#this is payment for my sins ?? something like that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feyascorner · 11 months ago

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until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. ��Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #light angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #comfort #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #astarion

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raz-writes-the-thing · 2 months ago

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A Rather Short and Sharp Descent (Beetlejuice One-Shot)

Betelgeuse x AFAB!GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: When you'd struck a deal with the demonic ghost, you'd not expected to fall for him. Perhaps less so, you hadn't expected to be tumbling quite down this path...

Fic Type: Smut (dumbification, daddy kink, slight degradation tw)

Everything Tag List: @winchxters @calliopesdiary

Betelgeuse Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.�� .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Had it been two hours or three? More? You can't remember- you can't even remember what time of the day it is. You can remember the magically altered sets of fingers and tongues that have thoroughly fucked you from the inside out, though.

It's not like he'd let you forget that, anyway.

“Aww, lookit that, dollface. Nothin’ in there, huh? Good. That’s the way ol’ Beej likes it. Doin’ a good job, babe.”

You tried to respond, but it just came out as a garbled moan.

"Yeah, that's it. Just a little fuckinnn mess for me, aintcha?"

Your brows pinched, mouth dropping open as his fingers felt like they pulsed inside you. They probably did, knowing him. Beej laughed above you, eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. Oh, he was going to make you work for it.

"B-Beej," you drooled, and he pouted at you mockingly in response.

"Look atcha, tryin' to make sentences and everything. It'd be cute if it weren't so pathetic, huh?" Another second and his free hand swatted at your ass, the sting biting- not that you didn't love the pain. "Beej, Beej, Beej, huh? Yeah, you fuckin' love me an' my thick fuckin' cock, babe."

And you did. You couldn't wait for him to fuck you with it. That ache begging for him inside you was starting to make you antsy. Sure you had his physically altered fingers buried inside you, but it wasn’t the same. God, it would never be the same as having him leer over you, cock twitching from the inside.

Truth be told, you weren’t even sure how you’d managed to get yourself into this situation in the first place. You’d found a flyer that had quite literally blown into your face on the street one day and said the name three times with such disbelief that you had all but died of a heart attack when the being belonging to said name appeared so suddenly and with a ridiculous amount of theatrics.

Then it was on to the business of making deals, of course. Betelgeuse had let you know in his round-a-bout way that he’d noticed you had a pesky little problem that needed fixing and he was more than happy to do the job. There was, of course, just the matter of payment, though. Sure, he could scare the absolute fuck out of your roommate until they fucked off into the sunset but not without payment. Nothing much, not your soul or anything. No, what Betelgeuse wanted from you was, of all things… a kiss.

Naturally, you’d been suspicious that planting one (with tongue, as he had insisted) onto a demonic ghost with a penchant for absolute chaos wouldn’t come with any other side effects, such as selling your soul over or something. But a kiss? Just one kiss? Surely that wouldn’t be too bad.

As it turns out, it didn’t have any side effects that you were expecting. Instead, it led you down a path with a rather short and sharp descent into the circles of Hell. Sin, specifically. Either way, it was a short path with many tongues, fingers and cocks to ease your way down.

You didn’t even realise how fast you fell for him. Nor he for you, most likely. But soon enough he was around often enough that you couldn’t call it a fling any more. This was something different. You’d caught him sizing your ring finger the other night, actually. Eyeballing it, mostly, but you could tell what that eye meant.

“‘Ey, babe- you in there? Or are y’too fucked dumb to respond anymore, huh?”

You groaned, thoughts hazing in and out a little, though they were brought sharply into focus as he withdrew his fingers and stuck his rather long tongue out to lick them clean.

Seeing your hungry gaze, he offered them to you next—an offering you took up without an ounce of hesitation. Fuck, you tasted good.

Those very same fingers slid from your mouth and down around your throat, brushing against the thrum of your pulse beneath your soft, thin skin. It would take almost nothing for him to kill you. But he wouldn’t. He was too fond of you- his favourite Flesh Bag as he called you.

His eyes glinted above you, drinking in the sight of your spit-slick lips, red and swollen. Your throat pressed against his fingers, warmer than you’d expect for a dead man. Slowly, softly, he pushed you down onto your back, legs bent and spread wide for him to slot his hips between.

Finally, finally, you were going to get what you needed.

“Uh-uh, my precious little dummy, not yet. You think you deserve this cock? D’you really? Think hard on it now, hard as I know that is for your empty little brain.”

“Y-yes,” you replied almost instantly, trying to roll your hips against him- trying to goad him into fucking you dumb just the way you like. Well. Dumber.

“‘Y-yes’ what, babe?”

Risking a glance at his expression, your mouth practically watered at the carnal look there. Dark, hungry. He wanted this just as much as you did. Needed it, even, perhaps.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s it. That’s fuckin’ it, babe. Fuckin daddy-o, that’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, starting to come out of the haze a little now despite the slap of his cock against your clit. He was doing it to tease you, the fucker.

“Beej, if you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I might go genuinely insane.”

“Ladies and gents,” Betelgeuse snorted, talking to an invisible audience. “Can’t keep ‘em off me, eh? Desperate little thing. Cute though.”

But despite the pleasure he usually got from torturing you from hours on end (you think as if he hadn’t just spent the last two to three hours fingerfucking you to oblivion), he gave in, softly rolling his hips against you- sinking inside so slowly you almost felt like yelling at him to just hurry up.

“Ohh, fuck me,” you moaned, head dropping back against the pillows as he finally sunk completely inside you. The thing about Beej was that he was always able to alter any of his shapes to be exactly what you needed when you needed it. And today, he knew you wanted someone on the larger side. Not that you wouldn’t be happy with average, either, but sometimes there was just a need for something a little more specific. Beej knew that, too.

“Alright, alright,” he huffed amusedly, punctuating the sentence with one of his very unique laughs. “Shut up for me a sec, babe,” he said, placing a hand over your mouth as he pulled back and slammed back against you. “Yeah, that’s it.”

He set a punishing pace, eyes rolling quite literally into the back of his head with pleasure. While the object of torture had been you over the last few hours, there was some element of torture for him, too, not being able to sink balls deep into your tight little cunt and fuck you until he was sated. But not anymore.

Slowly as he fucked you, his hand slipped from your mouth, allowing your pretty moans to escape into the heated air. Betelgeuse moaned, running his hand down your throat and down your side to grip at your hip. His fingers squeezed harshly into the soft muscle there, and you tilted your hips as best as you could to rock back against him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Betelgeuse groaned, leaning down to shower sharp bites down your neck and shoulders. He always had been a biter. There was something about the contrast of the blood coming to the surface under the skin, the way those indents slowly softened into pretty bruises spreading across your skin like a grim meadow that drove him insane. “Not gonna last long, babe.”

That was okay with you, you weren’t going to last long either. You hadn’t realised how fast you were approaching your orgasm- and the deadline skyrocketed closer as his hand disappeared between your legs where you were most sensitive.

“God, fuck, Beej- I, fuck, like that, please,” you cried out, reaching out to encircle your arms around his shoulders. You pulled him down and over you. From an outside perspective, you were absolutely sure that he would look like a violent predator about to rip apart his prey.

His hips fucked into you without mercy, fingers rubbing against your most sensitive area. Your mouth was open in a practically permanent ‘o’- something that Betelgeuse took full advantage of as his lips landed on yours. His tongue flicked at your lower lip and it was that in conjunction with the savage thrust of his hips and non-stop-just-right fingers that catapulted you right over that edge.

With a cry you weren’t sure actually made any sound or not, you felt your pleasure bubble over like a boiling pot on a stove, spilling over the edges and roiling up your spine. You could feel your orgasm all the way in your toes and even in your scalp, you realised distantly.

Oh, wait, no, that was Betelgeuse’s fingers knotted in your hair, pulling as he chased his own orgasm now, hips choppy yet brutal. Every thrust forced your orgasm out longer, tingles of pleasure shooting through your nerves even as you started to come down from it.

“Oh, oh, yeah, that’s it, babe. Fuckin little toy for daddy, aintcha- yeah,” he rambled with pleasure, eyes screwed tight as he finally, finally came-

You sagged into the bed as he slowly stopped thrusting, cock still inside you. With a grunt, he laid down on top of you, forcing a grunt out of you as he did so. Your hand raised lazily to rub at his back.

“Fuck, Beej,” you panted, eyes drifting closed as the glow started to overtake you. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Betelgeuse snorted playfully, already starting to recover. He had a freaky ability to be able to go, and go, and go- and then barely need rest afterwards. Perks of being dead, you supposed.

“What, like I ain’t already?”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that.

#beetlejuice x reader #Betelgeuse x reader #Betelgeuse x you #beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice fic #Betelgeuse fic #beetlejuice smut #betelgeuse smut

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rogersideup · 3 months ago

Note

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

‧₊˚✧⚁⁠♧777♤⚄✧˚₊‧

Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

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lavandulawrites · 4 months ago

Text

Undeserving

Yandere Zhongli x reader

Zhongli is definitely a terrifying yandere. (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Synopsis: Zhongli takes it upon himself to rid the world of those who sin

Masterlist

Warnings: explicit violence,torn limbs, kinda gory, Zhongli is very possessive, Zhongli is completely feral, reader is not directly involved with any of the violence

Word count: 2223

Zhongli had always seen himself as a reasonable man. Even before he had taken on the name Zhongli. He valued respect and honour. Zhongli had always held a fondness for contracts and their power. He often preferred to negotiate rather than fighting. It was more proper after all.

It was however in moments like this, his polished appearance faltered and revealed the beast within that had slain many.

His glowed fingers loosened his tie before he elegantly slipped off his leather gloves. He placed both his tie and his gloves on the mantle on the unlit fireplace. He slowly turned to face the sinner that sat on his newly bought antique armchair. Zhongli’s skin crawled at the sight of that vermin who had made himself extremely comfortable in his beloved chair.

The man whose name was Haoyu sipped on a cup of pipping hot tea. He showed no care for Zhongli’s possessions and handled the cup with much carelessness.

Zhongli clenched his fists behind his back. Though a dragon was only one of his many forms, his bloodlust was still ever present. His fanged teeth clenched together as he recalled the days he had used those teeth to tear out his enemies throats. No matter what kind of form Zhongli took, his golden reptile like eyes and his long sharp fangs was something he never managed to conceal.

He walked over to the chair which was opposite of Haoyu’s. His steps no different from a stalking predator. With elegance he sat down and crossed his legs. He leaned back in his chair as he picked up his own cup of tea. He inhaled the aroma and sighed him delight at the delicious smell. The tea hot and intense as it filled his throat.

“Do you have any ideas for your brother’s funeral? Or any specific wishes for the ceremony?” he asked the black haired man.

Haoyu rubbed his goatee while he drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I don’t have any specific wishes. I just want to have him buried as fast as possible. I am a busy man you see” his voice had the same pitch as that of an squealing pig.

“I see” Zhongli nodded. “As for payment, the director wants to know when you are able to pay” he continued with an almost bored voice.

“Soon. I just need to make sure my next business deal goes well. So maybe in a week or two. Two is more likely” the bearded man shrugged.

Zhongli’s golden eyes narrowed before he chuckled. “Director Hu Tao needs the payment before Friday, meaning in three days. I have told you so many times” his smiled forced. The director of the funeral parlour was a remarkable young woman. Her youthfulness made Zhongli almost feel young again and he enjoyed her company. He acted as her counsellor and a kind of guardian. Though the guardian part was something that had happened over time.

Zhongli’s appearance was youthful and he looked somewhere in his early to mid thirties. Despite that, his wisdom was greater than all of the elderly in the city combined. He knew that Hu Tao suspected that he wasn’t human, but he never addressed it.

“I don’t think I will be able to” the middle aged man shrugged. He sipped more of his tea and didn’t notice how he spilled some on his shirt.

The former geo archon’s eyes turned cold. His finger stabbing the inside of his palms. “You will have to find a way. We can’t propound the payment any longer.”

Haoyu sighed. “Don’t be so difficult! I’m sure you’ll be able to do something” he winked his goat like eyes at the brunette.

Zhongli felt offended at the ugliness that sat in front of him. “No. I am not able to ‘do something’” his voice monotone. If Zhongli wanted to, he would be able to convince Hu Tao to propound the payment, but he did not feel like doing so.

The man sneered. “Fine” he groaned like the pig he was. He downed the last of his tea and slammed it onto the newly polished mahogany table.

Zhongli’s eyes twitched at the blatantly rudeness. He took a deep breath before he rose to his feet. “I remember I told you about my collection of tableware. I should give you a tour before you leave” he smiled politely at the irritated man.

Haoyu’s frown quickly turned into a smile. “Oh I would love that” he stood up and stretched his limbs, nearly knocking down his teacup from the table.

Zhongli led him to the room where he kept his various collections. Rows upon rows of tea seats filled one of the long walls. Haoyu stopped in front of a delicate purple clay teapot. He lifted it up from its shelf and studied it closely.

Zhongli closed his eyes in annoyance, but continued to play the part of a good host. He showed him his various treasures and Haoyu was overjoyed by the different riches.

Zhongli followed Haoyu out to the hallway. “Before you leave, I want to ask you something” his voice polite.

Haoyu raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Go on.”

Zhongli ignore his rude tone yet again. “I have heard that you are good acquaintances with [Name]” his voice as calm as still water.

The man smirked at his words. “Yeah, you could say that… She’s quite the looker” he laughed. His fat fingers clasped together.

Zhongli reminded silent. He’s face similar to his many statues that were scattered over the country.

At the taller man’s silence, Haoyu raised his brow. “Why are you asking?”

Zhongli walked towards a painting of a bamboo forest. His back facing Haoyu. “I do not like it when people get their greedy hands on what’s mine. It angers me. And very much so” his voice had a sharp edge to it.

He turned slowly to face him. “You are a foul man. You lack both tact and elegance” his diamond shaped pupils small in disgust. He stalked towards him with slow steps.

Haoyu slumped his shoulders at Zhongli’s fury. He gulped loudly as his back hit the wall.

“You are not worthy of [Name’s] presence. She has told me countless times that she finds you revolting” his rage cold in his veins as he looked down at the man who had sinned the greatest sin of all. His cold golden gaze flickered down to the man’s hands. The very hands that had touched his beloved.

“I-I promise to never speak to her or touch her ever again!” Haoyu uttered as he slumped even further together. His legs were shaking in fear.

His stuttering a clear sign of his cowardice and Zhongli found it humorous how his brutish façade was just only that: a façade.

The adeptus’ entire body was filled with the want, need, to spill the blood of the man who had crossed him. He flex his hands along his side and felt the welcoming power of geo that flowed through his veins. He raised his hand in a quick motion as he wrapped it around Haoyu’s neck. He slammed his head against his wall, not caring about his expensive wallpaper.

“All sinners must pay for their sins. You are no different” he spat. Zhongli’s eyes glowed a golden hue which was the main telltale sign of his non-humanity.

Haoyu desperately tried to defend himself, but the strong hand that held his neck only tightened. The sound of his struggling breath was music to his ears.

“Be quiet” was all he said before he dropped the man.

The bearded man quickly crawled towards the front door before Zhongli brought his foot down and kicked him in his ribs. The sound of bones creaking brought a small smile to the former archon’s face.

Haoyu screamed as snoot and tears streamed down his disgusting face. He loudly prayed to be saved by Rex Lapis.

Zhongli scoffed before he brought his foot at the nap of Haoyu’s neck. He pressed down, earning a cry from the black haired man. “Take his name out of your filthy mouth” he sneered.

He manifested his spear and pointed it towards the man who laid in a kneeling position on the floor. The pointed tip, glittering in the light. His polearm had been his trusted companion throughout many years.

“Get up” his tone dominating.

Haoyu scrambled up to his legs and clutched his side in pain. His dark eyes looked up at Zhongli in fear.

Zhongli raised his spear before he brought it down to Haoyu’s left shoulder. The spear pierced his flesh and made contact with the bone. Red blood splattered on the hardwood floor. Haoyu screamed in pain.

“AGH! Fuck! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” he screamed as he tried to stop the bleeding with his fat hand.

The brunette laughed at his pitiful cries. “No one will help you. They cannot hear you on the outside” his lips twisted up into a cruel smile. He had used adeptal arts to completely soundproof his home.

He stalked towards his prey and stopped right in front of him. His polished shoes soaking in blood. He sneered in disgust.

He rose his empty hand. His finger tips turned into claws which he used to slash through the neck of the sinner in front of him. Haoyu gurgled on his blood as he desperately clutched his throat. His eyes wet as they pleaded to the god in front of him.

Zhongli brought his bloodied hand before him. Torn skin was attached to his long black claws. He shook his hand and sent the skin flying towards Haoyu.

With a splat the skin landed on his forehead which resulted in him throwing up. Vomit spewed out from his mouth and the gaping hole in his throat. The sight was disgusting and Zhongli felt even more offended. The smell of vomit reached his strong nose and he crushed his inhuman sense of smell.

He reattached his claws and sat his spear neatly against the wall behind him. He crouched down to the dying man’s level. His godly eyes scanning his. “You brought this upon yourself” was all he said.

Long elegant fingers wrapped around Haoyu’s left arm. Zhongli waited till he was sure he was sure he paid attention. He then ripped his arm off with no effort. The tearing sound echoed in the hallway. Blood gushed from the open wound. It was going to be long before he died from blood loss. Zhongli tossed the arm away before he stood up.

