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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months ago

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need more mr flavor im thorsty

"You want to buy my soda?" Danny asks again as the man in a suit across from him smiles sickly sweet. They are crammed in the left-corner booth of Anthony's Pasta, with a stack of paperwork on the table.

Danny had just been getting ready to open a shop when this man strolled in wearing the same waxy grin Vlad wore whenever he spoke to his Dad. Danny had been on his guard as the man introduced himself, and while his smile and mannerisms were pleasant, Danny could tell by his eyes that he could not trust the other.

There was no emotion in them.

"That's correct, Mr. Flavor. You see, your brand is starting to stir quite a ruckus. But it's unfortunately, on such a small scale, the trend's popularity will lead to your brand dying out. We at Zesti want to help you reach a bigger audience before that happens. I personally think you have so much potential and I wouldn't want to see it go to waste." The man, Oscar, tells him. He leans back, open body language to try to put Danny at ease.

Danny frowns "My soda is a trend?"

"A passing one unless we don't make the smart choices now. Zesti can help with that," Oscar hinted. He pushes the contract he brought along with him towards Danny. "We'll handle the marketing, distribution, and you will make sixty percent of all final sales. All you need to provide is the tasty beverage."

Danny quickly glances over the contract. At first glance, it seems to be in his favor. But it's dragged out in a package of twenty pages where the wording slowly takes away from his own benefits.

They would handle marketing, but the funds would come from his sixty percent of profits—not all, but a good twenty percent. This left him with forty percent of sales.

Then, Zesti would cover the distribution outside of Gotham. Within Gotham, they would use his money again. That left Danny with only twenty percent of the sales since the other twenty would be used for Gotham distribution.

Since Zesti was going to help him start up, they would ask for a ten percent deposit for the first five years. That way, the sodas could help build a customer base to fund the other two costs.

By page eighteen, Danny would only be making ten percent of the promised income. He thought it was unethical business practices, but the conditions and wording they added to the contract made it legally possible.

Danny just had to sign, and he would agree to the horrid conditions. Now, he didn't really care about the soda. It wasn't like he invented it; he merely brought it over from another world, but it was the fact that they were trying to trick him that upset him.

If he could spot this in a quick read-through, what would he find if he had someone professional look over the contract? Danny bets there would be wording that made him irreverent and legally made Zesti the owner of his work.

They also sent a company representative to discuss legal details in a restaurant. Danny doesn't know the laws of this place (He thinks a lot of Gotham's issues with the Rouges could be solved if they were to include the Death Penalty, but that's just him) He feels a minor shouldn't be making legal decisions without some kind of lawyer.

He knows Oscar is clicking his pen to pressure him to sign as he reads. Jazz would do it whenever she wanted him to sign on for whatever community service she needed.

It was laughable to think that this man was attempting to use the same business psychology that his sister had trained him to notice. Zesti must believe he was an easy target.

"It says here that I would give Zesti complete creative freedom over my soda. How would that stop you from changing a thing about the recipe and then claiming I have no right to the new recipe?" he asks, flipping to page twelve and watching Oscar's oily smile never slip.

"That's just about the bottling and design of the brand. The leaping boy is nice, but we want to clean it up and give it more attention-grabbing details." Oscars assures. He failed to address Danny's concern, which told him everything he needed to hear.

"I'm not interested in selling. Thank you for the offer, though," he tells Oscar, pushing back the contract.

The other man laughs as if Danny has said something amusing. There is a bit of condensation in the undertones of his laughter as if he were speaking to a toddler and finding their confusion entertaining. "I'm not sure you understand, Mr. Flavor. This is an amazing opportunity that others would kill for."

Danny shrugs. "Then offer it to them."

Oscar sighs loudly, shaking his head. "Mr. Flavor, I don't think you understand. This could be what makes you a millionaire, and it's your only chance to make that dream a reality."

"What makes you think being rich is my dream? What if my dream is to become a ghost?"

That finally made the other man lose his smile for only a second before Oscar leaned forward. "Please think carefully. This is the best for you and your brand. Gotham makes people like you disappear from the public eye when a new trend comes by."

"Disappear?" As in intangible? As in ghost? As in Phantom, what part of himself has he been searching for?

Oscar seems to think Danny's wide eyes were because he was frightened instead of excited. Oscar leans back with a smirk, his eyes still hellishly cold and emotionless. It is strange to now always glance into a person's eyes to learn of their true intentions.

No matter how well a ghost hides among humans, they can never disguise their otherworldliness if Danny watches their eyes. He read somewhere that the eyes were the doors to the soul, and after being Phantom, knowing his eyes actually flash with his emotions, he knows it's true.

Oscar may appear human, but whatever humanity there was in him is long gone.

"It would be safer to sign, young man." He says again, this time in a mocking tone.

Danny laughs. "If I was worried about my safety, I wouldn't be jumping off buildings, would I? Have a good day Oscar."

He stands up, leaving the contract on the table, ignoring the stuttering man. Danny has other things to worry about like the restaurant is open for an hour and a line forming at his foldable table.

It wasn't that his soda was that personally important to him, but it was his main source of income. Phantom was still well out of reach despite the amount of life-threatening activities he was getting up to.

Danny even tried to bother the more violent ghosts of the area by strutting into their space while carrying a stupid little tea cup set. He figured they would react to a perceived attack on their pride—instead, the ghosts were so touched that he thought of them.

He tried to get hit by five more cars. One notable incident had him flying into a light pole. He had mistaken the feeling of finally getting his flight back until the ache in his back started.

Danny had even thrown himself into the Gotham River after being told by multiple people that it was filled with chemicals from illegal dumping from some local faculties.

He was starting to think he would never get his ghost side back until a mugger stabbed him in the stomach. Danny had been counting his bills while walking away from a lovely ghost couple in an alley by the old movie theater when the man had jumped out of the shadows, stabbed him, and ran off with his cash.

Danny had fallen to the ground, aware of Martha's scream and Thomas' swear as he choked on his blood. The ghosts were bound to the alley, but they had walked to the edge of it to watch him and felt horrible that they could do nothing for him.

Thomas had looked up at the sky, screaming, while also trying to push against the barrier that keeps anchored ghosts to their death space. "Bruce! Bruce! Please come here! Bruce! He's dying! He's just a kid! Bruce!"

Not sure who Bruce was or how he could help didn't mean anything to Danny when he felt a sort of burst of power from deep inside his chest that suppressed the pain.

The ghost couple had been horrified when Danny's blood had turned green and his hysterical laugh as his wound closed the second he ripped out the blade.

Phantom had healed him, which meant Danny just had to find a way to get Phantom to come back from whatever lock he was behind.

"Are you okay, Danny?" Heather asks him once he walks past the waitress. She glances at the table where Oscar sits, a wide customer smile still firmly on her friendly, open face, but her eyes are guarded. "He said anything strange to you?"

"Nah, he just wanted to buy my soda before Gotham made me "disappear" and die from lack of trend," Danny laughs, swinging open his little cooler. He ignores how she stiffens, and the first customer in line throws a wild, horrified look in his direction.

He lines up his flavors with a bit of hum, ignoring the tension growing in the restaurant. Oscar makes a show of leaving as if Danny will call out to stop him before he slams the door on his way out. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when he vanishes, but Danny doesn't mind.

He continues on with his day. Let Oscar try the fear tactics- what is he going to do? Kill him? Ha.

Danny misses the long conversation Heather has with Anthony, who later asks Danny if he wants him to inform Red Hood of the threat. Danny laughs it away, packs up his things, and stores the table and cooler in Anthony's space closet.

Despite the warnings of the concerned staff- Danny had grown quite close with everyone there but not beyond occasional coworkers- he left for his motel. Danny attempted to get hit by a bus on the way home and nearly did had it not been for a driver's fast reflects.

The bus driver had been distracted by his phone- which is why Danny had targeted him- but he had waved away his horrified apologies. As Danny entered Crime Alley, he figured being loud and rumbustious like his Dad would hopefully get him shot.

Gotham had a limited amount of patience for loud people. He picked a silly gum commercial jingle popular in his home dimension and skipped down the sidewalks, yelling the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

Danny didn't even reach the end of the street before a van rolled up next to him. He had enough time to look at it curiously as the van door was flung open, and a group of masked men jumped out. They yanked him inside, throwing a gag over his mouth and slamming him onto the floor.

The wheels scream as the van speeds away, leaving Danny at the mercy of his kidnappers. He tries to wiggle up, but a hard thump against the back of his head- likely from the butt of one of their guns- causes him to crumble down.

"This isn't his usual mark." One commented, looking down at Danny with a cold indifference that he could make out from his eyeholes. "They're usually brown-haired, aren't they?"

"Who cares?" Another answer is, "Just as long as we get paid, who cares what they look like?"

Danny stares at him, wondering if anyone in the van knew this person cared very deeply. Their eyes showed concern, guilt, and the right amount of protective intent, and he felt he wasn't in danger.

He had regrets about what he was doing, to the point of betraying everyone here, or he was an undercover cop. Either option ruined his plan of being shot, though, so Danny wiggled about, ignoring the more hits it got him before he was able to have the gag fall down.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asks the group of four.

"No." One laughs. "But by the time the boss finishes with you, you will wish you were dead like all the others."

"Oh, so it's a waitlist kind of thing?" Danny asks, "Is the list by order of arrival, or did the others make appointments?"

There is a moment of stunned silence. Danny swings his head, looking between everyone, waiting for an answer, but when he receives nothing, he sighs, leaning back into a more comfortable position. They didn't tie him up or anything, so he easily crosses his legs under him and cracks his neck. "If we could kill me first, that would be ideal."

"You want to die?" The guilty one asks.

"Correction, I want to be a ghost."

"Damn, the kid is crazy." The last one- the driver- laughs. "No wonder the boss wanted him."

"By boss, you mean Oscar, don't you." Danny shakes his head. "No, wait, don't answer that. I already know it's him. He has the eyes for it. He's the reason the light-brown hair people are missing, huh? Cyrus mentioned it the last time we talked. Bet you he kidnapped that lady in the antique shop. He stared at us for a long time; Susan had to point him out; Susan is the ghost outside the shop. She taught me how to make the most delicious fudge from the rain of Gotham's downdraught youth- which reminds me of the nickname they gave Baja Blast."

No one speaks after his long-winded rant before Danny leans forward, locking gazes with the guilty one. "Have you ever had your Baja blasted?"

"Um, no?"

"You need to man."

"I can't listen to this shit anymore. Knock him out, but watch the face. The boss likes his merchandise clean."

Danny scoffs, twisting his head to snark at the one sitting in the passenger seat. "Just say, Oscar. We both know it's him."

He feels a hard thump on the back of his head, and the words turn dark. He prays that when he wakes up, he'll have snow-white hair and glowing green eyes.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Mr. Flavor #Part 3 #Danny's Pov #Oscar being creepy #The eyes are the doorway to the soul- literally #Danny may or may not come off as crazy #Yes he meet the Waynes ghosts.#He's running around daring things to kill him #Can you guess who the guilty one is?#tw: kidnapping

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rockrosethistle · 11 months ago

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If there's one thing TGWDLM fans are gonna do, it's think about the implications. And the implications of the opening number are crazy.

So. We know that the show isn't completely chronological since the opening number takes place before the meteor hits. So that song is a sort of "flash forward" moment. But when you think about it, we don't really know how far in the future it takes place.

What we do know is that by the time it's happening, Emma is infected. She has a little solo in it singing about how Paul is pining over a barista

And we know that this is meant to be an infected Emma specifically. Lauren had other characters in the show, if they wanted to avoid the Emma implication they would've just dressed her as one of those.

So we know this is meant to be Emma.

And Emma isn't infected until the very end of the show. She's dragged off stage during the credits. So since she's infected in the opening number, we know the number takes place after the events of the show.

Another important detail is that Paul is infected before Emma. He's the one that passes it on to her.

So back to the opening number, Emma is infected. Which means by just following a simple timeline, Paul must also be infected. He should be singing and dancing, right?

But that's not what happens. Paul misses his entrance.

If Paul is infected, then there's no reason he should be missing his entrance. Furthermore, if he's a part of a hive mind, there's no reason other members of the same hive mind shouldn't know where he is. They are literally all connected by one brain, and yet both Mr. Davidson and Bill express they have no clue where he went.

What I'm saying is that Paul is not infected. He was infected (again, we know that because Emma is infected and he was infected before her) but now he's not anymore.

I'm saying there's a way out of the hive, and Paul found it. That's the only explanation that makes sense given the facts of the situation. Sometime after the events of tgwdlm, Paul is able not only to break out the hive mind, but to hide from it.

And if he broke out, others could do the same. Maybe even Emma.

Edit because a countertheory has emerged: Yes it's possible that everyone is infected the entire time and the show itself is just Pokey replaying the events for the fun of it. But it seems unlikely to me. First of all, each of the Lords in Black has a distinct personality. They all are evil, but within that they seems to fall somewhere on a spectrum of "silly billy" to "prick." For example, Tinky is more of a silly billy. He toys with humans without much of a motive and more for just shits and giggles. But in every instance, Pokey's more on the extreme side of prick.

