyes met excited bright green ones.

"Child of man, you are back. You were gone for some time." Malleus muttered, his hands holding your hands together gently as if anytime you are going away for another long time. Seeing how your lover looks like a sad dragon, you find your hand patting his head and gave him a kiss on his hand.

"I missed you too, Mal! Let me tell you what happened during the camp, I wished you were there." The two of you sat together under the tree near the garden, Malleus laying comfortably on your lap as you continuously run your fingers through his hair and horns. From morning till noon, the ravenette listen to all of your story with an unknowing pout on his face.

'It's been a while since I last saw you.' Being away from you for some time made the dragon yearn for your affection and wants to drown you with his own love. 'But you look so happy talking about other humans.'

Hearing stories of you having fun without him makes him a little sad. A sigh escaped his lips making you sneak a glance at Malleus' face. Noticing how his mood changed, you poke his forehead with a finger and let out a giggle when he somehow looked confused with your actions.

"(Nickname) why did you stop?" He sat up and look at you curiously. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and puff your cheeks out - looking the other way with a huff.

"Aren't you forgetting something? I am really hurt." Although you said it as a joke, there are so many thoughts running to the Draconia's mind at the moment. Did you get offended in some way? Or did you read his mind? Did you not like his hair condition?

A laugh cut his brainstorming in a halt and all of his problems were solved the moment you opened your arms wide with a grin.

"You goofy dragon. Hug me!"

Ah, it was so easy. How can he be so foolish? Malleus chuckled at his own dilemma, looking directly to your eyes before engulfing you into a warm hug - burying his head to your neck and let out a soft sigh as if he is in the safest place in this wonderland.

"I am really back home, Mal."

"Welcome home, my love."

and little did they know something will happened in the future *ahem* chapter 7 *ahem* anyways i can't wait for diasomnia's ssr dorm cards like SEBEK'S CARD IS SAUR PRETTY IM SO GLAD I GOT HIM 🥹

as always i hope u guys enjoyed and hopefully i am not shadowbanned?? if i got shadowban i will reblog this over andd over again i need everyone to know abt my malleus fluff before angst agenda 👹

recent fics: adore you & so this is heartache

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

Hey hey how’s my fav creator! I hope you’re doing well! 🫶🏻 I was hoping I could request some hunter/prey proxies x reader, (together or separate). And you could do sfw or nsfw whatever your feeling. Or both if you’re feeling up to it 👀 anyway I love you 🫶🏻��️♥️

Hi love!! I’m doing pretty alright! I hope you enjoy and this is close to what you wanted! Asks are always open if you want more!

THE PROXIES HUNTING YOU

MASKY:

Oh my lord how this man loves hunting you

And when he’s stalking after you there’s no chance Tim is in control. It’s all Masky and that’s what you should be worried about.

He gets especially violent if you’re trying to escape from him for good

He’ll always find you.

He might not be fast but he’s smart and he’ll find a way to get to you

He’ll absolutely tackle you to the ground when he catches up to you. Either that or he’ll yank you back by your arm and let you drop to the forest floor.

Masky will look down at you crying with absolute terror in your eyes

He’ll sling you over his shoulder and laugh as you beat his back with your fists screaming for someone to help you

You thought that would hurt him? Try harder.

When he gets you home you’re fucking toast. Don’t ever dream of seeing the light of day without him by your side.

NSFW

All the creeps watch as he drags you to his room knowing exactly what’s coming for you

I feel like the chase really arouses him too, so get ready for the most possessive angry sex of your life

He’ll tie you up and manhandle you until you’re crying and proclaiming your everlasting loyalty to him

Absolutely degrades the shit out of you too

Even then he probably won’t stop until all you can tell him is how much you love him and how you’re so sorry you ran

HOODIE:

He’ll let you run until you’re tired, after all he loves the way you look around frantically when you realize you have no clue where you are

He’ll watch from a distance as you sob, it’s over for you and you know it. How foolish of you.

Only when you collapse to your knees does he step out, slowly walking towards you. He relishes the way you try to crawl away through your sobs and hiccups

He doesn’t even have to speak for you to know you’ve been caught

If he’s especially impatient on the day you escape he might just skip exhausting you with all that running. He’ll catch up before you can even scream help.

He’ll snatch you into his arms, covering your mouth with his heavy gloves when you go to scream.

Pressing his gun to your lower back he’ll walk you right back home, smirking underneath his mask when all the creeps watch you trudge through the door with him right behind

He loves the way he doesn’t even need to put his hands on you to have control.

NSFW

He’ll shove you down onto the bed face first, putting his gun to your head as he yanks your pants down

When he knows you’ve truly submitted to him only then will he put the gun in his waistband and stroke your hair lightly as he fucks the ever loving shit out of you

He doesn’t need to speak for you to know he loves you. Well you don’t exactly think he loves you at this point but he does!

Hoodie loves when when you cry, Brian not so much. But honestly when you get into the chase Brian is so far gone

“TICCI” TOBY:

NSFW (sorry there’s nothing sfw about him for this 😅)

Another one who loves chasing you! Honestly he’d chase you around for fun, he thinks it’s hot

Depends on how he’s feeling but sometimes he’ll catch you right away and sometimes he’ll let the chase go on and on

But when he does eventually get you, he’ll slam you against a tree and he doesn’t exactly understand how rough he’s being

He’ll start having his way with you right there

There’s no need to go home when he can have you right here! You were being so so naughty after all. How dare you run away from him!

If you struggle at all, expect a hatchet to your neck as he continues ravishing you how he wants

But you know he still loves that you try to wriggle away from him. Oh please give him the chance to run after you again.

He thinks it’s a game and he’s more than happy to play with you

[complexparadox1]

Like The Flowers Need The Rain

Alright so I have FINALLY made a sort of part 2 to my story The Devil Within. This is a Bonten Mikey x Fem! Reader one shot. Now this can be read alone or after The Devil Within as I see it as either the happy ending to that story line or as an entirely alternate plot where they get to be happy in the end. Now this version does not have smut as the other version does I just wanted it to be kind of wholesome and sweet 🥹 only warnings are Mikey being a bit aggressive with the reader at one point, and Mikey having a bit of sewerslidal desires for a brief moment. With that I hope you guys like it 🩷

Your feet felt a bit unsteady as you walked, you felt cold and not just from the chilly fall air that swirled around you as you steadily progressed forwards. Placing one foot in front of the other as you walked towards the large building before you. As for the reason you were approaching the building it was because it was owned and operated by Bonten. You were bound and determined to see Manjiro again. Now granted from the whispers you'd heard it wasn't necessarily guaranteed he'd be here but you at least had to try right?

You stepped inside the lavish building, a fancy bar, technically it was a multilevel building with a bar, restaurant and many other similar businesses. After all Bonten was a huge criminal organization they had to launder their money somehow. Your gaze was quick to scan across the room before landing on the long snowy white haired man you were told to look for, Koko, he was the bookkeeper for Bonten. He handled the finances and worked directly for Manjiro. He sat in a small secluded booth in the corner of the bar area, there were a few security officers around him but still you approached each step soft and hesitant. "Excuse me?" You inquired nervously stopping three feet before the security guards standing in front of you, leaving a fair amount of distance between yourself and Koko. "Uhm...I was…looking for Manjiro…Manjiro Sano?" Your voice was meek and trembling and you could feel the nerves building with each syllable you spoke. You of course had no idea how this man would react to you approaching him or if he would even help.

Koko set down the glass in his hand and took a moment to focus on the figure that had approached. A small woman all on her own, venturing into territory that was almost guaranteed to cause her great trouble. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the person before him. She looked vaguely familiar perhaps? The woman seemed nervous, trembling slightly as she spoke. His gaze flickered to the men at his side before he waved them back, allowing the clearly nervous female to approach.

"Manjiro?" He repeated her words, brow furrowed. "So you know him, or did you just come looking for the leader of Bonten just for the fun of it?" Koko's tone was dark, his voice as dead as his expression. A razor-sharp mind, and a man who could see through a person in the blink of an eye.

"Don't tell me you're one of those idiots wanting to snitch," He said, leaning back in his seat. "You know how it always ends for them. If you're looking for him, you'd better tell me why I should send a message.”

You felt a jolt spark through you as Koko spoke and you made the decision to bow slightly attempting to show a level of respect. You knew full well what you were doing was beyond foolish, beyond dangerous, but still you had to try. "My apologies sir I do know him, although I haven't seen him in a long time now. I promise I'm not here to cause any trouble and I understand he might not even be here but if you could...if you would tell him I came here looking for him I would greatly appreciate it." You allowed yourself to stand back up. You felt so small standing in front of the shrewd bookkeeper. You could see why he managed the finances for Bonten, he was quick, he was smart, and his words were sharp. "I could give you more details if you would like but I know you're a very busy man and I wouldn't want to waste your time on details you may not have any concern for." You tried to be sure the tone with which you spoke was even and that you were blunt and to the point. This was a businessman, so you had to speak in a business sort of way while also realizing you were standing in front of one of the many heads of the criminal organization that was Bonten.

Koko's eyes narrowed, somehow not convinced of the woman's honesty. But he didn't press further, it wasn't his place to do so. "In that case, I'll see about reaching him. Though as I said, he's a busy man, can't say if he'll have the time to see you."

He waved a hand at the men standing by his side and whispered something into the ear of one of them. The man nodded and left, leaving Koko to sit there as he had been before. "You can wait here if you wish, or leave. If Manjiro wishes to meet you, I'll send someone to make arrangements."

His tone was unchanging, his expression the same cold mask it had always been. "We're not someplace one just walks in and out of freely." Koko reminded you his eyes flicking up to meet hers. "For your own safety, I'd suggest not waiting around aimlessly. Not in these parts.”

His words sent a strange feeling through your bones. It wasn't a full green light but it was close enough. "Thank you very much sir, would it be ok if I sat over there and waited?" You pointed to a small booth only two away from his own with his security, far enough away to not bother or be too close to him but close enough his security could keep his eyes on you and you would hopefully not be considered any level of trouble or problem. "If...if you get a hold of him and he doesn't want to speak to me or see me I'll leave, no worries or fussing I certainly don't want to cause you any difficulties." Your heart was absolutely hammering against your ribs, you wanted to be sure you moved correctly in this moment. Manjiro had left you to protect you from himself and from Bonten and here you were walking directly into the middle of it. You couldn't be sure how he would react but you knew he would react. You hoped he would at least.

Koko raised his eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "As you wish." He responded, inclining his head in your direction.

With a flick of his wrist, he gestured for another of the security officers, a young man who seemed to have the good sense to follow Koko's every command. "See that she's not bothered while she waits." You bowed once again to Koko feeling truly thankful for his help although you got the feeling he was also gaining some level of interest from this. "Thank you very much sir." You expressed your thankfulness once again before being led over to the table by the guard. Who once you were settled stood before the table with his arms folded across his chest. You fidgeted nervously as you waited but you tried to hold composure, after all you had stepped into Bontens world but you still hadn't actually seen Manjiro yet and that would be the real test. You didn't know if he'd be angry, furious, scared, concerned, all of the above. You had no clue how he would react to you being here and would have to wait and find out and that thought alone was nerve wracking.

Koko turned back to the glass of whiskey that had grown warm, a small smirk playing on his lips. "You're a brave one. Most wouldn't dare step into our world, not since Toman fell." He murmured to himself, raising the glass to his lips again.

He was waiting too, for the return message, wondering if Manjiro would deem the woman worth his time. There was the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversations, but the air around the trio was thick with tension.

It wasn't long before Koko's communicator buzzed, and he picked it up, listening to the person on the other line. His expression remained the same, unreadable. "Yes, he'll see you. In the private room upstairs." He relayed the message to the guard, who then gestured for you to stand. "Follow me." He said simply and you practically scurried from the booth to follow the guard, nodding your head to Koko in another silent thanks as the guard began leading the way out of the bar area and up the stairs, your heart rate climbing higher with each step.

Once they'd arrived at the private room, the guard stood back, leaving you to enter on your own. Your hands trembled as you opened the door to the opulent private room stepping in as the door closed almost noiselessly behind you. You stood in front of the door for a moment before taking a small step forwards.

The room was larger, far more luxurious than the bar area, and at the end of the room stood Manjiro. He had a glass of liquor in his hand, and as you entered, he raised it in a vague sort of salute. "Y/n." He said your name, sounding almost as if it had been ripped from his mouth. "Why are you here?" His eyes were dark, but he did not move from where he stood.

His voice stopped you for a moment. You questioned if perhaps you’d made a mistake, you couldn't gauge him at all at this moment. "I...I didn't want things to just...end how they did." Your mind flashed back to a time quite a while ago, him leaving your apartment, telling you he couldn't bear to see you suffer due to the darkness his life was now shrouded in. "I'm sorry...I know I shouldn't have come here, I know you probably didn't want me to come here but I had to." Your voice was quiet and as much as you wanted to get closer to him you didn't take another step leaving almost the entire length of the room between the two of you.

Manjiro's gaze swept over you, his body tensing ever so slightly. His free hand clenched into a fist by his side, the tension building in the room. "You don't know what you're doing." He warned, his voice low and deep, the tone filled with warning.