“Stand” he commanded.

Haoyu struggled like a newborn fawn, but managed to stand. His appearance similar to that of a mangled corpse than a living human.

Zhongli brought his hand up to his chest. The power of geo poured out from his every pores and onto the man in front of him.

Slowly, but surely his chest turned into stone. Haoyu screamed as loudly as his damaged vocal cords let him. Zhongli was sure to be slow. It was important for him to feel the pain as long as he could.

His harsh eyes met the gaping hole in his throat. Tendons clearly visible. His vocal cords looked rather teared as well as his Adam’s apple which was completely damaged.

“You should apologise for your unkempt appearance” Zhongli had no humanity left in neither his voice nor eyes.

He reattached his hand. He made sure to make proper eye contact with Haoyu before he curled his hand into a fist. His fist drove into his face. Before he knew it, his fist had made a complete hole. Haoyu’s body fell limp against the floor. His face completely gone and replaced by a through hole. Brain matter covered the wall and stained his beautiful wallpaper.

Zhongli scoffed at the mess. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and willed his hands. Th white pure fabric quickly turned grimy.

He was yet again glad for the adeptal art he was the father off. With a snap of his finger the whole hallway was clean. The hardwood floors no longer coated in warm sticky blood and the wallpaper no longer stained. The body was turned into stone which quickly turned into sand.

He brought a broom and cleaned the sand up.

He would sprinkle the sand in the garden in Haoyu’s family house.

He sat down on his armchair and breathed out. He was content with his work. The only thing missing was you by his side. He picked up the contract he had written. He would encourage you to write your name on it. Then your fate would be sealed and he would finally be able to sleep peacefully with you by his side. With Haoyu and the others who had been close to you out of the picture, it was only the two of you.

Just as it should be.

He took a sip of the rich wine and let the the liquid swirl around in his mouth. A soft smile formed on his lips. He had had the adepti make a beautiful red wedding dress with gold embroidered into the silky fabric. You would make a beautiful bride and he would do everything in order to protect you. He would even take his role as an archon again if the situation called for it.

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khuzena · 20 days ago

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Fable

Pairing: Sunday x gn!reader

cw: themes of religion, emotional turmoil, mental health struggles, sin and redemption.

Synopsis: In a world engulfed with sin, Sunday feels as if there's no difference between him and the lowly sinners he preaches to. A stark irony in his thoughts and the cross that lay heavy on his chest, a preacher of Aeon Xipe, yet a damned fool that longs for a sinner. He offers redemption as if it's cheap since it only asks faith as its payment. However, the sinner he longs for has no ounce of faith in their soul. In the end, he could only sing praises— if only attaining salvation was so easy.

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK (no one remembers me) but I'm here to deliver angst anyways bc fuck this shit. My writing is shitty so bear with me. :(((

“Repent, sinner.” Sunday whispered as he held your hand, “Repent.”

"Sunday— let go” you drawled, voice dripping with shame. You leaned against the wall, the smoke from your cigarette curling lazily through the dim air, mingling with the stale scent of cheap perfume and old upholstery. The brothel was alive with murmured laughter and low music, the worn-out couches and faded curtains casting long shadows in the flickering amber light. Your skin was drenched in sweat, your head riddled in shame as your clothes lay bare on the floor. You've just finished servicing a client yet Sunday's invaded unknown territory; to save you, maybe.

The priest’s eyes swept the room, narrowing as if each detail confirmed his worst suspicions. His mouth twisted in a thin line of disgust as he clutched his Bible close to his chest, as if bracing himself against the "unclean" aura around him. The expression in his eyes was soft, painful—a thousand sermons held back by a single withering look.

“Please,” he said, voice clipped. “You know this isn't the answer— it's never too late.”

“Just go,” you replied, frowning without your usual certain devil-may-care charm. You let sin consume you, as it's all you've ever known. “But you’re right, Father. It's never too late for others but I'm a lost cause.”

You trail off, the musky aroma of carnal desire in the room intoxicating his ‘pure’ soul, “You're gonna save me? With what, exactly? A sermon? A confession?”

“Redemption.” He said the word as if it could wash the room clean. “Even someone like you—someone who parades their sin as if it’s a crown—you could still be saved. Even now.”

You laughed, the sound echoing off the peeling walls, more haunting than humorous. “Saved? By what, exactly? A few Hail Marys and a scolding?” You looked him up and down, that faint amusement never leaving your eyes. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs saving. Ever thought of that?”

Sunday's face darkened, his fingers tracing the edge of his Bible like it was a weapon rather than a shield. “You speak of kindness, yet you live without a shred of humility or grace. Do you really think there’s peace in… in this?” He gestured around the room, lips curling in contempt. “All I see is emptiness masquerading as freedom.”

Your eyes narrowed, your smile fading. “Freedom?” You flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching it drift to the floor like grey snowflakes. “Tell me, Father, when was the last time you felt free?” You crawled to him as he sat on the stained sheets, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath, the faint scent of smoke and cheap perfume mixing with the cold edge of his cologne. “You clutch that Bible like it’s a cage, not a comfort. You come here, looking down on us from your self-righteous mountain, but you’re the one running. From what, exactly?”

He stiffened, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if you’d struck a nerve. “I serve the Lord,” he said, voice quivering with a mixture of conviction and something darker, something unsettled. “I bring light to places that have forgotten it. I offer hope to the lost.”

You smirked, unbothered. “Hope, is it? Funny, you seem more scared than hopeful. You think that because I don’t kneel and grovel that I must be empty, but I don’t need your god to tell me right from wrong. I may be a ‘sinner’ in your eyes, but I don’t preach peace and then threaten damnation. I help the lost here, too, in my own way—without the guilt. And without shame.”

For a moment, his composure slipped, a crack appearing in the stone-cold mask he wore. He looked at you—really looked at you—as if seeing past the lipstick and the smoke to something rawer, something he couldn’t name.

“Kindness without repentance is hollow,” he muttered, almost to himself, fingers ghosting over the cross around his neck. His eyes betray his actions, he can't admit that he loves a sinner like you.

“And blind faith without understanding is cruelty,” you shot back, your voice like a knife through the heavy air. “You think kindness is something you hand down from on high, something earned by prayers and purity. But look around, Father. These people don’t need sermons. They need food, a place to sleep—a little mercy, not lectures.”

He opened his mouth, as if to counter, but words seemed to fail him. Instead, his face twisted, half pity, half frustration. “I’ll… pray for you.”

A dry laugh escapes you, a hollow sound in the oppressive quiet. “Pray for yourself, Father. You’re the one who seems lost here.”

“I just want to save you,” He reiterates, his eyes gleaming with desperation, “Please, just repent. There's always a place for you in the church”

An airy scoff escapes your lips as you smack his hand away, “A place for me? A place for a sin laden person like me?”

A pregnant silence filled the room, he clutched the cross on his neck. There must be an answer, and if there isn't, he'll make you one. His free hand reaches into his pocket, you feel a beaded bracelet rest onto your wrist. It's heavy, so heavy.

“What are you doing to me?”

“I just want to save you,” his hands trembled in sync with the flickering candle light, “Just listen to me.”

“Stop, stop—” no matter how many times you plead him to stop acting so pathetic, he implores mercy for you. The sacred bracelet on your wrist is a testament to his love and his faith— one you could never share.

Sunday vowed himself to never step into the walls of pleasure as they're the home to lust, they're home to fools who seek salvation in sex. Yet, he's here. He's here to seek salvation for you. He brought Xipe’s presence into the home of the devil, in hopes to coerce you to the brighter side.

His presence in this brothel feels like an enigma, he doesn't belong here.

“I don't want you to rot in hell,” he trails off, kissing your knuckles, “I’ve never felt this before— Xipe owns my body, my soul.”

Why does his touch feel so addicting compared to the touches of far fairer men than him?

His wings droop onto his shoulders, your clothes on the floor reflecting on his shiny halo but he doesn't budge. He doesn't want to leave you here, he knows your heart is kind, yet your body's defiled— he’s determined that he'll cleanse you, he'll cleanse you of this sin.

He presses his lips again to your knuckles, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He mutters to himself as his sacred tears paint your tainted skin.

Xipe may own every fibre of his being, but you've taken his very soul, you've stolen it with every scornful laugh, every unrepentant sin. THEY have save you, THEY need to save you—

However, when he stares back into the abyss in your eyes, he knows you're long forsaken by their blessings.

When you don't recite the verses escaping his lips, he realises you're a lost cause.

Please, Xipe. Please do something about them—

If that's not enough, he's brought jar filled with ash.

“That's enough Sunday—”

“It's not.”

His words sunk low as he turned more desperate than a man faced with death. For you to die and rot in hell is death in itself.

You should run away, you should push him away.

You should throw him back to the cathedral he preaches in.

But a part of you wants saving.

A part of you long to be in the same world he is, in body and soul and in every prayer recited.

But you can’t.

With trembling hands, Sunday brought his fingers to the jar of ash he'd clutched as if it held the very essence of Xipe himself. His touch was reverent, fingers dipping into the blackened dust as he leaned forward, his face a mask of fevered determination. His breath was ragged, each exhale brushing against your skin like a ghost's touch, hovering close as he traced the symbol of harmony on your forehead.

The ash was cold and heavy against your skin, spreading like a dark stain over the sweat still clinging to you from moments before. Sunday’s fingers shook as he sketched each line, each curve, his brows furrowing as if with each stroke he could carve Xipe’s mercy into your very soul. His lips moved soundlessly, chanting prayers, pleading with his god to see you—to reach you. His eyes glistened, holding a desperation so raw it felt as though he were laying his soul bare with every brush of his fingers.

"Please," he whispered, voice breaking as he drew the final stroke, his forehead pressed against yours, the rough ash between you a stark reminder of the worlds that kept you apart. "Please, let this save you." His eyes searched yours, wild with a hope he couldn’t contain, pleading with a faith that was beginning to crumble as he realized that even this sacred act, this final attempt to offer you salvation, might still leave you beyond his reach.

You're still a sinner through and through.

Sunday’s fingers lingered, almost frozen against your skin as he stared at the dark symbol he’d left, the weight of it so heavy it felt like it would pull you both under. His breaths came uneven, shallow, as he fought against the reality sinking in—that his desperate plea might not reach you, that this sacred symbol he’d etched might be nothing more than a stain.

His hand drifted to your cheek, thumb tracing the faint smudge of ash, as though hoping to rub it deeper, to make it part of you in some way that went beyond flesh and bone. His eyes were wet, glistening with the weight of unspoken prayers, with the terror of a man standing on the brink of faith and despair.

“I love you— I want you.”

“Then want me.”

‘Want me without fear’ - what you should've said.

He shakes his head, swallowing. “I can’t. To want you… to touch you? I’d lose everything.” Each word is a knife, cutting through the heavy air between you.

“Then why are you here?” you murmur, your voice laced with disbelief, the irony palpable in the dim light. A saint in sacred clothing before a madonna whore.

“Because you’re worth saving.” His eyes are fierce, but they tremble.

You laugh bitterly. “Even if I don’t want it?”

“It’s not just for you!” His grip tightens around your hands, desperation bleeding into his voice. “I need to believe… that you can be saved, that I can—” He falters, his eyes darkening. “What if I’m here because I’m as damned as you?”

“Then maybe you should let go of salvation.”

His wings flutter as sobs wreck his soul. Why can't THEY save you too? Why does he have to live with the idea that you'll rot— that he can't do anything about it?

And as he kneels before you, his lips brushing over your knuckles in a final, desperate kiss, he prays—more for himself than for you.

"I’ve seen hell, and it’s not the one you think," you murmur, voice low, yet biting. "It’s in the way you look at me—like I’m nothing but a sin."

A flash of pain crosses his face, mingling with the flicker of understanding that never quite settles. Anxiety tightens his grip on your hand as he absorbs your words, though he’ll never truly understand them. He opens his mouth, but only silence falls—a prayer unsaid, a salvation he’s not even sure he can give.

His gaze drops, lingering on the thin sheet covering you like a veil over desecration, and he looks away, ashamed yet bound.

He leans in, lips hovering just above yours—a kiss he tells himself is selfless.

“I'll pray for you."

I'll forgive you.

Note: BYE BER MONTHS HIT ME LIKE A TRUCK— I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED PROGRESS OF MY WIP FICS AND I WAS IN TEARS AND JS CRASHED OUT. IM BACK BC GIGI PEREZ JS MADE ME WRIT EGAIAN

special mention: @whyiseveryname-taken bro I'm still ariting abt that angst jing yuan fic btw if u still remember 😈

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#hsr sunday x reader #hsr sunday #sunday fluff #honkai star rail sunday #sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr fluff #hsr angst #sunday angst #honkai star rail angst #sunday smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #what have i done

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auragasmics · 4 months ago

Text

A NIGHT IN OUR PAST!

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ synopsis! Banquet Night, a time of class, grace, and digust. When invited to the yearly banquet hosted by tokyo’s elite, you and toji step into a glamorous world that hides remnants of the past you both barely survive. When the memories start rolling in and emotions of the past run high, who will crumble to the feet of the elite first, or will love light a way out for these two?

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ pairings! ! widow!fem!reader x toji fushiguro

˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ ˚ ₒ ∞ cw! ! 14.6k words, dubcon, pwp, age gap (toji is 35, reader is 27), use of ocs, mention/talks of death, hints of fluff, implied anxiety/panic attack, implied flashbacks, use of alcohol, drunk sex(?), power play, vouyerism/exhibitionism, oversimulation, slight dom fem!reader, masturbation, toji hits from the side, fingering, oral(m → f), teasing, multiple orgasms, spitting, no protection, slow sex, implied marathon sex, sorry if i forgot some mwuah <3

˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ ∞ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ˚ ₒ ∞ xoxo, chris! yeahhhhh…if this isn’t the epitome of self indulgent idk what is. thanks to my gracious beta reader @n3vr-f0und (thank you for reading these bricks i send you :3)

tags: @lalunanymph @mikyapixie @prettylvne @dongh9e @humantrashcan2000

m.list. pt. 2. pt.4

ONE NEW MESSAGE FROM: M’LADY

“WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS,

DON’T ASK ME WHY IT’S DOUBTED.

JUST TAKE IT WITH THAT SMILE.

PAYMENT: + ¥ 80,000

Again, Toji’s stuck grimacing at his phone screen. It comes with a heavy sigh as he rests his throbbing temple along the tinted glass of the car window.

It’s his typical trend to gasp, gawk, and mindlessly swipe at the screen whenever a payment from you enters his account but in a month’s time, he’s learned a valuable lesson.

Numbers don’t lie and neither have you.

He’s been under your care for a month, and not once have you failed to honor the haphazard agreement. In truth, Toji’s managed to accumulate 250,000 yen in the short month with you. He’s been thinking about it; He’s saved himself from financial ruin with more money than he could’ve hoped for, so why not leave?

Yet, there’s something worth more than all the money, all the wealth, and all the thoughts he’s had recently.

And that could be found right next to him— you squinting into the small hand mirror carefully swiping on lipstick he knows he’ll be dressed in once the night comes to its sinful close.

Would Toji say he’s fallen for you?

No, he knew this wasn’t love, not when he’s being paid 80,000 yen to do something he would’ve done for free—should you have asked him with that smile he loves so much. It wasn’t love but lately, Toji’s had his hands full of acquainting himself with every curve, every etching, and every nerve found across your body. It wasn’t love but Toji’s been finding solace in waking up in your bed with you snuggled up in his arms.

It wasn’t love, but right now Toji can’t help but allow himself to get lost in your artistry.

Beautiful, that’s the only word Toji can use when he’s at a loss like this. His azure irises hinge on your precocious care for detail, watching as you softly trace the curves of your lips in red.

So slowly does that shade of rouge melt upon your lips, as if nothing else outside the backseat of this car speeding down the Tokyo interstate matters. So mindful not to miss the thinning corners of your mouth too, ensuring that your grace permeates every inch of your being.

Toji’s thinking about what you’d possibly do once you drop the brush from the canvas, would you turn and grin at him out of that childish sense of accomplishment? Would you mark him with a kiss or two like you always do? Every artist signed their painting, and it’s due to you that Toji can break into the world he’s never known—or the world he barely escaped from.

Right now, he wouldn’t mind donning an extra accessory for the night. Just to walk into the room with your lipstick as a badge of honor that shows everyone in that room who he belongs—

“Toji!” your voice pulled Toji from his mediated fantasy.

Jolting awake from his wondrous thoughts, Toji nervously tucks his phone back into the breast pocket of his black suit before giving you his attention.

“Hm? What’s wrong, Baby?”

“This,” you sigh, dropping the small compact mirror from your face. Levering your neck, you turn to Toji for his thoughts. “Does this shade of lipstick go with my dress? I think it’s too…cheerful.”

“Isn’t that what you wanna go for? I mean, it is a banquet. Drab and depressing isn’t what I think of when it comes to events like this.”

“Ha!” you sneer, “Banquet amongst Japan’s elite. I rather sit at home and count how many times the street lights flicker.”

The flat of Toji’s palm coats your thigh, his pulsing grip teasing past the leg slit of your brown mulberry silk grown. “So…it’s boring? I’m sorry Princess, but ‘m just a little confused. Last month, you were all excited about gettin’ dressed up and going out, but now you hate it?”