He's one of the few with an actual motive behind what he does. In Yellowjacket, it's confirmed that Pokotho hates the sound of anyone's voice except for his own. The events of TGWDLM don't happen because Pokey is bored, they happen because he is executing a plan. So I don't think that he would just have them play out their little scenario just to entertain him, especially just one small island? I just feel like he'd be more focused on world domination.

If the theory is that all this is happening after Pokey's already taken over the whole world, no one was successful in stopping him, then yes it's plausible, but still weird. There are a strange amount of things in that show you just think an eldritch god wouldn't include.

Edit 2: New evidence has emerged???

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is loosely based off of Invasion of The Body Snatchers. Paul's last name is even a nod to the main character, Matthew. At the end of the film, Matthew survives, and continues living among the infected, pretending to be one of them. And wouldn't that be just such a fun little parallel...

Obviously it doesn't prove anything but the source material doesn't lie folks.

#the implications #starkid #hatchetfield universe #hatchetfield #paul matthews #emma perkins #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #npmd #black friday musical #theory #fan theory #jon matteson #lauren lopez

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harksness · 2 months ago

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A/N: i was so feral over detective harkness i wrote a quick lil smut fic (thanx to the rings anon who gave me an idea for this lol <3)

also I KNOW SHES TECHNICALLY AGNES HERE SHHHH JUST GO WITH IT

Warnings: SMUT, oral, Agatha receiving, hair pulling, degradation and praise. Dom! Agatha as per usual. Sub! Reader as per usual.

WC: 2.1k

Carefully, you push the door to Agatha’s office closed behind you and twist the lock. She doesn’t even notice that you entered, hunched over her desk with papers and files sprawled out beneath her, pen clenched in her left hand as she bends over the mess. Strands of hair had slipped out of her ponytail, hanging along the sides of her face.

Once in a while you’ll surprise her at work like this. She’s been so stressed lately that she hasn’t been sleeping through the night. That's not abnormal for your wife, she is a bit of a workaholic afterall, but sometimes she just needs you to drag her back into reality. And that's been hard to do with your conflicting work schedules and her long days lately.

Slowly, so you don't startle her, you walk over to Agatha’s desk. Her eyes glance up to you but don’t seem to process you right away as the flick back down to her work, before landing back on you again. As the realization finally sinks in, a smile grows on her features.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the way she shoots you a wide grin, legs spreading as she leans back in her office chair to look up at you.

“Hey, even hotter stuff.”

She snorts at your flirting, throwing her pen down onto her desk. It makes you feel a little too smug that it's so easy for her to forget her work when you're around.

“You don’t look in the mirror as much as you should. You’re obviously the hotter stuff.”

She argues lightheartedly as you turn and lean against the desk next to her, the plush of your ass digging into the edge of the tabletop as you smile down at her.

“Well I could say the same thing to you.”

Again, she snorts.

“I’ve barely slept the last few days, my eye bags are huge, my hair is a mess and I’ve got stains all down the front of my frumpy flannel. I’m not hot right now.”

Agatha's eyes are tired and her words make your heart ache in your chest. She's always the most beautiful thing in the world, the details don't matter. She's just always stunning.

You lean in towards her and take her face in your hands, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans into your touch.

“You’re always hot, baby.. It doesn’t matter the circumstances.”

You coo at her, a little laugh escaping her lips as you lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. You decide to speak up before she can continue arguing you, knowing her stubbornness wouldn't let this go unless you changed the subject.

“You look stressed, my love..”

Agatha groans at your words, frustrated.

“There’s just a lot going on right now.. Yknow?”

You nod your head in understanding. When you married her, you knew this is what you were signing up for. She’s obsessed with her job, gone for long periods of time and unable to take her mind off of her work. And that dedication is something you love about her regardless. You’re okay with being her anchor, tethering her and bringing her back to reality. She always floats back to you when you pull her back down to Earth, and that’s all you could ever ask for.

You’ll happily keep doing this for the rest of your life.

Leaning down, you press your lips against her cheek in a lingering kiss, lips ghosting against her skin as you speak.

“Why don’t you let me help you take your mind off of things for a bit..”

You whisper against her soft skin, and she lets out an amused noise as you continue to kiss her, your lips moving to trace along her jawline as you guide her head to tilt to the side.

“Baby… Fuck.. We can’t-”

As she says that her hands are reaching for you, grabbing you and pulling you closer. You smile against her skin.

“Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you really want me to..”

She doesn't answer, torn between doing what she wants and the responsible thing.

You pull back, admiring her beautiful, tired features for a moment. She looks up at you with love pooling in her eyes as you trace your thumb affectionately along her cheek, under the deep purple bags creasing under her pretty bright eyes before placing a lingering kiss on her lips.

Then, you quickly glance behind you at the door you locked on the way in, ensuring it’s still secure before you drop to your knees in front of her, right below her desk and between her spread legs. The firm carpet is rough on your knees but you don't care, the woman before you is more important. She groans and lets out a louder curse at the sight of you before her.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this..”

She breathes the words out and you smile up at her, leaning forward and running your hands up her clothed thighs.

“Then let me make your fantasy come true, baby.. Please?”

You beg sweetly, batting your eyelashes up at her. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes flickering greedily over you as she contemplates what to do.

“Fuck, you’re worth getting fired over.”

You’re grinning ear to ear as you lean forward, running your hands from her knees all the way up her thighs and to the waist of her pants. She watches you with eager eyes, greedy smile etched into her pretty pink lips as she raises her hips off the chair.

Quickly, your hands scramble to undo her pants before grabbing the hem and pulling them down and off her legs, underwear and all, leaving her bare for you as more and more of her soft, pale skin is exposed.

She laughs softly at your eagerness, raising a hand to card sweetly through your locks.

“You begged for this, sweet girl.. Now, you better do a good job if you’re willing to risk my career over it.”

She teases and you lean in, holding her gaze as you press a lingering, open mouth kiss to the inside of her knee. You’re a bit insulted by her words.

“I would never leave you unsatisfied..”

You mumble against her plush skin, taking your time as you softly, firmly press your open mouth against her thigh over and over again as you trail kisses further up her legs.

Here and there you bite softly, dragging your teeth across the sensitive flesh. You feel yourself turning into putty beneath her at every soft gasp that slips past her lips, one of her hands mindlessly toying with your hair.

You start to repeat the actions on her other thigh, wanting to lavish her with sweet kisses and worship her when she lets out a frustrated sigh. Agatha winds her fingers into your hair, slumping down even further and spreading her legs wider as she pushes your mouth against her waiting cunt. You groan, immediately parting your lips as you breathe her in eagerly.

“No teasing, sweetheart… You’re gonna be a good girl and give me exactly what I want, aren’t you?”

She coos down at you, soothingly rubbing her fingers against your scalp. Immediately you let out a needy noise against her and nod your head, desperate to please.

“Good fuckin girl.”

Her voice is low as you drag your tongue through her wet folds. She lets out a controlled, quiet noise, only loud enough for you to hear as you lick up her sweetness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the taste of her heavy on your tongue.

You begin toying with her clit, first using your tongue to ghost over it in experimental patterns as you try to wind her up. Her chair creaks as she shifts a bit, hand tightening in your hair.

You can’t get enough of the taste of her. Heavy and metallic and so good, you don't think it could ever be enough. You’d live between her thighs, eating and surviving off of nothing but her pussy for the rest of your life if you could. You make out to kiss the little bud, puckering your lips as you drag them over it before opening your mouth and sucking it between your lips.

She groans at that, throwing her head back against the back of her seat as you flick your tongue along her clit in quick passes, groaning against her wet cunt as you do. You feel her arousal soaking your lips, and you want to lick up every sweet drop.

“Fuck, baby..”

Agatha curses, heavy breaths dropping from her lips as she looks down at you with lidded eyes. You look back up at her, squirming desperately from your place between her legs.

“You’re such a slut, just for me, hm? So desperate for me to fuck your mouth that you had to crawl under my desk and beg for it, hm?”

Agatha's voice is breathy and erratic as she rests one arm against her chair, canting her hips up against your waiting mouth, her hand buried in your hair and forcing you down and against her with each thrust. You groan against her cunt, breathing heavily as she grinds herself against your tongue.

You just hold your tongue out for her, letting her guide you however she needs as she fucks herself against your mouth.

“Say it, say you’re my slut with your mouth full of my pussy..”

You groan at her words, nails biting into her calves as you gargle out the words that are muffled by her cunt. She laughs softly, dropping her hips back down onto the chair for a moment and pulling your head back. You heave for air, a stupid smile on your lips as you feel her wetness soaking your lips and chin.

“Say it again.”

Agatha demands, a sadistic grin on her features as she sharply pulls your head back by the fistfull of your hair. You can’t control the moan that bursts past your lips as the delicious sting settles across your scalp.

“I’m your slut, Agatha.. Just yours.. I belong to you..”

You manage to heave the words between breaths and she grins down at you with a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Good girl. Now, get back to work, slut..”

She demands, leaning back into her chair once again and you’re eagerly diving back between her soft thighs, warm and dewey with a thin layer of sweat. Her moans are more frequent now, soft and quiet and deep as they escape her lips. You suck her clit between your teeth gently, flicking your tongue over the nub as quickly as you can.

“Ooooh.. Yes..”

Agatha breathes out, jolting a bit as she raises her hips off of her seat, pressing your needy mouth harder against her wet cunt as she begins to rut against your tongue desperately. You moan into her, meeting each thrust, making sure each movement of your tongue on her clit is calculated and precise.

She gasps sharply, freezing and desperately smushing your face harder against her. You know she’s close, and with that you harshly suck on her clit, hands desperately pawing at her soft thighs as they squeeze around your head, her mouth hung open in a silent moan as she curls in on you, curses dropping from her lips.

Your whole world stops and she’s the only thing that exists as she seizes up, sharp gasps escaping her lips as her eyes pinch shut, body tensing all around you as she cums against your waiting mouth. You watch her with wide eyes, drinking in every little reaction.

A strand of her lovely brown hair sticks to the side of her face, her long, pale neck exposed. You just want to pepper kisses along every inch of her skin. The way her fingers are tightly gripping your hair burns your scalp, but you revel in the sting because it’s just an expression of her pleasure as she cums for you.

With one last relieved gasp her grip on your head loosens and she collapses into her chair, the wheels clanking as she throws her weight back down onto it. She starts breathily laughing, raising one hand to push her stray hairs behind her ears while she rubs soothing circles against your scalp with the other.

“Ahh.. You’re right.. You never leave me unsatisfied. You’re so good for me, sweet girl..”

She coos, smiling lazily down at you before she leans forward, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You hum happily, a lovesick grin on your lips.

“I’m always happy to be good for you.."

You smile up at her, resting a cheek on her soft, warm thigh. But the sweet moment is short lived, because your features drop and panic sets in when a firm knocking sounds from her office door.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness/reader #agatha harkness reader insert #agatha harkness #agatha all along #kathryn hahn #harksness #wlw fanfiction #smut #wlw smut

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caelivir · 10 months ago

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hidden lights | rayne ames

— synopsis. reading rayne ames is impossible. that's why you don't get why he offers to take you out on a date after you've been stood up again.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. modern au, you and rayne are roommates, fluff, you’re so oblivious it hurts, rayne's most likely ooc towards the end but we do it for plot,

— warnings. one kys thrown in at the end but it’s not in a serious manner

— word count. 3.2k

— notes. in honor of triple liner rayne being animated. i have quite literally been waiting to see it animated for years. also hi.

you can never tell what rayne ames is thinking. he wears the same cold, uninterested glare on his face at all times of the day. he never speaks unless spoken to, never lets you know when he leaves the apartment, never does anything to show that he actually has emotions.

you're asked on the daily how you survive rooming with him, and in all honesty, it's really not that bad. he does his half of the chores, and he doesn't leave his shit all over the apartment. really, the guy's only problem is his lack of emotion. it drives you up the wall.

finn says not to take it to personally during the one day he visited his brother. apparently, he's like that with everyone, but he's still a good guy. it just takes time.

you would like to believe that, but rayne makes that extremely difficult to believe when he looks like he wants to kill every person who so happens to exist in his direction.

so naturally, seeing him so angered after finding out that you've been stood up is surprising. it's an even bigger shock when he offers to take you out on a date instead.

you don't know what compels you to agree. even if you hadn't accepted his offer, something tells you that rayne would've found a way to get you to leave with him so there's no use in trying to deny him in this matter.

that's why you allow him to drive all the way to marchétte street, where a night market is being held in full swing. the road has all sorts of stalls lined up one after the other, ranging from foods to clothes. but because the marchétte night market is ridiculously popular, the place is packed to the brim with people.

rayne offers his hand once he notices that you're daunted by the crowds. you stare at him with surprise. when you don't make a move to accept this action, rayne huffs before grabbing your hand. he interlocks his fingers with yours and drags you into marchétte street's traffic.

the first thing you note is that rayne's hands are surprisingly warm and soft. for someone so incapable of talking, his touch is strangely reassuring.

he drags you to a vendor selling takoyaki. and even as he orders, rayne doesn’t let go of your hand.

“what do you want?” he says into your ear so that he doesn’t have to yell over all the noise. the feeling of his breath fanning over your skin sends shivers down your spin. it's maddening.

“oh. uh-” your eyes quickly scan over the menu, and you blurt out the first item that you read. out of habit you reach for your wallet, but rayne is quick to shut you down.