He moved slowly towards you, not rushing, but determined to bridge the gap. When he was close enough, he roughly grabbed your upper arm with his free hand, the grip firm and demanding. "You could get yourself killed." He didn't let go of his rough grip on your arm, and for a brief moment, the glass teetered in his other hand, the liquor sloshing inside. "Why did you come?" He repeated the question, his voice gruff and emotionless. He needed to know why you'd willingly stepped into the lion's den, knowing full well the dangers that awaited you here.

You stared up at him and it felt like your heart entirely stopped for a moment. As though everything in the world just stopped and it was just the two of you and that was all there was. He'd never acted like this with you before, he'd always been soft, sweet, even at his most broken he'd always been tender towards you. You'd known this was a potential outcome but now that you found yourself standing here in front of him you froze up for a moment. "You're right, I know, I know I could get myself killed. I know coming here was stupid and I knew you were probably going to be upset but God damn it Manjiro-" of course your voice would crack when you said his name and you silently cursed this fact as you once more tried to regain composure. "I love you, I don't care about all of this. Please...Manjiro." You were trembling now, looking up at him with tears starting to well up in your eyes. "I understand that we don't get to have the bright shiny future we used to picture when we were kids and I'm ok with that, that's fine. What I want is you." The words were blunt, spoken clearly despite the trembling of your tone.

Manjiro glared down at you, the anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface. But so was the longing, the need that you'd awakened as soon as he'd set eyes on you. "You can't have me." He spat the words with such venom, the grip on your arm not loosening in the least.

"You can't be here. You can't know this part of me." He said it like it was a curse, something he wished to keep hidden forever. He was just as trembling, the emotions threatening to spill over, but he refused to let them. Not now. Manjiro took in a shaky breath, his hold on your arm loosening as he let out another breath. "Leave." He said it coldly, the emotions finally settling down. His voice was harsh, his tone flat. "This is not your world." He let go of your arm, taking a step back, before turning and walking away. You were shaking in every limb feeling absolutely boneless even as he let go of his grasp on your arm. It took a moment to find your words once again. "I know this part whether you want me to or not." You words were soft and warbly with emotion but you refused to back down, at least not just yet. "I came and found you, I knew who to talk to, even if I leave right now I came here. I was here, people saw me here. I spoke to the bookkeeper of the whole Bonten enterprise. You can't change that no matter how much you want to." You stared at him feeling like the floor would fall out from under your feet at any moment and swallow you whole. "If you want me to leave I'll leave but I came here for a reason. I knew what I was doing by coming here, and I know the repercussions that might have." Granted there were certainly things you didn't know. As you were not well versed with the criminal underground, or the problems that could arise due to your coming here. You didn't want to cause trouble for Bonten or for Manjiro. You just wanted him to see that you weren't afraid of the potential repercussions to yourself by coming here.

Manjiro stood by the table, his back to you. He was tense, but his shoulders slumped, the emotional exhaustion evident. It was as if it was too much to bear. The glass was set down on a small table, the liquor left untouched. "Don't come here again." His voice was hushed, a warning and a threat. "You still don't seem to understand." He said, his voice strained. "Coming here, it could have gotten you killed." He turned to face you again, a pained look on his face. "Or worse. You're innocent. This is not where you belong." His voice cracked, and he pressed his lips together before looking away. He couldn't bear to see you, not when he was already so conflicted. "I know you probably think that you're doing this for me, that I'm better off without you but that's not true, no matter how much you might want it to be." You saw him wince at your words but he was quick to recover. "I can't...I can't let you stay." He said, the words sounding pained as they left his mouth. As he turned back towards the door, he hesitated, his hand closing around the knob. "Stay safe." He muttered, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room.

There was a soft buzz of Koko's communicator, and he stood, heading upstairs to relay the message to the guard. "Let her out, and see she gets home safely." Koko instructed. Before you could be left with just the guard who had led you upstairs to begin with, you paused for a moment in front of Koko. "I...I don't know if...if you are friends with him or...if this is simply business but if it's not could I ask you to make sure he's ok?" You knew it was probably a stupid thing to ask, Koko was obviously Manjiros subordinate. Simply a bookkeeper for the organization, but perhaps even if he wasn't close to Manjiro perhaps he knew someone that was or he could help somehow? You wanted to be sure that at least you had tried to do something to perhaps soothe any hurts you may have caused to Manjiro.

Koko frowned, a look that appeared almost as if he was considering the request. He knew better than most the state of his leader's mind, the ramifications of what he'd become. Koko was particularly good at reading others, it was half the reason he maintained the position he did within Bonten. “I'll see what I can do." He offered a small incline of his head. "You're a brave one, and I can respect that." He watched as you were escorted off by the guard quietly, knowing that the situation was not over. You had stepped into a dangerous game, and you were just as much at risk as Manjiro. But he could see the resolve in your eyes, the determination to see this through.

Koko returned to his seat, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. "He's not used to people reaching out to him." He mused, a small smile tugging at his lips. Koko lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long sip before returning to his work, thoughts lingering on the strange interaction he'd been a part of.

Once you had arrived home, closing the door to your tiny apartment you finally allowed yourself to dissolve into tears. Collapsing onto your bed and sobbing painfully hard, chest rattling and heaving as tears poured from your eyes and staining the bedding. It hurt, love hurt so badly but it was also all that you wanted.

Of course Manjiro couldn't sleep, his mind swirling with thoughts of you. What you'd said haunted him, the words replaying in his head over and over. He was sitting at his desk, a glass of whiskey in front of him as he stared at a photo you had given him years ago. He grit his teeth, the anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface. But the more he tried to push away the thoughts, the more they seemed to cling.

He took a long pull from the glass, the liquor burning as it went down his throat. His eyes met the photo once more, the regret and longing evident in his expression. For the first time in a long while, he found himself wishing for a different life. One where he could be with you, a life where the two of you could be happy, far away from the darkness that had consumed him. But the thought was fleeting, chased away by the reality of his situation.

The tension within Bonten was palpable the next day, the other members sensing the change in atmosphere. Manjiro was distant, more focused on the tasks at hand than he had ever been. Buried in work, and drowning his thoughts in alcohol.

Koko watched him closely, his gaze weighing the situation. He knew that your visit had affected his leader more than he cared to admit. The bookkeeper made a note to himself, to keep an eye on Manjiro.

For now, he would do as he'd promised, but the situation was far from over. And neither was Manjiro's turmoil.

The next day you were left feeling absolutely hollowed out, as if you had exhausted every single bit of emotion you had within yourself the prior night with Manjiro. Luckily you didn't have to work today so instead you merely curled up within your bed half wishing to not exist and also wishing that you could just fast-forward to the part of life where you were finally happy. But you knew both of these things were impossible so you merely laid in bed scrolling aimlessly through social media in a futile effort to distract your brain. The thought of Manjiro made laps around your mind regardless though. Wondering what he was doing, how he was feeling, what was going to happen next but every time you gently pushed the thoughts back. There was no use thinking on it for now, if he wanted to find you he would, if he wanted to get into contact he had all the resources to do so. All you could do for the moment was wait, left in a painful limbo until Manjiro either showed up or didn't.

Manjiro's focus was solely on work, anything to distract him from the thoughts that threatened to consume him. He was more ruthless than ever, showing no mercy to those who crossed him.

Koko watched with a mixture of concern and admiration, noting the changes in his leader. He realized that the visit had shaken Manjiro to his core, perhaps opening up an illusion he'd been clinging onto for too long. Bonten's operations ran smoothly, but the tension within the ranks was palpable. Koko made a point to relay a message to you, using an encrypted method to ensure your safety. "He's unreachable. But I can confirm he's well for now." The message was brief, but it was meant to offer some reassurance while also informing you of the current situation.

Manjiro's head was down, lost in his thoughts, as he navigated the complex web of criminal activity. He seemed almost... possessed, as if driving himself to the edge to prove something to himself, or perhaps even to you.

Koko shook his head, watching from the sidelines. The situation between the two of you was far from resolved, and the consequences, if not handled carefully, could be disastrous for the pair.

Across town you still laid in your bed. You practically jumped when the phone buzzed with the message from an unfamiliar number you could assume to be Koko by the content of the message, nearly falling out of bed as you lurched upright. You read the words, over and over again. You felt a bit of the tension in your chest unfurl just ever so slightly. "Thank you I appreciate you making sure he's ok." The response was typed and sent quickly and the message was to the point and you flopped back into bed staring up at the ceiling.

You wondered what he'd meant by unreachable. Knowing Manjiro he was simply drowning out how he was feeling by doing anything else. That was how he'd always been, avoiding the emotions of the problem even when he was dealing with the problem. While normally that had been in relation to gang activity and his friends you had to wonder if the same logic would transfer over to this scenario.

The next few days were a blurry haze. You merely functioned on autopilot, wake up, work, come home, dinner, sleep and rinse and repeat that cycle. It was like the world had faded out to grayscale and you knew that wouldn't change until you saw Manjiro again. While Kokos message had eased some of the tension, your heart still ached dully in your chest with every beat it made against your ribs.

Manjiro continued his assault on the city's underbelly, his relentless drive seemingly fueled by the need to prove something to himself. He was a force to be reckoned with, and those who dared to cross him faced the wrath of a man with nothing to lose.

Koko watched from the sidelines, admiration mingled with concern as he observed the transformation unfolding before his eyes. He knew Manjiro's heart was heavy, and he could sense that the presence of the woman he'd once loved, and perhaps still did, was weighing on him like a burden.

News of Bonten's increased dominance reached the other factions, instilling fear and respect. It seemed that Manjiro had channeled his turmoil in the only way he knew how, and it was proving to be effective.

As for you, you remained in the dark, unaware of the chaos Bonten was causing in the city. You kept a low profile, determined not to draw any unwanted attention to yourself. You knew full well that things between yourself and Manjiro were far from over, and you held onto the sliver of hope that he'd reach out soon.

Out of the blue and as if reading your mind, Koko sent another message, using the same encrypted method. "He's coming for you." The message was short but left no room for ambiguity.

Your heart raced, the phone shaking in your hand as you read the words. The tension in the air around you was palpable, as if you were about to step into a battle which you couldn't possibly predict the outcome of.

Manjiro was on his way as rapidly as he could be, the need to see you again overwhelming his better judgment. He'd been trying to push away the thoughts, to drown them in work and alcohol, but your words kept drumming in his head for days now and even still as he made his way to your home.

Once Manjiro arrived at the apartment building, the atmosphere was heavy as he approached the front door. He had a gun in his pocket, ready for anything.

He hesitated for a moment, hand gripping the handle as he steeled himself for what was to come. A deep breath later, and he let the hand fall away from the handle, turning to leave.

But something within him made him pause. Your words echoed in his thoughts: "I love you, I don't care about all of this. Please...Manjiro."

He found himself back at the door, knocking loudly. He hadn't planned on this, it was impulsive, but he couldn't bring himself to leave without seeing your face again.

He waited, glancing at the gun in his pocket, and then back at the door. What was he going to say? What was he going to do?

He didn't have an answer, only the need to see you.

Hearing the loud knock resounding through your apartment you had practically vaulted out of bed and to the front door. Quick to unlock it and pull it open. Seeing Manjiro standing there it felt like everything else, the gray faded world you had been living in for days now, faded out and now all the focus immediately went to him. "Hi." The word came out a bit out of breath, probably from practically teleporting across the apartment to answer the door. You stepped aside so he could actually come inside. He looked exhausted, far more so than usual and as he stepped past you into the apartment you could smell alcohol faintly. Clearly that was a part of how he'd been dealing with your surprise re-entry into his life. You quietly closed the door once he was inside and you felt your nerves crackling unsure what to expect next.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. He looked at you, his eyes filled with an intensity he'd never allowed himself to show before. "You...you said you loved me." He said it as if he was testing the words, seeing how they'd fit and what they'd mean. He swallowed thickly, the emotions warring within him. "Are you mad at me?" He had expected anger, perhaps even rejection, but the raw emotion in your eyes when you had said you loved him had unsettled him. It felt like a guillotine, the words hanging like a noose around his neck.

Manjiro looked down at the gun in his pocket, a part of him wishing he could use it to erase the burden he'd become. But when he looked back at you, it was as if he saw something within you that he'd been missing.

"I wish I could have...been a better person," he admitted, the words coming out in a low growl. "I wish I could have stayed...the same."

He let out a humorless laugh, the tension within him palpable, the weight of his past seeming to drag at him. "I thought leaving you behind was what was best. I didn't want you to end up like me."

Manjiro's hands clenched, his tone bitter. "But then you came back. And you...you didn't leave." His voice broke, his defenses crumbling under the weight of the emotion. "Why would you do that? Why?"

He was out of his depth, unsure of what to say or do. He was drowning in guilt and regret, and he needed to know if you truly could still love him, given who he had become.