“I don’t ‘hate’ it, I hate the people we’re about to encounter. Tokyo’s elite, remember? And…it’s the first time I’ll be showing my face in some years. But it’s just for barely an hour, then we can go—”

Toji found his way beside you, nuzzled at your side with his chin resting along the peak of your bare shoulder. He’s peering at you with heavy eyes, weighted by dreams waiting to waltz through his mind. His voice mirrors his new form, his deep voice softened by comfort.

“Tell me about these people you hate so much.”

There’s a longing breath that curls in the back of your throat, your lips twisted and pursed as you gather the best words to present your heartaches to Toji.

“These people…they’re heartless. They care only for their money and status, as if they too didn’t come from humble beginnings. When my husband and I were first invited to these events, I was just making my name as a business consultant and he was just making rank as a CEO.

And on that night, I’ve never met such a bunch of disgusting, rotten people. The men hound the women, and the women hate each other. Nothing is good enough for them, there’s always a complaint.”

“Yeah?” Toji echos, “So then, why are we going, Princess? It’s like we’re going straight into trouble. Not that I mind that—there’s always an adventure waiting—but it’s not your style.”

You drop your sights to meet Toji, his gentle-mannered stare washing over you with relief. But that glance you pay him comes with a heavy price—that bubbling urge to kiss his tepid smirk. It’s a need you could act on, but there’s a shrouding guilt staining your mind, one that you can’t ignore:

Your ex-husband.

The memories are still there, fresh in your mind. Even now as you vaguely speak on his name and legacy, it’s almost like he’s here, holding you in his arms, watching you with a smile on his face, playing the role of spectator to your timely crime.

It’s an act of betrayal in your eyes, in your gut, yet this longing to kiss Toji reigns with an iron fist over your will.

But it’s Toji who has you tucked beside him now, and he’s the only one listening to your dolors with attentive ears. He’s giving you all—the attention, time, and energy. Whether it was genuine was his concern alone, nothing for you to ponder, that conversation being between him and the universe.

For now, he’s here with you, taking in every word you say with a look of interest. He’s even tagging his palm to your waist, keeping you close to his side. He’s turning himself into a place of solace for you, which has you itching for more than just his attentive nature.

All the cards are present and in your favor—but the guilt of upheaved tradition denies the relief of giving into your desire.

You bear it with a harsh swallow, your eyes fluttering shut as you work to finish your explanation.

“Be-Because…as the wife of the former CEO, I’m now the unseen face of the company. I have to handle all the social affairs, to tend and mend relationships. Being here…going there to dine with people I despise…it’s all for him. And I intend on keeping all his hard work alive and thriving.”

“Aren’t you a good wife? Most men would travel through heaven and hell if it meant they would meet you in their next lifetime. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let anyone look or speak to you wrong, especially when they have no clue of the burden you carry on your shoulders.”

He’s straightening himself up, sitting tall beside you from his slouched state. And of course, he’s still forgotten the mere idea of space, the pad of his thumb reaching to swipe along your powdered chin.

“Fuck…” Toji whispers, his sly smirk drifting dangerously close to your lips, “You’re just a good girl, after all, Princess.”

There’s room for mockery in his tone, something that has you waving off his favor with a shrug. “Stop it, don’t try to baby me, Toji. I—”

“ ‘m not trying to do that. Not in the slightest. I admire it, honestly. You don’t need my sympathy, and I wasn’t offering it up. Just take my praise and let it be, alright?”

Hesitantly, you accept Toji’s words, shooting your narrowed eyes to scan over his impartial mien.

“…Alright.”

Toji’s latent apology is a mere stare, his typical gaze eased by a nurturing glint. He's tentatively squeezing at your waist, luring you into his salacious trap.

His suave nature has your mind dizzy with everything Toji—his gentle smile, his warmth, his cologne wafting past your nose. He’s done nothing to you, yet that suppressed craving is flickering once more and it has you diving blindly into Toji’s stronghold.

Until the perfect excuse presents itself.

“Toji, wait! I’m all dressed up and it was a pain to get this!”

“Shhh, just giving you a kiss. I wouldn’t dare to ruin all your hard work. And besides…” He trails off, tilting his head towards the tinted glass wall separating the driver from the blooming scene.

“He can’t see a damn thing.”

“Fine,” you huff, “Just a kiss, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

“No, I said just a kiss—”

Toji steals the last words of your warning as his own, sealing them away behind a soft peck.

Though his fingers ache to strip you bare, a kiss is truly all Toji tends to leave you with. He’s considerate towards you, aware of the fact that your lips are dressed up in the similar fashion you carried yourself for the night. He doesn’t dare to bite at your bottom lip, to slip his tongue along your own, he simply presses his kiss slowly onto you.

“See?” he grins as he pulls away, “Just a kiss. Told you I wanna keep you looking nice.”

“But I think I changed my mind,” you tease, pushing your eager lips back onto Toji’s gaping awe. The care you could almost thank him for flies right out of the window as your greedy tongue traces the caverns of his mouth.

You’re just so delicate, taking the time to study every inch of him before working a shy coil around his tongue. It’s nearly as if you’re treading a careful line too, holding back from what you know will pass.

But that won’t stop your hands from roaming along his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles from the silk black lapels of his suit jacket, tugging at his collar, all for your touch to find the comfort of cupping his rosy cheeks.

He takes heed with a smothered smirk, offering a lengthy response through unspoken language. But being the man he’s sworn to be tonight, Toji can’t let you show face with swollen lips, smeared lipstick, and wrinkles spouted all over your dress.

To depart from your adoration chips at Toji’s heart, but he does so with a parting gift. His teeth, pearled and strong, generously nip at your bottom lip as a courtesy to his exit. But he doesn’t draw too far, just enough for his shaky breaths to cloud your skin.

He tethers onto a smug smile to huff out his rhetorical thoughts, “What happened to being classy, Honey? Now your makeup’s gonna be messy ‘nd–”

“I don’t care about that. Any of it,” You lay out flatly, biting down on the present Toji plucked onto your bottom lip. “It’s nothing we can’t clean up in the bathroom, right?”

Toji kisses his teeth, using his grip to squeeze at your waist, “Nasty girl. As much as I'd that, and I really hate to ruin our moment, but I think we’re here so…here…”

Reaching beside you, Toji grabs the discarded pocket mirror and tube of lipstick for you. With what gap exists between you both, he presents the tools with a soft tilt of his palm.

“Go on, I’ll hold your mirror for you…for a price.”

“A price?” You press, lurching back from Toji’s hold. You accept the silver bullet from him, tugging off the cap before placing the red velvet tip to your pout.

“Mhm.” Toji blindly nods. He’s already absorbed into you, his hounding gaze following your careful hand once more.

“When you’re done, kiss me on the cheek. Just to…make sure it’s all dried, y’know?”

All you offer Toji is a sharp squint, “Is that right?”

“Yup, riiiight here,” Toji beckons, tipping his jaw towards you.

A sigh seeps through your lips, but you cave at Toji's request. Pressing your dressed lips along Toji’s cheek imprints the mark of deep crimson upon his fair skin.

“There, how’s that?”

Toji greedily turns the mirror on himself, his eyes gawking at the pretty signature you’ve given him.

“Perfect! Wooow, red looks good on us, Princess,” He chuckles to himself. Toji shuts the compact in his grip, leaving him to pin his sights on you.

“Well, ready to eat, breathe, and drink like elites?”

“Oh, Baby,” you playfully coo, your hand sitting along his thigh, “We already do.”

That’s all Toji needs to hear before he reaches for the door handle, pushing the heavy black car door open. The sidewalk’s concrete cracks beneath his feet as Toji stands from his seat, his hand reaching back for your own.

“Careful, careful, don’t step on the dress…” Toji chants as he guides you out of the backseat to stand beside him.

His concerns bring a giggle to ring from your lips as you thank him, softly squeezing at his linked grasp. Though, you find your attention set onto the building before you—standing at easily 30 floors high with what you made out to be an open rooftop on the top floor. Through a bushy squint, you noticed flickering lights dancing from the rooftop, pulling a sigh from your bundled chest.

“Yup, just like ‘em. Partying on the top floor like the gods they wanna be,” you mutter under your breath.

Stress wasn’t a good look on you and Toji needed a way of breaking that tension quickly.

Toji didn’t need another word, he knew he had to ease your worries fast. Lacing his arm around your hips, Toji adopts the role of an attendant, using slow steps to lead you inside the building. He steals a look at you, and he’s met with a clenched jaw and twisted lips.

“We’re gonna have fun tonight, ‘kay?” He assures, “Just go in—hey, wha-what do you eat at these things anyway?”

“Oh, a mix of everything. Native food like sushi, sashimi platters, and beef. Some foreign dishes like curry, or stew to call it something fancier, some other stuff. They serve oysters here sometimes—Oh, desserts derive from France, so things like that. But you can see some local items like parfaits, cakes, and red bean dishes too.”

Toji simply grins as you speak. He’s got you so invested in rattling out food, you didn’t even notice his intention of distracting you. Just his luck that it’s working. That list of potential menu items brought you both through the grand lobby of marble walls and columns, down the winding path of red carpet, and into the awaiting elevator leading upstairs

As the elevator doors shut, Toji pulls you into him once more, his fingers tapping at what curves lay within his grasp. He takes a moment to look around the small chamber with curious eyes—and down to your heavy stare cast upon him.

“Ugh, your lips are a little red, Toji. Want me to wipe—”

“Don’t bother,” he shrugs, “ Now you can’t go around calling me your “friend”. And I’ve got all the proof.”

Your brows weave a knot of confusion, “So you had all this planned out?”

“Pfft, ‘course not,” Toji swiftly shoots down, “Listen, don’t worry about any of that. You’re my lady, that’s it. And besides…I like being covered in your kisses. Is that so wrong?”

“I guess not—”

The soft ‘ding’ of the elevator doors rings through the speakers rip you and Toji out of your safe haven, and the growing sliver of light from the retracting doors seals your fate for the night.

Toji rushes to assume his role as your escort, taking your dainty hand into his calloused palm.

As you laggardly stroll out of the elevator, Toji leans towards your bejeweled ear with a whisper.

“I’ve got you, Princess. Keep a smile on your lips and no matter what…you’re here for a reason. Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

You keep your eyes pinned to the beckoning glass doors, but your focus doesn’t hinder how a smile crowds at your lips.

The marble flooring dons the honor of bearing the first step you take into the busy room. People, crowds of the recognized and deemed distinguished, scatter about the hall, cradling dainty glasses to their chest.

And one of these “recognized and deemed distinguished” has your name rolling off their tongue.

“Ah, isn’t it the lovely lady we’ve all been waiting for!” The voice calls out.

The curiosity prompts you and Toji into a standstill, his hand softly squeezing your own.

“Not even a minute inside and you’re already getting hit on. Tch, don’t forget about me, alright?” He smirks, passing a teasing wink onto you.

You roll your eyes, scoffing at Toji’s playful taunt. “Please, nothing but old men have their eye on me. But, that voice…it sounds so familiar. If I’m remembering properly, it belongs to…him.”

Your pairs of eyes fall short of the approaching figure, your nose wrinkling at the unfortunate realization.

He's a stout man, with tanned skin, black hair sprinkled with stands of salt and pepper, and his lecherous gaze hides behind the glare of wire-framed glasses. Few wrinkles dress his face, aside from the heavily contoured smile lines around his thin, pink lips.

He’s no taller than five-foot-seven, dressed in an all-white suit with a gold tie tucked behind suit lapels. He keeps a cane in hand, clutching at the polished brown stick modeling his laggard trail.

And when he flashes you a smile, there's a gold tooth that floods your mind with a single name.

That man is…Dr. Sai Yusuno.

“Who’s this old man?” Toji whispers into your ear.

“Dr. Sai Yusuno. He used to be on a board with my husband. But when he passed, this man has been nothing but persistent to court me. He asked me out a week after the funeral. Hah, guess someone couldn’t wait,” You hum while maintaining your smile as Dr. Yusuno urges closer.

Toji keeps his hold over you, drawing you into his side once the unwanted presence comes to stand before you both.

“Oh…Dr. Yusuno! How…nice to see you this evening!” Your pitched voice feigning innocence as you bow your head.

“Oh…I didn’t know you’d taken someone new,” Dr. Yusuno chides, sucking his teeth as he scans Toji from head to toe. “So…who is this man?”

“Oh..um…he’s my—”

“Toji Fushiguro,” Toji introduces, keeping his head held high. “She’s my lady. That’s all that needs to be said, if we’re being honest.”

“Hmm…,” Dr. Yusuno pauses for a moment, “Toji, you say? That name sounds similar. Are you from a cl—”

“Oh! Princess!,” Toji blurts out, “I think I see your names over there, let’s go get comfortable.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod, giving into Toji’s lead. “See you later, Doctor!”

Leaving Dr. Yusuno behind, Toji guides you to a chair at the end of the long dining table, allowing you to explore the rest of the banquet hall.

In your sights, you’ve found the bar standing in the corner, the staff working hard to feed thirsty patrons their desired dream for the night through shaken or stirred drinks.

Above hangs a grand crystal chandelier, the chiseled gems cutting the pure white night into a lively kaleidoscope of rainbows across the banquet floor.

Marveling the lavish space with wide eyes, you mumble to yourself. “It’s beautiful!”

Toji’s abrupt stop drags you out of thought, the sudden appearance of the dining table catching your eye. “Here you are, Princess,” he hums, pulling you from your thoughts. He works swiftly to tug out your seat from beneath the black tablecloth.

You find yourself reading a small tented card, the white paper wearing your name in gold characters.

“Thank you, my good sir,” your giggling flirt satisfying his ear as he pushes you in gently.

Toji falls to his knees beside you, bracing your thigh for support.

“How was that? Said hi and now it’s just some food. If you like something enough, I’ll cook it just for you,” he grins, the polished apples of his cheeks drawing his marked skin taut.

You trace the faded kiss on Toji’s cheek, inviting a doddering frown to your face. “Aww, I think the kisses are fading away.”

“That’s fine, Princess. But when we get home…I’ll be expecting ten times the amount you gave me.”

Before you can craft up some sly response to his innuendo, Toji rises back to his feet and over to the seat across from you, where his own name awaits his arrival.

“Aw man, I feel so fancy!” Toji chuckles as he slips into his seat.

“It’s kinda nice, right? And we came just in time, dinner’s coming out!” You note, pointing towards the budding sight of servers carrying plates into the dining room.

Like moths to a flame, all the socialites work to end their conversations as they drift into their assigned seats, making new discussions with those around them.

You’ve set your eye on the man before you, whose scarred grin captures your attention with ease.

“What’s that smile for?” your head slipping into a faint tilt.

“I know these types of events. Stuffy people, but the food’s great and there’s high-quality booze on rotation all night. Plus, I get to enjoy all this while courting the most wanted woman in the room,” Toji chuckles as he folds his arms over the table. “Aren’t I just the luckiest man in Tokyo right now?”

He’s an arm’s length away and that’s still not good enough.

While there’s a growing tension weighing on the minds of you both, nothing compares to the story written behind the doting stares you set onto each other. With your dilating eyes pinned on him, batting your blackened lashes ever so slowly with that small smirk creeping onto your features.

He’s no better, the poor man hiding his satyric ways behind the act of mindlessly tracing along the supple curves of his lips with his tongue.

All the chatter, all the screeching chairs, it all drowns out around you and Toji. Nothing dares to break into your world—except for the commencement of the dinner service.

“Pardon the intrusion.” The presence of a young man pulls you and Toji from each other, the pair of steady eyes watching him place a gold plate before you both.

“Tonight, we have for you both slices of seared beef, smoked salmon, dusted with truffle oil and masago. Please, do enjoy,” the server slowly announces for you and Toji.

“Wow…” the dull excitement speaks for Toji as he carefully observes the plate. “Where’s the rest of it?”

You slowly unravel the folded cloth napkin, hiding a laugh behind your focus. “These things are multi-courses. We’ve got like…10…15 small dishes like this to go. But we can go get something to eat after this too, I’m usually hungry after these things.”

Toji simply nods as he turns to face his plate once more. He stares hard at the delicate trims of meat before him, reaching for his hidden fork within the napkin. ‘At least it’s the high-quality cuts,’ he wonders to himself, bringing the gossamer trim of meat to his mouth.

As the gentle chew rings in his ear, Toji takes a moment to observe the room’s sudden shift.

Chatter breaks around the dinner session talks of business and affairs break from each end of the table. Not a single word matters nor interests Toji, not when he’s seeking out your due attention once more.

His sapphirine tincts wash over you, and instead of being greeted by your allure, he’s somehow satisfied with watching your newfound interest in the paper-thin strip of beef sitting on your plate.

Though he’s taken to you as his newest attraction, his ears are keen. Ears like this are carefully trained to hear even a pen drop in a room like this, and even with such skill, immunity from the talks of the elite isn’t granted unto Toji.

“…Oh! Have you heard who’s taken up the role there now? I heard he’s nothing more than a moron trying to fit in amongst the best.”

“Such a poor man. He’ll try so hard to win over the shareholders, but he’s just so useless.”

“Useless? An animal would have better luck than him!”

“No, but have you heard of the newly elected president of XXXX?”