“absolutely not.” he grumbles, letting your hand drop to your side so he can pull out his cash. rayne hands the amount to the girl at the register, and she hands back his change that he drops into the tip jar.

“thanks.” you say quietly, still so flustered about the entire situation.

rayne only studies you before humming in acknowledgement. “come on.” he guides his hand to your upper back, moving you out the way so you can wait on the side for your orders.

it’s during this time you really look at rayne as if that would provide you with the answers you need to understand him. you try to wrap your head around it. you draft up every possible explanation, but none of them seem to make sense.

unless… it couldn’t be… does rayne like you? you shake your head, dismissing the thought as soon as it crosses your mind. no, that’s absurd, the furthest thing from logical. this is rayne ames we’re talking about. in the five months that you’ve been living together, you two have never had a solid conversation. how could he ever like someone he’s barely talked to?

you're about to confront rayne about his intentions until your number order is called, and all the courage you built up crumbles away as rayne leaves you to go pick up your takoyaki.

still, whatever his reasons for doing this may be, this is a rare opportunity to come by, and that means that maybe rayne doesn't have to continue being a stranger. maybe you can get under those layers and find that good guy finn said was there.

"i never knew marchétte had a night market." you say, breaking the silence as the two of you walk side by side through the market.

"i didn't either." rayne admits, poking his fork into one of the octopus balls, and shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

"what?" your face scrunches in disbelief. "then how'd you find out?"

"i asked finn as we were going down to the garage." your date shares nonchalantly.

you turn to look at rayne with the intent of questioning him further, but the sight of his cheeks bulging with food makes you burst out in a fit of giggles.

"what?" rayne asks, narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip to contain your laughter. your gaze falls on a mixture of crumbs and sauce that sits on the corner of his mouth, only causing you to smile wider.

"you got a little something there." you gesture at his lips. rayne fumbles for a moment, swiping his fingers around various sections of his mouth, somehow only cleaning half of the mess up.

you shake your head, still grinning up at him. he tenses when your thumb grazes the edges of his lips. you can feel his eyes staring deep into you, and you have to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

"all done." you whisper, wiping the remainders on the napkin in your hand.

rayne doesn't say anything regarding what occurred, only urging you to follow him further down marchétte street.

you swear that you see the tips of his ears go red, and something about that makes you all fuzzy inside.

as the night progresses, you and rayne abide your time by visiting stalls. well, it's more like you choose which ones interest you the most, and rayne follows behind. you comment on certain items that look nice; sometimes, you ask for your roommate's opinions to decide on whether something will be worth your money or not. to your surprise, rayne's advice is solid, and you end up listening to him.

at some point, you convinced him to buy a pair of absurdly looking mugs for the apartment. he fought you hard on it, saying that a mug shaped like a fish is extremely inconvenient, but in the end, you won with insistent begging.

when the two of you both got bored of the market, you decide to take rayne to one of your favorite spots in the city.

"the park? really?" rayne gives you a dead stare.

"hey, don't judge." you pout. "i love this place."

"why? no offense, but i don't think parks are all that special."

"i feel like i can take a step back here and just a catch a break from everything," you answer honestly. "sometimes, i sit down and watch people as they live their lives, and something about that is strangely comforting. it makes me want to keep going."

rayne doesn't follow up on your words, but you can tell that he's really considering them, and that brings a smile onto your face.

"plus, i feel like it's a good place for when you want to talk to someone." you grab onto your roommate's wrist. "come on let's go to the swings."

you practically drag rayne to the playground, which is completely deserted, but that's to be expected when it's already 10p.m. no parent would be dumb enough to bring their kid out this late.

you force rayne onto the the swing next to you, and all he does is sit there, unwilling to indulge himself in such a simple joy. annoyed with him, you hop off your own set, coming behind him.

"what are you doing?" rayne whips his head around as your hands plant themselves firmly on his back.

"oh live a little." you huff, mustering up enough strength to push him. the swing rocks forwards and comes back. even as rayne complains and threatens you, you continue to push him, watching as he goes higher and higher. he may be masking it, but you can tell that he's enjoying it.

you finally give up when your arms grow sore and a layer of sweat coats your face. slumping back into the swing beside rayne, you breathe heavily. "man, that was a workout."

"i told you to stop." your date reminds you, shooting you a look.

"you can be honest, rayne. i know you liked it."

"i did not."

"yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that." you wave him off, laughing.

for a minute, neither of you say anything. you're the one who said that the park is a place where you can talk openly with someone, yet there's not a single topic that you can think to bring up.

luckily, rayne swoops in to save it. "can i ask you something?" your half-blonde roommate asks, something more serious laced in his voice. it makes you swallow a lump in your throat. an anxious feeling creeps into your body.

"of course you can."

"why did you bother giving that guy a chance?"

it's easy to know exactly who he's referring to. you shrug. "he's nice and has good energy."

"but he had stood you up two times in the past though. clearly he isn't as nice as you make him out to be. you seriously can't be that dumb to have fallen for it three times."

that statement in itself should get you mad (even though he would be right), but there's something peculiar in what he said that had you ignoring the jab altogether. "how'd you know he stood me up twice before? i never told you that."

at that, rayne freezes, eyes blowing wide open. it's so obvious that he's trying to find an excuse right now, but you push further.

"who told you that, rayne?" you lean closer, watching as his ears turn beet red. you're not even angry with him. it's mostly curiosity making you push him. not to mention that seeing him in a flustered state is entertaining and quite cute.

"max did." your roommate finally admits albeit quietly.

you pull your head back. "max? as in max land? how the hell does he know?"

"your dates happened to be at the restaurant he works at."

"why would he bother telling you that though?" you wonder. "up until tonight, i don't think it concerned you."

"it did though." the half-blonde mumbles, thinking you wouldn't hear, but you do anyway.

"what?" you press.

"forget it." rayne shakes his head, growing irritated.

"no. fuck that.." you seethe, annoyed at his unwillingness to be honest with you. rayne bites his tongue to hold back. you see it. "don't act like this. just tell me, or i swear to god i'll text max right now-"

"it's because i knew that i could treat you better." the words rush out of rayne's mouth as he snaps his head toward you. the fire in his eyes die as he locks his gaze onto you. the harsh emotion written across his features softens. you can feel your own exasperation slipping away like that of a retreating ocean tide. he grimaces in regret, knowing that he didn't mean to let that slip out, but he did anyway. it's out in the open, and now you knew.

surely, you're hearing things wrong. perhaps you're misunderstanding what he just said. how could that be misinterpreted though? it's such a painfully straightforward statement, yet it still doesn't make any sense.

rayne sighs. it's like he can already hear your thoughts and your confusion. the least he can do is clear the air and dump everything onto you while he can. "i didn't expect to feel like this," he begins to explain. "when i moved in, i just assumed you'd be another person i wouldn't pay attention to. i'm sure you know how i am. i don't bother getting to know people, but a lot of people feel the need to force themselves into my life, and shit like that pisses me off. but you didn't do that. you introduced yourself, explained the ground rules of the apartment, and then left me alone."

"so... you like the fact that i leave you alone?" you tilt your head.

"shut up. let me finish."

"okay."

"but yeah, that's part of it. you keep your distance, but you still try to show that you care. you don't do anything groundbreaking. it's just that the small things you do for me got to me. it may sound dumb to you, but it meant a lot to me."

suddenly, you're hit like a train because you know exactly what rayne means. you recall all the times you ensured that there was dinner for him, the times you moved his laundry into the dryer when he forgot to do it himself, and the times you restocked his favorite snacks when they ran out. you hadn't realized that you did any of that. it just came naturally, no hidden meaning behind it.

"oh." you breathe out, blinking.

rayne nods, continuing. you're honestly floored over the fact that he still has more to say. "you don't notice it. at least, i don't think you do, but at some point, i tried doing the same for you. i started paying more attention to you and what you liked and how you liked things done. i did it mostly to pay back your kindness, but over time i continued just 'cause i liked seeing your smile."

you have to process that for a minute, piecing together how certain events lined up until it finally clicks into place. "s-so the island vase-"

"i replace the flowers because you like them fresh."

"the key holder?"

"you always forgot to bring your keys until i installed it."

"when you put on movies-"

"i check your letterboxd and hope that you'll sit and watch them with me."

"when i put on movies-"

"i sit with you because i want to be near you."

your jaw falls open. never in a million years could you have expected this. you thought that rayne could care less about your existence, but the reality was that that was far from the truth. cold, aloof rayne was always doing things for you. all this time, you've been so oblivious.

still, there's more to the story so you stay quiet, letting him get his feelings off of his chest. "to be honest, i was never going to say anything. max tried convincing me to confess on multiple occasions, but i was dead set on letting it pass. i didn't think you liked me in the same way anyway.

"but then you came home today and you told me about your date and i just got so... angry," rayne clenches his fist around the chains of the swing. the whole situation infuriates him every time he thinks about it. "it just wasn't fair. you spent so much time into looking your best just for that asshole to go and waste your effort. you're so beautiful, so kind and understanding, and i fucking hate the fact that he's been taking advantage of that.

"i really wasn't thinking clear when i proposed this date to you, but god after tonight, i'd do it all over again. i wanted you to know what it's like to be with someone who does care about you. i wanted to see you smile. i wanted to hear stories. i want you so badly it's all i can think about sometimes.

"i know this is a lot, and i'm freaking you out right now. i'm sorry but you-"

"rayne." you interrupt with a big smile on your face. he was unaware to the fact that you had got up.

"for fucks sake, can you let me finish? this is already weird enough for me to talk about as is." he rolls his eyes, narrowing his gaze at you, blush splashed across his cheeks. still, without any resistance, you pull him up from his swing by his wrists.

"then don't." you whisper as you pull him in.

and the moment you crash your lips onto rayne's, the world stops. he instantly melts into you, the palms of his hands finding the soft skin on your cheeks. your hands tangle themselves into his hair. his lips are incredibly soft. a faint taste of matcha and sugar syrup dances on his tongue from the boba he drank earlier. a noise of approval vibrates down his throat, and you can't help but smile against his lips.

rayne wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss. you get what he was talking about earlier. this kiss is all it takes to prove it to you. you feel his affection and desire all at once. every single bone in your body is so aware of how much rayne ames cares about you.

when you finally pull away for air, it's like a smile is permanently tugged onto your lips. rayne trains his eyes onto you, engraining every detail of this moment into his head.

a comfortable silence falls as each of you take your time to catch your breaths. your stare finds its way up, admiring the night sky. there are barely any stars out tonight. no, that part isn't remotely true, not fully anyway, because light pollution drowns out stars and their lights. the reality is that there are billions of stars hanging high out of reach; they just go unseen.

rayne is kinda like that you realize. finn was right. his brother is a good guy. there's a hidden light within him behind all those aloof layers of his. you just have to squint and maybe put on some prescription glasses is order to see it. it's a shame it took you five months to to really acknowledge it. but now that you've finally found a glimpse of it, you'll continue to clear past the fog. you want to know every part of rayne and see his light just as he did with you. you want him to be able to shine at his full brightness with no fear. you'll take rayne ames for all that he is.

"come on," you coo, a lovestruck look in your eyes as you slip your hand into rayne's. "let's go home."

bonus:

rayne: finn, give me a date spot quick finn: are you actually going on a date? rayne: stop asking questions finn: there's a night market on marchétte street. finn: are you seriously going on a date though? finn: hello? finn: rayne. finn: stop leaving me on read. finn: is it (y/n)? finn: it is her, huh? finn: asshole.

delisaster: hey sorry delisaster: can we reschedule for next saturday? y/n: kys y/n: lol sorry that was my bf delisaster: bruh what? delisaster: did you have a bf this whole time? *this message could not be sent* delisaster: did you fucking block me? *this message could not be sent*

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne x reader #rayne ames x reader #° ᡣ𐭩 set i: fics

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amara-scott · 10 months ago

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Imagine Mattheo and Theodore fighting over you constantly.

P.1

Reader x Mattheo Riddle / Reader x Theodore Nott

"The picknick was a good idea, I have to admit." I say, dropping another grape into my mouth, a full mouth turned into a smile. I sneak another one out of the basket Theo is carrying.

I glance over at Theo and he nods, grinning. He winks. "I know, Carina. I always have the best ideas, you should know that by now." I roll my eyes in amusement at his cocky statement.

As if on cue, I see a brown mop of curls rounding the corner, making me sigh. Great. Just great.

"Hey, what a surprise." Mattheo says, not seeming too happy as his eyes land on Theodore beside me. Mattheo shuffles something inside his jacket, flashing white, which I only catch a glimpse of. But I can't even question what it was before these two begin staring each other down.

An undeniably painful pause is the only thing holding me back from just turning around to run away. It's scaring me to even move a muscle. If these two don't sort out whatever is bugging them, I won't hesitate and avoid them both. I really did try to help them befriend each other once more. Their inner rivalry didn't get unnoticed by the rest of our friend group either. What has gotten into them these past few weeks?

"(Y/N), let's get going." Theo's free hand wraps around my wrist, not even glancing at me once while talking. He turns and tries to pull me with him, but not before Mattheo steps up, pushing Theo.