You stared at him for a half a second feeling your heartbeat falter. In all the time you'd known him you hadn't ever seen him fraying at the seams so much. In a half thought out action you were moving closer, wrapping your arms around his chest and pulling him closer. Clinging onto him tightly as words attempted to form into sentences on your tongue. It took a moment before you could actually speak. "I do love you, and I'm not mad at you." You began the words said softly and accentuated by a soft squeeze of your arms around him. A part of you wished you could just absorb all the pain he was feeling and dispel it all. Manjiro let out a small, choked sound as you wrapped your arms around him. For a moment, he let himself bask within your embrace "I don't need you to be a better person Jiro. It would be nice if you'd stayed the same, if things had worked out the way we planned them when we were sixteen." The memories were ones you had always cherished, laying together somewhere babbling for hours about how the future would look. It seemed almost undeniable that you'd be married, get a nice house, you'd have all of his friends from Toman around you, and you would both be happy. Or at least that was how it had been planned back then. "But they didn't and that's ok too...I just wish you had stayed period." An old ache flamed back to life in your chest but you swallowed the bitter pain back. "I know you were just doing what you thought was right but now...now it's my turn to do what I think is right this time don't you think?" You looked up at him with a careful gaze. We'd given things a shot his way for long enough, he'd run from you, and you had dealt with that and the pain from it and so had he but now you were done pretending like that was ok with you or for either of you. "I love you, I don't care if you're the leader of Toman, Bonten, hell I don't care if you're homeless and live in a box on the corner. I love you, no matter what state you're in." One of your hands moved up to carefully hold the side of his face, a faint shadow of a smile crossing your lips as you traced your thumb across the planes of his face. "That's why.” He allowed your words to sink in, warming him in a way nothing else had in a long while. He closed his eyes, his grip on the gun in his pocket loosening. A part of him wanted to believe you, to trust that you meant it, and perhaps he could build something new from the ashes of their shared past.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, the corner of his lips tugging faintly upwards. "I...I don't deserve you." He said, his voice raw with emotion. "I've done awful things." His hand cupped your face, fingers entwining in your hair. "But maybe, maybe it's not too late to change. If you still love me...I don't want to lose you again." He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours, soft and tender. His heart raced, his breath hitching as they kissed for what felt like the first time once again. His fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, as if needing to feel your body against his. Your eyes slipped closed as you kissed him back, pulling yourself as close to him as you possibly could, as if trying to fuse the very atoms of your being together. Your hands moved to hold his shoulders as your lips moved together passionately. The moment felt almost surreal but you wanted this, wanted him, more than anything. Your heart felt more at ease than it had in a long time and the feeling of his hands in your hair and his lips pressed tightly to your own was one you never wanted to go without ever again.

For Manjiro, this was a step into the unknown, a chance at redemption, and the possibility of love. He'd never felt so vulnerable, and yet so alive, as he held you in his arms. He let the kiss linger, hesitant and filled with newfound hope, before pulling back, his gaze searching your face, silently asking for you to stay. For them to have a chance. To overcome the darkness that had consumed him. He was ready to start anew, to leave the past behind, and build a future where they could be happy, together. Even if it was a future forged in darkness you would be his light. "I love you." The words were murmured against his lips, a confirmation. You loved him, you were here, and you had zero intentions of going anywhere. Your pulse felt like fire in your veins, the passion, the love, and the desire to be close to him practically making you feel faint.

Manjiro kissed you with a newfound urgency, as if he'd been hungry for your touch his entire life. His heart beat wildly, a primal sensation of need coursing through him. As their lips parted, he leaned in to nuzzle your neck, his thumb softly tracing patterns over your skin as he breathed in the scent that was specifically yours. The feeling of his thumb tracing patterns across your skin left goosebumps breaking out across your body. Your hands moved from his shoulders to instead delicately wind up in his hair, the feeling of his breath on your neck causing your breath to hitch slightly. A low growl escaped his throat, the emotions flooding him like a tidal wave.

"I never should have left you.” he whispered, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. A sense of desperation clung to his voice, as if he was trying to convince himself that you truly were there, that this was real, that you were his. “I missed you so very much, and I'm never letting you let me go again." You assured him in a saccharine tone. You would fight tooth and nail to make sure the two of you were never apart again. You knew the future would be complicated, that you couldn't drag him entirely from the darkness but you would stand beside him within it and you would do so without a second thought. He pulled away slightly, only to gently press a line of kisses up your jawline, until he was looking you in the eyes again. Manjiro's eyes held a plea, a plea for you to stay, to give him a chance to prove that he could change. That he could become the person you deserved, the person he wished he could have remained. He was determined to shake the shadows that consumed him, with you by his side. "I'll try to change, for you. I can't make any promises, but I want to try." The admission hung between the two of you, a weighty confession that neither of you could ignore. The man he was now, the actions he'd taken, were as much a part of him as the love you shared. But for the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of the person he had once been. Manjiro's gaze flickered to your hand, tracing the bags under his eyes. "I'll eat. For you. I'll sleep. For you. I'll try to be better. For you." The words were simple, but they held a depth that went beyond mere promises. He exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping your hair almost a bit too tight, "I need you." He said it simply, honestly, without any pretense. He needed you in a way he'd never needed anyone or anything before.

The way he looked at you, the way he saw you, was unlike anything or anyone else. "I need you too, like flowers need the rain." You didn't let even a beat pass from that sentence until your lips were on his again. You wanted him, forever and no matter what state he came to you in. The two of you could traverse ten thousand lifetimes together and you would find him in every single one you knew without doubt.

Manjiro felt your fingers wrap up in his hair, the sensation making his heart race. He leaned into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. Your lips moved together once more, a passionate dance of need and desire, the air around you two thick words that didn't even need to be spoken they could simply be felt in the charged energy between the two of you.

He broke the kiss once more, his face only inches from yours, his gaze searching your own. "I want you to come with me," he said softly, carefully, as if afraid you might be frightened by the request. He'd never invited anyone into the world he currently inhabited, but you were his anchor, the one person who could steady him and now that he had you back he couldn't bear the thought of being apart from you. His mind was already racing with the logistics, the ramifications, the dangers. Manjiro swallowed, his voice low, "I don't want to lose you not ever again. Please...just come with me." He offered, his hand moving to cup your jaw again, as if trying to reassure you with the gentle touch. He was opening up in a way he'd never done before, laying his heart and secrets on the line, hoping that you would accept him, not just as he was, but in the darkness he'd been forced to inhabit.

A part of him knew it was asking a lot, but he also knew that he needed you, your presence, your love. You nodded your head without a second's hesitation. You didn't know where exactly he wanted to go, but it wasn't as if that mattered so long as he was with you. "Is that your way of asking me to come live with you?" You inquired, moving to press another soft kiss against his lips before pulling back after a second. You watched him carefully, your gaze soft and adoring. You never wanted to lose him again, never wanted to lose the feelings you had at this moment. The connection you shared was unparalleled to anything else and you would never let it go. "You will never lose me, I promise Jiro I'm never going anywhere." The tone you spoke with was reassuring and sweet, even when he had taken off and ran from you, you had stayed patiently and loyaly waiting for him to come back. There was no version of reality where you would ever abandon him. He was everything to you, your moon and your stars and all that was in-between.

Manjiro's expression softened at your response, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes...that's what I'm asking." He said, his voice thick with emotion. "Let me protect you, let me be there for you, and not the other way around."

His arms held you close, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if the years apart had never even happened. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his gaze filled with love and adoration.

"I promise that I'll do better. I'll make things right." He said, his voice firm, his eyes locked on yours, silently vowing to keep you safe and within his reach.

Manjiro let out a breath, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly. In that moment, Manjiro felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, your presence alone granting him the strength to confront the darkness within and around him. For the first time in a long while, Manjiro felt content, at peace, as though his very existence was no longer a burden or a stain upon the world and those he loves. With you by his side, the darkness somehow no longer felt quite so impenetrable.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 3 Pt. 2

Oh boy. So this might be a little silly but I can't stop thinking about the face. I want to give my own interpretation of it because I did notice something earlier on that I think gives it a bit of context.

Yes, it's this face.

Ok. First off, this is undoubtedly a fond look. Unbearably fond, if you ask me. His eye is dark; there's no fear, shock, or feelings of being unsettled. There should be no contention at this point - he cares about Vash.

But the actual feelings expressed by this face are mixed. If you hold up your hand to cover the left side of his face, you'll find a closed eye and a smile. Cover the right side and you'll see an open, half-lidded eye and a small frown. The overall effect is conflicting.

All throughout this volume, Wolfwood has been struggling to come to terms with what Vash is, how he can have seemingly no survival instinct (which directly challenges his worldview), and, importantly, the concept of immortality.

We can split up this immortality concept into two types of immortality. The first is immortality of the self - that runs directly counter to the survival instinct that comprises much of the core of his worldview, and so entities that seem to display proof of immortality are unsettling to him (even more so in Vash's case, since somehow his pacifism survived all this time...).

Immortality of the self is disturbing yet possible to Wolfwood. It is something he can prove through mounting evidence and disprove with a gun. And to have Luida tell him that Vash's use of his immortality is not for healing or fixing himself but purely for others - that's important, because up until that point, Wolfwood had done mental gymnastics to convince himself that Vash could afford to jump into danger because of his immortality, something Vash even refuted earlier ("I don't do this for fun, you know.").

But Wolfwood is not fully convinced until he sees Vash's smile again.

Their entire dynamic started off with Wolfwood immediately noticing Vash's smile hides his pain - but what he's now realizing is that Vash's smile helps him move forwards in spite of the pain too. It's not a mask, it's his armour. It's his way of shielding himself in the same uncaring world they all inhabit. Vash's decision to choose kindness over and over then, isn't because his immortality means he can, but because it is necessary for his survival. It's not a whim, it's something he believes in. These are his ideals. They're genuine.

That's worth the right side's smile. He may still not understand what Vash is - but who he is, as a person, is rather straightforward.

And now, for the other type of immortality - immortality of ideals. Unfortunately, there is no wavering on this front, because there is no way to definitively prove that an ideal will survive, especially in a harsh world like this. Wolfwood's cynicism is on full display.

"Ya can keep on walkin' down this road 'til ya bite the dust. Nothin' will change."

To Wolfwood, ideals can never be immortal, not in a world like this. Vash's efforts seem fundamentally hopeless to a man with no hope.

And so, the left side of the expression; that bittersweet frown. Being unsure of Vash's intentions in the Ninelives scene, Wolfwood is able to appear rather darkly satisfied - he understands a truth of the world that Vash (apparently) does not. He's "won" the argument against Vash's apparently incomprehensible foolishness. Except then he comes to understand that Vash is genuine in his intentions and in his kindness, that he needs to believe in it himself, and suddenly there is no deriving any of this cynical satisfaction anymore.

Wolfwood is still convinced he's right, but now, that takes on a more tragic context.

Vash is good. His ideals are good. And, according to Wolfwood, nothing good lasts.

To me, this bittersweet expression reads as fondness from Wolfwood for Vash, for his kindness and persistence in the face of everything... but it's complicated by the certainty, in his eyes, that eventually, these ideals will die, either when he inevitably succumbs to the world's cruelty, or, what's seeming more likely at this point, when Vash dies himself.

Wolfwood has been sticking around closely with Vash. He might have to watch this happen. He doesn't want to watch this happen. But he thinks it's inevitable. Kind things don't grow.

...or I may just be dramatic and reading into it too much. But that's what I got from it.

[slowd1ving]

UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand. 

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call. 

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave. 

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle). 

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.” 

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job. 

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two. 

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?” 

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague. 

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently. 

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies. 

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes. 

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene. 

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?” 

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper. 

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on? 

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them? 

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.  

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it. 

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself. 

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows. 

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on. 

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips. 

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind. 

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man. 

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare. 

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath. 

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly. 

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster. 

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you. 

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients. 

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply. 

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you. 

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel. 

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being. 

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem. 

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor. 

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking. 

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you. 

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something.  Anything. The silence is all too unnerving. 

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally. 

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there. 

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso. 

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere. 

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest. 

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts. 

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.  

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?  

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move. 

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert. 

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion). 

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered. 

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy. 

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire. 

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face. 

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile. 

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer. 

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss. 

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation. 

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze. 

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back. 

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing). 

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?” 

Fuck . 

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you. 

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?” 

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh. 

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard . 

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself. 

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely. 

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment. 

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust. 

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him. 

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?” 

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands. 

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame. 

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point. 

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace. 

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach. 

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly. 

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty . 

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in. 

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you. 

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate. 

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure. 

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement. 

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take. 

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please . 

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you. 

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind. 

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind. 

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you. 

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure. 

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?” 

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you. 

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace. 

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close. 

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him . 

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either. 

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget. 

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it. 

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that. 

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however. 

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”  

[gabessquishytum]

omg step up dance movie my beloved. And you're so right, the dynamic of rich snooty ballet dancer and not rich hip hop dancer from "the wrong side of the tracks" is so dream/hob. the hip hop dancer character feels like it fits hob so well too bc it's like. The feeling and expression of self in hip hop is... Very different from the strict rules and standards of ballet. Hob doesn't hate ballet, but he didn't grow up with it, not being from a particularly wealthy background. And he does feel hip hop is a superior form of dance in that it is so much more... Free. And honest and raw and real. Less tense over rehearsed painful movements and more flowing authentic and human.