“Ha! I did…he’s no better than a dog. So worthless, how dare he accept the position? Does he think he’s worthy? He must be thinking he can sit in some company and just gain status like us! Disgusting!”

All this talk surrounds Toji, filling his ears and penetrating his firm psyche with such cruel ideals. To critique a man is one thing, but to ridicule his name without any consideration for his character, his actions, his morals—why, that simmers on Toji’s tongue like poison.

He’s gripping his fork tightly, his knuckles dusting a ghostly white. He can’t explain what’s brought about his sudden shift in manners, but it’s unnatural for the man he’s become.

His eyes flicker to you for guidance, but you’ve taken to some light conversation with the woman beside you, whose questions seem true and modest.

Toji’s left to rely on himself, his spiraling mind coaxing him to bite down on his lip—he wants your aid but he deems his fragile thread of composure is nothing worth interrupting you over.

Yet, these words still sit uncomfortably familiar in Toji’s ears. Not a single word aimed at him, but the message behind them pulls at memories he’d buried years ago. But all it takes for his mind to crumble is the utterance of mere affirmations…

“He’s worthless!”

“He’s not worthy of what we offer.”

“He’s better off dead…”

“He’ll never be accepted here!”

“Born a failure…and always will be a failure.”

His heart races in his ears, channeling a cold sweat to sweep across his body. He can’t even focus on you anymore, not with his eyes senselessly blinking away the threatening patches of stars.

Slipping a finger between the apple of his throat and the pesky collar button of his dress shirt, Toji yanks the tied cloth from the back of his neck in hopes of fresh air flooding his hitching lungs. He tries to cast his gaze elsewhere, though, in a room so vast, how could the walls suddenly close him in, trapping him in his plagued mind with spinning thoughts?

Memories replay in his head with the very words in the air as a soundtrack. He can’t figure out why these exact words would come to haunt him years later?

Dead? Was he really better off dead? He hasn’t heard such heartless words since his younger days, why—how could strangers know about his anguish? Why would strangers speak to him like this, judge him before his character can attest for him? Why…why…

Why would a family speak to their own like this?

There’s only one thing on Toji’s mind, and it’s the one thing he knows all too well: escape. He has to put some space between him and the dinner, and he’s already plotting his next move.

Toji’s weary body shudders as he stands from his seat, his mind stumbling over his ingrained words of manner.

“Um…I-I…Excuse me.”

His words fall short on the ears of others, but the loud shriek of his chair scraping along the black tile commands the attention of all in the room.

“Toji?” You mouth out his name, but his eyes hang low—low and blurred by his nerves.

His exit fades out as the idle dinner chatter picks up once more. His brisk steps toward the patio are drowned out by taxes, how well the beef has been marinated, and worse of all—the ridicule of Toji’s “childish” need for attention.

The look on Toji’s face was like nothing you’d seen from him before. He was pale as if a ghost had just tapped his shoulder. And the very confidence you found yourself fond of was replaced by a quaking fear, one so heavy he couldn’t even keep his head held high.

Guilt shrouds your mind, and it’s a heavy cloud that threatens all the confidence he’s worked to instill in you. That very guilt–the need to balance your mind with comfort…his specific comfort. Without a moment’s delay, you rise from your seat, the similar screech of your seat ringing through the hall.

“Excuse me.” Your announcement halts all chatter, all gossip, and all means of communication falling short of your cold tone.

The clicks of your heels dart across the glossy floor as you tread toward the balcony.

You find him leaning along the stone-carved railing, gazing out at the city’s skyline. To ease the mood, you mark your next steps carefully, creeping behind him with light steps.

But Toji doesn’t even have to turn his head to know you’re there.

“Don’t go hiding from me, you know I’ll find you, Princess.”

Dropping the charade, you join Toji’s side, leaning into him with a hand bracing the tensed sleeves of his suit.

“Then I’ll never be lost with you. But…”

Your touch laces onto the frazzled hairs covering Toji’s eyes, lazily raking through his onyx locks.

“That means you can’t go hiding from me either…what happened, Toji?”

Toji’s attention from the overview doesn’t seek a replacement, his eyes dead set on the passing nightlight below. “If I tell you, it’s not like it’s gonna change how I feel. And it’s silly anyways, nothing you need to stress yourself over.”

“Toji,” you coo “If your feelings don’t change, that’s okay. And if you think it’s silly, that’s fine too. But…I can’t help but stress with you. So don’t tell me, I won’t force you. We don’t even have to talk, we can stay out here all night, looking out over the city.”

Toji sighs as his head drops, “You care too much for me, y’know that? Most people would’ve let me be. But here you are, on such an important night…babysitting me. I think we’re making each other soft, yeah?”

“That’s fine with me, as long as I’m with you, right?”

Those words had no business slipping from your lips, but they did. By uttering something so dangerous to Toji—your sentiments of care to him—all he can do is gawk at you.

His jaw’s sunk slack and the words he wants to say fall short on his tacked tongue. He wants to ask you why give him a second of your time. His outburst might have cost you your reputation and relationships. And you could be inside, tending and cleaning up whatever tension that might have been sparked—but you’re outside with him as your only muse.

That’s what he aims to say, but his heart has him rattling off something he can’t—rather, something he won’t try to bite back any longer.

“All this…fancy dining, sitting and talking like this…it reminds me of a life I barely got away from. I hated it—those people treated me like their mortal enemy. All my life until I was old enough to leave, living in hell became my home..”

You lean into Toji, resting your chin on his shoulder. With a weighted gaze, you peer up to Toji through your lashes, and the very words that roll off your cherried tongue break down any wall he had left standing tall towards you.

“Tell me about these people you hate so much.”

Toji finds the energy to scoff, the choked chuckle cracking through the crisp air. “Horrible. Because I didn’t meet some standard they made up in their heads, I was a castaway in my own family.

Having to work myself to the bone, proving myself to people who didn’t care if I dropped dead right at their feet. And having done all that work, just for it to be thrown back in my face when it came time for dinner. That cycle…no one should have to go through that.”

“Some days, death seemed like the best option. Better than putting on a brave face that mattered to absolutely no one.”

“What kept you from ending it all then?”

“Hope. It’s a stupid thing. But the hope of knowing it all might get better saved me. If I had given in to all that hatred and become what was expected out of me, giving up would’ve been worse than dying. But all the scars you love to touch, that’s both from the hell and freedom I’ve lived through. The scars of freedom, however…they never once hurt me.”

“So then,” you begin, carefully gathering your words, “Was it all worth it?”

That’s when Toji committed himself to you, his body shifting to face you. He’s got his eyes pinned on you and you alone, his ears tuned to your gentle coo, and his heart open to sing its long-awaited melody.

“...Yeah. It all…it all brought me to places I couldn’t begin to imagine, to meet people in my wildest dreams. It’s been a crazy one, but I wouldn’t regret a single moment. But, I have to say this one thing, or else I’m gonna lose it…”

Toji stares at you for a moment in silence. His eyes scan every curve of your face for what he wants to discover as a hoax, but all he’s met with is the kindness of sincerity. Sincerity dots your eyes, in that soft smile you hold, and touches every strand of hair your digits comb through.

Sincerity is a rare trait for a man like him to encounter and when he does…it becomes something he has to question.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Reverting back to his old self, Toji stands tall with his hands briskly searching for your waist as his keepsake. He’s back to grinning, drinking in that sudden gasp you give when he encompasses your body flush to his own.

“You just…sat there and let me talk your ear off. None of it affects you, yet you seem like you actually care. So…why?”

“Why do I care?” You rehash, fixing your arms to link along the broad of Toji’s shoulders.

“I care because that’s what I’ve come to do with you. You care for me and I care for you. And I’ll be honest, it’s scary…caring for you like this is going to give way into something I can’t afford just yet—but I won’t stop it. So yes, talk my ear off. But I want to listen, I want to know whatever you’re willing to let me know about you because…that’s how much I care for you, Toji.”

Toji ghosts a peck against your lips, breaking his sentiments with a speech. “Well, aren’t you the poet? Thank you, really. You’re learning just how to calm me down and I like it.”

“Don’t thank me, I just want you to be okay. So we don’t have to—oh Toji?!” You yelp as he begins to lead you back inside. His hand slips into yours, tracing your gentle palm with his grazing thumb.

All Toji gives you is his back, hiding the flourishing spout of blush curling at the tips of his ears and the highs of his cheeks. He’s almost forgotten: he’s the luckiest man in Tokyo to have you. And with such a title means he has one single job: to keep a smile on your face at all times.

“Don’t go and worry your pretty little head off. Let’s get back in there and enjoy ourselves!”

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀

“Mhmm…Toji?” you huff, tightening your slinking arms along his shoulders.

“Y…Yeah, Baby? Whatcha’ wanna tell me?”

“Are we home yet? I wanna go to sleep with you.”

Toji chuckles as he peers down at you, his pretty lady cradled resting like a princess in his arms.

Replaying the night in his head, he’d call every minute of it a success. After the heart-to-heart out on the balcony, you and Toji went back into the party as if only you two were there.

From sharing sips of the finest aged wine and brandy, finishing out the dinner service, and sharing a dance that ended with you and Toji swirling about for an hour pressed to each other, all the makings of a night to remember.

But with every night out, the fateful comedown is never too far behind.

When the adrenaline wears off, tummies are full of food, and the liquor’s finalizing its course through bodies, the whimsy of the night comes to a curtain-falling close.

As for this timely scene, Toji’s taken on the role of caretaker. And as a caretaker, that means ignoring his hazy brain and tired muscles to carry you out the car and inside your apartment.

Beneath the dull glow of the street lights, Toji steals a glimpse at you, gawking at how a sense of ease dresses your visage.

Beautiful, that’s the only word in his mind as he admires you. Your eyes gently shut, your timid lips faded from their red hues, your puffy cheeks soft and begging for a kiss.

In his eyes, you look perfect in his arms, resting in his care without a care. That’s his lady—a woman he’s finding himself endowed to with each passing day.

Living carefree, as Toji’s learned, is a right that belongs to everyone. To wake up, do whatever you please, and do it all again the next day. And while living carefree is deserved, it’s a word that carries various definitions.

In his definition of carefree towards you, Toji would work to strip your mind of all the grief, stress, and responsibilities that come with your world.

But when the morning comes, you’ll be back to worrying, making phone calls that hold materialistic value, and working to the bone–while Toji continues living carefree on your dime.

What a life.

Toji aimlessly presses a kiss to your forehead, charming himself back to the present where your question awaited an answer.

“We’re right outside the door, silly. Then we gotta take the elevator up, take off this pretty dress, wash your face, then you can go to sleep, ‘kay?”

“But…I wanna sleep with youuu,” you draw out, your eyes widening at Toji’s lack of involvement amidst his own plans.

“Alright, alright,” Toji sighs as he taps his hip against the lobby’s door sensor. “Stay up and wait for me. I gotta help you, then I gotta help myself. So after all that’s done, then we can sleep. Sounds like a deal?”

Pushing yourself deeper into Toji’s hold, you nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest.

“Deal.”

Entering the quiet lobby, Toji rocks you in his arms as he treks to the elevators. A night full of dancing, drinks, and questionably small plates leaves him with a dumb smile plastered to his lips.

And to end it all right, he’d finally be able to sedate all his concerns for you within a matter of minutes.

Though, the call of his name impedes his plans.

“Oh, hey Toji!” the night doorman calls out with a wave.

Sho Hisagari, the nighttime doorman. Standing at six feet even, he’s a gentle giant with a strong build that hides behind a black uniform jacket. He’s got sharp brown eyes, dyed blond hair that sits just short of his ears, and a soft, crooked smile that’s kind to the eyes of all.

During the day, he’s a college student entering his final days of graduate school, and at night, the twenty-five-year-old collects a check watching the night of Tokyo pass by.

Toji’s quick to recognize him, considering that he’d been the mediator to bring Toji up to your doorstep a month prior.

He looks over to greet Sho with a lax smile, “Hey kid, how’s the night going?”

“I should ask you guys,” Sho chuckles as he leans over the desk. “I’ve never seen her drunk.”

“Oh, this pretty lady?” Toji hums as he glances down at your serene face.

“She wanted to drink some wine, then some martinis, a few cocktails, and I got to thinkin’ ‘ Who am I to keep a grown woman sober?’ So I made sure she didn’t overdo it and ended up getting some sake and a few cups of wine in my system too. But, someone had to be the responsible one. She’s always the strong one, so why not let her enjoy this?”

“She is strong, isn’t she?” The doorman breaks, Sho steadily focusing his sights on you.

The sudden interest in you has Toji intrigued. He carefully studied Sho, how his brown eyes hang over your dozing face. It’s a familiar gaze—a look that brings even the strongest, unmovable, and rigid of men to dote on their muse. A look that softens the eyes into a trained whimsical glint, leaves the lips and jaw lax for the gasps or gape to roll out.

A mien that seems so familiar to Toji because he dons those exact traits whenever he too is entranced by you.

And while Toji had no reason to feel that lump in his throat swell, his harsh swallow barely chips at the growing resentment.

It’s such a pure look in his eyes, but why does it look so…so…natural on Sho?

As if he’s trained his eyes to look at you like this?

“Well, I’m gonna go and get her in bed. Have a good night, kid,” Toji mumbles before entering the elevator, leaving Sho with a solemn nod.

“Night, Toji! Tell the miss’ I wish her a good night too!”

Toji could only count the seconds before the doors shut, leaving him alone with his sleeping beauty wrapped up in his beastly arms.

His cobalt hues flicker down to your timid visage, and all the anger that threatened his eventful night was wiped clean the moment you began to stir about in his hold.

“Toji?” your weakly rasp, your pinched eyes squinting at your suitor.

“Hey, Baby. Thought you went to sleep without me for a sec,” he teases behind a growing grin.

You simply shake your head, hands coming to rub your strained eyes beneath the piercing white lights, “I thought I heard Sho’s voice. Wanted to say hi.”

“Huh…” Toji trails off. “You like Sho?”

“Mhm,” you nod, He’s nice. He gives me flowers, takes me out to lunch, and sometimes when I can’t sleep. I’ll go downstairs and talk with him for a while.”

That taints Toji’s mind like ink bleeding through a scroll. He’s overrun by hypotheticals and probabilities, trying to make sense of what your sentiments towards the young man might be.

He didn’t expect to uncover such a rich history between you and the doorman, yet he has no choice but to absorb it all for what you’ve shared.

Toji has half a mind to seek reassurance, his mind already sorting out the indirect questions to pry at your own sentiments towards him.

But…he stops.

All thought, all the plotting, it comes to a screeching halt when your words at the balcony replay in his mind. Those sincere words that sat on his ears like the sweetest hymn from a siren.

Upon reciting your soliloquy in his head, Toji peers down at your softened features with the very look he envies Sho for wearing.

He can’t blame the guy, he was falling for you all the same—all because you care. You take the time to show your adoration for others, the words only act as a seal to what’s already known.

Maybe, just in some random universe that happened to be his own, maybe it was lov—

“...Are we home yet?” you groan, pulling Toji from his thoughts.

The chime of the splitting elevator doors welcomes you and Toji back into the humble abode, the familiar dark scene of the living room draws Toji inside.

“Look, we’re in the living room. Now, let’s get you in your room and in bed” Toji hints as he begins his winded strides down the dark hallway.

He softly nudges the door open with his hip, revealing the night-clad oasis to his eye. The faint twinkling rays of moonlight cast upon the red duvet of your bed, drawing Toji to put you to rest.

“Okay just lay there for a—”

“Toji.” you call out calmly, your blurred gaze setting on him.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Folding your hands along your tummy, you rally the energy to turn towards him, a weak smile curling onto your lips. “I’m feeling better, trust me. The room’s stopped spinning now, just a little tired, but I’ve got some energy.”

“Okay, good!” Toji beams with a bright grin, “If you can sit up, I can bring...”

Toji’s offer falls deaf on your ears as you sit up slowly, shifting hands sinking into the soft red duvet beneath your body. Tilting your head back, you stare aimlessly at the ceiling, the miniature glass chandelier returning your starry gaze.

In theory, Toji's done a great job; he kept you company, made sure you arrived home without a hair out of place, and he's even going the extra mile to put you sleep too. you've arrived back home in one piece

However...something's missing from the night, from his usual antics. He's too princely, acting so pure when he's the farthest thing from. He was insistent on being classy for the night, but did he really means the whole night?

Even after he kept pressing kisses to your lips and cheeks alike, pinning his hand to your side, and even whispering about how he'd love to take you down out of some cups of wine.

And he has yet to act on any of the hints he planted. Now, here you are, just on the verge of greeting the setting night and he was still too kind with you.

There simply has to be some word, some action, just something you could call upon to rouse all the desires he's pushed aside for the night...right?

“Princess?” Toji croaks as he stands before you. He takes a tender hold of your jaw, the pad of his thumb grazing along the softened contours. “Talk to me, what’s got you so down?”

“I’m okay, really. Just…a little disappointed is all.”

“You? Disappointed?? No no no, how can I fix it?” Toji hums as he drops to his knees. He tends to remove your heels, tugging the tiny clasp free from your ankle.

“Okay okay, ‘disappointed’ is a little bit of an exaggeration. Tonight was fun…but…”

“But?” Toji repeats, his hand coasting along the peeking curves of your thigh.