I stumble with him, still being in the grasp of Theo's strong hand. He let go and I take a step back.

"Excuse me?!" I get out before straightening up, rearranging my cloak. My glare hits Mattheo, but he is fixed on the boy in front of him as they now nearly graze noses. If I didn't know these two, I'd say one of them would be a Gryffindor. That would make sense at least. This is worse than Draco and Harry.

"Where do you think you're taking her, huh?" He grits out, and I can't say a word, too stunned I am being dragged into this ongoing fight now.

"Stop it, both of you!" I yell, but neither of them are backing down, making it really hard not to just ask a Professor to break them off. I glance around, only a few students hushing past, not daring to spare a look.

"We are going somewhere that is none of your concern, Riddle."

"Yeah? I don't think so, Nott."

"Why don't you fuck off and shag one of your whores, mind your own damn business!"

I had never seen either of them so worked up, which certainly was scary to look at. I try once more, "boys, come on, this is ridiculous." I gulp as they still don't look at me. My heart starts racing, and I try to find a way out that won't result in broken noses or wands at each other throats. What is going on with these two?!

"Come on, (Y/N)." Theo says again, making me debate what I should do. Pick a side? I don't want to be the reason one is more mad or disappointed by what I do.

"No." I mumble, feeling my eyes sting as I blink. I gulp once more, Theo's eyes finding my form a few feet behind Mattheo. His face relaxes as he looks at me.

"See? She doesn't want you, Nott." I can only make out the corner of Mattheo's lips as they curl up into a grin. Which doesn't help my situation.

"I'm not picking a side here, Matt, you are both acting extremely childish over – over, who knows what!" I turn and storm off, ignoring Matt and Theo yelling my name.

These idiots took it too far now. I won't speak a word – won't spare them another glance. Ugh, boys!

___

"-and he pushed Theo! Like a little kid! What is going on with these two?" I sat across from Pansy, piercing my fork into my piece of chocolate cake over and over again until it went mushy and the appetite left me. I sigh, my fork dropping onto the table, and I bury my face into my hands.

"You know them. They will get over it. Theo probably stole Matt's last fudge fly. They're boys, just like you said." She mumbles and keeps chewing on her dessert, eyes scanning the next page of her Witch Weekly magazine.

"I hope you're right." I mutter under my breath.

"Hey you two-" Draco joins us at the table, sitting down next to Pansy, Enzo settles beside me, I send him a brief smile.

"What's pestering you, (Y/N)? Or should I ask – who's pestering you?" He snickers and earns a stare from Pansy, making him shut up.

"Wait – do you know something, Draco?" I ask him and squint my eyes at him. He obviously does, as he stutters for a word, shaking his head. His cheeks slightly pink.

"Enzo, what is going on? Where are the others?" I turn to him, he sighs but shakes his head, sending me a small and sorry smile.

"I promised not to tell anyone. Especially not you, love." I grow irritated with the lot and push myself up, sending another glare at Draco, he would be easier to break. I take out my wand, holding it by my side and start boring holes into his head. He tries to avoid my deathly stare. But then he makes the mistake of connecting his eyes with mine.

"If you won't tell me right now where they are, I will personally make sure to have you grow a second nose every day, for the rest of the year – you will smell things you wish you didn't –"

"– come on, (Y/N), we promised –"

"– In the library, in the far back corner on the second level –" Draco squeaks, making Enzo glare at him in shock.

"We promised, Draco!"

"I don't care, I know she'll do it. I don't want a nose on my bum one morning! She knows how to get into our dorm." Draco snarls and glares at the table as I hurry off. Pansy only smirking and eating her second dessert in peace.

"Go get them!" She calls out without looking up and I wave her off, pushing past a few people on my way. My heart is racing and I don't know if I want to even meet these idiots. I promised myself to ignore them. Well that didn't take long for me to break.

I round the corner and walk into the library. My racing thoughts made this quiet place unbearable as I heard every damn thought of mine. But just as I take the last couple steps on the stairwell, I am met with hushed shouting.

"– how about you're both idiots? I really am hungry and if you two make me miss dinner, you won't sleep another night –" I hear Blaise taunting. I glance between a few books on the shelf, making out three heads. There they are. Blaise sits by the window, I could see his face clear as day. Theo sat sideways, eyes turned to the table in between them both. Mattheo on the other hand stands, pacing back and forth. He stops, just as my breath.

"Theo simply has to admit that he went behind my back. He took away the only thing that really mattered –"

"The only thing that mattered? The only thing that mattered to you was to simply get laid! Like always – just pick a different girl!" Theo stands up too now, Mattheo stepping up to his figure.

Blaise suddenly steps between them, hands on either chest and looks back and forth. "Hey, boys, you truly think we haven't had these lines already tonight? You're both ridiculous."

So this is about a girl? Is this about –

"Well, (Y/N) would never pick someone like you."

Shit.

"Like me? You're one to talk, Nott – stealing her from me, right after I told you I liked her. I trusted you, you are supposed to be my fucking best mate!" Their hushed voices are not so hushed anymore and I glance down to Miss Pince's desk. She narrows her eyes, scanning the upper level.

Blaise is struggling to hold Mattheo back now, Theo's lips curling into a smirk. I lean closer, my eyes still wide. How do they both like – me? Is this a stupid prank?

WHACK!

I was obviously leaning onto the shelf a bit too much as a book fell to the ground. Their heads turn to me and I could now clearly see all of them through the opening. I give them a weak smile and wave. "Hey –"

"(Y/N)?" Theo asks, stepping forward, around the shelf. I meet him half way, Mattheo’s eyes as hard as stone. My mouth feels dry while I try to think of what to say. I shrug and try to smile. My eyes land on Blaise who seems relieved, sighing as he walks up to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder, glancing between Theo and Matt.

“Maybe you’re the best to talk to them right now.” He pats my shoulder and turns to leave, I turn my head, wanting to tell him to stay, my heart racing. Blaise stops, glancing back at me. “Good luck.” He smirks and skips down the staircase. I really don’t want to turn back around so I take my time, gulping as I focus on both their shoe pairs instead of any eyes. Theo steps up slowly. “Carina, what did you hear?” My eyes shoot up at his question and Matt huffs, falling back into a cushioned arm chair.

“Obviously she heard it all. Otherwise she would be smacking our heads by now.” He mumbles at the end, his head held high as he’s glaring down at his knees, his hands squeezing the soft armrests. His sharp jaw clenching every now and then.

“I- I really-“ I take a deep breath shaking my head. “- don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Theo sends me a small encouraging smile. Matt’s head rolls back as he groans out.

“Oh please, stop that stupid emphasizing scheme!” Matt stands back up and joins us, glaring at Theo in disgust. Theo just rolls his eyes, turning to him.

“Just because you’re cold-hearted and only care about yourself doesn’t mean everyone has to-“

“-oh I only care about myself? You’re one to talk, fucking backstabber-“

“-Me? You are-“

“Hey!” I yell out, them both turning to me as they are once again almost choking each other. I ignore a few shushes thrown our way. Mattheo’s eyes soften as I look directly at him. His lips part and in his eyes I see that he’s struggling to hold back from saying what’s on his mind. “Matt-“ I get out, holding back my own emotional rollercoaster.

“I- I can’t-“ He stammers, rushing past me and running down the stairs, leaving. I walk up to the railing, my hands closing around the cold wood while I am looking after him.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” My head snaps around, Theo’s sad eyes glossy. He looks down, stepping closer and stops a foot from me. His eyes wandering back up, like he’s taking one last good look at me. Taking me in.

“It’s always been him.” He continues.

———

For part two choose your ending:

Mattheo

Theodore

Third ending?... (coming soon)

#imagine #imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #slytherin #slytherin boys

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suguru-getos · 3 months ago

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Fates - SatoSugu x F!Reader (Part I)

Summary: Y/N is Gojo Satoru's beloved wife, or maybe, not so beloved if we consider the rage festering in the form of abuse. Suguru however, has a connection to her too, and it's time he gets to his girl. Warnings: Satoru is a Yandere, he is psychotic, abusive, and bad. Mentions of slight depression, scared reader. Please let me know if I missed anything. A/N: Queen Goddess Ena cooked with this, I was so bored at work I just came up with this, this story will only have two parts I don't want to drag it much :33

Pupils glazed, it has almost become a signature look in the Satoru household. Her pupils look red, eyes puffy, and she's a mixture of mingled sniffles and broken cries. Satoru thinks, she cries a lot. What even is the need for it? It's not like he is harming her, he hasn't shown her half of what he is capable of. Yet, the way she cowers and flinches against him… makes his stomach churn uncomfortably.

"I brought your favourite." His voice echoed, a signal for her to stir awake instantly. Meek, hurried footsteps are heard a few seconds later as she drags herself to the dining area. Dressed eloquently, satin, lavender satin clothes and her beautiful cleavage on sight. It reminds Satoru that she is small, fragile, powerless. Sometimes when her actions become inexcusable, that reminder is needed. How else would someone like Gojo Satoru contain his strength otherwise?

"Wow, you look beautiful." His glossy lips parted, the compliment oozing out with a mixture of conflicted emotions. His eyes well hidden under the mask. "Thank you" She answered without thinking, it's only possible through months of practise after all.

"You're welcome, my Princess." Satoru croons, holding her bruised wrist and helping her sit. The hold is nice, kind and passionate. Unlike the time when it bruised, unlike the time when she wouldn't listen and deny eating. Some lessons are learnt the hard way, you can't help but feel guilty about it later on. For Satoru, it's one of those days where he is feeling upset over his actions. When that emotion trembles his psyche, his affections know no bounds. Why else is the dining table saturated with everything her silly, little heart could possibly desire. Yet, there is one thing missing. Her appetite.

She settles down the dining table, eyes glancing at the larger man who sat next to her, "All your favourites, now be a good girl and finish it up." He grins, it's okay, he can smile for the both of them on days when she can't. He can be positive for the both of them when she can't. What else are relationships for?

"You know I can't finish it up alone." She sounds scared, voice containing slight tones of malice. That doesn’t faze Satoru, he knows that it will happen. His Dearest, Sweetest little girl can be angry at him. She is allowed to be angry at him, he belongs to her anyway, just as much as she belongs to him. However, the fact that her eyes are filled with tears and her soft, smooth voice is breaking when she says it is what punches him in the gut.

"Well, you know, no punishments when you can't finish the food. Bonus points for trying!" Satoru tries to sound excessively excited again, a desperate attempt to mute the bubbling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay" She hums, taking a bite of one of the pastries placed in front of her, humming in her approval. They seem tasty, yummy.

"I- uh," Satoru's voice is quick to distract her though, "I'm sorry for being a bad husband." Satoru answers, "It wouldn't happen again." There he goes, she has lost count to how many times Satoru has said these words. That he wouldn't do it again, that it wouldn't happen again. She doesn't believe him anymore, a bored nod is all he gets as a response.

Satoru's lips are pursed in guilt, "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that." He echoes again, that's true, he shouldn't have.

He shouldn't have sprained her wrist, he shouldn't have yanked her to the floor and yelled at her, he shouldn't have watched when her shoulder collides against the lamp and he shouldn't have watched her hiss in pain when she falls on the broken shards of glass. He shouldn't have done that because she didn't agree to have a baby. He shouldn't have…

"If it’s any consolation, I will not be botherin' you to ask you for a child again. Just thought you'd love me more with it." Satoru's voice drops into an ashamed murmur, admitting that all he wants at the end of the day is her love, it's freeing in a way. It's like confessing your sins at a church and just letting the almighty handle it.

It's just… her expression. She seems so out of it, so numb, broken… that he doesn't understand what to do, or say.

"Look, I'm running out of options here Sweetheart." Satoru's larger hand placed atop hers. The weak flinch not gone unnoticed, "How can I make it up to you?" He asked again, gnawing at his lip. "I'll do whatever you ask me to, I promise."

No he won't. If he would have actually done whatever she asked of him, they would have been divorced long, long ago. Satoru is good with words, his words almost seem healing, but that's all they are. Mere Fucking Words.

Before she could say anything, Satoru's phone vibrates. The only thing she is thankful for, is Satoru's impossible schedule. Being the strongest sorcerer ever has it's perks for her. She gets to rot in the Gojo estate alone. Much better than the company of her cruel, narcissistic husband.

Satoru gets up, taking the call and walking away to the hall-way. She can hear him trying to deny this mission, but reluctantly accepting it. A sigh escapes him when he comes back to the dining room, kneeling in front of her.

"Hey, Princess…" His hand reached to her cheek, caressing the cut that's still healing. "I have to go for a mission, you could even go outside if you like!" He smiled, giving her the bait to ensure at least momentarily happiness. What can she even do when she goes outside? Nothing. Satoru has his clutches deep within her family, her parents love him. He is sponsoring her brother's education, he takes control of everything. He has taken an active participation in her father's business. Nothing can be done now, the last time she mentioned divorce Satoru went livid. She doesn't think she can handle that ever again.

Another rehearsed nod happens, as she watches The Strongest leave her be.

Once his presence is gone, her heart bursts open to wails of agony, breathless sniffling and scream crying. What did she ever do to anyone! Why is she facing this! Her hopeless sobs echoed the premises, all she could hear was her own voice, broken, sobbing like a child. Until even that stopped, until silence enveloped her and exhaustion blanketed her into slumber.