Dream however. He could not disagree more. He doesn't even consider "hip hop" or "street" dancing as real dancing. Real dancing is practised, incredibly difficult routines and strict schedules (not just around rehearsing but eating too). Real dance is something you devote your whole life to, not something you do for fun in your free time (whatever that is) with your friends (another concept dream isn't very familiar with). Has he actually deigned to watch any hip hop dance? Don't be silly, he doesn't have time to waste on something so frivolous.

Dream turned up early (as usual) for practise before classes and scheduled rehearsal time. He assumed the studio would be empty as it usually was at this hour, however walking down the hall the sound of ... Heavy bass and a seductive rhythm with lyrics to match spilled out from his studio (okay it's technically not his but no one else uses it nearly as much as him so it might as well be) down the corridor. Dream slows down, curious, if a little annoyed, that his early morning extra practice was going to be delayed in the least. When he gets to the door what he sees stops him dead and makes his mouth fall open. What this man is doing with his body is... Unholy to say the least but dream can also appreciate the muscle control and timing displayed here from a technical stand point. Of course he isn't observing for any other reason. Not bc the way this man's hips move is hypnotic and quite frankly down right sinful. Dream becomes aware that he's staring and has inexplicably started to grow hard, which his legging do very little to conceal.

Anyway pretty please share anything that dreamling step up makes you think of !!! I would be forever grateful 🙏💞

AJSJDJFJDBD YEAH <333

Absolutely love this. I'm imagining that Hob notices that Dream is there and the two of them immediately get into an argument about who booked the studio to use, which devolves into Dream saying "your dance form is ridiculous and foolish so you should just give me the studio" and Hob is like??? WHAT??? He can't believe anyone would be so rude but he's got to fight back. He tells Dream that ballet isn't even that hard, anyone can do it if they're rich enough.

Dream runs at Hob, intending to demonstrate that Hob won't even be able to catch him - let alone do a lift. But he's very surprised when Hob grabs him by the hips and effortlessly shifts him into a fucking angel lift.

Dream is unmistakably hard and blushing. Hob is like "You shouldn't have done that, you didn't know that I wouldn't drop you" and Dream can't even SPEAK. He decides to graciously allow Hob to finish his practice session (while he sneakily watches from the side of the studio). Hob keeps smirking him in the mirror and Dream genuinely has to cross his legs to avoid being caught with a major boner in his leggings.

He later discovers that Hob has quite a big following online for his dance videos and tutorials. He stays up way too late (far out of his usual strict schedule) watching Hob dance. He is undeniably beautiful and talented but more than anything he looks so happy! He looks like he's enjoying himself, like he enjoys his own body and what he can do with it. He wears baggy track pants for most of his routines but Dream is still convinced that he's caught a glimpse of a very impressive bulge.

Not to mention that Hob occasionally dances shirtless... and that some of his videos are more thirst trap than dance...

So what can Dream do but show up at the same time next week to see Hob all over again? Hob seems pretty thrilled to see him, anyway. He even offers to share his breakfast (another big step outside of routine for Dream, who hasn't eaten a store bought pastry for... a very long time). And when Dream gets up to start his practice, Hob settles in to watch with a wink.

"You had an opportunity to thirst over me. Now I'm repaying the favour. I want you to show me why ballet is the superior form."

And Dream has never been able to resist a challenge...

[rabbitenn]

Hello! GakuXReader where reader is his friend who is sooooo tired of people assuming that they're in a relationship with Gaku and it's preventing them from actually getting into a relationship and think Gaku is just as bothered but Gaku actually likes them?

Your blog is so much fun!

MY PRECIOUS WORLD.

Maybe everyone’s rumors were just a prediction for the future.

ft. Yaotome Gaku x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, friends to lovers.

hello, nonnie ! thank you for your request <3 I’m glad you think my blog is fun :) I apologize for the long wait in completing this, I hope you still like it, dear. 🤍

— It started as something that happened occasionally, at cafes or restaurants; it didn’t surprise you anymore hearing “and what will the lovely couple order?”

— At first, you stumbled over your words to deny such statements, cheeks burning at the implications, especially worried they would bring baseless drama into your good friend’s life.

— Yaotome Gaku. The man you know like the back of your hand, on and off stage. How long ago did you two meet again? You think you were probably toddlers, bruises on your knees and chocolate stains on your shirts.

— Yes, he was kind of… your best friend, you suppose.

— Except whatever it is you feel for him is more than friendship at this point, thus, meaning the rumors are indeed not entirely a hoax the media made up.

— The problem is you can never, never, make these feelings known to him or to anyone else.

— Especially not right now of all times, with the media’s eye set on you two

— Because you know how annoying it must be for him to be mistaken as your boyfriend so often.

— At first, he politely denied it with a soft voice, so unlike his deep tone… Surely he’s so bothered about people making these kinds of remarks, seeing how he’s stopped deflecting the speculations anymore, instead just offering a cordial smile.

— But why do his steel hued eyes shine when the word ‘couple’ is used to refer to you and him?

— It must be your foolish heart and treacherous feelings playing tricks on you, yes.

— And yet, considering how close you two were, you certainly hadn’t payed much attention to his facial expressions in moments when it was just you and him.

— Whether working on your respective tasks or existing peacefully together, enjoying tranquil hobbies, it was not uncommon for the leader of TRIGGER to steal the occasional (every time more frequent) glance in your direction, constellations of you and him shining in his gaze every time he beheld you.

— But can he tell you? The way he feels… What if you think he’s playing with you, given all the rumors circulating already?

Perhaps jumping head first was the answer…

♡

The mid-autumn chill kisses your skin, faded street lights allowing for some of the stars to peer into the tranquil night below.

The sign perched over the entrance of the soba shop is illuminated in cold light, its glow akin to a trail of moonstone pebbles leading you to the place where your heart felt warmest.

Your lips curl into a smile, as you see the one you came looking for just parking the store’s motorcycle by the door, his uniform still on.

You knew how he sometimes pretended to be just a regular guy, shipping soba orders here and there, claiming “I’m not that handsome” when inquiries regarding his stage persona were inevitably uttered.

“Hey there, delivery boy.” You greet him, arms crossed, pulling your jacket closer to your form.

The ‘delivery boy’ in question turns around, sharp moonlight eyes crinkling up in a mirror image to the crescent rising over a backdrop of deep indigo.

And you could never deny that the smile he gifts you causes for heat to rise up your neck.

A feverish dream, lasting only for a few instants, scattered like rose petals, when you realize the magnitude of the earthquake you two being in a relationship could ensue.

Besides, you’re sure it’s one sided.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Hey, [Y/n]…” Gaku calls you. He’s grateful for the poor illumination partially concealing the blush already forming across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

You tilt your head to the side, looking up at him.

“What is it, Gaku?”

He clears his throat, brows a little furrowed as he looks to the side.

“I… Uh… Ehem… Can I ask you to… wait for me for a bit? While I get changed. There’s something I’d like to… discuss with you.”

You stare at him, a little baffled. Gaku could be a tad awkward at times, but it was unusual for him to stumble over his words this much. And what’s this he has to discuss with you? Has he finally snapped because of all the people mistaking you two for a couple?

“Okay.” You nod, meekly.

And, are you seeing things, or did his smile just widen at your agreement?

“Come inside, we can’t have you catching a cold now.” The idol suggests, a hand on the small of your back. “I mean, in the lobby. Not like, inside the changing room.” Your friend lets out, his reddened cheeks now on full display thanks to the shop’s lighting.

You chuckle, the sound alone enough for Gaku to pause for an instant, admiring the way your eyes close and your lips tilt upwards.

Oh, how he’s dreamt of taking those lips in his.

And perhaps he planned for this to go differently, with him wearing his best clothes, the poetry of ‘may I have the honor to love you?’ adrift beneath a starry sky.

But, right now, Yaotome Gaku is afraid he might lose heart.

So he halts his steps, turning around, his solemn gaze of argent stardust fixated on you.

“Or you know what… Let me tell you now.”

“Is there anything wrong, Gaku? Did something happen?” Your brows knit together in concern, as you unconsciously reach forward and take one of his hands in both of yours.

“You’re so warm… are you feeling alright?” You ask.

Your cluelessness was truly endearing sometimes, he thinks.

“I’m okay.” The idol smiles, his hand leaning against the touch of yours. “Just… I want to ask you something.”

Your stare fixates on his, the almost midnight sky at a standstill outside the old establishment’s windows.

“What would you say if I asked you… What if… No.” He brings his free hand to his forehead. “Okay, don’t hate me for this, please.” Are the last words you hear before he tugs on your entwined hands and his lips crash against yours. His other hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, until the constellation of your longing fuses into a supernova of eternal waiting that finally paid off.

Your eyes go wide at first, air stolen from your very lungs.

You don’t need it now, though. Not as long as Yaotome Gaku’s lips are breathing life into your own with his searing kiss.

Your lids flutter closed, a balmy daze clinging to you as your hands grab the front of his shirt for support.

Well, his message definitely came across.

And by the way you react, it seems like your answer is a rotund affirmation.

Gaku’s grandparents agree, as they silently peek through the ajar kitchen door, the dancing embers of young love, so heartwarmingly sweet.

[monamourbladie]

The Man of My Dreams - Blade x Reader (chapter 1)

Who said that the man of your dreams couldn’t be real? After having dreams of the same mystery man for 2 weeks straight, the reader sets off on a journey to find the mystery man known as “Blade” that had been occupying her mind every single night. After realizing that he might actually be a real person, and not just a man she made up, she will finally discover parts of her past that had been long forgotten and locked away. (Originally posted on AO3, which can be read here. Also posted on Wattpad, which is here.)

warnings: slow burn, slight enemies to lovers themes, fluff, HEAVY angst throughout the entire story (not kidding.), soulmates, memory loss, mutual pining, eventual smut, pwp, renheng themes

Everyone has the “person of their dreams” — someone that they could only dream of being able to have as their partner. One thing that usually doesn’t happen, however — is that said person in your dreams is  real , and communicating with you. She had no idea when it started. If she thought about it, this mystery man was always in her dream in some form. Each of her dreams, every night without fail, would have something connected to that man. It wasn’t until recently that he started to show his face.

Her dreams started normal — until at one point, inklings of the mystery man started to appear. The first time she saw an actual man — she was completely flustered in the morning. He was downright gorgeous. He had long, dark blue hair that faded into deep blood-red tips. Bright, piercing orange eyes and pale skin. His outfit was elegant, and his body had white bandages wrapped in certain places. He never said his name or anything about him — he was a complete mystery. That didn’t stop her from falling in love, though.

Secretly, each night she wished that her dream man would visit her again. It was a foolish wish, but he brought her comfort. A sense of familiarity that she rarely felt. Her life had always felt like it was missing something. Although she never knew why, she just knew that something was missing. Her memories of her childhood were sparse. It felt like there were tons of holes, making it hard to remember much of anything at all. Anytime she tried, she just simply gave up when she was met with no answers Eventually, she gave up trying to fill the gaps in her memories, accepting that they were lost to time.

After joining the Astral Express, she put the last of her past behind her and embraced a bright new future with her new friends Dan Heng and March 7th. Eventually, a new woman named Stelle joined the group too — and the four became the closest friends possible. Shortly after the Trailblazers finished their mission on Jarilo-VI is when her dreams began. And tonight was no difference.

Tonight’s dream started in a blank, pure white room. The top of the room faded into a bright pale blue sky with white stars twinkling in the sky. The ground was cluttered with clouds, soft mist lightly fading upwards towards the sky. The whole area felt almost ethereal and so serene. She walked through the clouds, her fingertips trailing against the wisps of air, when she heard the sound of boots behind her. She froze when a man spoke up, “It’s you again.”

She smiled brightly and turned around, seeing her dream man’s face for the first time tonight. “Hey, stranger…” she grinned, crossing her arms. “I was wondering if you’d show up again tonight.”

The man let out a soft laugh, looking at her with a light smile. “You know I wouldn’t miss it. It’s become a part of my routine by now.” He wasn’t wrong. This was going on for 2 weeks strong now, and it didn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.

“When are you going to tell me more about yourself, mystery man?” she asked, walking towards him. He rests his hands in his pockets, looking down at her with a sly smile. “Oh, sweetheart. You know I can’t tell you. That would ruin all the fun~” he teased her. She rolled her eyes, looking up at him with an annoyed groan, “That’s so not fair. I hate being left in suspense.”

“Oh, I love it…” he moved his hand forward and gently touched her chin, tilting her head up to look directly up at him. “It makes sure that you’re chasing after me, constantly thinking about me…” She bit her lip and shyly looked down, which made him grin. “You know I’m right,” he chuckled.

