#to the point where he had to take his attention away from you for a second. not only that but your attention away from him too

[heliosunny]

Your writing is just… unbelievable! You’re doing such a good job, I hope you know that and you’re taking care of yourself (and your wrists!!)

May I request, if it peaks your interest, Yandere!Mydei x Reader, but slow-decent yandere over time as Mydei gets more possessive of reader, who they met when reader and Mydei accidentally bumped into each other in the market place, causing his pomegranate juice to spill on her. She didn’t mind, even licks a bit off of her to taste it before leaving, and runs a trinket shop for people at the edge of the market!

My wrists are doing okay- ;3

CROSSED PATHS

Yandere!Mydei x Fem!Reader

Mydei walked through the market with the same disinterest he always carried, he was all too familiar with this place. He wasn’t here for anything in particular, just taking the usual route through the stalls, a wooden cup of pomegranate juice in hand. The deep red liquid sloshed slightly as he moved, but he paid it no mind.

Then, before he could sidestep, someone walked straight into him.

The collision wasn’t violent, but it was enough to jostle his cup, sending the juice spilling forward. The rich crimson liquid soaked into the tunic of the person in front of him.

“Tch” Mydei clicked his tongue, already annoyed. “You should watch where you’re going.”

Instead of irritation, you simply looked down at the stain, then back up at him. Without hesitation, you ran a finger along the droplets clinging to your skin, bringing it to your lips and licking it off.

“Mmm. That’s good” you mused, amusement flickering in your eyes. “You’ve got good taste.”

Mydei stared, silent for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he expected your reaction to be, but it certainly wasn’t that. Most people would be frustrated, flustered, or at least make some effort to clean up. Instead, you stood there, completely at ease, as if the spill was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

His gaze flickered to your clothes. “It’s ruined.”

You merely shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Gives me an excuse to close up early anyway.”

That caught his attention. “Close up?”

“I run a trinket shop. Just by the market’s edge.” You smiled, “Little things to catch the eye and heart.”

Mydei didn’t reply right away, just watching as you gave him a small wave and disappeared back into the crowd, as if this meeting was nothing more than a fleeting moment.

The next day, Mydei found himself walking toward the edge of the market, where the usual noise and crowd thinned out. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was just something to do. Either way, he figured he’d at least take a look at the shop you mentioned.

When he arrived, however, the place was closed. The wooden sign hanging on the door was tilted slightly, as if it had been left that way in a hurry.

What was the point of bringing up a shop if she wasn’t even going to open it?

He exhaled through his nose, about to turn back and head home, when movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

There you were, walking toward the shop with a slow, lazy pace, arms stretching over your head as you let out a deep yawn. You looked half-asleep, hair slightly messy, and completely unbothered by the fact that most stalls had already been open since morning.

Mydei frowned. “Isn’t it late to be opening now?”

You blinked at him, then glanced at the sky as if just realizing the time. “Mm. Guess so.” You rubbed at one eye before giving him a lopsided grin. “But hey, better late than never, right?”

He stared at you. “That’s a terrible mindset for business.”

You only chuckled, fishing out the key and unlocking the door with an easy shrug. “Maybe. But I open when I feel like it. I still get customers, so it works out.”

That… was the most carefree approach he’d ever heard. He didn’t know whether to call it ridiculous or strangely impressive.

Instead of arguing, he crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the nearby post. “So, do you actually sell anything useful, or is it all just cheap junk?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “How dare you.” Then you grinned. “You’ll just have to come inside and see for yourself.”

And for some reason, Mydei didn’t immediately walk away.

As you pushed open the shop door, the scent of old parchment, polished wood, and faint traces of incense drifted into the cool evening air. The interior was warm, lit by scattered lanterns that cast soft golden hues across shelves packed with trinkets—intricate carvings, delicate charms, aged coins, and strange little oddities that seemed to whisper of stories untold.

Mydei stepped in behind you, arms still crossed as his sharp eyes swept across the shop’s interior. He made a low noise in the back of his throat—half curiosity, half scrutiny. He reached for a small wooden carving of a beast with jeweled eyes, turning it in his hand. “You actually sell things worth looking at.”

You laughed, stretching lazily before stepping behind the counter. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

He huffed, setting the carving down before moving to another shelf. “Take it however you want.”

He studied everything with an almost calculated interest, fingers skimming over old coins, testing the weight of metal trinkets, and occasionally raising a brow at something that caught his attention. He wasn’t the type to be easily impressed, but you could tell he wasn’t just humoring you—he genuinely found the shop interesting, even if he didn’t outright say it.

“You actually know what you’re selling” he muttered, inspecting an engraved pendant. “Not just collecting junk and hoping people buy it.”

You leaned on the counter, resting your chin on your hand. “Of course. Every piece here has a story. That’s what makes them special.”

Mydei glanced at you briefly, as if considering something, but before he could speak, a voice cut through the quiet.

“Mydei!”

A man rushed into the shop, breathing heavily, eyes scanning the space before locking onto him. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere—” He paused, glancing between you and Mydei before continuing hurriedly. “There’s trouble. You’re needed now.”

Mydei clicked his tongue in irritation but didn’t hesitate. He turned to you, nodding once. “Guess I’ll have to finish looking around another time.”

You waved a hand dismissively, grinning. “Take your time. The shop isn’t going anywhere.”

Without another word, he strode past the man and out into the night, disappearing as quickly as he had come.

Five days had passed since Mydei had left in a rush, and in that time, life went on as usual. Your shop saw a steady stream of customers—travelers looking for charms, locals browsing out of habit, and the occasional collector intrigued by the more unique items you sold.

The place was lively today, filled with chatter and the occasional sound of trinkets clinking together as people picked them up and examined them. You were busy handling coins, giving a customer change, when a familiar figure stepped inside.

At first, you didn’t notice him. Mydei wasn’t the type to announce his presence, and he simply stood near the back, scanning the shelves with his usual unreadable expression. He blended in well, quiet and observant, though his presence carried a weight that would eventually demand attention.

It wasn’t until you turned, momentarily catching a glimpse of something unusual in the dim light, that you really saw him. A few stray leaves were nestled in his hair, likely from his journey back to town.

Without thinking, you moved toward him, reaching up on your toes to pluck the leaves away. “You’ve been out in the wild, huh?” you mused, brushing the last one from his shoulder.

He barely reacted, only arching a brow. “You didn’t even notice me walk in, and this is the first thing you do?”

You grinned. “Well, you weren’t exactly loud about it.”

Just as you stepped back, a child rushed past, bumping into you at full speed. You stumbled, thrown off balance, and for a brief moment, you thought you might crash straight into Mydei—until his hand caught your wrist, steadying you with ease.