The next morning, she is awake, realizing she passed out on the dining table. Her back hurts at the weird position she slept in, an aching groan escaping her lips. Satoru's texts on her phone wishing a good morning. Life is back to being hell. She responds to his texts with a sigh, dragging her boulted feet for a shower. Contemplating, thinking if there is any escape at all which can be possible. None, nothing comes to her mind. Absolutely nothing.

Drying herself up, applying ointments and bandages to the wounds caused by her husband, she gets ready to go outside, the mall seems nice. Satoru is out of Japan for a few days, perfect opportunity to gather herself back again, after all, Satoru needs something to break, right?

The commute goes by in a haze, thoughts on thoughts piled up, overwhelming like auditorium chatter of an audience.

"Uhm, excuse me, I really liked this one." One of the girls next to her spoke, whiskey-kin hair, a few years younger. It was an only designer in the Chanel store which was left. "Uh- okay." She hums, leaning away. Well, that was too easy? The girl beamed with happiness. "Oh wow! Thank you so much miss!"

Y/N had learnt how to respond with smiles that avoid any questions, and that's exactly what she did. Smiled back at the girl.

"My name is Nanako, I am here for shopping because my birthday is coming up soon. You are here for shopping too, and from the bruise on your jaw and neck, it seems your husband says sorry with new things." She was taken aback at the boldness, blinking.

"N-no, it was just- an accident." "You don't have to pretend in front of me, I don't think your husband is around anyway." Nanako winked, smiling back. "You're really beautiful, pretty sure my dad would have treated you way better. Leave the bastard, dump him!" She continued, following a very confused Y/N out the store. What was the deal with this girl even? "Your dad would be almost my dad's age." "Adoptive! He is a few years older than you I think." Nanako hums again, "Coffee? I like you because you gave me my favourite dress!" "I don't think that-" "Please!" "Uhm, okay." Y/N speaks, giving up and following up.

They settle in one of the coffee shops in the mall, settling in. The waiter comes in and asks for their order, "Iced Mocha, please." Y/N hums, and Nanako orders a Frappucino for herself.

"Nanako, who have you bothered now." A silky voice echoed from behind, her eyes lingered to the man in front of them, black hair touching his back, eyes responsive and appealing, his cologne was strong, musky and spicy, a close-eyed smile plastered on his features. "Geto sama!" Nanako chirps happily, "Please come sit next to us." She urged the man, who scanned Y/N and Nanako.

"Hello, my name is Geto Suguru." The man coos, watching her look submissive and even scared. She continuously reminded herself that Satoru is not here, nothing will happen. "Y/N Gojo." She hums, the large diamond ring on her finger noticed immediately.

Suguru is meeting Satoru's wife for the first time, he had heard that Satoru had changed; he is not the epitome of kindness anymore. It's evident. The bruises on her jaw and cheek are evident. His eyes softened, his heart hurts. Suguru met Y/N first, when she wasn't Gojo's wife… and let her go, the curses within him erasing her memory. All because Satoru loved her and Suguru felt that he owed it to his best friend, to have someone like Y/N. To have someone who can show him how great it is to achieve true love. How a non-sorcerer like Y/N was able to take Suguru's heart away. Oh how he regrets it now, he let his precious Angel go, and now she is in hell. The reminder when her loving eyes turned to void after their last kiss. Suguru has had recurrent nightmares about it. Maybe that's the reason Satoru's behaviour has changed. The fear of losing Y/N back to Suguru.

Well, that fear is about to come true, Suguru has had enough.

"You look beautiful in that dress Y/N Gojo." Suguru's voice took the lead, smiling gently. "Pity those bruises don't really suit someone strong-looking like you." The next statement comes off as scathing. "Tell me, if the person you loved, and the person who loved you back, and you shared a kiss, and they forget you, what would you do to remind them?" Suguru's sudden question took her off-guard. What does he mean…

"Sorry?" "Oh don't be. I know the question is random." He hums, watching the waiter put down the coffee. "I would kiss him again, if a kiss doesn't remind him, don't think anything else will." Y/N answered. Her freshly manicured fingers grazing against the glass.

Suguru's smile only grows wider. "Oh right, wonderful." He hums, and in the next swift movement, his hands are grazing Y/N's jaw. Her eyes widening. What is with this man, what’s happening! Satoru would kill her, Satoru would kill this man. Why can't she move, why is she unable to resist - and why is her body not anxious? If Satoru was to come near to her like this, her heart beat would have raced and pounded recklessly, a panic attack brewing. Nothing is happening now- she is as calm as it can be.

"How I missed my Angel." Suguru hummed, leaning in and kissing her, forcing the most unforced kiss ever. His tongue contained something bitter, something that latched deep down her throat. Suguru wants his angel back, Suguru misses her, Satoru couldn't get someone he can't love properly. Suguru's entire being was shattered when he let her go, it's time he has her back.

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - two

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader x sorta canon!rafe; doesn't exactly follow the real plot line but...it does?; am i turning this into a series? maybe.

word count: 6k...

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination.

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that. You knew better.

Despite that...You found it impossible to look at him for the next forty-eight hours. In fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound. Self-sufficiency had long been your norm. Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age.

Initially, there was clearly tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of his presence inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it gave you whiplash.

In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets.

Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frustration growing in your chest.

He was so fucking insufferable.

"Oh, so you've got a better suggestion?"

He shot you a glare, but you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky, "I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"Hell no?” you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "C'mon,” he scoffed, "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness.

On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause.

There was no third chance.

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

“I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not about to let us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom.

As night fell, you both moved with practiced stealth, with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat. The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards.

Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back.

Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention. The sound was louder than you expected. But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat.

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a little hope. For the first time in months, freedom was within your reach.

As he guided the boat out of the harbor, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? I told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed. "Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride," he said, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving.”

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing. The silence between you was a common thing, the hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the night. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding. You kept scanning the horizon, every wave hiding a potential threat.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but still edged with that irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him.

“No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, the easy bravado slipping for just a moment, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints.”

“At least they’re not murder—”

You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching again as he ground his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger you could feel radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water with renewed urgency.

The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed.

What could you possibly say? Apologize?

There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him. Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. And you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words.

It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind and he still refused to show remorse if not between four walls with you. Never out in the open, never too loud.

You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the weight of the past not letting you calm down the way you really wanted to. It was done.

And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t.

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, like it was never ending, you hated every minute of it.

After what felt like an eternity, light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn. You breathed a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats," he instructed, his voice curt and businesslike.

He was all focus still, that calculating side that had always unnerved you.

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently. The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, breaking the silence. Your voice was softer, dulled by the exhaustion.

"We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you want to get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end.

Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death.

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of guilt from what you’d almost said before.

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you continued, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly; the hard edges of his demeanor were momentarily blunted by your words. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before.

“If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you. The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage. With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence.

Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead.

You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your brow furrowing in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness.

In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps. Traitor.

You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet. The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees. It was larger than you had expected, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps.

As you walked, an uneasy feeling crept over you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, maybe it was just the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year.

After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island.

The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds.

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you said, nodding towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Rafe followed closely behind you, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the dimly lit room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what?

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly hid your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a talent for getting what he wanted.

To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," he said, his tone disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks.

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you; his expression unreadable. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind. His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual brooding demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump,” Rafe said, his tone light but with an underlying note of exhaustion. "But it'll do for now."

You sank onto the edge of the bed, resting the mattress. “Better than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised. We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization click on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got just one room with one bed."

“I can sleep on the floor, relaaax.”

You shot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Seriously? You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "Why not? It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that.

Instead, you only stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none.

Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind.

As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't ignore the possibility that this was only the calm before the storm. It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. The sight of him trapped in a nightmare weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, despite the walls he put up, you didn’t like to see him in pain. It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

"Rafe," you whispered softly, trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up."

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear nearly knocked you out instantly but your body instinctively started against his hold as you struggled to break free.

Muscle memory and all.

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out in a strangled whisper as you clawed at his hands, desperate for him to let go. But he was so lost in the grip of his nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as the world started to blur around the edges, darkness creeping into your vision while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him again, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp.

“Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat disappeared, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed.

Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

It was a startling thing to witness , seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, instinct kicked in again,and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you like a lifeline.

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft sound of your heartbeat. "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. The weight of his body against yours was oddly comforting, grounding you and pushing back the memories of his violent outburst just moments before.

After a while, Rafe pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you "I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his blonde hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I know," you whispered softly, “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You didn’t know why you offered him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light.

"Yeah," you admitted, "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

Then, Rafe spoke again, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression told you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once,

“Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing.

He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

But you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

With a sigh, you reached out and gently grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you on the bed. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you.

“Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fitful sleep and restless dreams, but somehow, with Rafe by your side, it felt bearable.

When morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes, brb. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you.

Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, probably sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night. It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions. You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

You got up from the bed and stretched. You needed a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed yourself properly, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl.

You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets if you stayed another night.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a dream, washing away the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you like a comforting embrace as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles. You focused on washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you.

Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness.

Another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep. And it terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence.

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air and with a towel wrapped snugly around your body, you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction.

His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you. As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a withering glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall.

There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about. Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

As you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast.

As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day. It was strange, hearing him talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to go through life on his family’s wealth and influence.

But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him. He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan. Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began, your tone light as you tried to sound casual, "I've been curious—why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know," he admitted his voice casual but tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?”

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table. You knew what that meant.

You leaned forward as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catched you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness.

You straightened up as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his.

"It’s not important," he snapped,"Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled at his harsh tone, the way he spoke down at you making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this.

But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You blurted out, frustration taking over your mouth.

You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely as he locked onto your gaze, "I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted,"I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

The words stung like a slap to the face.

You felt the color drain from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, “You think I don't carry that guilt with me every single day?"

His words caught you off guard, the raw emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door. “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I’m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, “I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wanted to say.

“Right,” You swallowed, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours, “You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch seemed to tingle between tenderness and roughness, with soft, gentle kisses blending seamlessly with fervent, desperate ones, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. It felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. Like he was trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words, everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t keep kissing me to avoid questions.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his stubbled jawline, "It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell. But then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

"I know," he murmured against your lips,"But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "Yeah," you whispered, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe x Maybank!reader #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe angst #rafe fic #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff

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gor3-hound · 5 months ago

Text

WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE - NAOYA ZENIN

ft. naoya zenin x puppy!reader

a/n: commission for the very lovely @nexysworld !! naoya is so very pretty and i was scared to write him BUT !! he was actually very fun to write. i love my asshole nepo baby :3 hope you guys enjoy, fb and reblogs are always appreciated <3

cw: 18+ content, dead dove-ish, pussy inspection, mistreatment of hybrids, forced cosmetic procedures, dub-con bcs power dynamics, praise, degradation, use of shock collars, caging, mentions of filing teeth, ear cropping, touching unhealed wounds, tail play, misogyny, spit, mean naoya, dehumanisation, orgasm denial, forced spaying, p in v, creampie, dacryphilia, neglect

word count: 3.2k words

Naoya’s bored.

It might’ve made you feel better if he had a secret soft spot - that the pressures of his clan have left him lonely and desperate for companionship, but that’s simply not the case. There’s no profound self-realization that comes with his actions, no sense of guilt when he pays one of the maids to suck him off before he kicks her to the curb.

He’s just bored. He’s always found the best cure for his boredom was to find a pretty little plaything that was willing to put up with him. But there’s only so much you can do to a human girl before she’s skittering off. Women value their life more than their job these days, a thought that has him scowling and breaking the shit in his room as soon as his latest slut cuts him off.

He needed something more permanent. A pretty thing that he can use to get his dick wet. One that isn’t crying for a relationship or money when he’s finished. He’s always found those hybrids pretty cute, and it seemed like the perfect thing to keep him entertained. A girl that knew she was lesser than him. A pet he could play with that would forgive him after a couple of head scratches and a new toy.

It’s that thought that has him dragging his ass to the nearest adoption center, his eyes scanning the kennels until he spots you.

You seem like a shy little thing, but he doesn’t see an issue with that. He’s always had more fun breaking girls in, and you’d be no exception. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, his head cocking to the side as he looks you over. He doesn’t address you or ask you any questions, but he doesn’t need to. You were cute, and that’s all he really cared about, anyway. He calls a worker over, asking to get some time alone with you.

“Well, we don't really have any private rooms for you to-”

“How much?” Naoya cuts him off without even gazing his way, his eyes locked onto your form. No point buying the goods if he doesn’t get a trial run, first.

“I'm sorry?” The worker stutters out. Naoya hates that shit. Pisses him off more than anything, acting like he doesn’t want the Zen’in’s money. Naoya knows better.

“You heard me. How much? Doesn't need to be a fancy room. Shit, I'll take a storage room. I gotta check she's worth the money, y'know?” He says with a sigh, his brows twitching slightly as he fights back a scowl.

Seems to work well enough, because the worker leads him to a staff room, telling him to wait right there. He crosses his arms over his chest, making him sigh in annoyance. He waits impatiently, but he lights up when you come padding into the room, looking all nervous.