His laugh was so attractive. His hands were bigger than she remembered as well…  My God. There was no way this man was real, he couldn’t be. He was too perfect. “You are such a tease, it’s insane,” she said, reluctantly moving away from him. The man moved his hand and gripped her waist, holding her in place. With how strong he was, he easily pulled her flush against his body — causing her to get flustered, fast. “I don’t think I want you to go just yet,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

That was another thing that made her swoon — his voice. It was so raspy and deep, it made her heart flutter when she heard it. No matter what he said, it was downright  hot . She’d listen to him talk about anything just to be able to hear him speak. He leaned closer to his face, amused by how easily flustered his dream woman was able to become. “You really are the woman of my dreams… you know that?” he let out a soft sigh. “I never want to wake up. You bring me a sense of peace I haven’t felt since…” he trailed off, averting his gaze for a moment. He cleared his throat as he shook his head. “I apologize. I won’t bring down the mood.”

He goes to move his hand away when she grabs it, resting it back on her hipbone, “No… talk to me. I want to learn more about you,” she said quickly. She took in a quick breath, “I’m… I’m Y/n.” Her eyes widened when she realized for the first time she was able to share her name with him. He started to grin, realizing that she was able to share it, too. Anytime they had attempted previously to share any bits of information, they physically couldn’t speak.  This was new…

“Y/n,” he repeated with a smile. “I love it. It’s beautiful.” Y/n let out a soft laugh at the compliment, loving how her name sounded on his lips. “I’m Blade,” he then replied. “Blade,” she repeated, smiling up at him. “I love it too… and it makes sense. You’re always dressed as sharp as a blade,” she teased, resting her hands against his chest. For the first time, she noticed the bandage he wore under his golden shirt. She frowned, “Are you hurt? I never noticed this before…”

Blade looked down and he shrugged. “I’m always injured, sweetheart. It doesn’t hurt — I’m used to it. Don’t worry about me,” he replied. “I’m always wounded. It’s just a part of who I am at this point I’m afraid.” Y/n frowned but nodded. 

Suddenly, in the distance, she heard loud knocking. Her brows furrowed as she realized Blade’s hands were still resting against her, meaning he couldn’t’ve been the one knocking. “Do you hear something?” she asked. Blade shook his head. “No. Is something wrong?”

 Fuck… Someone must be at my door… 

“Y/n?” he asked. She glanced back up at Blade and felt her heart sink. He was beginning to look wispy as if he was beginning to fade away. She quickly reached for his hand, but felt a force holding her back. Blade noticed this, and closed his eyes, sighing. “I was enjoying this one. I don’t want to leave you yet.”

“I don’t want to go either — what if this was the only time we could speak about who we are?” she asked, feeling slightly panicked. Blade looked at her with a sad expression, his orange eyes holding such emotional turmoil. “I hope not. I want to know who you are. It’s so lonely where I am,” he said with a heavy sigh. Y/n felt her heart hurt even more at that thought. What if he was real — and he really was all alone?

He started to fade further from her view as the beautiful white room they were staying in was fading to black. She lunged to grab at Blade — but she couldn’t reach. As he faded away, he turned his back to walk away from her, “Find me…” he said, his voice fading away. His figure faded into a flurry of red spider lilies, and one single one floated into her hand. This felt different, though — it felt one hundred percent real. The pounding grew louder, and a feminine voice rang out — “Y/n, open the door!”

 Y/n sat up quickly and started heaving fast. She looked around and noticed she was back in her room again. What confused her most though, was at the foot of her bed was a single red spider lily…

 Just like the one in her dream. 

[riddle-me-ri]

No, cause your NNN posts are amazing, I love them. Can we have version with Mad Hatter, these guys would have the lowest numbers.

A/N: Okay, okay, one more, and I’ll even work on a Scarecrow one even though no one asked for it, I didn’t think someone would ask about the Hatters so I’ll just beat the scarehoes to the punch. And that’s it! 

It’s the end of November and these posts will no longer be relevant lmao. 

Just in case you missed it. I rank these guys on a scale of 1 to 10 as well

1 being down bad it’s so sad

10 it’s been fun, glad I won, but I’m about to come undone. 

Trigger Warning: suggestive language and slight mention of drug use

How the Mad Hatters Handle NNN

Okay, but yes, you’re absolutely correct. I don’t see many of the Jervi ranking any higher than like a 5.5 rip Sorry not sorry, the mad man’s mad needy and won’t let a silly month challenge stop him. No matter how amusing he finds the name or concept to be. 

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter (2 out of 10):

So, I don’t know if it’s his obvious deteriorating grip on reality or just how scatter-brained this Jervis is, but a part of me feels like he wakes up in a brand new “Wonderland” every day. Not that he forgets important names, faces, or events…but like whatever doesn’t impact him he doesn’t care to carry over with him the next day. 

Hence why I think he’d lose fairly quickly. Not only is he absolutely obsessed with your touch, but your touch ultimately gets him fired up almost like clockwork. The only reason he’s at a 2 and not a 1 or 0 is because you sometimes remind him of this “game” of yours, until like day 3. 

By that point, it’s no longer fun for Jervis, he wants to feel good. Not to mention feel good with you. What kinda game would be worth winning that’d be better than that?

BTAS Mad Hatter (5 out of 10):

Ah, this lad he actually gives it the old college try. 

He finds it fun and invigorating at first. He’s genuinely curious of his own capacity to restrict something as natural as desire. 

Spoiler Alert: it’s a rather minuscule capacity. 

He kept help himself, perhaps if he didn’t have someone constantly turning him on he’d win with flying colors. However, you’re just so beautiful, compelling, sweet, and irresistible. 

Jervis admits in hindsight how foolish it really was to trick himself into thinking he can deprive himself of something that life itself has stolen from him for too long. Mutual desire, attraction, and intimacy. 

He caves to a fantasy of you whilst you were out, with every intention of making it a reality once you got back. 

TNBA Mad Hatter (2 out of 10):

Oh, a game you say? A challenge? Oh boy what fun! What does it entail?

What? What do you mean he can’t–you mean not even himself? Well, he can definitely see the challenging aspect of it, but what’s the reward? What’re the stakes? He gets to finally…ehh have his comeuppance? 

Why the hell wait a month for something he could have when it pleased him? It’s more rewarding? Well he supposes…

Nah, he may try it for a day or two but he is way too greedy and enjoys the sensation far too much to give it up, even for just thirty days. 

Gotham Mad Hatter (4.5 out of 10):

Jervis is intrigued and is fully on board, however…I wouldn’t put it past him to be a wee cheat. Don’t be surprised if you find a few minutes or so gone from your memory. Even though you could have sworn you saw Jervis…ohh damn him!

He tries to hypnotize you again, when he feels another strong urge coming on (it’s not his fault, you’re such a damn tease without realizing it) but you have stolen his watch and are wearing glasses dark enough that you can barely make out his face. 

Jervis can’t help but chuckle at your cleverness in catching up to his tricks. The reason his number is close to the halfway point; is because by the time he admits defeat it’s three weeks into the month. He pleads for your forgiveness, that he’ll try again next year, honestly, but he just wanted to make the game more fun is all. 

You tell him he’ll have to make it up to you for being a dirty cheat. He grinned as he already had a couple of ideas up his sleeve to make up for his dirty tricks. 

Harley Quinn The Animated Series Mad Hatter (1 out of 10):

Y’all can call me out to be lazing in this explanation, but y’all can’t deny I’m wrong.

The guy was only in one episode rip. I have no doubt when you spoke of this challenge to Jervis he was high as The Caterpillar on a kite and totally forgot the next day you two agreed upon it. 

You probably should’ve reminded him about it before he took care of his morning wood. 

[dayfalwastaken]

All the stories are true - Chapter 21 Update

Excerpt:

“It is. I was surprised by how well they managed to capture my likeness with the statues, and the masks.” it wouldn’t comment on the plushies for the time being, for motives it wouldn’t elaborate on.

“Yeah, this thing especially, like, check this out.” he rose, holding the mask near the Puppet’s head for a direct comparison. “It looks just like you!” he set the object back down on his pillow. “But my favorites had to be the plushies! Man, let me tell you something, those little-”

“-That’s enough of that, dear.” Mari put a finger to his mouth, being met with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t mean to sound… vexed- I’m not, but I’ve already heard what you think of those dolls.” his eyes shot open, instantly making sweat start to form on the bridge of his nose as he tried to pull away but found himself against the wall. The Marionette had him cornered. “Could you do me a favor and never speak of them from now on? Unless of course, you’d like for me to enlighten oh, I don’t know, Charlotte perhaps, of what you truly think of me. You know you wouldn’t even survive one day if I had her know about your… animatronic inclinations.” Mari dragged out those last words to get its point across. Matthew gave it a nod while making himself look as small as possible. The Puppet held his gaze, smirking smugly, before taking its finger off his lips and leaning back. The boy looked the opposite way, processing the implications of what he’d been informed of.

“…You’re evil, you know? Whatever you heard, it wasn’t what you-”

“-What I heard was actually highly informative. I never would’ve thought, had it not been for you to so plainly declare your infatuation. What was it you said? Oh, I remember! You talked about the tasteful thickness of my forearms, my thin waist-” it spoke, lacking any trace of shame. “-my slim build- should I go on? Or maybe it’d be better if I let you say it.” static emitted from its music box followed by a click, and then Matthew’s own voice coming came through. It was in that instant that the boy’s face had reached a shade of pink never before seen. Horror painted his features.

“Look at those curves…” the audio began unhelpfully, causing Matthew to flinch upon hearing the unfiltered thoughts that were coming out of his mouth.

“No! Why would you- h- how- just, just stop that, please! I never- I uh, that wasn’t- I- I d- didn’t mean it like that! Mari, you gotta believe me, I- please don’t show Charlie that…” he soon ran out of pleas, holding the Puppet by the shoulders while glancing up at it beggingly. The Marionette shut off the recording, crossing its arms.

“If you promise not to speak like that in public and forget about the bird thing… maybe.”

“I’ll do it. I swear. You won’t ever hear me talk like that again!” he agreed without a second thought. The Puppet chimed in delight.

“Then we have a deal! I’m very glad to hear that. You’ve made the right choice.” he whined at that, pushing the mask aside to cover his head with the pillow. His pouting made it chuckle, going so far as to make the Puppet rub the mirth out of its eyes, but eventually it stopped, and stared at his back. When he remained there, unspeaking, for more than half a minute however, panic decided to flare up through Mari’s chest, instilling a desperate need to placate its child, one born out of fear. His lack of response suggested it had crossed the line for fun. “H- Hey, I’m sorry, you can relax. I don’t plan on telling anyone anything.” the sentences came out strained, as well as poorly said. It hadn’t meant to go this far- Mari never intended to give him this much of a hard time.

Stupid. How can you act like that when you know what- what’s wrong with you? Don’t you know what he’s-…? Idiot. You should know better than to start this, Mari chastised itself, mad that it was so foolish as to cause its child this kind of inner turmoil…

But maybe it was exaggerating. Maybe it shouldn’t worry over nothing- or maybe it shouldn’t assume this hadn’t hurt him. Clearly he was bothered if he wasn’t even trying to answer with one of his own snarky remarks.

Then Matthew pulled his head out from under the pillow faster than a human should’ve been capable of.

“Wait!?! You- you won’t?!” …maybe not. The Puppet breathed an internal sigh of relief. Stupid mind for making it stress like that. Its greatest asset as well as its greatest liability was its mind, and the wrongly inflicted protectiveness it spawned. The Puppet’s child wasn’t so sensitive to be hurt by some teasing when he liked to do it so much in the first place. Oh, how it despised that part of itself. The questioning one that made it think and do unreasonable things. Part of it was tied to Mari’s emotions, but the Puppet was still more than enough machine to use logic rather than the more useless aspects of the human emotional spectrum, and yet somehow it let itself get consumed by worry. But at least Matthew’s mouth hung open, the boy appearing ready to jump into the ceiling from happiness. That calmed it down a notch.

“Yes. I may be evil, but I’m not so malefic that I’d ruin your reputation to such a degree, dear. I care about you, even when you express such things while surrounded by other people. I was only teasing you.” the Puppet defended smoothly. Ease seemed to flood the boy’s system. From the breath he’d held in up till now Mari knew he was seconds away from fainting. “Although, I feel like I should lend you a piece of advice. Coming from me it may not mean that much since I’ve never been in a relationship, but when you like someone try not to speak in a thirsty manner around them, hm?” Matthew snickered nervously, a drop of sweat going down the side of his face. Mari amazed itself with how swiftly it could change tunes from agitated to humorous.

“Y- Yeah, I g- got that, but- uh, it’s not like that! I was talking about the plushies. Not like, you you. It’s `cause they were so… you know, accurate! It’s hard to find toys that are high quality. That’s what I was talking about, even though um… I might not have said it in the best way possible.”

“The cat is out of the bag now, I’m afraid, but not to worry, your secret is safe with me!” it placed a palm over where its heart would be, keeping the other hand raised.

“…You’re loving this, aren’t you?” it was. “But I want us to be clear. I don’t have a crush on you, Stripes. That’d be weird.” he said as he kept his eyes on the bedside lamp. That was cute, but the Marionette had known- or, it had suspected better, and since he’d gone as far as to bring it up, well…

“Hmm, I would’ve better believed that had you not mentioned it just now.” it shrugged nonchalantly. “But I suppose it’s only natural. After all, resisting my charms is virtually impossible, so you cannot be held accountable for falling for them.” Mari explained like it was preaching gospel.