“I won’t lie, I was expecting for us to sneak off for a quickie or something.”

“Yeah?” Toji breathlessly chuckles out. “You were really waiting for that?”

“Mmhm,” you nod, tugging your bottom lip between a smothered grin, “That’s why ‘m not wearing any panties.”

The sweet smile Toji taped to his lips withers away beneath a slack jaw and widening eyes. First he’s pale, the draining palettes of shock claiming his lush skin. You’ve grown bold, something he’s taken note of, but he wasn’t prepared to handle this.

Somewhere in his stunned sights, he falls on the cut in your dress, the slit freely bunched up to your hip. He swallows hard, blinking at the realization: you’re sitting all too pretty with your cunt waiting for him.

That’s when the prickling sear of heat licks at his cheeks, a cloud of pink spreading across his gawking face.

“Like…uh...allll…night?”

“Don’t believe me?” You giggle as you slowly drape your leg along Toji’s shoulder. You bear witness to his final threads of sanity snapping as your dress drips off your skin, revealing the results of a one-sided gamble.

“Check for yourself.”

What visibly seals Toji’s fate as he hunts for a shed of fabric is the languid spread of your legs…just enough for him to see the delicate webs of slick sewn to your folds.

“See what you do to me, Toji? All that teasing in the car, touching me all over the dance floor, it’s all for you. And you let your so-called ‘lady’ walk around dripping and this is all you can say?”

“Oh fuck…” he’s shuddering, swallowing down the hindering lump in his throat. “Princess, i-if you wanted me to—”

“Don’t apologize. And I know you wanna fix things too, but I think, for tonight at least, I’ve got things under control.”

“No, let me make it up to you, “ Toji pleads, “W-What…do you want me to do?”

“Watch me.”

“Watch you?” he presses with a quirked brow, “Watch you do—”

You cut Toji’s question short carelessly, “Mm, Toji, help me out. Can’t keep my legs at the same time.”

Toji’s stare is heinous as dark clouds threatens his sights. You’ve got the nerve to sit there and wait for him as if he’s holding you back. He has the words boiling at the tip of his tongue, ready to fire off his rebuttal.

He picks the latter, Toji locking his firm grip around your thighs. The hold he has over you is unyielding, not granting an inch of room for any second thoughts.

He’s even spiteful enough to drag you right to the edge of the bed, forcing your hips to tilt toward his awaiting mouth.

“How’s this?”

“Just like that. Now keep your head riiiight here.”

Your lithe fingers sit atop the charcoal coronet of Toji's head, veering him to rest his cheek along your inner thigh. He doesn’t fall to hesitation either, merely falling to your whims with the same daunting stare.

You’re hurting his pride, turning the man into nothing more than your pet. To sit there and take orders, listen to your every fancy, and be expected to act on them without fail. You almost feel bad for him in a way too, considering how you can watch his patience grow thin with how he clenches his jaw.

But then again…it’s precisely what he signed up for.

“You’re such a good boy, Toji. You know exactly what I want without me saying it. Starting to understand me more…”

Again, you descend on a journey, tracing the curves of Toji’s flustered features until you find a ledge worthy of your touch—that cute quivering pout he wears proudly.

His lips feel plump against the pads of your digits, such supple skin brimmed with a soothing heat. Toji’s still sitting beneath awe’s influence, flustered and shy.

You take to the idea brewing in your brain, especially when there’s something so delightful laying behind his lips. Your ghostly touch sedates the brimming heat of his pout, that mere swipe a lulling famed whimper from his mouth.

“C’mon, baby…don’t keep me waiting…you always know exactly what I want.”

“Do I?” He sarcastically scoffs, but his remarks don’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah, you do. I don’t have to say a word, I know you’ll give me what I want.”

Just like that, Toji’s lips part to welcome you into the caverns of his mouth. His tongue’s swift to coil around your digits, basting your skin in his spit to his heart's content. He’s given himself to lust, sloppily working his lips until soapy bubbles seep out of the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, you’re such a good boy!” You purr as you reel away from Toji’s swollen lips. All that connects you both is a wispy thread of glass, serving as evidence of your time together.

Your dripping digits sit right between your legs to paint your cunt in his shade, fingertips dragging glossy webs along the pink pearl.

Your hand falls into a tantalizing sway, drawing messy circles about your clit. It's a slow start but you’re quick to respond to your own touch, rousing the dormant nerves with haste.

It’s the heft of arousal that suddenly douses your bud in a searing heat that drives you over the edge, your hand adopting a frantic pace.

“D-Do you see what you do to me, Toji?

There’s a reveling heat blooming amongst your core. It’s all-consuming, so overwhelming that every bit of your strength surrenders to you. Sinking back down onto the bed, Your enticed spine spikes into an arch, forcing your hips to bear the heft of paradise alone.

But Toji’s right there to help you; wedging your thigh atop his shoulder, hands clipped to your rocking hips.

He’s sitting there with a pout on his face, the flat of his tongue sketching over his lips. Each time you swipe over your clit, Toji’s thinking about what he’d do instead. He’s the one who knows your body like his own, so watching you work so hard splinters his pride by the seconds. He can’t take it, watching his poor baby enjoy such shoddy workmanship.

“Just like that, Princess, you got it.” All he can do is support you through words, his touch, and the kisses he’s peppering along your inner thigh.

He can’t surrender his gaze to anywhere else. He can’t complain, can’t intervene, so he simply takes it. He takes it while sitting enviously on his knees, gawking at the sight of you bathing in that sweet ambrosia. He wants nothing more than to touch you—so badly that it hurts him in mind, body, and spirit.

You know how bad he wants to touch you too and just how much restraint it’s taking him to play the innocent act. And all that knowledge is the very thing that pulls a spiraling heat to flood your tummy.

You want a reaction from him, to hear him ridicule your poor technique. Excitement captures your entire body as you begin to draw out Toji’s true colors with a wandering touch. You slide a single finger between your folds down to your quivering hole.

The manner you take to tease your rousing core is gentle, paddling your sweet spot beneath tender strides. Just off that calm touch, you’re melting into your touch. With Toji being the one handling your needs as of late, you’ve almost forgotten the thrill of chasing your own high.

But that sense of bliss quickly turns to thirst, a ravenous urge to feed that heavy pit in your tummy. You swiftly invoke a jagged cadence, drumming at your spot feverishly. You’re working so hard that the stack of bangles on your wrist erupts into a cheery jingle, voicing the hymns of your pursuing finger.

“Mmm…f-fuck,” you whine, drawing the glossed finger from your cunt.

Toji’s eyes staple to you, a burning gaze that overlooks your polished digit tapping along his bottom lip. He isn’t waiting to hear permission, he simply can’t bring himself to wait a moment longer.

He envelops your fingers between his lips, the flat of his tongue cupping along the digit. Toji’s swift to clean up your mess, the slicked muscle twirling at every inch of your skin dressed in your essence.

“So needy…C’mon, spit on it.”

Toji’s eyes widen at your request, his shot pupils darting to meet your gaze. He’s mulling over your question, using every ounce of his strength to think clearly. Did you really just ask him to spit on your—

“Aww, what’s that look for, Baby? Didn’t hear me?” you taunt, ripping your digit from his mouth.

“N-no, no…I-I heard you. I-I just...uh—“

“Shhhh," you whisper, placing a slicked finger against his rambling lips, “I’m waiting…”

A muffled moan snags itself within Toji’s throat as he slowly leans in. His quivering frown just grazes past you, closing the distance for the tears of spit he’s dying to glaze over your sporuted mound.

You’ve gotten so wet, dripping from the sad display he’s born witness to. He doesn’t want to spit on your clit, he’s dying to taste you, to create an abstract mess out of the swollen bud.

But he does as he’s told without fail, his puckered lips pushing out sticky rivets of spit. His stares stays pinned to you as he observes the messy trail whisking down your folds.

“Fuck… pussy’s so pretty like this,” Toji mutters to himself as he pulls away to admire his finishing touch.

He’s right, your cunt does look so pretty being pushed to the edge—the glistening pearl of your clit consumed by a waltz of shivers, your puffy folds dewed by your essence and his spit, and your cute little slit flittering for attention.

Somewhere in his murky mind, he’s thinking about it: how you’ve finally elicited his help without having to lay a finger on you.

And to think it’d be so lewd, so messy—and just perfect for a man like him. The thought doesn’t just stop with the mind, it’s feeding his cock with all sorts of ideas too, condemning his bulge to strain against his pants.

You slip your hand between the sloppy mess of Toji’s lips and your cunt, rubbing the soapy bubbles of spit to meld with your slick.

“Just like that…n-now, don’t stop o-okay?” you moan, driving yet another finger to fill your walls. Lazy pulses rip against your piqued nerves, engulfing your pussy in a ravenous flame. Your thighs suffer beneath the force of your inevitable undoing, immersing your suspended legs into a world of tremors.

“ ‘m gonna cum! gonna–I’m c-cum—"

A flash of white breaks over your eyes, stars dotting your sights. Curses spew from your lips as that knot in your tummy finally snaps. It’s all too much, your saturated body succumbing to the consequence of reaching nirvana. All you can do is toss your head back and grit your teeth, your hands racing to fist at the plushy blanket beneath you.

In the peak of your heat, Toji settles a peck between your folds, a poor excuse to satisfy his need to taste you.

A sly smirk creeps onto your lips as you come down, fixing your misty eyes to study the shameless kisses he’s pinning to your swollen pussy.

Your hands slip into the ruly forest of Toji’s hair, combing away the frazzled locks from his face.

“Look at you, couldn’t even wait.”

The route Toji endures to have his tongue bathe in your essence is dangerous. He’s so reckless, disregarding your sensitivity just to sedate his gluttonous desires. He’s savoring the fruits of your high, the mere taste blurring his unmoving judgment. You’re just so sweet, so sticky and so addictive like honey but venomous once you seep upon Toji's palate.

But he’s using every drop of that venom to soothe his soul, regardless if you can supply him or not.

“W-Wait! Toji…s-slow down! I jus’ —fuck!—came!”

Toji breaks himself from you, painting your flushed cunt in his hot, patterned breaths. He doesn’t meet your stare, his eyes trapped to the corked swell of your clit. “Sorry, baby. I’ll be gentle…and so fucking gentle, I swear."

Whether he meant it for your ears or not, Toji couldn’t tell you. But that won’t change his resolve. The resolve that bleeds through the dripping tongue he swathes against your folds. He’s working his jaw to bear those long, pampering strokes of his.

Those long, pampering strokes that trail up from your gummy hole.

The lazy, careful drags that skims against the pulsing channel of your folds.

His gentle laps that cling to your spry knob just because it feels so damn good to soak up the beating heat that leaves your clit so puffy and cute.

“Oooh—shi– Just…hah…just like that, Toji!”

He has your body running hot, your stirred nerves sparking underneath your skin. He’s simply dragging his tongue against you, so how can something so simple risk pulling another orgasm from your core?

He’s honoring his words too, using soft laps to soothe your poor bulb. But that doesn’t stop the twitches that litter your weak legs, that arch driving your chest into the air, and the mindless drivel spilling from your gaping lips.

“Mmmm,” Toji whimpers as a ‘pop’ ricochets from his mouth, “I wanna suck it, Mama. Please? I’ll be soft too! Just let me suck it, ‘kay?”

“Th-then go ahead! I’m not gonna—oh fuh—Toji!”

“Mhmm,” Toji hums as the whites of his eyes flicker behind his squint. If there’s one thing he’s grown to attach to, he’s grown too fond of sucking on that clit of yours.

Something about having the cute pearl swell up between his lips that plays on his senses a little too heavily. Just the thought alone has his mind wiped clean of anything that wasn’t your moans, your writhing body, or the looming orgasm he has to bring over you.

It’s sheer vigor that graces him to lure your clit between his quivering lips. He has to coax you, earn your trust before delivering ruin right to your feet. That’s why he’s ever so kindly pedaling the tip of his tongue against you, lazily winding a mindless path around the bundle of nerves.

Every languorous lash of his slicked muscle weakens your resolve—a fact he can see with the naked eye. Your hips tell him all he needs to know, rolling along with his rhythm.

The power of the unspoken is a great one, and because of its strength, Toji is able to move on with his plan. One that allows him to gradually reel back that curling tongue of his, letting his lips plant fluttering kisses as an apology for stealing back what’s rightfully yours.

A whimper tells him you miss it, but the pecks he’s baking at your core aren’t for naught. Not when he’s easing you in, blanketing his lips over your clit until all he can do is cling to the silky button.

So fragile, it’s the opposite of his entire persona, demeanor, and even his way of life. The polar opposite of him, but Toji wears delicacy like a glove when drawing your clit into a churning toil. He’s nursing you with the kindest of care, suckling the spry nerves into a pudgy bloat.

“F-ff-fuck! I‘m gonna cum again!” you squeal, your thighs knocking against Toji’s head.

He doesn’t curse. He doesn’t chatise you. Toji merely slips his hand from your waist in exchange of bracing the silky plush you’ve crowned upon him.

He could stop, Toji knows that much. But hearing your cry out like that—you’ve abruptly fueled some hidden agenda of his to push you over the limit. Just how loud can you scream his name? How many times can you cum before you’re a fucked out mess? All these questions contaminate Toji’s fleeting mind, and he’s dying to answer each and every one tonight.

“Go ‘head, I can take it, Baby.”

He means every word. He’ll handle everything to come with you; the good and the bad, all the pain and the pleasures, he’ll take it all with a smile.

Your orgasm is a heavy burden to carry, costing you every ounce of strength in your reserves. The familiar flash of white crosses your eyes, dashing in front of your sights for a single moment. Like the thrill of lighting cracking through the sky, your body holding strong before the crumbling curse washes over you.

The looming heat at your core surges across your body, from the balls of your curled feet to the fading reality in your head. Your jaw drops slack by a muted cry, and all you can do is give into your body’s coiling instinct without delay.

Toji’s hands are foreign to you, but it’s the only source that brings you down as he softly taps a wayward tempo along your flushed skin.

“Oh, that was beautiful, Princess. But, I hope you can keep up that little act…we’re not done here.”

As you pull the words from your broken thoughts, Toji’s swift to reach over you, his hunkering body casting a shadow upon you.

“Toji?” you mumble out, squinting at his face with blurry eyes.

“You started this. You gotta finish it—and if you don’t…well, you might regret it.” His warning comes with a hint, one that lacks the grace of subtly. Because in Toji’s mind, the hint he has for you sits right against your inner thigh, his thick cock hidden behind a shameful bulge.

Perching upon your elbows, you close the distance between you and Toji, leaving just a sliver of the room’s heat to separate you both.

“I’m going to regret it? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to scare me, Toji. I told you already, try all you want…you can’t break me. Besides, if I choose to let you go to bed like this, who’s truly gonna regret it?”

“Only one way to find out…” the final words marking the room’s sultry atmosphere as Toji captures your lips with a kiss.

He keeps his rhythm purely surface—soft, gentle, gliding his kiss against you like the finest silk. He doesn’t dare to, not when he’s already dizzy off those small whimpers you let sink into his mouth.

It’s so gentle that it’s almost hypnotic, the soft curl of Toji’s lips passing over your own. He’s leaving you wanting more, the impulse to trace his skin burning at your fingertips. However, the obstacle of clothing hinders you—but your hands move quicker than you can think.

Nothing could truly explain the way you labor across Toji’s towering body; tugging off his suit jacket, unbuttoning his dress shirt, yanking at his black slacks until he was free of all clothing, and the loud clunk of his belt and shoes joining the floor.

But you do it all while the fervour of his gentle kiss stews at the forefront of your mind.

He could say the same, unsure of what skills allowed him to strip you of that dress, tugging off your shoulders, down your legs, and off onto the floor with such ease—but he did so anyway.

He did it all while relishing the heat of your lips on his.

And maybe a kiss does hold such mind-numbing powers, to subdue lovers to its binding will. As much as you rather push off such a ridiculous thought, the evidence lies with you and Toji alike.

Why, it must have some influence over those who dabble within its magic because the next time you blink, you find yourself laid on your side with Toji’s bare chest tucked along your spine and his bicep as your pillow. His hooked arm outlines your chest, pitting him to knead the silky fat of your tits.

He’s peeling away from the sin of your kiss down to your exposed neck, peppering pecks along the velvety tract of your throat. Just because he’s broken from your lips doesn’t mean he’s stopped sipping from lust’s cup. His hands, wide, firm, and blessed with fingers so thick, take on the honor of roaming your body.

Those husky hands that cup your tits, kneading at the pillowy flesh until your pebbling nipples slip between his windowed grasp.

Those stout fingers that lazily caress your curves, the pad of his thumb feathering along your skin.

There are so many whimpers that don’t mean to pour from your lips—but they do, shamelessly and unfiltered. He carries the art of delicacy, Toji’s treating you under the fear of breaking you. But his efforts only spur you on, guiding you down the path that he leads.

Those stout fingers that lazily caress your curves, the pad of his thumb feathering along your skin. A hot, rousing channel that erupts beneath Toji’s languid tour of your body. His touch smolders over your skin, coaxing every nerve to greet him without fail.

His path ends just short of your thigh, his reach slipping to coddle the supple underside.