”No need to be scared, girl.” He tells you, but his words come out in a grunt. He doesn’t really care if you’re scared of him or not, as long as you let him get a good look at you. He moves towards you when you don’t budge, gripping your chin between his fingers.

His gaze is sharp, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he looks over your features. He reaches a free hand up to your floppy ears, giving them a flick. A frown crosses over his features as he gives you an appraising gaze , clicking his tongue. “They’ll have to get done. Don’t like ‘em.”

His fingers and thumb dig into your cheeks, forcing a gap between your teeth so you open your mouth. He shoves his fingers down your throat, sighing when you gag and splutter. “Gonna have to train that outta ya. Those canines are gonna have to get fixed, too. Bet they’d fuckin’ hurt if they caught my dick.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes your spit off on your cheek, smirking when your nose wrinkles. He reaches down, tugging on your fluffy tail with a thoughtful expression. “That can stay, though. Cute.”

”Bend over the table, pup. Spread your legs, lemme see your cunt.” He orders, releasing your tail and taking a step back. Your hesitance irritates him, and his hand comes out to smack you across your face so hard that your head snaps to the side, your ears ringing. “Don’t make me say it again. I fuckin’ hate repeating myself.”

Your tail is tucked between your legs as you shift to lean over the table, those fluffy ears pressed down firmly against your head. Doesn’t bother Naoya. He kicks your feet apart, pulling your pants and underwear down in one tug. The tail is a little bit of an obstacle still, so he sighs and scratches behind your ears.

”C’mon now, baby. I didn’t mean it.” He coos, making sure he finds the spot behind your ear that has you pushing back against his hand. His tone is condescending, but that dumb puppy brain of yours can’t register that. He grins as your tail perks up and wags, showing you off to him. “That’s better. Lemme get a look at that pretty pussy.”

He kneels behind you, spreading your folds with two fingers, humming in satisfaction as strings of slick spread and break at his actions. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t pick out a puppy for that exact reason - a few words of praise, and you were soaked. He slips a finger deep into your cunt, adding another one and scissoring them open before groaning at the tightness. You felt like a virgin, too. Perfect.

He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, wiping his spit off on your clothes before he pulls them back on. He gives your ass a few pats as he stands up, turning around to bang a few times on the door.

”Hey! I’ll take her.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Naoya’s unpredictable.

It’s hard to settle into a routine with him. He can be easy to handle one moment, only to switch up at the next second. He’s never kind - that’s not the right word for him - but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments. If you’re good, he’ll let you curl up at the foot of his bed. Sometimes he’ll even let you sit at his feet when he’s relaxing, petting your head absentmindedly.

Those moments are few and far between. For the most part, he’s cold. He doesn’t pay much attention to you unless he’s feeding you or if it’s play time.

He shows you the most attention when he wants to play. He’ll praise you, scratch behind those freshly cropped ears standing tall on your head and run his fingertips through the fur of your tail until it’s wagging fast enough that he knows you’ll be pliant and eager for anything he wants to do to you. You’d tried whining, begging, pleading… Anything just to get him to look at you and show you some affection, but you quickly learned that the only way you could guarantee something from him was to paw at the front of his pants until he’s twitching against your hand.

His choice of affection has a bit of a side effect, and you’re unlucky enough that Naoya notices it. All it takes is one little ‘good girl’ or a scratch on your head for you to be soaked, whining and rutting against any part of him you could reach. He loves feeling you wrapped around him, but he loves teasing you even more. So, naturally, as soon as realizes how desperate his touch makes you, he decides it would be a fun little game for him to see just how needy you could get.

He’s leaning back against the couch when he spots you padding over, that fluffy tail slowly picking up speed the closer he gets to you. He can’t help but chuckle when he spots you settling on the floor by his feet, a smirk spreading across his face when you rest your chin on his thigh. Your gaze flicks up to his face, a longing expression on your features. His hand comes down to pet your head, fingers scratching your scalp gently.

”You need something, girl?” He coos, tugging on one of your bandaged ears until you whimper, biting back a laugh when you lean into the touch regardless of the pain that comes with it. You’re always so eager to please, it drives him crazy.

“Need you, please.” You whine, your ears tilting back slightly, unable to press flat against your head due to the wrapping keeping them up so they heal pointed. He grins wolfishly at your words, yanking you by the collar until you’re straddling his thigh, a mischievous going in his eyes.

”Go on then, pup. I’m too tired to deal with you myself. You can handle it, can’t you?” He hums, giving your head a pat before crossing his arms behind his head as he leans back on the couch. You give him a curious little head tilt, confusion twisting your cute little face. He loves it when you give him that look - you’re just a dumb puppy, nothing more than entertainment for him. He can’t help but feel amused, shifting his leg so he can press his thigh more firmly against your core.

”You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can figure it out, puppy.” You seem to get the picture, a soft, needy sound rising in your throat as the hard muscle of his thigh presses against your cunt through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips start shifting on their own, rutting against him desperately. Your mouth falls open, artificially rounded canines digging into the flesh of your bottom lip.

Your hands come down to rest on your own thighs - you know better than to touch Naoya without asking, and you don’t want this to end so soon. Your nails press into your flesh, leaving indents on the surface of the skin. Naoya’s face is a mask of indifference. There’s no sign of enjoyment from him, the only hint that he isn’t completely unaffected by your actions is the tent forming beneath the fabric of his pants. You whine when you realize he isn’t even looking at you, staring over your shoulder to look over one of the paintings on the wall.

You want him inside of you, want his strong hands to grasp your thighs as he fucks into you. The thought alone has you panting, your head hanging as your tail starts to wag again, steady behind you as you grind against his thigh more harshly. Your breaths come out heavier, your cunt soaking through the fabric of your shorts to coat his own pants.

You’re so overwhelmed with your rapidly approaching orgasm, how good it feels to finally be this close to your owner that you don’t see his hand reaching for his phone until it’s too late. You yelp as your collar zaps you, the fur on your tail standing on end as the shock makes you spasm, your hips quickly pulling away from his thigh.

”I didn’t say you could cum, did I? Bad girl.” He hisses, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the floor, forcing you into your crate with a swift kick. He slams the door behind you, locking it before stepping back. “You can stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear you so much as fuckin’ squeak, you’re not getting let out for the rest of the week. Got it?”

You nod quickly, but that’s clearly not good enough for him. He taps at the screen of his phone a few times before pressing his thumb down for a longer period. The voltage is higher, and he doesn’t let up on shocking you until you drop against the blanket in your crate, your fingers twitching. He scoffs at the sight, letting go of the button.

”Pathetic. If I’m talking to you, I expect an answer. Surely you’re not so stupid you’ve forgotten how to use your words?”

”N-no. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll be quiet.” You whisper, your voice shaking slightly with the effort it takes you to hold back tears.

”Stupid mutt.” He grunts, fiddling with his trousers until he can free his cock. His jaw tenses in slight annoyance at how quickly that has you perking up, your eyes wide with interest like he’s holding a damn treat up for you. He steps closer to your crate, pressing his length down against the bars above your head. Naoya can’t help but laugh as you try to crane your head to get a taste of him, his eyes shining with amusement as your tongue laps between the gaps to catch his skin.

”Look at you. You were crying a second ago, and now you’re drooling like a bitch in heat? You are the single most pitiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” He muses, letting out another chuckle at the whine that spills from your lips when he pulls away from the crate.

”Go to sleep.” He grunts as he tucks himself back into his trousers, his eyes trained on your as he takes a step back. “If you’re good enough, I might let you out for breakfast.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, Naoya is wordless as he approaches your cage.You can tell from his narrowed, fox-like gaze that he hasn’t forgiven you from last night, his jaw set tight as if you hadn’t just made a small mistake. Naoya expected nothing but perfection from his pet, and it was something he made abundantly clear. He opens the door, his eyes narrowed in on your slumped over figure.

”Out.” The words are short and clipped, but firm, leaving no room to argue. It wasn’t a request, but a command. You weren’t stupid enough to ignore it.

He watches you crawl out of the cage, kneeling at his feet on the cold floor. You keep your gaze trained downwards, unable to meet his eyes. You look so pathetic it almost angers him, a crease forming between his brows as looks down at you. He slowly strips his clothes, his eyes locked onto you the entire time.

“Strip.” You listen, pulling your clothes off and adding them to his own pile on the floor. There’s no praise now, no attempts to get you wet enough to take him. He just pushes you down onto all fours before spitting directly onto your cunt as he forces his cock into your tight heat. It’s meant to be a punishment, but all it takes for you to get wet is the feeling of him stretching you out, your tail swaying side to side as his tip presses up against your cervix.

”Such a slut… Dripping as soon as you see cock. Bet it doesn’t even have to be mine, hmm? Could pass you around the whole clan and you’d gladly let each and every one of ‘em mount you until you were sore and dripping cum.” He spat, his hips rocking forward harshly. He builds up a steady pace, pounding into you brutally.

”Wouldn’t…” You manage to force out, brows furrowing as you try to rock back against his hips, your walls pulsing around his length. “Just you… want your pups.”

”Aww, that’s cute. You want me to breed you, girl? Is that it?” He lets out a cruel laugh, tugging on your tail to pull you back against him with each thrust, his cock brutally pounding into your tight cunt. “You think I’d let you carry my seed? That your bastard children could be sufficient heirs for the Zen’in clan? I’d never let you have puppies. Stupid fuckin’ bitch. Didn’t even realize I got you spayed? You just believe every little thing I tell you, huh?”

Fuck, he really likes the look of your tears. Nearly has him cumming from the way you look sobbing on his dick, the way you clench around him like you're trying to milk him dry despite how upset you are. It doesn't matter what he does to you, not when you're so forgiving. He knows he can say whatever he pleases and you'd still come running back to him, tail tucked between your legs like you were the one in the wrong.

He presses down between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest flat against the hard-wood floor as he keeps your ass in the air with his grip on your tail. With your back arched, the new angle allows him to fuck into you deeper, bullying himself into you without any regard for your pleasure. You were nothing more than something to use to him - a glorified fleshlight, at best. He only let you cum because of how tight you squeezed him when you did, how hot it was to see your dripping down his length.

This wasn’t about you right now - it was meant to be a punishment. You'd be lucky if he decided to let you cum in the following weeks, let alone today when he's still pissed off at you for almost breaking one of his rules.

His hips smack the fat of your ass with every thrust, low grunts spilling past his lips as he wraps your tail around his hand, smacking your thigh in frustration when you yelp at the discomfort that comes with it. He's increasingly glad with every pained whimper as his grip tightens that he decided not to dock your tail. It's so much better than a leash could ever be, forcing you back onto his imposing length everytime it gets too much for you and you try to crawl away.

“M'gonna cum.” He groans, harshly forcing your upper body further against the floor as he leans his weight on the hand pushing you down, slick sounds filling the room as he thrusts himself brutally in and out of your twitching pussy. He yanks on your tail, pulling you back against him as he cums with a grunt, his cock twitching inside of your abused cunt. He ruts his hips into you shallowly as he rides out his high before pulling out, smacking your ass once before standing up, ignoring your pleas to let you cum.

“Stupid mutt.” He spits out, rolling you onto your back with his foot, pressing it down against your stomach to hold you down. He spits on your face, a huff of laughter leaving him as your nose wrinkles. “I've been too good to you. Made you think you have a say.”

“You are a toy.” He continues, pulling his foot away with you before moving to gather his clothes. He pulls them on, leaving you panting and leaking his cum on the floor. “Something for me to use when I get bored.”

He makes his way to the door, shooting one last glance at you over his shoulder. “The quicker you learn that, the better.”

#naoya zenin #naoya x reader #naoya x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x reader #naoya zen'in x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you

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ofswordsandpens · 7 months ago

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Am I the only one who thinks about how The Lightning Thief would have gone if instead of Grover, Percy picked Luke to go with him and Annabeth on the quest? Luke, who was sick of the idea of doing quests that had already been done was just picked to go on a unique quest by this demigod who he was planning to manipulate, and the quest was unique because he helped to make it so. And while he'll likely be plotting to hide the fact that he's a lightning thief, reworking things to take heat off himself, one of his quest mates would be Annabeth, the half blood he personally saved and brought to camp, whom he would have to work like hell to hide his deeds from.

listen I'm loving the comedic potential of this because in my heart of hearts, I feel like Luke's too enamored with the idea of razing Olympus for him to doubt what he's doing, but balancing that razors edge where he's actively trying to sabotage the quest and kill Percy while not tipping off Annabeth, and also trying to plant seeds of doubt and discord both between Percy and Annabeth and also about the gods while trying not to be too obvious about it because maybe, just maybe he can convince Annabeth to side with him.

except as usual Luke's nefarious plans are constantly being foiled by 2 tweens and its embarrassing cause they're not even trying. Percy's not wearing the shoes and keeps making up polite reasons on why he can't without seeming like he's rejecting Luke's gift (cause that would be rude) and Annabeth's like "well I'm gonna wear them then" and Luke's panics like "NO" but he also can't wear them so then they just stay in the bag untouched. then Luke keeps directing them into the paths of monsters in the hopes Percy's gonna get taken out but holy hell this kid just won't die. Like literally just escapes mortal peril by the skin of his teeth and doesn't even realize it. It's like an old silent film where the entire front of the house falls off and the guy survives because he just happened to be standing right where the open window is.