“Careful”

You let out a short laugh, regaining your footing. “Thanks. You could’ve just let me fall, you know.”

“And let you take me down with you? No thanks.”

The day continued, and surprisingly, Mydei lingered. He leaned against a shelf, watching as you worked, occasionally glancing at the customers but never interfering. He had no reason to stay, yet he made no move to leave.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the last customer stepped out, you stretched with a sigh, locking up the shop for the night. “Didn’t think you’d stick around that long”

“It’s dangerous,” he replied simply, arms crossed. “Beasts have been spotted near town. You shouldn’t walk home alone.”

“Oh? And here I thought you just enjoyed my company.”

He scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he walked alongside you as you made your way home, the quiet hum of the night settling around you both. When you finally reached your door, he stopped a few steps away, watching as you unlocked it.

“This where you live?”

You nodded. “Yup. Cozy, isn’t it?”

He didn’t comment, only nodding slightly. “Stay inside at night.”

With that, he turned, disappearing into the shadows of the street.

You lingered for a moment, watching where he had gone before finally stepping inside. Something about him stuck with you, and despite his rough demeanor, you couldn’t help but smile.

The following days passed as usual. Customers came and went, some lingering to chat, others leaving with trinkets tucked away in their pockets. Yet, amidst the routine, you began to notice something—or rather, someone.

Mydei.

You never saw him enter the shop, nor did he ever buy anything, but you caught glimpses of him near the marketplace, often stationed in the same general area. He was never in armor, never dressed in anything that would mark him as a guard or knight, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made you wonder.

At first, you assumed it was coincidence. Maybe he just happened to be around. But as the days passed, you realized it was too frequent to be chance. He wasn’t a customer, yet he lingered. He wasn’t a merchant, yet he remained nearby. Still, you weren’t one to pry. If Mydei had business in the area, it wasn’t really your concern.

Then one evening, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, a group of men entered your shop.

You noticed them immediately—rough around the edges, their movements too casual, too calculated. They weren’t here to browse; their eyes weren’t on the merchandise. Instinctively, you stayed behind the counter, watching them with the same easy calm you always carried.

One of them stepped forward, idly picking up a small carved pendant. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks” you said.

He turned the pendant over in his hands before setting it back down. Another one looked toward the back of the shop as if expecting to find something—or someone.

That’s when you realized. They weren’t stealing. They were looking for someone.

Before you could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the tense silence.

“Took you idiots long enough.”

Mydei stood in the doorway. The men stiffened, immediately straightening like soldiers caught slacking off.

“Captain” one of them muttered under his breath.

Captain? Well. That explained a lot.

“Back to your posts” Mydei ordered, “Now.”

The men hesitated for only a moment before shuffling toward the exit, each one sending you a quick glance as if only now realizing their presence might have looked… suspicious.

Once they were gone, you turned back to Mydei, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “So, Captain, huh?”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t make a habit of announcing it.”

“You also don’t make a habit of staying in one place unless you have a reason.”

His gaze flickered toward you, unreadable. He didn’t confirm or deny it.

Instead, he only muttered, “They won’t bother you again.”

You shrugged. “Wasn’t really bothered to begin with.”

With a short nod, he turned to leave.

It was another evening at the market, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows as you prepared to close up shop. As usual, one of your friends—Edward, a vendor from a few stalls down—came by to help carry the heavier crates of unsold goods back inside. It had become routine by now, something neither of you thought much about.

“You really should hire someone for this” your friend teased, easily lifting a wooden box filled with carved trinkets. “One day, you’ll be stuck under a pile of your own stock.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “And ruin your chance to show off? I wouldn’t dare.”

The two of you worked smoothly, chatting about market gossip and the odd customers you had encountered that day. You didn’t notice Mydei at first, but he had been watching from a distance, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here. Yet, as he saw the easy familiarity between you and your friend—the way you smiled, the way they stood close—something in his chest tightened.

Before he could think twice, his body moved on its own.

He stepped in between you just as you reached for another crate, his hand easily grasping the handle before you could. “I’ll do it.”

“Mydei? Didn’t know you were in the business of heavy lifting.”

“You shouldn’t rely on random people.” He didn’t look at your friend, but the message was clear enough.

Your friend raised an amused brow but didn’t argue, instead watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled interest. “Not random” he pointed out, arms crossing. “I help all the time.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He simply hefted the crate as if it weighed nothing, walking into the shop with ease. You exchanged a glance with your friend, who smirked knowingly before waving you off and heading back to their own stall.

Once inside, you turned to Mydei, leaning against the counter with a grin. “Didn’t take you for the helpful type.”

He placed the crate down with a little more force than necessary, expression unreadable. “You’re careless.”

You tilted your head. “How so?”

“Letting just anyone help you. You don’t know what their intentions are.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re really that concerned?”

He scoffed but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the shop, as if checking for anything else to ‘help’ with.

Part of him wanted to say no—that it wasn’t concern, that he didn’t care. But the truth was, he did. More than he should.

“…Just be careful” he muttered at last.

You smiled. “Always am.”

The next day, the marketplace was bustling as usual, and you were busy sorting through a new batch of trinkets when Edward stopped by. It was nothing out of the ordinary—he often passed through to chat or lend a hand when he had the time.

“You’ve got something on your face” he said, leaning in slightly as he observed your face.

You blinked. “Huh? Oh.”

Before you could react, he carefully reached out, brushing the side of your face to remove whatever it was. The gesture was entirely innocent, but from an outside perspective—especially from a blocked or skewed angle—it might’ve looked a little different.

And unfortunately for Edward, Mydei happened to be that outside perspective.

From where he stood, partially obscured by a wooden post at the edge of the shop, all he saw was Edward’s face close to yours, his hand hovering near your cheek, and you standing there without pulling away.

In an instant, he was moving.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mydei’s voice cut through the moment.

Edward, startled, immediately pulled back and turned to see Mydei standing there—expression unreadable, stance tense.

You blinked at Mydei’s sudden entrance, then at Edward, then back at Mydei. It took you about two seconds to put the pieces together, and when you did, amusement curled at the edges of your lips.

Edward let out a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Relax, I was just getting something out of her eye.”

Edward, not one to test his luck, let out a low chuckle and took a step back. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He shot you a knowing glance before casually making his exit.

The moment he was gone, you turned to Mydei with a smirk, resting your chin in your hand.

“Wow” you mused, tone playful. “Didn’t take you for the type to interrupt people like that.”

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “I have to remind you that you don’t know what people’s intentions are.”

You tilted your head. “Uh-huh. And what exactly did you think was happening?”

He didn’t answer, but his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

Your smirk widened. “You’re like a big cat that’s always on edge.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the kind that watches everything, always looking ready to pounce if something gets too close.” You grinned. “Kinda cute, honestly.”