“Well, don’t let me stroke your ego then. It seems you’ve got that covered in spades.” he tipped his head back, eyes closed in a scorn.

“Sweetie, I can make you eat those words.”

“Uh huh. I mean, I don’t doubt it, since you’re the literal devil… but…” the glint in his eyes changed, cluing the Marionette in that he’d just had a second thoughts. “Gah, well, dang it, alright, you know what? Sure, if you feel better hearing it from me… can’t believe you’ve made me admit to this…” he muttered under his breath, visibly annoyed while also ashamed. “I just- I can’t help myself, Mari! I was always a simp for you.”

…

That probably should’ve amused the Puppet, but it couldn’t recognize where the comedy was supposed to be.

“A simp?” it studied its child, puzzled as to what he meant. “Matthew, um, that word is short for simpleton, so I don’t-”

“No, that’s- bah, forget it. Never mind that… I like you, sure, but not like that, so uh- just stop insinuating what isn’t true, `kay? It’s weird.” for some reason or another the Puppet got the impression Matthew did not really agree with his own sentiment.

“I find it precious, but alright. However, what did you mean by… you’ve always been a simp for me?” if Mari were to take that statement at face value, then Matthew had liked it before Henry had created it, but how could the boy have known about it way back then? Was it because of his visions?

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’ve kind of… always liked you- that’s what simp means, a- and I still do. Just not uh- the way you think I do.”

“I understand now.” it said with a nod. “But I was wondering about the always part of it.”

“Ah, well, uh… I s- saw you in my visions, right?” of course. He didn’t sound too sure of himself though, to Mari’s confusion. “Everything you did for the kids, how you were there and looked after them, how mysterious you were and stuff, uh… I couldn’t help but like you, and then, what do I know? Henry brings me out one day to show me and Charlie he’s actually built you, and that you’ll be like, living with us until Fredbear’s opens… It was awesome to meet you. Um…” he paused, biting his upper lip, and then lifted his shoulders. “I was a fan, I guess you could say.” a pleasant something hummed through the Puppet at his words. Its music box sang a plethora of songs all at once, reflecting how grateful it was to receive his admiration. Matthew had a knack for getting a reaction out of the Marionette simply by his way of being, to its glee. “But ah… you don’t think it’s… I don’t know, strange?”

“Oh dear, no, you flatter me. Seeing, or experiencing those visions… as young as you are, they would leave their mark on you, so it’s understandable that in all of that suffering you found something to um, look up to, but well, you do know that wasn’t me in your visions, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, Charlie, I know, but still, it was like, the Puppet, so uh, I didn’t care- or I don’t care that you’re not like that now. I uh, I like you because you’re you- wait, that’s superficial, um… No, I like you because of how you are, and all that you do for me, not just `cause of who you are, if that um… Yeah.” he finished awkwardly, correcting himself. Seeing him worry it would take offence and apologizing- that was so thoughtful of him, but Matthew shouldn’t think that would upset Mari, because it understood what he was saying. The Puppet took a moment to find a suitable reply.

“…Thank you for your honestly, and the trust you’ve shown to share this with me.” except Mari was the one to back him into a corner with the teasing and make him say so. Not the best move, in retrospect… “I know I’ve made you admit to this when you wouldn’t have wanted to, so I apologize for that, but I, um… the simplest way I could put this is that your feelings are reciprocated, platonically, that is…” there, Mari said it. That was… it hadn’t come as hard to admit it as the Puppet would’ve assumed. Still, if it focused, there was a pressure that had been lifted of its chest. “Should I explain what that is or…?” platonic was a big word, and while its child did not usually have trouble with big words, Mari felt responsible to at least ask if he happened to hear one and not know what it was.

“Nah, I know what it is… Wow, this conversation turned unusual real fast- how did we get here? Anyway, uh, so since we’re on the subject of visions, have any lately? And oh, it’s- it’s great to hear it…” he quickly added, struggling to keep the pink off his cheeks.

[im-teh-shadow-fang]

For the writing prompt: Another reunion between Edgeworth and Franziska after trials and tribulations

Ah this will be fun! I actually have an idea for this. I came up with it while working on my Wrightworth fic. I hope you enjoy it!

It had been about a year since Phoenix was disbarred, when he and Miles landed in Germany. Apparently the prosecutor had some big case the needed the ex defense attorney’s help with. Trucy had revealed herself halfway through the flight, having stowed away in the gray haired man’s carry on. The raven haired man was glad that he had accidentally packed her passport, even if they were taking a private jet.

The three of them now stood in the airport, a smile across the young girl’s face, as they waited for someone else to land. Miles had heard a rumor that there was a chance that Franziska von Karma would be in the country for an investigation. He always enjoyed watching her work especially as she adapted more to the style of Interpol. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, since it had been over a year since he last saw or spoke to her. They were waiting by the gate, until Miles saw a flask of light blue hair. He smiles taking a step towards her, then the crack of her whip sounds, causing him to stop. She is staring past him, at Phoenix. Trucy is hiding behind him, seemingly afraid of the sound. Miles is about to open his mouth to explain, when he feels the sting of the whip. “Little brother,” Franziska says, her voice sounding stern, “Why is the disbarred spiky haired idiot here?” Her whip now aimed at Phoenix.

“I needed his help,” Miles can hear his voice crack a bit. Phoenix knows why, that there is another reason other then just the case, that the prosecutor brought him here, Kristoph. Neither want her to know about the man who is trying to push the apart from being friends, especially when he’s the creepy older brother of the prosecutor who ultimately got Phoenix disbarred.

She cracks her whip again this time hitting Phoenix, “And why did you agree,” she asks, poised like no matter what he says he is definitely going to get hit again.

He almost doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to admit anything to her, but he finds himself speaking anyways. “I need the money, I don’t have a job anymore. I need someway to feed myself,” he says, lowering his voice to add, “and the kid too.”

Franziska clearly heard him saying something about a kid, as she was swinging the whip. “A kid, you’re telling me someone was foolish enough to have a kid with you, the largest fool I’ve ever met. How foolish can you be you blundering idiot.” She couldn’t find a reason to stop, at some point he passed out and when he fell the tiny nine year old that was hiding behind him in fear was revealed. The words immediately spilled out of the blue haired woman’s mouth, “I’m sorry.”

Miles carefully rests his hand on one of her shoulders, breaking her focus, “Franziska, this is Trucy. Phoenix adopted her after his last case, where her father disappeared.”

Trucy looks up at the two of them with a meek smile. “Uncle Miles,” is all she says, before she kneels next to her father.

“The fool,” Franziska says, her grip tightening on her whip. “He didn’t do it, that foolish forgery, did he? Still he’s foolish enough to adopt the fool of a defendant’s daughter. How much more foolish can the fool get?”

Miles shakes his head, “He says he didn’t do the forgery, and I believe him. I kind of have to, I mean why would he suddenly resort to that when he got so angry at both of us and especially your father about it. He is an udder fool though, I can attest to that. I mean the man tried to run across a burning bridge and fell into freezing cold water. I mean it did give us a chance to talk about our feelings corresponding to your father.”

There’s a groan from the floor, “That’s what the third time you’ve done that now.” Phoenix sits up on the floor, not moving too quickly. “It would be nice if the next time I saw you that you didn’t have your whip.”

Together the four of them walk out of the airport, all of them tired and hungry. They end up at Miles’ apartment to eat dinner.

It’s 722 words long, and I probably could have kept going. I will be posting it to AO3.

[iviarellereads]

The Eye of the World, Chapter 4 - The Gleeman

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Harp icon)(1) In which we get some references that become more missable by the year.

The old gleeman himself gets kicked out of the inn during the ongoing questioning of Padan Fain. Rand is surprised to see the man's eyes are blue, because his own grey eyes have stood out in Emond's Field his whole life.

Merrilin makes comments about how Nynaeve is so young and pretty, she should be flirting with boys, not serving as Wisdom. He also says he knows Padan Fain and knows he's always enjoyed carrying bad news around. As a crowd gathers, Thom asks Egwene, as the prettiest girl he sees, to be his assistant tomorrow.

He introduces himself as Thom Merrilin(2) and, says he was formerly a court bard.(3) Mat asks if he knows anything about the false Dragon in Ghealdan, but Thom says he's no peddler or newsmonger, and he makes a point of avoiding any knowledge of Aes Sedai, because it's safer. Then he points out Rand, and all the ways he's different from the other villagers, from eye colour to his height, "tall as an Aielman", whatever that means. He picks Perrin out of the crowd, calling him as big as an Ogier,(4) and Mat has to include himself, as Thom makes fun of them for being such country boys when he's so well-traveled.

Finally, the making-fun ends, and Thom almost apologizes. When Perrin asks, he says he asked them their names to make a point later with one of his tricks, that no matter strength or height, they won't be able to lift him. Perrin offers to try now, but Thom says it'll be better later, with a bigger audience. He gives a preview of what they might see on their festival day. He juggles and names some of the stories he knows, such as "Artur Paendrag Tanreall" known to them as "Artur Hawkwing",(5) "who once ruled all the lands from the Aiel Waste to the Aryth Ocean, and even beyond." He mentions the Green Man,(6) Warders, Trollocs,(7) Ogier and Aiel, Anla the Wise Counselor,(8) Jaem the Giant-Slayer,(9) someone named Susa taming Jain Farstrider, Mara and "Three Foolish Kings".

“Tell us about Lenn,” Egwene called. “How he flew to the moon in the belly of an eagle made of fire. Tell about his daughter Salya walking among the stars.”(10)

Rand is sure Egwene asked for those stories to annoy him personally, as she was never a fan of them. But, Thom continues.

“Old stories, those,” Thom Merrilin said, and abruptly he was juggling three colored balls with each hand. “Stories from the Age before the Age of Legends, some say. Perhaps even older. But I have all stories, mind you now, of Ages that were and will be. Ages when men ruled the heavens and the stars, and Ages when man roamed as brother to the animals. Ages of wonder, and Ages of horror. Ages ended by fire raining from the skies, and Ages doomed by snow and ice covering land and sea. I have all stories, and I will tell all stories. Tales of Mosk the Giant, with his Lance of fire that could reach around the world, and his wars with Elsbet, the Queen of All. Tales of Materese the Healer, Mother of the Wondrous Ind.”(11)

On he goes, saying he can tell them of how the Dragon tried to release the Dark One into the world, and then the Aes Sedai broke the world. He's still naming stories when he sees Moiraine and stops dead. His words and tone polite as he says he means no offence to his reaction at her presence, but his body language whispers to Rand's intuition as being entirely displeased with her for some reason. After a few exchanges, she takes her leave.

Before Thom can keep performing, the Village Council finally lets out of the inn, and takes the opportunity to nip in, muttering about brandy. Bran and Nynaeve argue a bit, and when Nynaeve storms off, Cenn Buie says she needs a husband to tame her. Bran, more annoyed than ever, tells Cenn to be quiet, and further, "Stop acting like a black-veiled Aiel!" whatever that means.

Rand goes to see Tam, who tells the boys that basically, there's little chance of the war coming to the Two Rivers, and less still of any Aes Sedai trying to pass through on their way up or back from Ghealdan. We get a geography lesson explaining how the Two Rivers is blocked in on all sides by virtually impassable land, be it mountains, rivers, or hundreds of miles of uninhabited forest.

Tam also tells the boys that the day after Bel Tine they'll be sending out riders to watch the borders, and to ask other villages in the Two Rivers to do the same. It will be boring work, but Mat plans to volunteer.

Tam goes to retrieve the pony. The boys agree that Mat and Perrin will try to find any others who saw the black rider, since Rand's being dragged home to the farm for the night, and they'll ask the mayor tomorrow to let any watch riders know to look out for him. They all want to ride with the watch after Bel Tine.

In the stable, looking for his father, Rand notes all the horses. Padan Fain's are there, as are Master al'Vere's huge horses for rent when farmers need to haul more than their usual loads. The other three match their riders very obviously: a strong black stallion for Lan, a delicate white mare for Moiraine, and a dusty brown gelding that matches Thom's attitude.(12)

After leaving the village in silence, Rand breaks the silence asking why the Village Council chose to question Fain like that. Tam explains that if they'd done nothing, everyone would have worked up into a lather over the anxiety, with nothing to do about it and no outlet. Now, they've seen the Council take the matter under consideration, and they'll see the solution they came to with the watch riders. It will keep people from overreacting.

Tam tells Rand that the word has already been passed out about the black rider, but they wanted to do it responsibly, quietly, to those who won't spread panic ahead of the festival. Turns out more young men have seen him, enough that the Council couldn't ignore it.

He was surprised to realize that his step felt lighter. The knots were gone from his shoulders. He was still scared, but it was not so bad as it had been. Tam and he were just as alone on the Quarry Road as they had been that morning, but in some way he felt as if the entire village were with them. That others knew and believed made all the difference. There was nothing the black-cloaked horseman could do that the people of Emond’s Field could not handle together.