Then Luke's also trying to stir up some anger at the gods, testing the waters with Annabeth, but she's so in the height in the idealization of her mom it's getting no where. Luke's trying to be subtle like "hey... don't you think it's kinda of fucked up that the gods are..... uh... blaming? percy for this? and that he has to do this quest to set things right" but annabeth's like "what do you mean by that? 🤨 this is what heroes do this is how we prove ourselves" and unfortunately Percy is the only one vibing with the "hey don't you hate your dad" comments that's Luke's throwing down and that makes him fond of Percy against his better judgement but he's still gotta kill him so you know, bummer

anyway, in this quest AU Percy perceives Luke as the Responsible Adult cause he's 19 (lmao) and thus feels a little less pressure to be responsible for things himself and so when they get to the Underworld, Luke's like smirking, grinning, cause a. he's in in the Underworld and how many heroes have achieved that? b. the shoes in Percy's bag are about to drag that kid to the depths of hell or c. the lightning bolts about to appear in the bag and Luke will throw Percy under the bus to Hades (he's been practicing his betrayal speech) except wait "Percy... where's your backpack??" and Percy's like "oh I forgot it at the hotel 👉👈" and Luke loses it and picks him up to throw him into tartarus himself (he is unsuccessful)

#sorry I dont know if you were thinking about the more serious implications but this would be the funniest clusterfuck of a trio #in the best way #asks #mine #pjo #luke castellan #percy jackson #annabeth chase

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possiblyreallyme · 2 months ago

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Once a Beckman girl, always a Beckman girl

warning: very spicey/smutty but no actual penetration, toys (vibrator), size kink if you squint, big dick benn canon.

hello! i got this idea from one of my favorite one piece writer on tumbler, @innerfare!! everyone, go check them out!! thank you so much!!

"Come on, honey. Don't you wanna come back to my cabin?" Shanks asked drunkenly through his hiccups and wolfish grin, staggering over the countertop to hold onto the wood and wink at you.

You'd giggle, but you shook your head, cleaning the counter when he knocked over a glass of alcohol with his one elbow.

"I'm sorry, sir," You told him with that sweet smile, though you didn't seem very sorry. "I already have plans with your first mate."

Shanks backed off immediately, nodding his head and walking away before you could ask why. Even in his drunken state, he knew it was a complete waste of time to try and woo one of Benn's girls.

Plus, his first mate wasn't one to sleep around, so Shanks knew better than to interfere when he needed a night to relax. He was drunk, not heartless.

"Tough luck," Lucky Roux murmured through his mouthful of meat when Shanks told the table of pirates about the barmaid, not even looking up to console his captain. "No one gets one of Benn's girls."

"Yeah, no shit," The captain murmured with a hiccup, before slouching against the table with a few more, spinning a bottle cap around like a pouty child.

"I just wish we knew what he does to get girls so crazy," Yasopp replied under his breath, though he didn't necessarily care to keep his voice low. Anyone who knew Benn knew he was a charmer, even if he didn't go around flirting as much as his captain.

If only they knew. If only they knew how their Benn could drag his fingers across a lady's skin and make her feel like she was a work of art. How as much as Shanks told him one-night stands and hookups shouldn't last more than 30 minutes, he just can't leave a girl like that.

Was he not supposed to stretch her with his fingers? How was she supposed to fit him if he didn't— while you're at it, doesn't it feel better when you let her ride your face until she's squealing and pulling at your hair? And it would weight much too heavy on his conscious if he left a woman alone in bed when she's tired and sore and in need of some love, when he could put his left-over energy to use and make her a nice meal, maybe give her a massage to ease the ache he caused.

Of course a man like him was so popular with the ladies. He was practically made for women, with how he could memorize your body like the back of his hand, as if he's known you his whole life, but he only just learned your damn name.

He'll coo in that deep voice of his, say things a pirate most certainly shouldn't be saying to someone he'll never see again, with that charming smile on his face and slowly rolling his hips into yours, thumbing at your clit until you've coated the sheets in as much cum as you could give him.

And yet, he's never come across as a player. He isn't a womanizer; he isn't someone like Shanks who can't be trusted to remember his partners names after a week. He's tough as nails and brutal, but to the women whose hearts still throb for the first mate, he was a sweetheart. The type to empathize and sooth when he's just a little too big to fit all the way in your cunt, wiping your tears with kisses and assure you that you've taken more than enough for him to enjoy, so don't feel guilty.

"Benn," You're whining that night, just after you close and the Red Force was snickering when Beckman puts his hand on the small of your back, dwarfing you so intensely you felt your face go hot. You should have fucking guessed that a man with hands bigger than your head had a cock to match.

"Shh, I know, sweetheart. Just relax," He soothed, large fingers parting your labia and pulling up the hood of your clit, circling the little nerve with an ease that made you wonder if he'd done this before with you.

You knew good and damn well you'd remember if a man like this had ever been with you before, but he hadn't even taken his eyes off your face and yet he found your clit almost faster than you could.

You couldn't focus on that though, already fighting off delirium you only thought a cock could bring you, taken by surprise how he could get you so dumb when all he had done was fuck you with that big black vibrator. He kept you sat upright on his desk by letting you lay your head on his shoulder, fluttering kisses against your jaw and rubbing your back when you clenched around the toy and whined for more, soothing you with his whispers like a father soothing his baby in the dead of night.

"Not yet, little one." It had been not yet all damn night, and you were ready for more. Eyes locked on the tent in his pants, large and clearly thick enough to stretch you to your limit, but you couldn't find it in you to care how much it would hurt. He cared though, and thank God for that. He couldn't live with himself if one of his sweethearts got hurt when it was his job to make sure they were well taken care of and happy, even though Shanks tried to explain to him that his job was simply to get off and go.

When he finally pulled the vibrator out and let you slump against hi desk, he kissed along the inside of your thighs and cleaned up the mess dripping to your knees, murmuring enough poetic praise to keep you high on orgasm for longer than your ego appreciated.

"Aw, baby doll," He chuckled faintly against your cunt, a smile stretching across his lips when you squirmed and whined when his stubble brushed along your sensitive thighs. "You still wanna take my cock, don't you?"

"Yes." Your mother would be ashamed at how fast you answered the pirate, who merely chuckled again and lifted you into his arms.

#benn beckman x reader #one piece #one piece smut #benn beckman smut #benn beckman x you #sorry this took so long y'all #one piece x reader

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kymerawrites · 5 months ago

Text

"You're such a bloody drama queen," Simon grumbled under his breath, smoking a cigarette as he watched her pace back and forth. He didn't move an inch from his spot on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. It was always like this with her; they argue, they make up, they argue again. It was a vicious cycle they couldn't seem to break free from. He took a drag of his cigarette before blowing out a stream of smoke, eyes still locked on her

"Can't you just sit still for a bloody second?" Simon snapped, his irritation getting the better of him. "You're giving me a damn headache with all that walking around." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest, his gaze following her every movement. He couldn't help but feel frustrated by her constant need for motion, like a caged animal.

"I could if you'd stop being such a controlling arsehole," she shot back, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "Sorry if my pacing bothers you, but I have the right to move around in my own home." She crossed her arms, her defiant stance mirroring his.

"Your home?" Simon echoed, a mocking edge to his voice. He snorted, extinguishing his cigarette in the ash tray. "Last I checked, we share this apartment. And believe me, I didn't ask for a fidgety partner who can't sit still for two seconds."

“God for fuck sakes Simon, you make me pace this way. Can’t you see that?!” I said irritated

He rolled his eyes, clearly unperturbed by her retort. "Oh, and it's all my fault that you're pacing around like a maniac?" He leaned back on the couch, his gaze sharpening. "Maybe, just maybe, you should try taking some responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everything on me. Ever thought of that?"

I huffed in annoyance, not backing down from his gaze. "And maybe you should stop making me so bloody irritated that I can't stand still! You're always bossing me around, like I'm some sort of property and not a person with my own thoughts and feelings."

He stood up abruptly, his tall frame towering over her. "You know damn well that's not true," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't treat you like a bloody object. I care about you, even if you can't see it. And if I come off as controlling sometimes, it's because I want to bloody protect you."

“Oh no, it’s you and your fucking lieutenant, commander whatever the fuck you are act in my space.” I scoffed

His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic remark. "Watch your bloody tongue," he warned, his tone more menacing than before. "You know damn well what I do for a living, and I don't appreciate your tone. But while we're on the subject, you could learn a thing or two about respecting your partner. Maybe if you weren't such a bloody pain in the arse all the time, I wouldn't have to step in and take charge."

That comment hit me, just a little to make me shift from mad to confused “so, if I’m such a pain to you, such a..liability why not leave me?”

He gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. "Because goddamn it, I care about you," he snapped. "Despite all your attitude and stubbornness, I can't just walk away. Believe me, I've bloody tried. But deep down, I know I can't let you go. Even if you drive me mad with all your whining and dramatics."

I turned around not to face him “you can also just say you love me.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He walked closer to her, his movements slow and deliberate. "I do love you, alright? But love doesn't make this any easier. It complicates everything. Because even though I love you, you still piss me off like no one else can, and it drives me bloody insane."

He grabbed my waist and hugged me from behind I just smirked “and yet I think you love all the sass and drama I give you don’t you?”

He let out a scoff, his fingers digging into her waist. "Bloody hell, you know me too well," he muttered. "Yes, there's something infuriatingly addicting about your damn attitude and all the drama you bring into my life." He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

He chuckled softly against her skin, his breath warm and tickling. "Bloody hell, you drive me wild with it. Part of me wants to strangle you, and the other part..." He trailed off, his hand roaming higher up her body, tracing her curves.

“Finish that sentence si..” I whispered

He nipped at her earlobe, his voice low and gravelly. "And the other part wants to do things that I can't even say in public." He spun her around to face him, his gaze dark and intense. "You have no idea the effect you have on me, how you make me feel. It's maddening, it's intoxicating and it's all your damn fault."

He pushed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. "You know what else is maddening?" he growled, his face mere inches away from hers. "How bloody irresistible you are when you're all defiant and stubborn like this. It's like you're begging for me to put you in your place."

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He shifted his body, pressing his thigh between her legs. "You push my buttons on purpose, just so you can get a reaction out of me. And bloody hell, you always get the reaction you want." He pinned her even tighter against the wall, trapping her in his embrace.

His lips found hers in a hard, possessive kiss. He dominated the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, claiming her in a way that was both rough and passionate. He pushed his body flush against hers, his hands roaming down to grip her thighs, lifting her up against the wall.

“You’re too good for me si..” I laughed as he lifted my legs on the wall forcing me to embrace them around his waist

He grunted with the effort, his muscles straining as he pressed her against the wall. "Bloody hell, you're a menace," he growled, his lips finding her neck again, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive skin. "Bloody menace with your damn legs wrapped around me like this. Drives me wild to have you like this, all vulnerable and pliable in my arms."

He ground his hips into hers, his arousal evident against her core. "And you're damn wrong about that. I'm not too good for you. I'm just bloody addicted to the way you make me feel, like you're a poison I can't get enough of."

I rolled my eyes “just kiss me already lovebird.” I smiled

He chuckled at her cheeky remark, his eyes dark and intense. "Bloody smartass," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another fierce kiss. He devoured her, his tongue delving into her mouth and dominating the kiss. The kiss was rough and passionate, full of pent-up desire and frustration.

And ofcourse they kissed and made up just for the cycle to continue

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #modern warfare #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley #task force 141 #codcanon #cod 141 #cod imagine #cod x female reader

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vxnuslogy · 6 months ago

Text

— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?” you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”.

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.”

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’.

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.”

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.”

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.”

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.”

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats.

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices.

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.”

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious.

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals. brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer.

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story.

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin.

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity.

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes.

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were.

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his.

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.”

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?”

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down.

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?”

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it.

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight.

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.”

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face.

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state.

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own.

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.”

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal.

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to.

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare.

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop.

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes.

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

“three.”

“two.”

“one.”

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers…” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday angst #sunday imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr x you #hsr x reader #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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sincerelyneo · 7 months ago

Text

mark doesn't know | n.jm

“but she’s under me and i’m not stopping”

💿now playing: scotty doesn’t know by lustra

❯ summary: You don’t even remember how it started, but Jaemin does. He’s wanted to get his hands on you the minute he met you — and he’d be damned if he let something as silly as his friend get in the way of the thing he really wants. So alas, you’ve been fucking your boyfriend’s friend for the last two months.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader (brief mark x reader)

❯ genre: boyfriend’s friend! jaemin, smut, light angst, college!au.

❯ words: 3.1k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, cheating (boo), unprotected sex (don’t do this!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, light chocking, hair pulling, begging, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader cheats on mark with jaemin.

You don’t even remember the first time it happened; or more so, how it happened.

"J-Jaem we really shouldn't be doing this,” you huff out as your boyfriend’s good friend sucks on the skin against your neck, right below your ear.

His breath is hot, and his touch feels melting.

"You say that every time, and yet, look where you are. Back with me again.”

Your next words are cut off by the feeling of Jaemin’s lips pressing against yours. You want to give in, but something's on your mind this time — guilt.