“… Stop talking nonsense.”

But despite his sharp words, Mydei stayed. Even when the conversation ended, even when there was no longer a reason to linger, he stayed.

Just like he always did.

----

The sun had long since passed its highest point when Mydei arrived at your shop, only to find the doors shut tight. No sign, no explanation, nothing. He frowned.

You never closed without warning.

For the first time in a long while, a foreign sense of unease settled in his chest. He told himself it was ridiculous—you were probably fine—but as the hours ticked by and the shop remained closed, that irritation grew into something sharper.

By the time dusk began creeping across the marketplace, he had already decided to check on you himself. But just as he moved toward the door, you finally appeared—yawning, stretching, completely at ease.

He stared. “Where the hell have you been?”

You blinked at him, rubbing your eyes. “Overslept.”

“…Overslept” he repeated flatly.

You grinned. “Yup.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Here he was, thinking something might’ve happened, only for you to be completely unfazed, acting as if you hadn’t just left your shop closed the entire day.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you teased. “You worried?”

He scoffed, looking away. “Tch. You’re careless.”

“Well, since it’s already this late, might as well do something else.” You stretched again, eyes flicking to him. “What about you? Where were you headed?”

Mydei hesitated for a moment before answering, “…Camp.”

You tilted your head, interested. “Your camp, huh?”

“Not a place for civilians,” he muttered, already expecting you to drop it.

Instead, you grinned. “Sounds fun. Let’s go.”

His men were not prepared.

The moment you entered the camp, curious eyes peered from behind tents and around corners. Soldiers whispered among themselves, their gazes darting between you and Mydei like they had just seen a ghost.

Their captain—who barely tolerated company, let alone anyone outside of their ranks—had brought someone along? A girl?

Somewhere in the shadows, a small group crouched together, trying (and failing) to be discreet.

“She’s so… casual?”

“She’s actually talking to him.”

“She’s still alive.”

“Do you think she—?”

Before the last sentence could even be finished, Mydei turned sharply, his piercing gaze landing right on them.

“Out” he ordered.

There was a brief scramble of bodies before they all disappeared in a mess of quiet shouts and tripping feet.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. “They’re fun.”

“They’re idiots” he corrected, rubbing his temples.

You only hummed in amusement, following him to where a small campfire burned, casting warm flickering light over the clearing. Mydei sat first, and you settled beside him, close enough to feel the lingering heat but not too close to crowd him.

For a while, there was only silence—the crackling of fire, the distant sounds of the camp settling down for the night.

You stretched your legs out, gazing into the flames. “So, do they always eavesdrop like that, or was this a special occasion?”

“They’re not used to seeing me with company.”

You smirked. “Oh? So I’m special?”

He shot you a look, but the usual sharpness wasn’t quite there.

You leaned back on your hands, watching the embers float up into the dark sky. “Y’know, this is nice. I should close my shop more often.”

“…You must be crazy.”

But despite his words, Mydei didn’t look irritated. If anything, he stayed there longer than necessary, watching the fire, listening to your stories, and letting the quiet companionship settle between you.

The fire crackled between you, warm and steady, casting shifting shadows over Mydei’s face. He had been quiet for a while, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the flames.

Then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“…I have a friend.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

He nodded slightly. “He’s… in a situation.”

You smirked, already catching on to where this was going. But you let him continue.

“This friend,” he went on, “has a crush on a girl.”

You bit back a grin. “Mhm.”

“He doesn’t know how to… approach her about it.” His words were carefully chosen, like he was trying not to make it obvious. “She’s carefree. Doesn’t seem to take things too seriously. He doesn’t know if she’d even notice.”

You hummed, tapping a finger against your chin in thought. “Sounds like this friend of yours thinks too much.”

Mydei shot you a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you countered with a lazy grin. “If he likes her, he should just… y’know, show it.”

He frowned. “Show it how?”

You shrugged. “Small things. Stick around her. Do things for her. Make it clear she’s different from everyone else. And if he’s brave enough, tell her.”

Mydei went quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. You weren’t sure if he expected something grander—some complicated strategy—but you could tell he was taking your advice seriously.

And then, almost immediately after, he tested it.

A second later, he reached out, plucking a stray leaf from your hair with casual ease.

“…What” he muttered, glancing away like it was nothing. “There was something there.”

You stared. Then, slowly, a knowing grin spread across your lips.

“Mydei.”

He tensed. “What?”

“You’re predictable.”

“What are you talking about?”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re following my advice already. You’re really bad at being subtle.”

He scoffed, looking off to the side, but the way his fingers twitched betrayed him.

You shook your head, amused beyond belief. “Well, tell your friend this—he doesn’t have to worry. I think the girl already noticed.”

-----

The shift was slow—so gradual you barely noticed at first. Mydei had always been watchful, lingering near your shop more than necessary, helping out in small ways that he’d brush off as coincidence. But then it started becoming… more.

You weren’t the only one to notice. The market folk whispered about it. Your friend Edward raised an eyebrow when Mydei always happened to be around. Even his own men exchanged looks whenever you visited the camp, though they were too scared to say anything outright.

And Mydei? He didn’t care what anyone thought.

But what truly set things in motion was when another man—some passing traveler—got a little too comfortable in your shop.

It was harmless, really. The man was just talkative, leaning in slightly as he complimented one of your handmade trinkets, flashing a charming smile. You, being as easygoing as always, just laughed and continued the conversation.

And Mydei, standing just outside the shop, watching from the shade of an awning, felt something snap.

The stranger’s hand briefly touched yours as you passed him a necklace.

That was it.

Before you could react, a shadow loomed behind you.

“You’re done here.”

The traveler barely had time to turn before Mydei was there, towering over him.

The man blinked in confusion. “Uh—”

“Leave.”

The traveler raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Didn’t mean anything by it, mate. Just chatting.”

“Chat somewhere else.”

The moment the man was gone, you turned to Mydei, raising an amused brow. “That was aggressive.”

He didn’t answer, his jaw tight, his fists still clenched like he was resisting the urge to chase after the guy and make sure he never even thought about coming near you again.

You grinned, nudging him. “You’re like a big cat again. All tense, ready to pounce.”

His gaze snapped to you.

“Mydei?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t like people getting too close to you.”

You smirked. “Well, if you wanted me all to yourself, you could’ve just said so.”

His eyes flickered, something snapping into place. And then, in one swift movement, he stepped forward, crowding your space, forcing you to take a step back until your spine brushed against the counter.

“Fine,” he said, “I want you to myself.”

“No more ‘friend’ nonsense. No more watching you let people touch you, talk to you like they have a chance.” His eyes burned into yours. “If you belong to anyone, it’s me.”