=====

(1) A harp being an instrument such as a gleeman might use in his travels… at least in fantasy worlds where harp means something slightly different than the massive, tricky rigs we have in ours. I know I said I wouldn't make too many comparisons to the show, but swapping it for a guitar was absolutely called for. (2) Funny to see a man whose name is almost Merlin showing up and meeting a woman named Nynaeve almost first in the village, that being so close to some of the names the Lady of the Lake has gone by in different tellings. (3) Probably analogous to what we'd assume, right? An entertainer who stayed contracted to one royal patron for a time. (4) Something like an ogre? (5) Heavy on the Arthuriana, this series, but not least of it in the stories of Artur Hawkwing. Arthur Pendragon, only also evoking a bit of Padraig of Ireland. Tanreall doesn't have a particularly clear origin, but I like to think of it as part reference to the holy grail (san graal), part (Britain)(royal) becoming (Tain-raal) and (Tanreall). (6) Lots of legends about a Green Man in our world, though they're not as ancient as some claim. (7) Perhaps it's obvious, but a bit of a mashup of "troll" and "orc" seems likeliest for this one. (8) Ann Landers. (9) Jack and the Beanstalk, filtered through time and retelling. (10) Lenn is John Glenn, the first American to orbit the Earth, his part in the story having filtered through the rest of our Age, maybe another age between, and then the Age of Legends, and then the Third Age these people have lived in. Salya, Sally (Ride), similarly shifted in her role as the first American woman in space. (11) Mosk (Moscow) and his lances of fire (nukes) and the war with Elsbet (Queen Elizabeth II). Materese, Mother Theresa. RJ picked some of the biggest names of the late 80s to include, to make sure he'd get his point across that this world isn't medieval, the way we think of it, not in the slightest. This world isn't just post-apocalypse in the sense that the Breaking broke the world, they're also post-us. We are a part of this cycle, in the conceit of the fictional world. So, all of our stories filter through to them, and their stories filter back through to us. Their Artur Hawkwing was real, not in their lifetime but in their Age, since Thom named the Aiel waste and the Aryth Ocean, two places you can find on the WOT world map in any ebook or print edition of this book. But as RJ would have it, his story filtered back out to us through the cycle of the Wheel of Time turning. (There's no real point to this, I just think it's neat.) (12) Horses are very important in the Wheel of Time, not only because they're the most efficient form of transportation without a mechanical engine, but also because, like, who doesn't like horses? (Obvious exceptions apply.)

[witchesoz]

The Nome King: The Emerald City of Oz

The Nome King's second major appearance is in « The Emerald City of Oz”, the sixth boom of the series. This novel was supposed to be the original ending of the series, the conclusion of the Oz story, and thus it made the Nome King the major antagonist of the franchise (though others were involved, as you will see).

The Nomes and Nome King

We find back the Nome King, a long time after his defeat in “Ozma of Oz”. Ever since he lost his Magic Belt he has been dreadfully angry – and while being angry “once in a while” is fun, being angry all of the time is “depressing”. He is angry because he lost the Magic Belt, which meant he lost “half” of his power, and is now unable to perform any kind of magic. He thus develops the desire to regain the Magic Belt. His advisors try to prevent him from doing so – the Chief Counselor advices the King to simply stop wanting to do magic, since his inability to perform spell is what causes his anger, but the Nome King in answers orders for the counselor to be tied up in chains and thrown away. Later the Chief Steward of the King, described as having a fat round body on spindle legs, and whose name is given here as Kaliko, reminds him that he can’t cross the Deadly Desert which protects Oz, that he has enough power to rule as a tyrant in the “Under World” over thousands of worlds, and advise him to just be content with his situation and drink a glass of “melted silver” to quiet his nerves. To which the Nome King answers by throwing a heavy ruby at the head of Kaliko and ordering him to flee to not suffer more of his wrath.

So the Nome King calls upon “General Blug”, a Nome renowned to be a “terrible fighter” and a “cruel, desperate commander” with fifty thousand Nomes directly under his command. The King clearly tells him he wants to invade Oz – to which Blug clearly answers that the King is crazy and should calm down to make more sense. Blug explains to the King that first of all they cannot cross the Deadly Desert, and even if they did the ruler of Oz, Ozma, has fairy powers that would make the Nome army “helpless”. Their only chance to defeat Ozma and invade Oz would have been the Magic Belt, now lost. However, the Nome King mentions that he has a spy in Oz, a “blackbird”, which told him that Ozma left the Emerald City and is travelling throughout the country. Which gives Blug an idea. Here is his project: since they cannot cross the Deadly Desert, they will go under it, by digging a tunnel (after all they are the inhabitants of the Under World and all miners). But once in Oz, even if the Nomes are good fighters, they would not be strong enough to conquer the Emerald City. So Blug concludes that the King should just abandon his foolish project – which results in the King throwing his scepter at Blug’s head and forcing him out of the throne room.

We get a bit more information about the Nome King in himself, which changed a tiny bit since his last apparition. While in the first novel his flowing, bushy beard was the “color of rock”, aka a gray-brown, here his “long whiskers” are said to be white. He also is noted to have “pointed toes” and to wear a crown, as well as wield a scepter with a heavy sphere of sapphire at the top. Most importantly – his title was changed. He is not “Roquat of the Rocks” anymore, but now “Roquat the Red”. In terms of psychology, it is merely said that he is a powerful ruler and bad man – now determined to take revenge upon Dorothy and Ozma for stealing his power away. His vengeance consists of: destroying the Land of Oz and its Emerald City, enslaving Ozma, Dorothy and all the people of Oz, and recover the Magic Belt to pursue his “wicked plans”. Baum also mentions that Roquat is “bad” for the same reason that most people are bad: he simply never tried to do or be good. Ever. As you could also note from the previous interactions – Roquat is not very respected by his servants, who keep mocking or insulting him (though they are also noted to be terrified of him and to hide their terror to appear brave in front of their lord).

Random note, but the chair and seats of the Throne Room are described as either carved in amethysts or made of giant diamonds.

XXXX

After this first series of incidents, Roquat calls back his Chief Stewart Kaliko and wishes to make him his new General, to replace Blug. However Kaliko refuses by explaining that he manages all of the affairs of the kingdom better than Roquat could ever do, that he knows nothing of warfare, that hundreds of Nomes are better qualified for this task – and that anyway the King has such an habit of creating then throwing away Generals that Kaliko would not be one for anything in the world. So the Nome King reunites all of his Nomes and explains officially that he banished Blug and asks the next in command, Colonel Crinkle, to become the new General and march onto Oz. The dapper-looking Nome refuses to do such a mad project, and so the Nome King… simply orders him to be carried on to the torture chamber, where he will be cut into thin slices and fed to the “seven-headed dogs” of the King. Yeah, you can say at that this point the Nome Kind really became quite mad.

Having made a public example of Crinkle, the Nome King asks if anyone wants to be a General and perform the task – to which one answers. An old Nome with white whiskers so long he tied them around his waist not to trip. This Nome, named Guph, explains that he is fond of the Majesty because he hates good and happy people, and detests content and prosperity – everything Oz embodies. So he agrees to become the new General and attack Oz. Guph also goes along great with the King because, on top of obeying him, he shows that he is not afraid of him, which pleases Roquat deeply. Guph explains the situation: Oz would defeat the Nomes. Sure, the Nomes are immortal and fifty thousands in numbers, but they are very weak when it comes to magic. Meanwhile Oz has plenty of magic (now, here is something quite weird, because Baum lists the four main magic users of Oz and it gets a bit… strange given what we actually know): it has the Wizard of Oz, who is now a real wizard ; Dorothy, who wears the magic belt ; Ozma, who has a “fairy wand” (how did she got it? We will never know) and Oz also has Glinda which “commands the spirits of the air” and… now lives in the North of Oz? Baum here clearly mixed up the two Good Witches of Oz into one. So, what Guph proposes is simple: to match the Oz forces by finding allies. Evil creatures with magic powers strong enough to destroy Oz. A plan to which Roquat fully agrees.

I’ll make a quick pause here to note that we are given a detailed explanation on how the Nome army and society works – an explanation which contradicts what Ozma of Oz told us.

The Nomes are described as “strangely formed creatures”, “underground elves” that are “rather round” and “not very tall”. Their toes are curly, and their ears are “broad and flat”. The Nomes spent most of their time being metal workers and miners, hard works which gave them a “great muscular strength”. But in times of war, all of the Nomes becomes soldiers – the army is the totality of the King’s subjects, fifty thousand Nomes, dressed in rock-colored uniforms.

This actually contradicts Ozma of Oz, which showed that the army and the ones working at the forge were actually two different categories of the Nome population. This book also retcons the great and large grotto that the King can see from his balconies as the “Great Cavern”, where he gathers his subjects when he has public announcements to make.

XXX

We also get a bit more geographical explanations. It is said that the “extensive caverns” of the Nome King are located under a set of mountains located “north of the Land of Ev”. The Land of Ev itself lays direct “east” of Oz, the two lands separate by the Deadly Desert (however there is a mistake here – as Baum says the East is inhabited by the Winkies, which is false since the Winkies inhabit the West. In fact, this geographical presentation is tied to Guph plans – Guph is the kind to plan, think ahead and prepare (and points out to Roquat that precisely the King never plans ahead, hence why he fails). And he knows that if they dug to the East, it will leave enough time for local populations to alert the Emerald City. So, Guph plans to dig a tunnel right to the Emerald City itself.

THE EVIL SPECIES

Guph goes to recruit three different tribes of evil magical creatures to help their invasion of Oz. All live outside of Oz, on the wider continent that would later be known as Nonestica (note that this name was never given by Baum himself, it was invented by a later author).

The first of those species is the one of the Whimsies. They live in a “retired country of their own”. They are renowned for their strong and large bodies – they are “big, burly” creatures, and extremely muscular. However the heads of the Whimsies are actually tiny, extremely small, “no bigger than door-knobs” and as a result they are actually very low when it comes to intelligence, lacking both common sense and wisdom, to the point of being outright stupid. The Whimsies are particularly ashamed of their little heads, which not only makes them ugly but also unintelligent, so they create fake big heads, made of pasteboard, to wears over the real ones – these fake heads have sheep wool for hair, colored in numerous shades (the most common being pink, green and lavender, the Whimsies favorite colors), and have weird and queer faces painted on them, “painted in ridiculous ways according to the whims of their owner”. In fact it is because their masks are whimsical and absurd that they are called “Whimsies”.

But this still makes them feared in the land. They are terrible fighters, not just because of their immense strength, but also because they lack such common sense that they do not know when they are defeated and thus will keep fighting until the very end. An end that might never come – because the Whimsies are actually “evil spirits”, and as a result cannot be killed.

General Guph meets the “Chief of the Whimsies”, living in a house with the picture of a grotesque face above the doorway. The Chief’s mask is noted to have blue hair, a turned-up nose and a mouth stretching “half across the face”, with big green eyes – but on the chin are two small holes, for the real eyes. The Chief of the Whimsies agrees to help the Nomes because attacking Oz means there will be plenty fighting (and they love fighting), and because Guph promises that with the Magic Belt the Nome King will give all the Whimsies big heads. However the Chief of Whimsies is… quite a whimsical creature. When hearing there will be plenty of fight he jumps around and dances to express his joy before sitting back and returning to a normal conversation – and right in the middle of said conversation, he interrupts Guph to sing a song. A meaningless, nonsense song, that he seems to sing just for the pleasure of it. And later, when a Whimsie more intelligent than the others point out that being defeated by the forces of Oz would be a bad thing, the rest of the tribe simply throws him in a river for spoiling their fun.

The rest of the book mentions how Guph and the Nome King plan on using the “cunning” of the Whimsies, which is quite strange given that they actually are noted to be quite stupid. Must be an oversight of Baum.

Once Guph got the agreement of the Whimsies, he set up to another tribe of evil creatures: the Growleywogs, living in the Northwest of the continent. However, to go from the country of the Whimsies to the one of the Growleywogs, he had to cross Ripple Land, a succession of steep and rocky hills and valleys that change place constantly by rippling, the hills constantly turning into valleys and the valleys into hills.

The Dominion of the Growleywogs is described as a dense forest. The Growleywogs are giants and extremely strong, the weakest of them able to lift an elephant and tossing it seven miles away. However they do not look like it, because they are only “bone and skin”, without any “meat” or “fat” on their body – their powerful muscles are said to lay “right under their skin”, “like bunches of tough ropes”. It is explained that the Growleywogs know very well that they are not liked by the others inhabitants of the continent, and thus became surly and unsociable, not just with foreigners but also among themselves. To the point that they actually nowadays hate everyone – including the Nomes. In fact, they welcome the General by capturing him, mocking him and play with him like a ball. But Guph explains to the leader of the Growleywogs, the “Grand Gallipoot”, that on top of offering them the occasion of destroying the beautiful Emerald City, the Nomes agree to give them ten thousand of Oz inhabitants as slaves. The Grand Gallipoot rather asks for twenty thousands, and the deal is made. But not before Guph is kept in a jail where the jailer amuses himself by sticking pins in Guph’s body to see him scream. The Growleywogs are arrogant creatures, certain that they could destroy Oz all on themselves (in fact the only thing preventing them to do so was the Deadly Desert) – and they are so arrogant that they actually plan to betray the Nome. They plan on taking all of Oz for themselves, and then to attack and enslave the Nomes (the Grand Gallipoot plans to take the Nome King as his personal servant to “blacken his boots”).