Pushing him back, you try to move from the wall, but he keeps you there. "We can't, not again. Mark’s on his way-"

He covers your mouth with his hand. He fucking hates when you bring him up. He fucking hates that his friend is the one that gets to have you on his arm. And he certainly fucking hates the fact that he had been the one to introduce the two of you in the first place.

You were Jaemin’s lab partner before you even knew of Mark’s name. One night when you were over at Jaemin’s house for an assignment, Mark just so happened to turn up. If Jaemin had it his own way, he would have never even planned to introduce you to his older friend — but he was the one who told you to answer the door that night.

And God did he fucking regret it.

The memory of you answering the door with an immediate blush and flutter of your eyelashes at Mark’s presence played on his mind every time he saw the two of you together.

You never looked at him like that — well at least not back then anyway.

In Jaemin’s mind, he had made it very clear that he had a thing for you. He’d made it obvious, hadn’t he?

Well, that’s what he thought. So, when news hit that you were fucking the older boy and going on dates with him; it was safe to say that Jaemin was beyond pissed.

And when you were the one to kiss Jaemin one late night of studying — he seized the opportunity because he’d be damned before he lost his shot with you again. And thus, the two of you fucked every Thursday night’s study session.

"Don't. Don't say his name,” he growls, low and nasally enough to have your stomach fluttering. “Now, nod your head if you're gonna stop worrying and listen to me.”

You nod your head almost instantly with wide eyes. You couldn’t help the way your pussy grows even more slick, threatening to pool in your underwear, at his dominant demands.

"Good girl,” he says when you obey him, finally removing his hand from your mouth.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, pushing the few dishevelled stands of his hair out of his face to look up at you.

“I’m gonna give you something else to think about." He spreads your legs apart, snaking his hand delicately around your thighs to reach under your dress and tease the waistline of your panties.

You wordlessly look down at him. And although you're not saying no it’s not enough for him.

"Tell me gorgeous, can I have you for tonight, again?" His voice seems deeper and his tone thicker, eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You close your eyes as he starts to drag the lace down your thighs, "I need words, Y/N. Can I have a taste?"

"Yes." You sigh out.

"Yes, who?"

"Yes Jaemin.”

He has you lift up your feet, one at a time, so that he can remove your panties completley. Your eyes shoot open just in time to see him stuff them in his back pocket. Your body starts to throb at the sight — the sight of him being so smitten for you.

He grabs one of your legs, hoisting it up so that it's over his shoulder, exposing your bare core to him. Jaemin wasn’t a man of withstanding, so he wastes no time working his tongue the only way he knows best — the way you like it.

He starts by licking a long stripe up your wet cunt, groaning at the taste. The sound sends ripples against your clit, making your body jolt forward further on his tongue.

"Can't believe you wanted to deny me of this,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

He suctions his mouth on your clit, making your breath hitch in your throat. You're biting down on your lip, hard enough to draw blood, as he starts sucking and pulling on the bud. You're certain your legs would have given out immediately had he not offered his shoulder as support.

"Sorry, m'sorry.", you moan, hands coming to grip his hair but he stops you.

"I didn't say you could touch me yet,” he smirks up at you.

He continues licking your clit until he reaches his hand down to your cunt to join his tongue. He watches your eyes shut in pleasure; the way your hands are clenching into fists, resisting the urge to touch him, wanting to try your best to follow his orders.

The pads of his fingers go to your swollen nerves, starting to apply pressure with slow torturous circles and your head slumps back against the wall, mouth hung open as a deep moan floats out of you. He lets two of his fingers dip down to your hole, teasing you a bit before sinking them in with no resistance.

You know you’re not going to last, and you’re too out of your mind to even feel slightly embarrassed about it. You could get down on both knees right now and praise god for those fingers of his.

"I've missed how you feel against my fingers baby, couldn't forget it, soaking wet for me just like last time,” he says, looking up at you with thick lashes.

It has your skin tingling, and your heart thumping against your chest; so hard that it's rippling down to the throb between your legs that only worsens as he continues pushing.

"Can feel you clenching on my fingers,” he further teases, voice like gravel as he continues to watch you in amazement. "But I bet you wish it wasn't just my fingers, hm?"

You bite your lip to stop a moan, but then Jaemin stops the movement of his fingers, pulling a whine from you.

"Answer me baby. You want my cock in this tight little cunt, don't you?"

You can practically feel him smile when he nuzzles his face into your thigh, watching you struggle to respond.

"Jaemin please just-", you choke on your words when he begins to finger you again.

"Just what? Use your words, Y/N."

"Want you to fuck me, please, stop teasing me,” you whine frustratedly.

"Y'know I just love to hear you beg. Gonna fuck you, promise, but I want you to cum on my fingers first,” his fingers begin to pick up pace, curling to hit the spongy spot inside to which you cry out.

Your teeth clamp down on your lip again as you circle your hips against his hand mindlessly, earning hiss after hiss from him.

"Yeah? Gonna make a mess of my fingers? Be my good girl?"

You can only moan in response, your mouth dropping open with small pants coming out. You start clinging to his shoulders, trying to stay upright. The sensation of your muscles contracting, with each thrust of his fingers and the heel of his palm rubbing against your aching spot, has your legs trembling.

"So close, Jaem, I’m so close. Let me cum."

Jaemin looks up, nodding against you in a silent confirmation that you can — and you swear you see stars. You can feel your walls deep inside cracking as he starts sending shockwaves through your body. Jaemin even has to hold you up as your leg almost collapses and your hold on his shoulder tightens.

He continues to soothe and flick over your clit even after you come down from your high, and you're too weak to push him away.

"Jaem- baby I'm sensitive,” you tell him and he finally draws back, grinning up at you with a sly smile.

He sets your leg down, getting up from his knees to stand right in front of you, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you.

It’s sloppy and harsh, like he needs this or he’ll die, like he doesn’t want you escaping him, ever. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you groan into the kiss, your hands fisting the bottom of his shirt.

"More- I need more,” you mumble against his lips before kissing him again.

Jaemin brings his hands from your face, to the back of your neck, using all the power he has to —somewhat— forcefully pull you away from him.

"You know how this works. You gotta tell me more than that," his voice is just above a whisper, a sadistic smirk on his face as he watches your eyes struggle to leave his lips.

"What do you want more of, hm? More of my mouth?" You shake your head no, and Jaemin pretends to sigh. He tightens his grip on your neck, making you look him in the eye. "If you can't use your words, I can't help you."

Jaemin knows exactly what you want and how you want it. But he can’t help but love seeing you get all needy and frustrated. It’s his own personal reminder of how much you need him — or better yet — how much Mark isn’t satisfying you. Knowing he gives you something Mark can’t, never fails to make his cock ache.

"I want you to fuck me,” you finally say, voice barely audible.

"I couldn't hear you. Repeat that for me?” He taunts and it makes you want to stomp your foot in frustration.

"Stop teasing me, please. I need you to fuck me.”

Jaemin grins at this, wasting no time in releasing your neck so that he can pick you up and carry you to your bed — Mark’s bed.

You let out a small squeal, swatting at him to put you down. You hated the way he was always picking you up, but for him, having you wrap around his waist was his way of being as close as possible to you. He tosses you down on the bed, making you look up at him with a glare.

"Be careful dumbass."

He raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up into that stupid smirk once again. "You've got quite the mouth all of a sudden."

Jaemin kneels down on the bed in front of you, parting your legs so that he can be in between them.

"Just a few minutes ago it was ‘oh Jaem I’m gonna cum, don't stop please,” he mocks with a small laugh, causing you to bring your hands up to hide yourself.

Jaemin stops you though, pinning your hands down beside your head. "Oh none of that. Where'd my bratty girl go, huh?"

The way that he barely has to use any of his strength to pin you down, plus his large and muscular frame boxing you in, has you practically drooling.

He inches his face closer to yours, tricking you into thinking he's going to kiss you, but just as your lips graze his he turns to the side, making you kiss his cheek instead.

"Jaemin," you whine.

"Sorry sorry, you just looked so desperate for it, I couldn't resist,” Jaemin knows the effect his words have on you because your hips are bucking up into the air as the throbbing returns to your core.

"Want a proper kiss?" he asks, and you nod, staring up at him with pleading eyes. "Yeah? Beg."

It's a simple command that usually would have had you scoffing, telling Jaemin to get over himself and stop teasing, but you're so needy for his touch that you give in.

"Jaemin", you whine again — and oh does he love the way you say his name. "Baby please, kiss me, I- I need it."

He knows that you can beg better than that, he's heard you do it plenty of times, but he takes mercy on you, partially because his own need is screaming just as loud as yours is. He lets his lips connect with yours and wastes no time ravishing your mouth.

He growls into the kiss, bringing one of his hands to curl around your throat, adding a little pressure as his tongue explores your mouth like he's never kissed it before.

You two are a desperate mess now, as you start to work with each other until you’re both fully undressed. Breathy pants and soft moans fill the silence in the room.

Jaemin’s towering over you, his knees poking in between your legs to probe them wider for him. You don’t resist, you don’t want to. One of his hands reaches down to fist the throbbing cock between his own legs as he rubs himself teasingly between your seeping folds.

"Condom?" You ask, trying to think as clearly as possible.

Jaemin looks almost offended that you've asked, scoffing as he positions his tip at your entrance.

"Since when have we ever used condoms?"

"We haven’t. I just thought you might want to-"

You're cut off by a gasp as he begins to push into you, the familiar delicious stretch and slight burn settling in. You hear Jaemin swear under his breath, as his hips flush right against yours.

"You just thought what?" he asks as his head dips down, nosing along your jawline before peppering wet kisses along your neck.

"I- uh,” you stutter, losing your train of thought from the feeling of him inside you; so deep and hard and rough.

You bite down on your lip. You only ever have Jaemin like this; and you can't explain the overwhelming feeling you get whenever you get to have him with no barriers, getting to be as close to him as possible — even if you didn’t deserve it.

"It's because of him right? You're worried that he'll have to feel my cum deep in this pretty pussy of yours, aren't you?"

And although his tone is somewhat playful, there's a bite to it. You know how Jaemin feels about having to sneak around; knew all about how he wishes you were his and his only.

He doesn't allow you to respond though, knowing that's a conversation you'll have to have at a different time. Instead, his hips slowly begin to rut against yours, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan.

"Fuck fuck fuck,” Jaemin groans against your ear.

Your hands are clawing at his back as his thrusts pick up pace. And as much as he loves you doing that, marking him as yours in your own special way, he redirects your hands to his hair. You immediately begin to tug at his locks, loving the way it feels between your fingers.

He speeds up his pace. The sharp sting radiating through you, mixed with the sensation of his centre grinding against your own. His movements cause a crippling to all of your senses and creates an unbearable, but familiar, throb in the pit of your belly.

Jaemin is a mess of pants and grunts on top of you, mixed with the low moans that rumble inside of him when he circles his hips harder against you.

"I'd drag this out all night if I could, but my cock is aching for you," he grits through his teeth, snapping his hips against you one last time before pulling away.

He wets his lips, darting his eyes to yours before snapping his mouth from your neck to lean down and press an affectionate kiss against you. Both of you are inhaling sharply into the kiss when you feel him hit his cock in the deepest places, collecting the arousal there.

Your parted lips hover against each other, shallow breaths mixing together as he pulls out of you, and you whine. He starts slowly circling around your entrance like he's teasing himself as well as you.

You gasp, when he inches forward again, going at a tortuously slow place. He had you so slick with excitement as always there's no resistance at all.

His eyes squeeze closed as his jaw goes slack, letting out the most erotic moans. You can feel your muscles stretching out to accommodate him and it feels euphoric.

You wrap your legs around him tighter, needing to be closer, as he continues to draw his hips back and forth in fast powerful strokes, switching between kissing you harshly and whispering dirty nothings into the air between you.

You grip your fingers tighter on his hair, moving your lips to go to his neck, kissing and sucking on the skin, feeling his pulse thump harder as you do.

He hisses, clenching his teeth as his hand takes hold of your hip, digging his fingers in while his hips jolt forward, "Shit, if you keep doing that I'm not going to last.”

How needy and desperate he sounds spurs a fire in you, moaning against his skin as you push your hips back against him.

“Then don't last, I won't either, I just need you.”

You nip and suck at the heated skin on his neck, swirling your hips against him to spur him on, and he lets out a frustrated growl before he angles your hips up and draws back, snapping forward roughly. It makes your head roll back as you arch into him when he repeats the action again.

"Is this what you needed baby?" he grits, his jaw tenses as he thrusts into you abruptly. "Wanted me to fuck into you harder? Wanted someone to fuck you properly? Wanted me to show you just how much better you feel clenched around me?"

You can't answer, only managing to gasp out short, strained moans in rhythm with his thrusts as he drives into you in sharp, deliberate motions, filling and hitting all of the places inside you that only he can.

The noises leaving Jaemin are borderline animalistic, the guttural and hoarse sound, vibrating through your whole body as he starts to fuck into you at a relentless pace.

You can feel yourself tightening and clenching around him, muscles pulling him in with each thrust as he knocks against all the right places that were already aching for him, urging you further into your orgasm.

"Shit- Jaemin, I think I'm gonna co-"

You're cut off once again, but not by Jaemin, by the sound of your front door opening.

"Babe, are you home?"

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