“Hold your leg back,” Toji instructs, dragging his hand to cup the back of your knees. Carefully, he replaces his brash grip with your kind, tender hands, pinning your folded leg just short of your chest.

“What are you doing?” you pry, skewing your head along Toji’s chest.

His hand slowly glides along the front of your body, squeezing at whatever fills his rough hands. His trail lands him right before your sopping cunt, his shaky hand dusting past your puffy lips.

“...Tch, n-nothing. J-just wan..n-na touch you, that’s it,” his trembling breath mutters along the thumping pulse of your neck.

The moment Toji’s confidence allows him to dip into the viscous mess of your pussy, a hiss cuts between his lips. You’re dripping, your slick dressing his touch before he’s even landed a tap on your puffy pink pearl. Suddenly, there’s a stress on Toji’s mind that warns him of the impending doom set to befall him.

The doom of him cumming too quickly.

It’s an issue he’s never had until meeting you. He still remembers the mess your sputtering pussy drowned him in back in that dressing room. But this doesn’t even compare to that first time.

He could only imagine how you’ll suck him up this time, how sloppy you’ll be after a few rolls of his hips, how he very much could end up creaming your walls white—

“Oh fuck…” he groans at the thought, his hips bucking along the small of your back.

Precious anticipation that has Toji taking his sweet time to trace through your folds, up towards your clit, and down to your entrance. You tug at your bottom lip as he drifts over your hole at last—but deliverance like this doesn’t come with the flick of a wrist.

Rather than fulfill your every wish, he’s taken with the idea of thumbing at the fluttering ring, the tips of his digits just nicking at your knotted hole.

“Don’t tease me, just do it alread—”

Just two fingers. It only takes Toji slipping past your sticky slit to ruin your pussy beneath that burning stretch. He’s sinking into you, your cunt swallowing every bit of Toji’s fingers. He’s down to the hilt with you, so far gone that he has no choice but to adorn your sweet spot with his hooked reach.

“Hah, omygosh—fuck, Toji!”

“Thaaaat’s it! Oh, you feel that?” Toji taunts as his wrist flicks against your splitting cunt.

All he’s met with is your breathless gaps, your mouth hinged by a gape. He’s got you right where he wants you—speechless and needy—and that’s exactly when he plans to strike.

And Toji can’t help but savor every passing second.

“Aww, why can’t you talk to me, Baby? Told you I just wanted to touch you…’nd it’s nothing you can’t handle…”

There’s a timeless look that settles on your features, one that Toji can’t help to admire with a ghastly smirk. The look that has your gaping mouth webbed with spit, dewy eyes screwed shut, and your threaded brows weighed down by a crease. All he’s done was fill you, nothing more and nothing less.

“Toji, Baby, please! I-I can’t—I can’t take it!”

Toji’s chuckling along the shell of your ear. All that sass, and you can’t even keep the charade you—it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. But that’s his princess, always making a mess he’s just a little too willing to clean up.

“I’m not one to tease, Baby. You know that. You make me wanna go harder, so ‘m not playing when it comes to you,” he hums between the wayward kisses he plants along your cheek.

“Oh, fuck you, Toji,” you wince, hips flinching at his curled fingers.

“Yeah?” he purrs, “Then c’mon, I know you feel that dick begging for you, so do it then…fuck me, Mama.”

His taunt comes with the relentless drive of his soiled fingers, bullying your sweet spot with brash toils. He’s trying to be kind but when you start clenching down around him like that, he’s faced with having his way with your squelching pussy.

His wrist picks a brazen droll, driving up against your honeyed walls however he pleases. All his efforts reward him with a ring of white to brandish his twirling digit—and bring you onto the cusp of what might just be another wave of ecstasy.

You’re shaking, thrashing about in his hold for mercy from his punishing touch, but Toji’s doesn’t even grant you a lick of freedom. Not when he’s so insistent on keeping you close, his hunkering body seizing you in his grasp.

“Toji, wait! I don’t think I can cum again!” you hysterically sob, bracing your body for the weight of yet another orgasm.

“Oh, but you can, Princess, “ Toji’s quick to reassure, “Just not now.”

Leaving you with one final curl of his fingers, Toji swiftly reels his glossy digits from your heat.

Toji embellishes a pumping fist around his length, lathering your slick down his shaft. His hips ride against you, bringing the head of his cock to rake between your sloppy folds.

But that’s all he does, simply dragging his twitching cock aimlessly. He plays it off, but the throbbing veins that dust against your clit tell you how he’s barely hanging from a sliver of thread.

You had the chance to ridicule him, call out Toji for his bullshit—but who were you to say a word when something so easy like this was throwing you into ruin? Each time he pulls back, that brewing heat in your core pines for him, inexplicably desperate for his fat cock to spread you thin around him.

You dip your head along his chest, catching sight of his crumbling exterior. He’s breaking, the man you once knew is now replaced by his shadow self. He’s a panting mess, his fair skin claimed by heat’s red tinge, and those midnight blue eyes are clamped shut. Toji’s dangling at the edge with his feeble attempts of euphoria, as if the solution to his issue doesn’t lie right between your legs.

“Tojiii…” you call out, earning his lowly grunt as a response. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

“H-h…hm?... Think you can take it, Baby?” Toji sighs as his forehead rests along your temple. His eyes peel open to find you staring right back at him, that precious dreamy gaze binding him to your every whim.

“Mhm,” you nod, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “I can take it.”

Excitement gets the better of Toji at the sound of your voice. All knowledge of his feeble states flees from mind as he races to align himself with you. One brash snap of his hips sends his cock wedged between your fluttering walls and his mind snapped in two.

“Fuck…” Toji’s trembling against you, painting the peak of your shoulder in hitching breaths. All he’s accomplished is plugging you up with the pink-hearted crown of his cock and he's doomed with facing a losing battle.

With whatever breath he can muster, Toji grapples with himself to fulfill his lone task. No matter how good, how sinful, how tempting it seems, he’s got no choice but to walk down the path of slow and easy if he desires to win this race.

Inch by painstaking inch, Toji guides himself to fill you. The slow drive of his hips coaxes the fat girth of his cock to simmer along your silken walls. As his eyes begin to roll, he’s groaning at how your pussy’s suckling him deeper.

There’s something to be noted with how he’s immersing himself in your warmth, how his gentle approach differs from nights like this. Maybe it’s because for once, Toji isn’t rushing to stuff you, he isn’t rushing to make you eat your words. Tonight, he’s got something else on the brain, something soft and gentle.

And with this ‘gentle’ approach, you can’t help slow down with him. You can’t help but notice all the little details unfolding between your merging bodies, like how the heavy underside of his cock twitches with each inch plunged inside of you or how the veins ribboning his length pulse whenever you clench around him.

You can feel every unspoken word he’s crying out to you—and he knows you can too.

“You feel that, Baby? That’s me…stretching you out like that…nice ‘nd slow, just for you. C-Can I take my time with you?” he’s almost begging as his warm breaths fans along your opened mouth.

“Y-yes…fuck, yes, please!” you cry out, sealing the deal with a sloppy kiss. A kiss so messy that control flies out your hands and leaves you two crashing into one another.

Through the hunger of desire, Toji’s drawn back into exploring your body, intuition guiding what’s blinded by logic. He’s driven by the messy kisses you push against his lips to hold you close, to have his touch become your entire world.

He knows you like having your hips squeezed, so he does it. He knows you like having your nipples tweaked between strokes—so he does it. He knows you love those deep, long strokes that overwhelm your pussy with sheer thrill, so he does that too just to hear the praise.

“Yesyesyesyes—j-just like that!”

“That’s my girl, feels good, right? I kn—shit—I know!” He chuckles, hips mindlessly drawn back for another laborious round. It’s tedious work but Toji’s enjoying every moment of it. Even with his mind so hazy, he isn’t one to overlook how good it feels to have your velvety walls coddling his pudgy length.

He can’t tune out the lewd symphony playing in his ears either. By guiding his cock to strum your walls, he’s able to give you a solo debut with those breathless notes pouring from your lips. By curling his hips just right, he’s able to coax your pussy into giving him those perfectly viscous chimes that churn through the air.

And when he’s ready for the finale, all it takes is for that single dip. That single dip that sends his tip to kiss your teased sweet spot sparks every fiber of your being into a raging flame.

Your mind, broken by the night, is too far gone for the courtesy of announcements. Your body, drained and frail in Toji’s hold, is spent of all precious energy—but that fact alone welcomes the crashing world of your orgasm through you like no other.

Because when Toji did land that finishing kiss, all he’d done was strike devastation upon you both.

Your legs fall to a thundering close, limbs riddled with harsh tremors. Your hands race to grasp into the robust arms Toji’s tied around you, manicured nails scratching at his bulging muscles. Your spine arches off of his chest, and all you can do is whimper as the ripped tide leaves your body parched and weak.

Toji’s no better when he rushes to withdraw from you, seething out a string of curses at how the cold air bullies his cock. With a fist wrapped to the base, he pulls one final stroke over his length before the rushing spill of white weeps from his raw tip.

Toji cuddles himself besides you, burying his head along the nape of your neck as he bucks his hips into the fat of your ass.

It’s all too much for him. His vision’s blown white and spotty, his heart skipping beats, and the sweltering heat settling amongst his skin drives him mad. Toji’s desperate for something, anything to ground him.

He’s left to his own devices, scouring around until his findings leave him to cling to your waist. He prays you won’t say too much for the brash act, but you’re the only one he can turn to, the only one who knows how much of a toll his bliss takes on him.

What he doesn’t expect is you combing back his sweat-sunken hair, your lips scattering kisses along his clenched jaw, and the thoughtful words of encouragement loops in his ear.

“It’s a lot, right? Just let it out…”

“Fuck, ‘m still cumming,” he rasps. He has a song mulling heavy on his heart, all those moans waiting to break free from their cage. With all the restraint he can muster, Toji knows he can’t continue the ruse of choking back the notes any longer.

And with you soothing his woes, Toji’s resistance gives without a second thought. The heartless, cold shell Toji dons shatters the moment his lips give way with a whimper. Because of you, he’s whimpering, letting his body grieve the weight of his orgasm with you as his lone witness.

You pull his clipped hand from your waist into your own, swiping at his roughened knuckles with the pad of your thumb. “That’s it, you’re doing such a good job, Baby.”

“T-Thank you, Princess,” Toji shudders between breaths.

A veil of silence falls over the room, the pair of you finally mending tattered breaths. While silence keeps the scene calm, nothing about your entangled bodies changes one bit.

Your hand can still be found in his, your bodies still bare and melted into each other, even the exchange of soft kisses joins the frame.

But calmness is a fleeting trait, with the call of Toji’s name summoning a new plot to play out.

“Oh…Toji?” you innocently coo.

“Hm?”

“Can we go again? Just one more time, please?!?”

A weary smirk crowds upon Toji’s lips as he flickers his heavy eyes over your face—that callow look of batting lashes melting his perseverance. Such a pretty face, and a kind voice, but the nastiest mind.

His chest is still heavy, sweat lathers his skin, with exhaustion claiming him whole, Toji’s newfound soft spot for you curbs him from committing such a treasonous act of denying you.

“You really wanna go again?” He chuckles, pressing his forehead to your own.

“Mhm,” you nod, pulling your bent leg taut to your chest.

“It’s gonna be slower than before…”

“That’s fine, I just—"

“You don’t have to say it or explain yourself, Princess…I know.”

It’s just as you said, Toji knows you so well, so much so that he knows that you aren’t after another high—it’s just the sheer intimacy that has you both addicted.

Because for the first time in Toji’s life, he’s finally reached his long-waited oasis through your hands—sensuality.

A place where time stands still for lovers, allowing them to abstain from all that isn’t each other. Where all that’s needed to survive is the heat of one’s body, the synchronization of breaths, and the beating drum of a unified heart.

That s why Toji has no issue to grant your wish by taking hold of his length once more, his palm greeted by his hardened cock once more.

Strings of curses rip from Toji’s throat as he works to fill you all over again. The tepid lunge of his hips, the breathy moans slipping from his barred mouth, his hand still clinging to yours as his lifeline—all of which he establishes to be his new standard for taking you.

He keeps his eyes in line with yours when he finally immerses himself so deeply within your walls, a timeless gasp capturing you both.

You’re back to smothering his girth beneath a sticky grasp, marking every inch of his cock in your essence. He’s curling up beside you, using his angled hips to reach deeper than before.

You feel so good, you always do but tonight has Toji’s strong-willed mind rolling off the faintest touch.

Sensitivity isn’t a word Toji likes to associate himself with, out of his respect for his pride and ego—yet he’s imbued with the very essence of the word tonight.

Every graze, kiss, even the shallow channel of your breath renders him a quivering, frail mess. He can’t begin to handle it when you pick up a nasty habit of rocking your hips against him, grinding your deepest bliss down against his cock’s writhing bulbous head.

There’s no loud clash of skin, overdrawn cries, or pleas of mercy—there’s just the beautiful blend of skin on skin, keeping each other company through another one of the world’s perilous nights.

Why ruin you with tyrannical lust when sensuality grants him your warm body melding into his, your every cry sitting like music in his ear, and your touch pulling him into a dream?

“Fuuuuccck,” he's whining, his stark chest billowed with staggering breaths. “Oh Princess, what’re you doin to me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but it’s been burning on your mind all the same. What was he doing to you?

Just off his driven cock, he’s carving at your walls, littering you with memories of how he fits. He’s marking you with every vein, curve, and twitch he carries so you never forget how he’s supposed to feel inside you. He’s taking the time to make you his, inside and out, by focusing on you and you alone.

All this attention on you, it has the gears of your empty brain turning. And then…the unthinkable falls from your lips.

“T-Toji…please…don’t go…”

Before you can even catch the mistake, Toji’s peppering your cheeks with kisses, shushing your words with his boyish smile.

“Shhh, don’t talk like that. ‘m right here and I’m not going anywhere, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, hiding your blunder behind a returning kiss.

Because, of course, you just meant right now…right?

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howl-arnon · 4 months ago

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A formal greetings from me, hello welcome to my blog.

I'm Howl-arnon / my art signature is CCB || My work contains Horror , Blood, Nudity(?) and GORE sometimes

This is definitely NOT a SFW blog, so a heads up for all of you.

I'm an artist and an animator ( only as a hobby ) | Repost my work is ok (But do not impersonate me) w/ Credits would be appreciated

About me: I followed a lot of analog horror, lots of game.. lots of animation. I don't do fanart much but sometimes I might in the fandom I really like.

Also my comms are open! You can check them out here ( if you can only pay via paypal )

( I also accept Buymeacoffee as payment they accept; Credit Cards, Apple Pay, Google Pay, etc.)

To be honest I mostly draw OCS, some characters in some fandom might be an exception but still I am an oc artists so if I stop drawing characters from fandom I hope you understand why.

Currently I'm working on my own project. " Cult in the church "

Yes I have my own project, and I am currently doing a world setting for it. I'm not a writer by any means.. but! I'd like to share some of the prologue.

“ Are you a believer ? ”

You stand there, frozen in your tracks, pretending the answer isn’t already right in front of you... something beyond your grasp. The truth is what you crave—it’s what you’ve always wanted, the very reason you ventured into this forbidden place. It’s tempting, isn’t it? Like an apple hanging just within reach, knowing you shouldn’t take a bite, yet doing it anyway

After traveling through the dense forest for what felt like an eternity, you finally come upon a clearing. And there it stands before you: a massive cathedral. Funny thing is, there’s no trace of it on any map. But there it is, real as anything..

They say ignorance is a sin. If that’s true, you’re already teetering on the edge of damnation, having ignored every warning sign along the way. It’s a flaw in human nature—this insatiable curiosity, always chasing what they can’t comprehend. But it’s that very curiosity, fueled by arrogance, that will be your downfall.

I appreciate every one that read this blog till now.

I've been wanting to do stuff in tumblr since... 2019 I just have the chance now.

#digital art #artists on tumblr #artwork #horror art #horror artist #oc artist #digital drawing #introduction #intro post #howl arnon still don't fkin know how tumblr works #creepy aesthetic #my bbys cute #horror oc

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cakerybakery · 7 months ago

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He wouldn’t stop crying. Adam could do nothing but wrap Cain into a strip of long cloth Eve would use to carry him without needing her hands and went out to the fields. She had been up with him all night and he took over so she could at least rest while he tried to work.

He ate, but kept biting Eve. He burped and his stomach didn’t feel hard like it did when had stuck gas. He slept fitfully. Everything was going on his mouth but he was always angry about it. He felt warm but he always felt warm and they couldn’t tell if he felt warmer than normal warm or just normal warm. He wasn’t sweaty at least but his cheeks were always red.

God and the angels were no help. They hadn’t gotten back to him at all.

Adam had slept in the barn the night before. It was an itchy, sore, night and he was so tired, but he got more sleep than Eve who couldn’t put him down without him crying all over again. There was only one thing Adam could think to do to rid themselves of this problem. Eve would be upset but she would see reason after it was done. Adam was sure of it.

He debated in his tired state between the knife or the axe. The knife was less unwieldy and Adam wanted it done a quick and painless as he could make it.

He travelled past the fields of grains and pastures of his animals. To a cave in the shallows of the Earth.

Cain’s cries ring in his ears and he nearly prayed to be deaf but he didn’t need God’s eyes on him now. Not with the unholy act he was going to commit.