Silence stretched between you.

“…Wait, what?” You blinked. “You—what?”

“I said,” his voice didn’t waver, though you swore his ears were turning red, “I want you to myself.”

For once, you were actually stunned into silence.

“…Alright,” you said, still watching his expression closely. “Let’s test that, then.”

“What?”

“A test date,” you clarified, tilting your head. “If you’re serious, prove it.”

His gaze flickered, as if trying to gauge if you were teasing or not. But when he realized you weren’t laughing—when he saw that you were actually agreeing—something in him shifted.

Before he could respond, however—

“WOOHOOO!”

The loud cheering and applause from outside made both of you jolt.

You turned your head just in time to see a whole group of people—his soldiers, a couple of market vendors, even Edward—watching from the entrance of your shop, clapping and whistling like they had just witnessed the grand finale of a play.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE HE FINALLY SAID IT!”

“I OWE YOU FIVE COINS, EDWARD!”

“OUR CAPTAIN’S FINALLY A MAN!!”

A vein visibly twitched on Mydei’s forehead.

“ALL OF YOU—LEAVE! NOW!!”

In an instant, the group scrambled, tripping over themselves as they scattered like startled rats.

You, on the other hand, were barely holding back laughter. “Oh, wow. They’ve been waiting for this, huh?”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “…I’m going to kill them.”

You chuckled, nudging him. “Not before our date, you’re not.”

“…Fine.” He shot you a look. “But don’t think this is just a ‘test.’ I don’t intend to lose.”

“We’ll see, big guy.”

Mydei was not a romantic.

This became very clear about five minutes into the so-called “test date.”

You had expected him to be awkward—maybe stiff, maybe too serious—but you hadn’t expected him to treat it like some kind of mission.

The moment you met up, he stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, eyes scanning you like he was assessing the situation.

“…What?”

“I don’t know how these things work.”

“That’s the point of a test, isn’t it?”

He grumbled something under his breath, but then—without warning—he reached out and took your hand.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden contact. He held it firmly, almost too tight, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“…Too much?” he muttered, not looking at you.

You chuckled, easing his grip just slightly. “A little. You’re holding me like a prisoner.”

His ears turned red, but he didn’t let go.

The first thing Mydei failed at was conversation.

You both walked through the market, and while you tried to talk about casual things—the weather, your shop, the odd things you saw—he kept answering in single words.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe.”

“Hm.”

At one point, you just stopped walking and looked at him.

“…Are you planning on saying more than one sentence today?” you teased.

He frowned. “I don’t talk much.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

He shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable. You realized then that he was actually trying—it just wasn’t coming naturally to him.

“Alright, alright. Don’t stress. Just—” You tugged his arm slightly. “Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”

His eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, finally, he muttered, “I hate spicy things.”

You blinked. “Huh. Really?”

He nodded.

“…So if I gave you a something spicy right now, you wouldn’t eat it?”

“…I’d eat it if you gave it to me.”

Oh.

The second thing Mydei failed at was dealing with people.

As you walked through the town, a few people—mostly men—stopped to greet you. Some were regulars at your shop, some just acquaintances. But every single time someone so much as looked at you for too long, Mydei’s grip on your hand tightened.

At one point, one of your regulars, a friendly merchant, smiled at you and asked if you were free later to look at some new goods.

Before you could even answer, Mydei cut in with a flat, “She’s busy.”

The man blinked. “…Oh. I—”

“She’s not available” Mydei added, tone sharper this time.

You sighed, nudging him. “Relax, I can speak for myself.”

Mydei huffed but didn’t say anything else. He did not like people taking your attention.

It was ridiculous. But… also kind of cute.

The third thing Mydei failed at was subtlety.

At some point, you stopped by a food stall, eyeing some skewered meat. The moment you reached for your coin pouch, Mydei immediately slapped money down before you could pay.

You raised an eyebrow. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

“No.”

“…No?”

He crossed his arms. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your breath caught slightly at the phrasing. But before you could tease him for it, he shoved a skewer into your hands, looking away like he hadn’t just claimed you in the middle of a crowded street.

By the end of the day, you had to admit—he was bad at this.

And yet.

Despite all the failures, despite all his awkwardness and overprotectiveness, he tried.

And then, as the sun was setting, he did something that truly moved you.

You had mentioned offhandedly a few days ago that your favorite spot in town was an old bridge overlooking a quiet stream. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

But as evening fell, Mydei silently led you there.

You blinked in surprise as you stepped onto the bridge, the soft glow of lanterns reflecting in the water. The air was crisp, the sounds of the market distant.

“…You remembered”

He stood beside you, arms resting on the railing, gazing out at the water.

“I remember everything you say” he admitted quietly.

For a moment, you just looked at him—the way the fading sunlight touched his sharp features, the way his fingers tapped absently against the wood, the way he had tried so hard today just because he wanted to be with you.

And that was it.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Mydei froze.

You pulled back slightly, smirking. “You pass.”

It took him a solid three seconds to react. His face slowly turned red—first his ears, then his neck, then his entire expression.

“…Tch.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, looking away. But he didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Guess I'll be bothering you from now on.”

“…I don't mind.”

[hrtwayne]

Take my Breath Away || Alexia Putellas [Part One]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Physiotherapist!Reader

Summary: Where the girl Alexia kissed at a bar ends up being hired as the new physiotherapist for the Barcelona team.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: None, except for the two being completely oblivious!

Next Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

The night before, Y/n had gone out to celebrate her new job with some friends at one of London's trendiest bars. Amid laughter and conversation, the light and relaxed atmosphere allowed her to let loose, at least for a few hours, from the pressure she felt after securing a contract with a Spanish team after years of working in English football. The night took an unexpected turn, and under soft lights and loud music, Y/n found herself sharing a kiss with a woman with blonde hair and a captivating smile.

The next morning, the headache from the celebration's excesses throbbed intensely, and Y/n struggled to recall the details of the previous night. She blinked, still feeling dazed, until the image of the woman she had met the night before, with her blonde locks and mesmerizing gaze, returned to her mind.

"Damn," she muttered to herself as she sat up in bed, the fragments of memory starting to piece together. "Did I get her number?"

She wasn't sure, but she wasn't the type to let herself be distracted by such things, at least not for long.With her mind scattered, at 8:15 a.m., Y/n entered the Barcelona Training Center. Although she was familiar with the environment, having worked in similar centers before, there was something different this time, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the weight of being back in Barcelona or the new challenge that awaited her.

As she crossed the main entrance, her eyes narrowed, taking in every detail of the place with the familiarity of someone who knew it well but the seriousness of someone who wanted to do everything perfectly. With her hands in her jacket pockets, she remained focused until she was approached by a man with a firm posture and a warm smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I'm Pere Romeu, the coach of the women's team," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

"Pleasure," Y/n smiled back, shaking his hand confidently.