Once released, Guph is quite pleased to have found these two powerful allies. However here, his real motives are revealed: in fact, Guph plans on overthrowing Roquat and becoming the new Nome King. But to do so, he wanted to ensure the fact that the Whimsies were his friends, so that they would support him in his plans. But now, he fears the Growleywogs, and thus to make things even and protect himself against their cruelty he decides to recruit one last tribe.

He crosses again the Ripple Land (which makes him seasick) and once back on firm land, he goes west (which… doesn’t make much sense? The mountains of the Nome King are north of Ev, so North-East. The country of the Growleywogs was North-West. If he returned North-East but then goes West again… I don’t know, it is all weird). A squirrel and an eagle tries to tell him to look out and turn away, but he doesn’t, and continues up to the dreaded Mountain of Phantastico, where lives… THE PHANFASMS!

The Phanfasms are a species of Erbs (the most powerful and merciless of the evil spirits), “so dreaded by mortals and immortals alike that no one went near their mountain home in several thousand years”. They are so dangerous that Guph considers them the same threat to the Nomes as the Nomes are the Ozites, but he still believes they are the missing element able to unite the cunning of the Growleywogs and the strength of the Whimsies to defeat Oz.

The dominion of the Phanfasms is marked on a “third on the way up the mountain”, by a big gully encircling Phantastico, filled with red-hot lava, fire-serpents and poisonous salamanders (producing both heat and poisonous smells). There is a narrow grey-stone bridge to pass over, but it is guarded by a scarlet and fire-breathing alligator sleeping on it. Guph has to trick it with the classical “Oh, who’s that up there?” to pass, jumping over the beast as it looks away.

The first Phanfasm that Guph meets appears as a man with a body as hairy as the one of an ape, the head of an owl, a scarlet scarf around his waist as sole clothing, and a huge club in his hand. He guards an “awful” area where rocks are shaped like frightful beings and the tree trunks are gnarled and twisted like serpents. He usually beats up visitors, but Guph has enough cleverness and bravado to convince him to bring him to the “First and Foremost” Phanfasm, their leader (the narration even points out, if Guph wasn’t so evil, he would have done great things). The city of the Phanfasms first appears as a heap with rocks with openings in them, rough and rude huts of stone – and the First and Foremost is a hairy man with the head of a bear and a brass hoop in his hand. But these are actually illusions projected by the Phanfasms themselves, because their city in truth is a splendid and luxurious town built by magic. And the same way, while Guph can only see two Phanfasms there are many more, a multitude hidden in the shadows, invisible to his eyes.

Later, the First and Foremost shows Guph the extent of his powers: he summons all the Phanfasms, repulsive and grotesque hairy men with heads of animals, birds and reptiles. Then, they all transform and take another shape: the First and Foremost is now a beautiful woman wearing pink gauze and with black hair, while the Phanfasms are howling wolves with yellow fangs. A third transformation: the First and Foremost is now a giant butterfly, and the Phanfasms crawling lizards. Then they return to their first shape, making Guph understand that with their spells they can do or be anything (though we know that in their mysterious true form, the Phanfasms are beautiful, luxurious and splendid). The First and Foremost makes it very clear that they are creature of fabulous powers and pure evil, and thus that they will not help the Nomes for any kind of wealth, promise of slave, since they already have all they want. But finally Guph makes them agree to the alliance by pointing out “the pleasure of destroying innocent and harmless people”.

Once Guph is gone the First and Foremost makes a speech to his people – saying that indeed, as they stayed locked up on their mountain, people grew happy and prosperous, which is not what they desire since the sole reason of living of the Phanfasms is to destroy happiness. And so they will join the Nomes in their crusade to destroy Oz – and then destroy the Nomes, and the Whimsies, and the Growleywogs, and finally go on to ravage and pillage the entire world.

Guph, his task now complete, return to the Nome King, who is surprised and pleased with having all those dreadful allies – that he plans to send first into the tunnel to invade Oz, because he still fears the hens and chicken there that lay eggs. But he still intends on keeping as his own the Magic Belt, and Dorothy and Ozma. He personally wants to “own” them, and orders that they should not be harmed, for he wants to turn them into china ornaments to keep on his mantle (because, and I quote, they are such “nice little girls” - cue to Pedobear music).

Finally, when the tunnel is done all four armies gather. They have a big feast, where they keep fighting, and then march down the tunnel, each group plotting on betraying and destroying the others to keep Oz for themselves. However they are defeated when by magic Ozma makes the tunnel extremely dusty, so much that the giant army dies of thirst – and then the Ozites place right near the exit of the tunnel the Fountain of Oblivion, whose waters erase all memories. As a result, the army drinks from it and all become “like children”, forgetting who they are, what they are doing here and where exactly they are. Only one does not drink – Roquat, but the Ozites just dump him in the Waters of Oblivion. Once all of these people got their minds bleached, they are all sent away, back to their original country.

And thus, the evil army was defeated and Oz saved once and for all.

- - - - -

The fact that the Nome King is noted to look like a "demented Santa Claus" is no coincidence. It seems to be an inside joke of Baum - indeed, a precursor of the Nome King appeared in his novel "The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus". This literary precursor was the "Gnome King", one of the members of the "council of immortals", the group of supernatural beings who secretely ruled over the world. This Gnome King, when Santa was given his "tasks", offered him steel runners for his sleigh and sleigh-bells for his reindeers, in exchange of a collection of toys to offer his gnome children. This Gnome King, just like the Nome King, was a jolly fellow living under a mountain, and the "Gnomes" were the fairies and spirits of the rocks. And just like the Nome King he did not believe in charity or giving - however, contrary to the greedy and possessive Nome King, the Gnome King believed in fair exchange and honest trade.

[a-yarn-of-purple-prose]

Seeing that print I remember my own squeal at that scene. Yes, yes. I should probably print things for posterity as well.

Childe's 2nd story is the reason I decided he's actually decent at acting and hung a whole plot in that. But I'm from a culture where acting isn't the same as singing and dancing, so I'd never get "he can dance" from that sentence.

And here is the excerpt, since you asked. For context: Diluc is the POV, he's heartbroken about Lumine and has gotten into a really strange relationship with Childe that is neither a friendship nor not a friendship. They had been mostly meeting for sparring until this chapter (yes it was very homoerotic sparring, I like to have fun) and, more importantly, at this point Childe is 100% blackboxed. There is no scene in his POV, the objective was always to leave the reader guessing.

*

He paid no attention where he was walking besides the usual polite avoidance of other's paths. There seemed to be a quiet, dark corner, where some gentleman lingered alone, so there he went. Diluc was already standing before him when he noticed it was Tartaglia.

There had been some attempt at taming his hair, only mildly successful. The ginger locks curled fetchingly away from his eyes. It made him look older and more serious, especially with what he was wearing. Diluc supposed was his dress uniform, it had that feel about it. White and red like blood on snow, sharply creased and covered in badges of distinction. He wore it well.

Diluc stared too long. Tartaglia drained the glass he had been holding and deposited it into a nearby side table before greeting him with a smile, “Master Diluc, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Childe Tartaglia. I did not expect to find a Harbinger in a Liyue society mix-up.” Especially because he knew the man to have been sent away on a mission not long ago. He also knew not to inquire of it.

He shrugged, nonchalant, and said, “Well, Xiangling-xiaojie is catering tonight—” his hand went to muss over his hair, then he stopped himself, as if remembering it was styled, and added, "and I also happen to be the Northland Bank representative in Liyue for the time being. So, regardless of my other obligations, I have to show up every once in a while. Keep them on their toes.” He finished it with one of his fake smiles, a sure tell that he had some objective in this place.

Not Diluc's problem. Let the Qixing worry about the Fatui at their shores. He made a show of looking around, no one dared make eye contact with him. “It seems to have worked,” he said, not really hiding his amusement. “One could say there is not a soul in this party that isn't aware of your presence.”

Tartaglia's smile lingered, turning into a far more real upturn of his lips as he noticed Diluc did not intend to walk away. “And all of them keep well away.” He put a hand to his chest, a mock frown on his brow, and said, “I don't understand why, personable as I am.”

Around them, the ballroom was being prepared for actual dancing. A servant approached, careful and polite, and stared for a moment as he found the lamp he was supposed to douse already dark. He did not direct any word at them, just bowed lightly and moved away.

Soon enough, the first notes of music started. Diluc moved to stand beside Tartaglia, watching the initial couples dance.

There she was, with her Inazuman friend. The sight of her smiling as she danced with him twisted something inside Diluc, he looked away.

“Oh, it's the poet. You know he's also a pirate, a swordsman, and the heir to a disgraced clan? Exactly the sort of person she likes.”

Diluc did not say anything to that blatant attempt to get a raise out of him, but he did harrumph lightly, staring at his empty cup. He set it down on the side table and considered just leaving, but his eyes once again found Lumine twirling on the dance floor.

He's not even a good dancer, that pair of hers. Not good enough by far.

Since he lingered, it stood that his next action would be foolish.

He gave Tartaglia a sidelong look, then actually turned to face him fully, saying, “Would you like to?”

Tartaglia blinked at him, tilted his head.

Diluc offered him his right hand, palm up. “Dance.”

“You're asking me to dance with you?” He let some incredulity bleed into his voice.

“It's better than holding the wall, though I wouldn't begrudge you if you were just waiting for the moment the lights went down to leave discreetly. That's generally my plan in these functions.”

“But not tonight, hm?” His eyes flicked to the dance floor and Lumine, then back at him. “Such a daring invitation, Master Diluc! Aren't you worried about what people are gonna think when they see you dancing with a Fatui?”

“I prefer bold and I'm told half Liyue Harbor already thinks we have an affair.”

There was nothing he could do over that specific bit of gossip, as it had been spread with intent. Avoiding Tartaglia would make it politically suspicious. Dancing with him? That would paint it as romantic or at least racy. Much better. There were many ways to play a reputation.

“Then let's give them something to gossip about,” Tartaglia said, as he took his hand.

Diluc led him to the dance floor and they fell into the rhythm with ease. As expected from a martial artist, Tartaglia was an excellent dancer. He told him so.

“Surprised? Like the old man would allow me to go into diplomatic service without several rounds of tutoring.”

“Old man? Your father?”

“Ha, no.” He looked away. Clearly, his father was not dear. “I mean Pulcinnella,” he said, lips turning up at the mention of the fellow Harbinger. “My father is not exactly a polished person. Also, not someone I'd like to discuss in such a pleasant evening.”

“Sorry to mention,” Diluc said, gaze moving through the sea of people, looking for that diamond spark among them, then back at him.

“Oh, so you care about my feelings?” Tartaglia's eyes flicked in the direction Diluc had been looking, and he said, “Aren't you using me right now to make a certain Traveler jealous?”

The song winded down, and they separated, waiting. Diluc couldn't quite look at Tartaglia, because he was very right and it made him feel like an idiot. A jealous idiot with an idiot plan.

Lumine's arms were around her companion's neck. He was flushed red, she had that glint of mischief in her eyes.

Then Tartaglia reached for him, long fingers taking his chin and forcing Diluc's head toward him, bright eyes focused on his. “Seems to be working, by the way. Oh, wait, she was the one supposed to feel jealous? My bad.” He stepped around Diluc, circling him on the new song's beat. Something faster-paced than the previous waltz, with a bit more drama to the string section. When the song picked up again he took his hand, switching the lead, and said, “But allow me to do my best.”

His hand on Diluc's back was firm as he led him into an outside position, the smile on his face as fierce as when he was in battle. It sent an incongruous thrill down Diluc's spine. Before he noticed, he wasn't really watching Lumine anymore.

It was not the complex footwork. He could keep up with Tartaglia's footwork while gliding tree from tree, sliding on slippery river stones. He had done so. No, it was the deliberate choice Tartaglia made to pull him a bit too close after a twirl, his warmth burning where their bodies touched, to step aside and reach out a hand with the haughty look of one that knows his pair will turn back to his arms. To, basically, manhandle him.

It was seductive.

Looked seductive, that is. For an outsider. And Diluc's resistance probably added to the mystique. Perhaps if he had submitted and just followed his lead, their dancing would look as nothing more than a brutish man imposing his will. But he resisted, then relented, so it was a dance.

And every time he looked away from that soul-piercing gaze and Tartaglia pulled his chin back, there seemed to be fewer dancers around them.

For every defiant step, he took, chin up and falling away, only to be lured back into his arms and match footwork like a shadow, more space seemed to be allotted to their movements.

As the last notes of the song resounded, strings crying bitterly, Tartaglia held him firmly in pose, their gazes locked with what probably looked like tenderness from afar.

“Show off,” Diluc whispered.

Tartaglia smiled. “It worked.”

Diluc stepped away, heart hammering from the exertion, then looked around discreetly to see if Lumine was part of their impromptu audience. He couldn't spot her, so he turned a raised eyebrow at Tartaglia.

“You smiled,” he said, “Still are, in fact. Beautifully so.”

I find it so interesting how Tartaglia is an amazing dancer in canon but there's literally no fics where he dances with his s/o