The cave was small and cramped. Adam had built a makeshift alter and hidden it in the darkest corner. He placed wailing Cain upon it and drew his knife.

It just took a tiny flick of the sharp rock blade but the blood spilled easily.

As it always did when he summoned Lucifer to him.

His palm stung but Lucifer took it in his hand and kissed it better. It burned as the heat of hell cauterized the wound and itched as the scar disappeared.

“Who is this now Adam? Has Eve given birth already?”

“Half a year since.”

“What have you summoned me for this time? If you require more tips on how to please your wife I fail to see why you have bought your son. As impressive as his lung capacity is. I work better without a crying babe.”

“The crying is why I summoned you. We don’t know why he’s crying like this. Heaven can’t seem to help, or won’t. I’m begging you help him.”

“Are you willing to pay the price?”

“Anything you ask.”

Lucifer ran his fingers along Adam’s jaw. “Your price for such a small request is a kiss. Now let me see him.”

Adam gathered Cain up and passed him to Lucifer. He did not quiet down, he only screamed louder and flailed more at being held by a stranger.

With a snap of Lucifer’s finger the cave lit up with hellfire. It would not burn a mortal, as Adam learn on previous occasions, but it provided light and made it even harder for heaven to notice them. Adam had thought they would see the light but the angels hated sin so much they naturally averted their eyes to the existence of hell. They didn’t even notice they were doing it. And if god knew about these, dalliances he wasn’t talking.

Lucifer pressed a finger to Cain’s gum and rubbed. The crying turned to whimpering. “Poor thing. Will your tooth not just come in?” Lucifer spoke softly to the baby. “Let uncle Lucifer help.” He pushed gently and even the whimpering stopped. Cain fussed, reached for Adam. A bright and shiny white tip of a tooth rested in his mouth.

“See about giving him something cool to chew on if you can. He’s started teething. And there will be many more to come.”

Adam held Cain close. Just thankful for the quiet. He slipped Cain back into the wrap and felt Cain begin to yawn. He would fall asleep on the trek back.

“Do not forget my payment, Adam.”

How could he? Life outside of the garden vexed Adam so. In particular desperate for answers he sought the only person he knew who at least tried to give them. Even if his answer was in the form of an apple that got them all kicked out of Eden.

Adam had cut himself by accident while trying to figure out how to speak with Lucifer. But Lucifer could only come to Earth now with a knowing sacrifice and desire to see and speak to him and so was easily summoned by the incident. He could only deal in trades. Equal value. The more knowledge Adam wished to have to more he had to give.

He had given a lot in the last couple years. Many kisses. And good deal of his dignity upon learning Eve didn’t like sex with him as he was too rough. So he had begged Lucifer for help and ended up on his back in that small cave.

Adam leaned in, he didn’t pucker his lips but left them open slightly for Lucifer’s unholy tongue to ravish him.

Lucifer never settled for a simple kisses, he drew it out, pressing their lips together, moving them, making Adam moan before releasing Adam.

“Thank you. For helping.”

The smile on Lucifer’s face was small and sad. He always looked sad to see Adam leave. He drew Adam back to him and left another kiss on Adam’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Lucifer had never done that before.

“So the rest do not hurt as much for him. Good bye, Adam.”

Darkness returned and Adam crawled out of the cave. He always expected angels to come swooping down from the heavens like birds when Adam got to near their nests. But they never did.

Eve awoke when Adam laid the sleeping Cain with her. “He stopped crying.” She yawned out.

“It was just a tooth coming in. He should feel better now.”

“Thank the lord. I hope the others aren’t as bad.”

“They’ll probably be better. You rest now. I’ll go back to work.”

Eve didn’t have time to agree, she was already asleep and likely wouldn’t even remember this conversation. Which he was thankful for. He didn’t know how much she suspected of his dealings with Lucifer and he hoped she never asked.

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #adam x lucifer #adamsapple #see reblogs for part two

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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Right Kind of Wrong (7)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder case. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong.

Part Summary: She finds herself in a compromising position.

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

a/n: this is my first time writing suspense and crime-mystery, so bear with me if you find any inaccuracy

IF THERE WAS ONE THING SPENCER WAS SURE OF, IT WAS BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. Fatigue, like an invisible shroud, draped itself around his shoulders, draining all of his energy while his mind stumbled through a labyrinth of exhaustion.

He stifled a yawn, his mind trying to focus on the situation at hand and not the lack amount of sleep he was having. When was the last time he actually slept on his bed? When was the last time he went through his days without constantly refilling his cup with too much caffeine? The muscles around his eyes were starting to twitch with restless energy, a sign of a restless mind faltered under the weight of weariness.

Yet amidst it all, a strange resilience emerged within him. He still managed to focus his blurred vision, scanning his eyes around the room as he pushed away any fatigue and the desire to be somewhere else.

His gaze finally ceased on Garcia, engrossed in her own digital world, a sleek laptop perched on the round table before her. She leaned in, her eyes fixed on the vibrant screen which illuminated her face with a soft, cool glow. "Alright, so, I did more digging onto our recent victim, and let me tell you this, Jamison Lynch wasn't exactly the boss of the year."

Jennifer Jareau—who most of them regarded as JJ—looked up from the document in her hand, sitting across from Garcia. "What do you mean?"

"Jamison Lynch was somebody you wouldn't want as a boss. There were a lot of complaints coming from his subordinates—which surprisingly, most came from female workers."

Spencer's eyes scanned the large board in front of him adorned with a labyrinth of interconnected information. Photographs of the two crime scenes were pinned up, highlighting key details, while strings of marks and drawings crossed the board. "He was very different from the first victim."

"Exactly. Kevin Marshall was the epitome of boss of the year, and everybody just loved the guy, which was why no one could guess how something terrible could happen to him."

"There's a chance what happened to him isn't related to his job," JJ offered.

"Maybe not," Garcia muttered, throwing Spencer a curious look. "But the question is still unanswered, how are the two victims linked to one another?"

"The Unsub's memo is clearly done to punish them," Spencer explained, his attention started to gather all the information gripped onto his brain. "The verse written on Jamison Lynch's body was Romans 6:23, For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in our Lord."

JJ leaned over the desk with a pointed stare. "One thing for sure, the Unsub has a strong religious background."

Spencer nodded. "All the verse they used highlights the notion that sin carries consequences, and death is described as the 'wage' or payment for those transgressions. In his mind, they may interpret these verses as a justification for his vigilante actions, believing that he's carrying out divine punishment on behalf of God."

"A religious upbringing," JJ suggested. "The Unsub could have grown up in a deeply religious environment, where strict interpretations of scripture might be emphasized."

"Most likely a distorted belief system." Spencer's hands were all over the place as he continued with his elucidation. "Over time, the Unsub's religious beliefs may have become twisted and distorted, leading him to believe that he possesses a unique calling to carry out punishment on behalf of a higher power."

He then studied the picture of the first crime scene, his eyes raking over the lifeless body covered in a pool of blood. "Kevin Marshall might seem like the golden citizen, but he must be involved in something that could be illegal..." He suddenly looked over to Garcia. "Did Jamison Lynch start his career as a journalist?"

Her fingers danced across the keyboard. "Yes, he published a lot of his work since 2004."

"Search any articles he wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, or maybe the company he worked for. "

"Or legal cases that he was assigned with," JJ added.

"That could be a start, although it might take a while because sleuthing without much lead is difficult." Garcia peered at the two of them by the rim of her eccentric, colorful glasses. "But do not fret, I am known to be the best."

Footsteps suddenly emerged into the room as Aaron Hotchner glanced around the three of them. "Garcia," he mentioned, standing behind her. "Did you find any old cases that might be involved in the victims?"

"Ah, yes, the system was searching through the database based on your queries this morning and it took me a while before—" A sudden ping echoed from her device. “Well, that was perfect timing."

Her fingers clicked across the keyboard as her eyes scanned the dimly lit screen. Everyone in the room stood frozen in their tracks, their faces etched with a curious mix of trepidation and curiosity.

Garcia's eyes widened, revealing the turmoil that echoed the collective sentiment of the room. "Whoa."

JJ stood up and circled her way around the table, standing close to her. "What is it?"

"I started looking through the database for any similar crimes in surrounding areas this morning." Her attention shifted between the other three people in the room. "There have been enucleations in other cases, but none recently, and none close by. No similar murder case was shown, but suicide on the other hand..."

"Harvey Webb," JJ read, looking at the photo of the deceased man. "Suicidal death?"

"Thirty-nine-year-old landlord took a tumble off a sixth-floor balcony two years ago, exactly on the apartment complex he rented out."

"Why are we looking at a suicidal case?"

"That's the thing, the local authorities ruled out that he might've not jumped on his own accord, although his wife at that time determined that he had been having suicidal thoughts for a long time and decided to close the case." Garcia did more tapping on her keyboard and somehow pictures of the crime scene were plastered across the screen in front of the room. "Harvey went through depression and a lot of suicidal attempts, there were always cuts along his arm except—"

"There was a writing on his body?" Hotch guessed.

Garcia nodded as she clicked on a clearer picture of the victim's arm. "His autopsy came in that while there were definite signs of attempt self-hurt, this was written between the cuts."

"Galatians 6:7," Spencer read, his eyes fixated on the screen as he recited, "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."

"Definitely a vigilante on the loose," JJ remarked.

Spencer hummed a positive response and walked over to the board, a marker in his hand as he wrote down the verse. "This verse underscores the concept of reaping the consequences of one's actions, which could further justify the Unsub's belief that his victims deserve punishment for his perceived sins or mistakes."

Hotch studied the pictures of the recent victims and the one shown on the screen. "The way the words are carved across the skin is definitely done by the same person," he noted.

JJ looked between the three pictures before nodding. "I agree." She then glanced up at her co-workers. "So why the different MO? Something connects these three victims, and yet this one"—she pointed to the photo of Harvey Webb—"died in a completely different manner. He either jumped or was pushed. We don't even know if it was a murder, just that he was branded the same as the other two victims."

"The timeline doesn't add up," Spencer claimed, his brows furrowed deeper. "There's too much of a gap between the first victim and the second victim, we're looking at two different stressors that triggered the Unsub."

Hotch stood beside him, crossing his arms as he studied the evidence they had collected these past few days. "If this was his first victim and the two men were his second and third, it's possible he's advancing, that his fantasy is developing."

Spencer looked back at the three pictures. What connected these three dead people, two murdered in violent, heinous ways, the third a potential suicide victim? What wrongdoings might they possibly sin? And now he couldn't help but feel the weight of Hotch's words and how revolting one could act in this series of crimes, proclaiming them as fantasies, his skill, and determination more distinguished than ever before.

"If that's the case..." he pointed out, a certain tension hanging in the air. "He's only getting started."

Y/n must be mad—utterly, completely out of her mind.

She always considered herself a very sensible person characterized by an ability to think critically, or make rational decisions on logical reasoning. But her thoughts, once orderly and coherent, twisted into bewildering shapes because here she was, perched right in front of an apartment door she once closed behind and never looked back.

Why did she think it was a good idea to come here uninvited at this time of hour? How did she end up being here when she was lying in her bed a few hours ago?

She recalled turning around in her sleep, or perhaps, her attempt to rest her eyes, because she found herself staring into the dark with an unsettling feeling in her gut. Maybe all the turmoil of emotions piled up in her chest had her going into a panic frenzy, relentlessly moving in her bed when she should've been fast asleep.

Somehow amidst dwelling on her anxiety, she was suddenly on her feet, putting on a jacket before calling a cab. Her mind was too tangled to be driving on her own, and when the driver asked her where she was heading, she recited the area she was familiar with. Did she remember the building she wanted to go to? Yes. Did she know the exact address? Apparently not.

Although it was easy to spot the building. The old but clean apartment was recognizable, the sturdy wooden door, adorned with vintage brass fixtures, welcomed her after she tipped the driver her fair. The cool air hit her face, her hair flying around her shoulders as she spotted a residence walking out of the building. She quickly slipped in, seeking a very much-needed warmth, yet now she was starting to question her common sense.

But it was too late to turn back because her hand was already curling into a fist as she knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times. When there was no answer, she wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. She knocked once again, and when she was met with silence, she decided it was a sign that she was indeed making the wrong decision.

So she exhaled a breath she wasn't even aware of holding, turned around, and completely froze when she was met with a familiar pair of hazel eyes. There he was, almost a week since the last time she saw him, standing on the last step of stairs.

Time seemed to stand still. Her heart skipped a beat, his presence exuded a captivating charm. His chiseled features were accentuated by a sculpted jawline, leading up to a pair of intense, deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a hefty amount of fatigue. Dark circles cast shadows beneath his eyes, hinting at nights spent wrestling with restless thoughts.

He was dressed in a rumpled shirt and loosely fitted trousers, his attire mirrored the fatigue he wore upon his face. The fabric seemed to hang upon his frame, lacking the crispness that usually accompanied his wardrobe. But despite his weariness, there was an undeniable pull emanating from his presence. It should be illegal how handsome he still looked even when he looked like he needed some rest.

Spencer took a tentative step closer, looking reminiscent of a puppy with his eyebrows pinched at each beginning in a way that can only mimic either confusion or concentration. "Y/n?"

"Hi," she awkwardly greeted, suddenly feeling out of place.

"What brings you here?"

"I..." she trailed off, her brows furrowed as she tried to find a reasonable answer. But somehow she found herself telling him the truth. "I honestly don't know."

His eyes fixed upon her, silently studying her figure. A cascade of lustrous hair framed her face, falling gracefully upon her shoulders.

"Do you want to come in?"

"I don't want to impose on you—" she stepped aside, letting him unlock his door. "Or disturb your much-needed rest."

A ghost of a smile curled on the corner of his lips as he fished out his keys. "I look terrible, don't I?"

"I wouldn't say terrible, just... you look very tired."

"I haven't had proper sleep in days." With a steady hand, he inserted the key into the lock before a satisfying click echoed in the air. With a gentle push, the door swung open, and he gestured to her with a nod.

She looked between him and his apartment. "Are you sure?"

"Come in," he offered. He walked inside his home and pulled the door ajar. "Please."

She studied him for a while before nodding. The floor creaked as she stepped into his household, and as the door swung shut behind her, she scanned the room that seemed familiar yet foreign at the same time. A sense of warmth enveloped her despite the predominantly dark colors that adorned the space. Soft, ambient lighting emanated from placed lamps, casting a gentle glow upon the room.

She walked past him and noticed the chessboard splayed across the coffee table. "I didn't know you play chess." She sat down on his couch. "Looks like you were in the middle of a game… was someone else here?"

He wasn't sure whether he heard a note of jealousy in her voice, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Actually, I was in a game with myself," he answered sheepishly, shrugging off his suit jacket before placing it over his couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, it's alright." She leaned forward, her gaze fixed upon the chessboard. Her eyes darted back and forth, analyzing the board with a keen interest before moving a chess piece, placed with precision and purpose.

Genuine surprise crossed his face as he settled beside her. "You know how to play chess?"

"A little. I used to play with my father growing up."

"You don't play with him anymore?"

She shook her head. "He passed away when I was young. Both of my parents did."

"I'm sorry," he gently spoke. He leaned back and turned his body toward her. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope, just me."

"I'm an only child too." Then he assessed her carefully while her eyes wandered beyond her striking features, a subtle tension betrayed a deeper complexity lurking beneath the surface. "Now are you going to tell me why you're here?"

He noticed the subtle language of her body where uncertainty weaved on her face. It was in the way she looked between him and her hands, a balance between wonder and reservation that hinted at the lingering doubt within. Then she took a deep breath, her brows furrowed as her voice filled in the silence.

"Does it make me a bad person that I didn't cry after everything that happened?"

He frowned, taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean?"

"There was a memorial service for Jamison a few days ago, and while everyone mourned, I just... stood there." She looked down at her hands. "What happened to him was very unfortunate, it just happened that, apparently, I have no emotions.”

His head fell back onto the couch as he watched her. "It doesn't make you a bad person. Grief is a deeply personal and individual experience, and people respond to loss in different ways. Crying is just one expression of grief, but it isn't the only definitive indicator of how much someone cared for or was impacted by the loss of a person, especially given how you saw what had happened."

"But it makes me feel kind of heartless." She glanced back at him. "I mean, he wasn't exactly the greatest boss, and I should've felt a certain kind of sadness, but I... I don't know how I feel, to be honest."

"Y/n," he gently called, his expression softening. "It's important to remember that everyone grieves in their own way. What matters most is that you find healthy ways to navigate and process your emotions surrounding the loss, whether it involves crying or not."

She hummed in response. "I guess you do have a point."

"I do, and I'm right most of the time." Spencer smiled when she rolled her eyes and a comfortable silence settled between them. "Now tell me the truth."

She quirked an eyebrow. "What truth?"

"You obviously have a lot on your mind right now and I'm trying to wrap my head around why you chose to be here."

"Do I need to have a reason?"

As his gaze lingered, he found himself drawn to her eyes—a delicate blend of curiosity and trepidation. They shimmered with a gentle vulnerability, revealing the depths of her longing to be seen and understood.

"I would like to know your reason."

She weighed her words carefully. "I couldn't sleep,” she decided to say. “My mind was constantly turning its gear, then it got too overwhelming?” She shook her head. “I-I guess I needed the comfort..."