Let's go, I'll introduce you to the players," the coach guided her through the center's corridors to a gym where the players were training intensely. "Ladies, take a break, please."

The athletes paused their activities and turned to Y/n and the coach. The physiotherapist, maintaining her professional demeanor, began to analyze them one by one, recognizing movements, observing postures, and identifying potential points of concern. However, what she didn't expect was to see, among them, the same blonde woman from the previous night. The shock was instant.

The woman, Alexia, stood still, her eyes wide in surprise as she recognized Y/n. A brief moment of tension filled the air, but it was quickly masked when Y/n bit her lip, hiding her nervousness before formally introducing herself.

"It's a pleasure, ladies. My name is Y/n, and I'll be your new physiotherapist," she said, approaching and shaking each of their hands firmly.

Alexia, who had been quiet until then, flashed a shy and charming smile at Y/n, still trying to process the coincidence. The two, visibly uncomfortable, tried to hide the tension, but it didn't go unnoticed by their teammates.

Ona, with her typical humor, shot a teasing look at Alexia as soon as Y/n and Romeu walked away to talk.

"Now I understand why you wanted to get her number last night," Ona commented with a mischievous smile.

Alexia, awkwardly, muttered something inaudible as she felt her face flush. She knew it would be hard to keep that secret with her friends around, especially with Ona and the other girls always paying attention.

"Don't you dare say anything!" Alexia grumbled, trying to avoid further teasing, but it was obvious the situation was far from going unnoticed.

Y/n, on the other hand, tried to stay focused on her conversation with the coach, though the image of Alexia and what had happened the night before was becoming clearer in her mind. She would have to figure out how to handle this coincidence and, more importantly, how to work alongside the woman who, without realizing it, was already stirring her emotions.

At the end of the day, when most of the players were already leaving training, Alexia told her friends she needed to stay a bit longer for a medical evaluation. The discomfort in her left knee, the same one that had suffered previous injuries and surgeries, was bothering her, and Coach Pere Romeu had recommended that Y/n take a careful look.

Alexia walked through the quiet corridors of the training center to the medical wing. The place was almost empty, the sound of the captain's footsteps echoing softly. When she reached the office door, she knocked lightly and waited for a response. A muffled sound of approval came from inside, and Alexia entered.

"Are you about to leave?" Alexia asked, her hands in her jacket pockets, as she saw Y/n sitting at the desk, focused on some papers.

Y/n, distracted by the paperwork, looked up at the familiar voice. Her eyes met Alexia's, and she took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her professional composure.

"Did something happen?" she inquired, trying to hide the concern she felt. The tension between them was still palpable, but Y/n knew she needed to focus on her work.

"I felt some discomfort in my left knee during training, and the coach asked you to take a look," Alexia replied, trying to mask her growing anxiety. She couldn't believe she was in the same room, alone, with the woman she had kissed the night before.

The previous night had been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, face-to-face with the physiotherapist responsible for her physical well-being, Alexia felt the thin line between personal and professional life being tested.

"Alright. Sit on that examination table, please," Y/n instructed, standing up from her chair. "I want to make sure it's nothing serious. The coach told me about your ACL injury, so I'll check to see if there's any connection."

Alexia did as she was told, sitting on the table as Y/n approached. The physiotherapist began to examine her left knee with skilled and gentle hands, pressing lightly on critical areas. Alexia let out a soft curse as the pain intensified in one specific spot.

"I want to make sure you're in condition to play the next game. If you feel any major discomfort, let me know immediately, okay?" Y/n said, massaging the captain's knee lightly. Her touch eased the pain, and Alexia took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily.

The warmth of Y/n's touch was comforting, but it also stirred something in Alexia. She hated to admit that this closeness was affecting her. The memory of the previous night was still fresh, and now, with the physiotherapist so close, Alexia's emotions were in turmoil.

"Is there something you want to say, Captain?" Y/n asked, sensing the tension in the air as she pressed gently on another area of the knee.

Alexia hesitated, her heart racing. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but this wasn't the time or place.

"I don't think it's something I should mix with work, Doctor," Alexia replied, trying to keep her tone professional, even though she was conflicted inside.

Y/n, however, didn't seem willing to completely ignore what had happened between them. Without losing her composure, she replied with a subtle tease:

"That's exactly why you should have left me your number, Putellas."

Alexia felt her face flush, averting her gaze to avoid direct eye contact. Y/n's comment, delivered in a low and calm tone, hit her hard. The physiotherapist's sweet perfume filled the space between them, bringing back memories of the previous night.

Without prolonging the tension, Y/n stepped back, grabbing a pen from her lab coat pocket. With quick movements, she turned to the desk and wrote something on a small post-it note. Then, she handed the note to Alexia, who looked at it curiously.

"You have my number now. You know you can call me if you need to," Y/n said with a small smile, placing the note in Alexia's hand.

Alexia, unsure how to react, tucked the post-it into her jacket pocket and nodded without saying a word. Her heart still racing and her mind in overdrive, she knew this interaction was just the beginning of something much more complicated.

[nitadllyss]

Needy for Attention

Dom! Lee Felix x Sub! Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex, breast play, cum inside, domination, praise, marks, etc.

Genre: Smut, NSFW.

Summary: Felix invites you over to his place, but he's too absorbed in his video game. You need to find a way to get his attention.

----------------------------

"Die you stupid!"

Video game sounds echoed around the room as Felix played his favorite game. He wasn't exactly the best at it and was now struggling with all his might to kill another player.

"HOW THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT?!" he yelled, frustrated, seeing that he had been eliminated.

"Lix, what's the point of playing so much if you're so bad?" You mocked from the other side of the bed.

He turned to look at you, frowning.

"What are we going to do after you're done playing?" you asked, bored. You and Felix were friends, and he had invited you over to his house supposedly because he missed you, but he didn't even pay attention to you because he was stuck in that stupid game.

"Mm, I don't know," he replied disinterestedly, starting another game. He probably didn't even consider the idea of stopping playing.

You couldn't understand how he could be such a loser. He had a girl madly in love with him in his bed, and yet he preferred to play video games. Was he joking?

You were one more game away from going home, so you started teasing him, hoping for at least a little bit of his attention.

You put one leg on his back and started pushing him lightly with your feet.

"Liiiix, I'm bored," you complained in a spoiled voice.

"I promise I'll play a few more games and we'll do something else. I can't stop right now when I'm getting better," he said, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his lip, focused on the screen.

You didn't want to wait. You sat on his back and started jumping slightly. Your skirt rode up a little, but you didn't pay it any mind.

"Lixieee," you insisted with a pout.