As she tried to find her voice, her words become entangled in the turmoil of her emotions. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage. The words spilled forth, unfiltered and vulnerable, resonating with a sincerity that echoed through the room.

"And somehow you were the first person that came to mind."

Spencer felt an unfamiliar intensity washing over him—a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty that tugged at his heartstrings. And then suddenly, completely out of nowhere, the desire to embrace her consumed him, both thrilling and terrifying. It was such a baffling thought because he found hugs to be overwhelmingly intimate for his liking, yet there was this urge to hold her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his.

The weight of uncertainty pressed upon him, urging caution and restraint. But logic lost its battle with instinct, and caution lost its wrestle with impulsive longing as he found himself asking, "Can I give you a hug?"

Her body tensed, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. But as he kept staring at her, she realized that he was being serious. And she found herself nodding, yearning for the warmth radiating from his body.

He carefully drew closer and a magnetic force guided her movements, gently pushing her into his arms. Nervous excitement coursed through her veins, infusing a sense of vulnerability.

Bodies entwined, they breathe in unison, inhaling the essence of closeness as senses unfold—the warmth of skin against skin, the familiar scent that filled the air, the weight of the world momentarily faded away as they surrendered to the pure simplicity of human touch.

His head was spinning with longing and somehow he managed to pull her body gently onto his lap. She silently accepted his tug, placing her legs on either side of his thighs as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Amidst her relishing the gentle press of his body against hers, she couldn't help but find amusement in this new position.

He felt the subtle shake of her shoulder as a burst of soft laughter escaped her mouth. He suddenly tensed. "Is there something funny?"

The confusion etched in his voice had her pulling away, a small smile lingering on her face. "Yes," she answered. "It's amusing how you like having me on your lap so much.”

A slight warmth spread along his face as he became aware of her weight settling on top of him. "I didn’t notice."

She wasn't sure whether it was the glimmer in his eyes, the bashful smile on his lips, or the way he didn't pull his gaze away from her, but before it could register in her mind, she drew herself closer to him. The sudden shift of her movement caused a friction underneath her, and it was at that moment she realized how compromising of a position they were in.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, and an electric current surged through her veins, awakening a longing she had not anticipated. Her eyes flickered with a newfound intensity—a hunger that shimmered in the depths of her gaze as she could only focus on the pulse settling between her thighs.

As her longing deepened, she became acutely aware of his proximity. The scent of him enveloped her, intoxicating her senses, and her mind was consumed by allowing herself to surrender in this newfound need.

So she slowly rolled her hips, feeling his body beneath her, and suppressed a moan when she felt the outline of his bulge stroking against her core. Her breath hitched, betraying the innocent intentions that had initially brought them together.

She felt him tense from the friction and his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, her heart beating to the same rhythm. "Stop doing that," he suddenly said, eyes darkening as he stared at her, voice deep and raspy.

"Why?" She whispered.

A whirlwind of emotions churned within him. His heart ached to offer solace, yet primal longing tugged at his core, igniting an undeniable urge to keep her closer, to indulge in the sudden pull of desire.

"Because if you don't," he grunted, his hand sliding up her neck, burying it in her thick hair as he tilted her face. He pulled her closer, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. The heat of her presence lingered on his fingertips, tempting him to pull her into an embrace that transcends mere comfort. "I won't be able to stop myself."

His gaze then traced the contours of her form. The subtle curve of a hip, the graceful arch of a back, the gentle swell of a chest—all become objects of fascination. He watched as her tongue wiped along her bottom lip while she slid her hands across his shoulders, stopping right on his chest, hovering above his heart.

"Then don't," she softly pleaded, moving her hips once again, igniting a moan deep within his chest. “I don't want you to stop."

It was the only push he needed as he closed the distance between them, finally crushing his lips to hers.

>> NEXT PART

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mcflymemes · 1 year ago

Text

MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

hey, what was that shot?

do you think i did it?

i was just thinking that i wouldn't be caught dead in those shorts.

please don't take it away from me.

sometimes it feels like having a ghost in the house.

i haven't had sex in six... no, seven months.

i'm wrong all the time. it's how i get to "right."

they said it was right around here somewhere.

i don't think they're going anywhere.

if something doesn't feel right to you, it usually isn't.

we need to get you to a hospital.

you said this was going to end badly.

i want to follow in your footsteps.

hey, look what i found. a dead guy.

i wasn't being rude. i was being curt.

what's up, [name]? did you find something?

people are pigs.

i... am a genius.

i've got something for you to see.

i can't discuss the case.

it's gotta be the murder weapon.

how are you holding up?

i think i'd just feel a lot better if i had a change of clothes.

stay strong.

you rolled out of bed and managed to dress yourself.

i just wanted to congratulate you in person.

you never give up.

give me some time. i'm not a miracle worker.

i noticed something strange.

you don't have a personal life?

can't get much deader than this.

i just figured i'd come by.

i hope you're not starting to admire those thugs.

you stay, or i'll smash you to pieces.

this one's actually dead.

i tend not to believe people. they lie.

do you stop when it's finished, or when you've had enough?

stop doing the thing i know you're doing!

i'm not an egg man.

you need to get a girlfriend.

not enough to sting. just enough to make you think.

how much does water weigh?

i can't be fucked to plug it in.

don't insult me.

i'm a sinner. i have sinned.

it's warm! why is it warm?

sometimes i can be a little thoughtless.

it's not supposed to be fun.

your timekeeping is abysmal!

i guess i should stop trying to impress you.

i'm looking for the greater comfort of long-term financial security.

it was a gift from me, so technically i own it.

i've been talking for nine minutes?

you're not a bad guy.

never doubt. never look back. that's how i live my life.

i had an absolutely lovely day.

knowledge demands its payment.

i'm not in the mood.

the clues were there!

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itsgodepi · 8 months ago

Text

If I lose my mind | Ch. 9

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a little problem-solving would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: mention of extreme diet Also on AO3

You recognize his laugh now. Not the one recorded by the nosy photographers or the overstepping interviewers, but the real one. The way he leans his head to the side and his eyes turn into beautiful crescent moons. Those low chuckles as well, so carefree and sweet, resounding in your head and bringing you back to the hundreds of videos saved in your camera roll, the ones you have been watching for nights on end since you found that phone.

It is difficult to decipher if the goosebumps raising in your skin come from the happiness the mere sound induces inside you, or the fear of realizing how deep you have been dragged into this nightmare.

After landing in Belgium, Daniel’s first instinct had been to message you. An invite out for dinner which he admitted was long overdue. Two months had already gone by since you fainted in Austria —or better said, the day you woke up surrounded by a whole Formula 1 team in an unknow place—, two months since he fought with Nick in the middle of the track and promised to ‘talk later’. Two months.

Safe to say you were surprised enough to ignore the hundreds of messages higher on the chat. It’s better to take in this kind of news one by one.

“My friend said the steak tartare was amazing, you should have a look at it” Daniel offers when you lower your eyes to the menu, skimming over the dishes as if that could help you ignore the tingling on your stomach

Pursing your lips, you finally focus your gaze on the words written before you. “I don’t know if…” you begin to show your doubts about the raw dish, trying to locate it on the menu among the rest of unrecognizable food names.

Daniel can see the exact second you find it.

“Don’t you dare look at the price,” the driver threatens when your eyes widen at the quantity, eyebrows furrowed as you wonder if the meat is wrapped in gold or something “You’re not paying again, I’m telling you!”

“What do you mean again?” you ask through a chuckle, scanning the rest of the menu for a more reasonable option. After all, it is always Daniel who shares his gummies and unhealthy treats when you're out on the track, not the other way around. It would have been impossible anyway, it’s only recently that you have acquired some form of payment.

Daniel calls for the waiter after a shake of his head, a smirk falling of his lips “Yeah, sure, I’ll let you play dumb now... gave them my card already, so no use in sneaking to the bathroom and paying behind my back”

To be fair, although you doubt you could have invited Daniel to more than a sip of coffee in the short time you’ve know him, those kinds of antics do ring a bell or two.

After all, you may have picked them up from the best at that game: your father.

On your time away from home, you have found yourself holding onto this little pieces of your family which have so easily become a part of your personality over the years. Your father’s silent gestures of love, your mother’s caring nature, and overall the love they had for you. Honestly, being unable to talk to them had taken a toll on you. Probably, that is why you had melted into a poodle of tears when you heard your dad’s voice on the phone.

“¿A ti te parece normal estar dos meses sin llamar a tus padres? (Does it seem normal to you to go two months without calling your parents?) "

Even hearing his scoldings felt like the most precious moment of your life.

Charles had come crashing into the room as soon as he heard your cries, kneeling beside you on the floor thinking you might have hurt yourself with how fast you had run away from the entrance. His concerned look rapidly turning into one of confusion when you firmly held his hand and whispered between sobs “It’s my dad!”

A reality check so sudden that it took your breath away.

The discovery of this new device had not only opened a channel of communication with your family, which had both been a blessing and a curse, but also brough an infinity of unanswered questions. A whole new part of this life.

Although the first few minutes of your conversation had been centered around your mother’s question about your wellbeing and if you had been eating well, it had not taken long until that precious moment was broken. After checking that you had been doing alright and apologizing for not talking to them, your father could not hold it any longer and started gushing about the amazing few races you had had before the break.

When you finally found your voice again, you had cut the conversation short with promises to call them soon —even if the mere thought of it made you nauseous.

In that moment, their happiness and eagerness to congratulate you on the highest place of your career, had managed to sober you up completely. You heart sinking with every compliment they threw at you, their desire to see you climb up in the sport, to see you win one day.

“It will come” your mother says, as if any of this was real. As if they were real.

This encounter only renewed your desire to break free from what had become you own personal prison, and that device was a new key for your escape. While the phone you had been carrying since the start of this journey only had a couple numbers from the team members saved on it, this one was filled to the brim with messages, photos,... a whole life encased in such a small object. Your life?

And somehow a main character in a large part of them was the man in front of you.

“You sure you don’t want to taste it?” Daniel queries with a half-smile, having clearly caught the way your eyes followed the delicious looking cake as the waiter placed it on the table

The colors rise to your cheeks in shyness, looking to the side while you jokingly sigh “Daniel, I won’t fit in the car if I keep eating...”

“You’ll drive mine then” he quickly resolves, taking a huge piece of the treat and offering the spoon to you. Honestly, you had swapped the list of amazingly sounding desserts for a simple tea because you felt too full to even think of eating anything else, but a spoonful of cake can’t hurt, right? “Have to wear the McLaren suit though”

Although you do it unconsciously, the look you give Daniel over the mouthful of cake, tells him everything he needs to know regarding your opinion on the bright orange race suit. The driver lets out a loud laugh, putting on his disbelieving facade as if that hadn’t been his intention in the first place.

“So nice hearing you criticize my team’s color, really, I don’t know why we stopped having lunch together. Yeah, not a clue...” Daniel scoffs, digging into his plate to drown his fabricated sorrows. So dramatic.

“I didn’t even talk!” you quip back to his amusement, just now having managed to get through the enormous bite of cake. Daniel only response is a disapproving shake of his head, and you let him have this one as you stir your tea. You are more interested in the second part of his grumbles “Why did we stop though?”

“Don’t know... I guess with the whole start of the season, new team and everything” Daniel relays with a frown, gesturing to the air as if to explain that life had gotten in between what seemed to be a tradition the two of you had. “And also, that fucking diet...” the driver snickers with a roll of his eyes, having thrown that last jab as joke to lighten up the mood after such serious turn of the conversation.

However, a soon as your eyes meet, he knows it’s been a misstep —even if it is just a coincidence that what he thinks is your how dare you say that? look is more of a what diet are you talking about? Look.

“Sorry, ‘shouldn't have said that” Daniel apologizes straight away, leaning back into his seat with a sigh and the last piece of the cake. The time it takes him to munch on the treat is enough for him to debate whether or not he should make his opinion on such an important cmatter. Finally, he opts for a more conservative approach “It’s just... you already know what I think about it. Nick too”

The mention of your Formula One trainer’s name makes all the alarms go off in your head, more so when the last time you saw them together, they were having a pretty heated conversation in the middle of a Grand Prix “Is that why you fought with Nick?”

You try to appear outwardly calm about the situation, swirling what’s left of your tea as if your hands weren’t trembling in anticipation. This is it, at last, some real information. Not some meaningless clues which do nothing but mess with your poorly constructed theories.

Your grandmother’s necklace burns against your chest, the feeling grounding you against all the thoughts brimming on your head. After all, the piece of jewelry is still the only fragment of an ever-distant reality, one you have kept safe and close to your heart ever since you found. You rest your hand over the pendant, sensing the heat even through the fabric of your blouse, as you wait for the response.

He brushes a hand over his curls, looking everywhere but at you. “Yeah, kind of... I mean,” he accepts, clicking his tongue and taking in a big breath, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it plain and clear. Daniel takes a second to reorganize his thoughts, straightening up in his chair and leaning his arms over the table in deep thought. However, when you think he’s managed to make up his mind and talk, the only words that come out his lips are “Look, we shouldn't talk about this now”

A frown instantly forms on your expression at the premise, jaw set as you prepare yourself to most likely yell at Daniel everything that’s been on your mind thorough your time trapped here —whatever here means. You were finally going to clear one of the millions of unknowns surrounding this dream or whatever this is, and the man has the audacity to want to leave this incredibly important conversation for later. Oh, hell no.

“No, listen” Daniel tries to settle your worries, having perfectly recognized the signs of what was about to come for him, from the slight closing of you hand over the table to the uncredulous grin lightly lifting the side of your lips “We’ll talk in the ride back to the track. C’mon, I’ll drive you”

The soft sound of the radio fills the silence on the way out of the parking, a ballad which does absolutely not fit the speed at what your mind is running. Daniel can probably feel the weight of your stare, trying to let him have some space since it seems to be a sensitive topic for him, but so eager to learn what transpired between the two of them.

The driver decides to preface his explanation with a “Don't get mad at me, okay?”, a strained smile pulling at his lips. For starters, that sentence does sound familiar. “I know I should stay out of it, and I think... well, no, I know! I know you’ve been really stressed out lately, that everything’s different now and all of that. I mean, they won't shut up about the fucking ‘second year in F1’ or whatever”

Daniel tries to check your reaction out of the corner of his eye, his thoughts, although disorganized, always careful of your feelings. Yet, you can only regard him with a confused look.

“What I’m trying to say is... I think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard” the driver lets out, the words flowing out of him like they have been weighting him for too long. His urge to explain his intentions straight away, showing how much of a push back he was expecting from your part "Again, I’m not trying to start an argument, I’m just worried about you! I’ve seen you training, seen that diet... this is not good for you”

You’ve kept your eyes in the road in front thorough the conversation, taking in how concerned he has been about you. You had never seen this side of Daniel, he has always seen friendly and eager to help whenever you needed, but nothing had ever seen this deep. Still, you don’t understand what any of this has to do with his fight with Nick.

“I understand that...” you acknowledge his worries, making a mental note to check everything he said later. In the time you had spent following this professional motorsport driver schedule, none of it had seemed as harsh to you as he had mentioned. Maybe something changed? Why though? “So, Nick and you talked about that? Is that it?”

“Well, yes, Nick and I kind of had a... disagreement, yeah, we can call it that. About this new training plan you had going on. We had already talked about it like, back in Canada, and obviously nothing came out of it. But after Austria...” Daniel lets a second go while he enters the road, a harder grip on the steering wheel than needed. “Listen, I know we haven’t talked about it at all, I don’t know if you and Nick did?”

You almost want to laugh at the supposition, your trainer had shut down any attempts of talking about it the day after the incident, so you had eventually given up “No, nothing”

“I didn’t want to pressure you into talking about it but... We got really scared that day. I went to celebrate your qualy and, suddenly, you started panicking and freaking out! I didn’t know what to do, and then you fell unconscious. Do you remember any of it?” the driver wonders, his voice showcasing the whirlwind of emotions he went through despite the fact that he might be giving you a diluted version of what went down. You can only nod at him, the memories fresh on your mind “When they took you to the hospital, I thought, they for sure won’t let her race tomorrow, right? And then I see you on the track, all dressed up again, I couldn’t believe it...”

“Didn’t Nick say he sent you a text?” you try to fill in, fingers fiddling with your own phone. Two months might have passed, but the images of that day keep replaying in your mind every single night.

Daniel clicks his tongue in disbelief, eyes still focused on the road “Yes, he sent me two fucking lines saying the doctor discharged you, that you were fine and that’s literally it. You can take my phone and see it for yourself! I kept blowing up his phone but that’s the only thing he would say: exhaustion, she’s alright”

That would explain the way Daniel approached you in Austria, how furious he had been with Nick after the secrecy with which the incident had been treated. The first thing he asked you that day was if you were alright, after the pre-race activities had finished and as away from the public as he could knowing you were in the middle of a Grand Prix. That is why he pounced at Nick when he mentioned the exhaustion diagnosis, fed up with the discourse. The distrust he had in your trainer’s statement clear in his words.

Yet another thread to be pulled.

Next Chapter

Author's note: Hey, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It's been a while! My masters is clearly kicking my ass and I didn't have a single second to write, but here it is. Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub @darleneslane @therealcap @aespie

#daniel ricciardo x reader #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 imagine

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ataraxiaspainting · 1 year ago

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

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