“Y/N, just wait a while,” he replied without taking his eyes off the game. His indifference was starting to bother you.

You approached his arm and rested your chest against it.

“Lixieee,” you repeated, waiting for some reaction.

As soon as he felt you, his cheeks turned red and a smile appeared on his lips.

“Aren’t you going to be patient?” He muttered before releasing the controller, letting it fall to the side. Then he looked at you seriously. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to play with a whiner rubbing her tits against my arm?”

You blushed instantly. You just wanted his attention, but not in that way… or at least not this time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said, jerking away for fear of making him uncomfortable.

“Of course, you didn’t mean to,” he replied wryly, not even looking you in the eyes. His attention was fixed on your chest.

“I thought of something so you wouldn’t be bored,” he said with a mischievous smile, biting his bottom lip.

Before you could react, he lunged at you and kissed you deeply. At first you froze, but then you tried to keep up with him. He dominated the kiss with ease. He placed one hand on your cheek and pulled you towards him, while the other rested on your waist.

When he pulled away, you were still confused. Where had all that come from?

Before you could speak, you felt his lips trail down to your jaw.

"Were you that needy for attention?" He whispered before running his tongue over the kiss he had just left on you, sending shivers down your spine. “You're so bratty,” he added, trailing wet kisses to your collarbones.

"I-I just wanted you to be with me," you stammered. The innocence in your words contrasted with the feeling of your neck wet from his saliva.

In response, he began to give you a hickey, biting and sucking on your soft skin. You let out a gasp.

His kisses reached the neckline of your shirt. The hand he had on your waist went inside your shirt slowly pulling it up, making sure you felt his warm fingers on your skin.

"You're going to be good and take off your shirt" his deep tone of voice made his words sound more authoritative.

Being the good girl you are, you obeyed and took off your shirt, leaving your breasts visible covered only by your bra.

"Whoa, you're amazing. You wore the cutest bra for me didn't you? All for me," his hands cupping your breasts over the lacy blue bra. He began to massage them, squeezing and moving them.

His dilated pupils and the way he ran his tongue over his lip showed how excited he was.

He began to kiss your breasts, licking long strips, biting gently and sucking, leaving some purple love mark.

You were fascinated by how amazed he was by your breasts, he couldn't keep his mouth away from you and it wasn't exactly a problem.

He ran a hand down your back, easily unhooking your bra. As he pulled it down he felt his mouth water and without waiting any longer he joined his lips to your nipples. Biting one and squeezing the other between his thumb and index finger.

You were starting to feel an discomfort between your legs that only grew with Felix's desperation for your breasts, starting to form a wetness in your underwear.

“Mmh,” you gasped loudly as Felix switched nipples, starting to lick it like it was ice cream. Your very hard nipples were literally irresistible for him.

"You like it that much?" He smiled with your nipple between his teeth, "You're happy now that you have my attention, aren't you?" His voice even huskier from the excitement made you clench your thighs.

Noticing this he left your chest and used his hands to separate your legs, "I want you to answer me when I talk to you" you wanted to close your legs and rub yourself, burying his head in your breasts again.

"I'm going to ask again. Are you happy now that you have my attention?" He looked at you expectantly.

“Y-yes, please continue” you begged whiningly, your eyebrows curled making your eyes more vulnerable.

"Good, what a good girl" he gave you a tender kiss on the cheek before continuing to suck on your tits. The hand that separated your legs now massaged your thigh, slowly entering your intimate area with ease through your skirt.

You were soaked, all wet staining your underwear, he had only played with your tits and you were already dripping. The sensitivity you had made him hallucinate.

He created friction with his hand, caressing you over your underwear. "You're really anxious," he said without letting go of your overstimulated nipples, beginning to caress your clit over the fabric. "Ahh Lix" you closed your eyes in pleasure, his skilled hands playing with your pussy making you feel wetter and wetter.

“Lix please,” moving your hips in circles, rubbing yourself against his hand, you bit your bottom lip hard in an attempt to stop yourself from sounding so pathetic.

"No, be patient or I'll go get the controller and keep playing" he continued torturing you with his hand slowly, very slowly caressing you.

You forced yourself to keep your hips still, trying to fix your gaze on something else so you wouldn't die trying to keep from rubbing yourself against Felix's hand. Then your eyes could see how Felix's member was starting to harden.

Felix pulled your panties down, delighted by the wet spot you left on them. He brought them to his nose and inhaled, feeling the scent of your arousal, causing him to gasp.

"You smell so good, I'm sure you taste even better" he smiled as he heard your pleading moan.

Determined to eat you, he buried his head between your legs, your skirt covering his head leaving him out of your vision, you could only feel him.

He started giving kitten licks to the inside of your thigh, he was torturing you and he loved it, the sounds you let out were music to his ears.

Once he found your center he inhaled, bringing his nose to your clit, somewhat eagerly running his tongue along your entrance, licking it like it was ice cream.

“Ahg Lix” you whimpered, still holding on to the urge to literally ride his face.

Your response fascinated him, he kept licking you, starting to penetrate you with his tongue. His nose lightly brushed against your clit but it wasn’t enough, he decided to make small, slow swirls on your clit, licking long strips along your entrance and focusing on your clit.

You were literally in heaven, it felt so good, the way he moved his tongue and you felt his warm saliva making you sigh.

“It feels s-so good” you moaned in pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. You could see his already formed erection and thinking about having him inside you was driving you crazy.

“Lix please” you threw your head back and begged not to lose your composure, avoiding wrapping your thighs around his head.

“What do you ask for?” He started eating you out sloppily, making your words unable to form properly.

“Ahh Lix please” he was eating you out so messily that saliva was running down his chin.

“Please fuck me please” tears stung your eyes, you were so needy for him, you needed him deep and hard in you.

Felix kissed your pussy before stepping out from between your thighs, the image of his reddened face highlighting his freckles, his swollen red lips, better yet his chin covered in saliva and your fluids. You could have cum just from his image.

Felix started kissing you, making you taste your own flavor, while his quick hands pulled down his pants along with his underwear, when he managed to do so he pulled your skirt down with one jerk.

During the kiss he took your hand and brought it to his crotch, making you feel how hard he was, he pulled away leaving you dumb.

"Look what you did, all for being a spoiled brat in need of attention" he squeezed your hand making you caress his cock.

"Since you're so needy, you're going to orgasm on your own," he smiled mischievously before grabbing you by the waist, leaving you floating over his lap. He grabbed his cock and lined it up at your entrance.

"You're so damn tight" he bit his lip as he felt you slowly go down.

The stretch hurt but you were so needy that you shrugged it off, after a few seconds you managed to join his pelvis, moaning throughout the process.

When he hit bottom he let out a grunt of satisfaction, you were very tight and doing it without a condom allowed him to feel your rubbery walls around him.

"A-ahh you fill me s-so good" you felt his hard cock inside you, stretching you deliciously, feeling you so full of him.

Then Felix tightened his grip on your hip, forcing you to move, you started to ride him slowly, totally controlled by him.

You both moaned from the pleasure the other's body gave you, you fit so well. Felix made you go up and down faster, accompanied by his hips rising to penetrate you.

Your tits were literally jumping, Felix was definitely not going to waste the opportunity. He attached his mouth to one of your tits, biting and sucking it, growling over it.

You couldn't stop moaning and panting, his cock hitting you right where it should, the sound of your fluids coming together was disgusting, every time you went up you looked at the ring of cream you left on Felix's cock.

"Are you close? We'll cum together or I won't let you cum" he began to masturbate your clit.

It was too much, his mouth on your tits, his hand on your clit and his cock drilling you inside. You were seconds away from cumming.

“Mhh Felix,” you started to squeeze him harder, “I need to cum please” your pleading moans made him want to explode inside you.

His hand picked up the pace and he started to penetrate you harder and faster.

“Felix!” You cum around him, bathing his cock in your juices, squeezing him deliciously, moaning loudly.

Felix started pounding into you hard, grunting as he felt how close he was. After a few more thrusts he cum inside you, filling you up with his cum. He kept penetrating you until the high passed, then he rested his head against your chest like a pillow.

“I love giving you attention” he laughed looking at you, still deep in the incredible orgasm he gave you.

"And I love your attention" you smiled and gave him a tender kiss. Felix withdrew slowly, watching his fluids mix in your center, he laid you down and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

"Let me clean you up" he looked for a wet towel and very gently began to clean you, showering you with praise.

"You were very good, you are a very pretty girl" he massaged your thigh trying to relax your muscles while he cleaned you, when he finished he changed the sheets and gave you one of his t-shirts.

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English is not my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know. 🙏🏻

Being honest, I’m a fan of Sub Felix🤭, but I think that for my first smut with him, I preferred to go with a Dom Lixie.

It should have been published earlier, my apologies.💞

[homeofthelonelywriter]

You couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the hem of your dress as you sat beside Simon, one of his hands resting on your thigh, while the other gripped the steering wheel. "It's going to be fine, sweetheart. They're going to love you." Unsure, you glanced up at him, a frown on your pretty face. "Are you sure? Maybe they'll just see me as an inconvenience that will keep you from them in the future. Or maybe they'll-" Simon interrupted you as he tightly squeezed the fat of your thigh, a possessive growl leaving his throat. "They'd never. Trust me." With a sigh, you nodded. And he was right.

From the moment you two walked into the same dingy pub where you first met, the others treated you as if they'd known you for years, and you were a part of the friend group. The entire evening, you laughed and drank, Simon's hand constantly on you. At least until he left to go take a piss and smoke a cigarette.

The moment you were alone with the three men, the Scottish one leaned across the table, a gigantic grin on his face. "So? How did ya two meet?" The older one quickly pulled the Scottish one back, a scowl on his face, as he regarded his team member, but there was a certain hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You chuckled, thinking back to the day.

Excitement cursed through you as you stepped out of the cab, your phone in your hand as you watched your best friend type. But the moment she sent her message, the excitement dissipated. "I'm so sorry, but I can't make it! I'll make it up to you though!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the sign of the pub you were standing in front of. She couldn't have let you know before you made your way there, could she? Inside you, two demons started to fight. One yelling at you to go back home and gulp down an entire ice cream pint. The other one calmly stating that you were already here and should at least get a little bit wasted. Before you knew it, the calm demon had won and you walked into the pub, quickly finding a place at the bar. But you noticed him immediately. Sitting in a dark corner, his face almost completely hidden. And very obviously staring at you. It didn't matter when during the evening you turned around, his eyes were always on you. At first, it creeped you out, but before long, you felt warmth spread through you. You almost felt protected, his obvious attention keeping all the usual creepers at bay. So, you decided you at least wanted his number.

But when you paid for your tab, hoping to be able to join him at his table, you watched as he stood up and walked outside. As quickly as you could, without tripping over the air, you rushed after him, finding him outside, leaning against a wall. After taking a deep breath, you started to walk over to him, but he immediately pushed off the wall and started to walk away. Were you really this repulsing?

Before doubts could start to fill you, you called out to him. "Uhm, I'm sorry, Sir?" He stopped and slowly turned around to face you. With a small and hopeful smile, you crossed the distance. The closer you got to him, the more you could really see him. While the lower half of his face was hidden behind a black surgical mask, you could see the top of his cheeks. And they were red, practically glowing with heat. Adorable.

"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't too direct, but I wanted to ask if I could have your number? You're really handsome and seem like a nice man. Of course, it's okay if not, I don't want to pressure you or anything. I-" You stopped, your eyes wide as you watched his entire body trembling slightly. Like a robot, he slowly stretched out his hand to you. Your eyes focused on it and you watched for a few beats as the trembling only got worse. Then, you quickly pulled out your phone and handed it to him.

Once again moving like a robot, the man slowly plugged in his number, his hands trembling bad enough, that you thought he would drop your phone at some point. When he handed your phone back, you looked down and saw that he had also put in his name. But it was a mix of upper and lower cases, making you chuckle. You grinned up at him and pocketed your phone. “Thank you…well…have a good night.”

You turned around and walked a couple of steps before his shaking hand on your elbow stopped you. “U-Uh…uhm…eat? Uh now?” His voice was shaking even more than his hands and he kept stumbling over his words, but when he got the question out, you couldn’t help but nod with a smile.

“And yeah, that’s it.” The Scottish and the pretty one immediately burst into laughter, slapping their thighs and each other, while the older one just smirked, slowly shaking his head. You looked at them, confused. “What…?”

“What did I miss?” Simon slid into his chair beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders. His friends immediately started to tease him, recounting points from what you had just told them. Immediately, the blush was back on his face, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. At least until his hand came to rest on your thigh, and squeezed tightly. Oh, you were in for a night.

A/N: Here we go! Part two and the real story all wrapped up in one! Hope you like it! Edit: Re-upload because I forgot to add tags... :)

@skeletonsucker

[igetnosleep]

It’s like having a puppy

Had a thought in my head about Leon just being cuddly, also needed to get this out of my drafts

You’re at the point in your relationship where Leon practically lives with you. His apartment key jingles next to yours when he fiddles for motorcycle key. It’s bearable a sanctuary away from work away from the lonely little hovel he had the nerve to call a home.

It was barely livable his room was always a mess alcohol was in reach when he needed to drink away a hangover. Yours smelled nicer always had a candle ready from when you’d go shopping.

Glasses on when you couldn’t read the prices and hand it to him like his was any better.

Today was a hard day keys hitting the wooden door as he jiggled the old lock and managed to get it open only for him to find you sat in front of the tv laying on the couch watching a rerun of whatever movie you could quote at this point.

Toeing off his shoes and taking off his jacket he didn’t hesitate to get in pulling the blanket off of you, earning a whine from you “Leon-“ “shh no need to get crabby with me.” You felt his hand flatten on your stomach “don’t-“ you warned only for him to squish the belly fat you had earning him a kick on the shin.

Leon quickly wrapped his arms around you laughing when you tried to do the same to him hiding his face against the crook of your neck kissing sensitive skin there and playfully biting that caused you to try and wiggle away from him.

“Is this you asking for attention?” He chuckled against your neck “how’d you know?” “Just a hunch.” He laughed softly thumb circling your shoulder as he snuggled closer humming softly

“You think you’re being cute?” You asked glancing over your shoulder eyebrow raised as his hand played with the waistband of your shorts.

“I am adorable actually.” He hummed looking at you properly as you played with his shirt following the stitching easily as you kissed his nose.

“How was your day?” You asked and he huffed shaking his head. “Stupid.” He murmured, bad but it could have been worse as he settled his weight on you, your fingers carding through his hair as he peeked up at you kissing your cheek.

“Hey..I love you.”

He nudged your cheek asking you to look at him as you did he didn’t think twice as he nuzzled your neck.

You couldn’t help bur smile pressing your lips against his temple in a lingering kiss.

[mikanotes]

— DON'T STRAY TOO FAR

banda x gn!reader - 1.2k words

genre: established relationship, suggestive

warnings: mentions of death, killing, manipulation, aib stuff, old kinda edited! some kissing leaning towards suggestive!!!

synopsis: Banda Sunato misses his lover. Why does he miss his lover?

author’s note: season 3 he's the main antag trust . i miss him a lot

Banda was intrigued when he noticed you began ignoring him. It didn’t take a genius to understand it had to do with the game you were both participating in, especially considering it was a Hearts one.

But his curiosity and amusement turned into annoyance after six hours. Turns out Banda Sunato is not half as patient as he himself believed.

You walk right past him at least fifteen times. He tries telling you what the symbol on your collar is during each of the six rounds. He debates on distracting himself with something, like following that suspicious guy around and gaining his trust a bit more, and he does.

He does for three rounds more before he feels angry because seeing you walk around so nonchalantly without doing so much as looking at him makes him lose track of his thoughts.

Especially when he sees someone else touch your neck as they look at the symbol on your collar. He’s certain that’s the last straw, for him.

So he lasts nine hours without your attention.

“Hey.” he says quietly, coming up right behind you. You jolt a little and turn to look at him. There’s a mere second where your expression looks somewhere between startled and content and he’s sure you’re finally done giving him the silent treatment. But that look barely lasts long enough for him to feel any actual hope. Soon enough, you’re back to this neutral, stone facade of yours as you turn your back to him and walk away.

Nope. Not this time.

He grabs your wrist and pulls your back against his chest, swiftly wrapping an arm around you the moment you’re close enough. You don’t fight him back. “You’re not being very nice.” he whispers, tilting his head just over your shoulder. You turn away, as if trying to ignore him still.

“… I really don’t wanna talk to you.”

“You’re the one who told me communication was important in relationships.” he chuckles softly, letting you go but grabbing your hand instead. You step away and give him a glare, to which he responds with an innocent smile. “Am I wrong?”

He knows he’s right.

“Let’s communicate when we’re actually sure we’ll both be alive,” you respond with an annoyed tilt to your voice, “I told you Hearts games are a no, with us two.”

Ah, yes. He thinks he might be falling in love all over again. You may be doing this out of the goodness of your heart, out of pure fear of losing him— But if you are, it’s probably fifteen percent of the reason why. The eighty-five remaining ones are just the fact that you would choose your own life over his any day. But you’re nice enough to not want to get to that point. Just lovely. “My heartless lover, attempting,” he hums, stepping closer again— Just close enough not to invade your space again. “Do you really think we can’t both win this? Come on.”

You look away, irritated. He rubs your hand with his thumb slowly, tracing words into your palm. Your name. A plea to stop acting like this before he loses his goddamn mind. He isn’t sure what it is about you ignoring him that makes him feel so far away from his usual ‘sanity’, but he really dislikes it. He’s fine without you. Perhaps the idea of not having your attention on him is simply… Not right. It should always be on him, it has always been on him.

“Sunato.” you sigh. First name, he thinks, getting somewhere. He takes that as his cue and steps closer again. He says your name the same way you said his and gives you this soft, innocent expression of his. You look at him and he can see it in your eyes you’re trying not to break.

He moves just a bit closer. “I miss you.” he whispers. He tries to hold your waist but you move away right before he can, which leaves him stunned for a second.

His expression drops. “…You know me.” he says flatly, though his tone is as quiet as usual. “You know I don’t care that you’d kill me to survive.”

You look at him with that stern expression of yours and his gaze drifts towards your lips briefly. You’re gonna say something smart and clearly pissed off and then leave him again. You’re definitely gonna do that.

No. No you’re not. At least not that last part.

He half-listens to you as you begin to tell him to stop being so annoying for at least a day so you can focus on the game all whilst checking both sides of the hallway you’re in. Then he tightens his hold on your hand and tugs you towards a secluded area with him. You almost look hopeful.

“I’m going to kiss you. Okay?”

He gives you a long second and all you do is half-heartedly glare at him, so he grabs your face and pulls it towards his own. Fuck, finally. The feeling of your lips against his makes him sigh softly, a small smile forming on his features as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t think he could’ve survived longer without this. He remembers very clearly when he got addicted to you and every single thing about you. It makes him ten times weaker than he was when alone, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

You pull away after a while and gasp for air, grabbing his shirt at the same time. He laughs silently, eyeing your face. “Did you really think you could ignore me for that long?” he says, slowly moving the two of you until your back hit the wall. He leans closer to your face again but gives you time to catch your breath. “Did you?”

“Again,” you pant, pulling him in. He grunts but accepts the kiss, deepens it, even, and presses you closer into the wall. It feels so good having you in his hands, against his lips, pressed up to him. He breathes you in like you’re the oxygen he needs before pulling away, but only long enough to angle his face the other way to kiss you better. You make a soft sound that only sends his mind spinning and blood rushing to all the right places. Whenever he moves, you follow— Your desperation makes him grin. He almost feels like he needs you, too. Almost.

“You needed me badly,” he whispers when he finally manages to detach the two of you, and feels the heat of your gaze all over him, “So don’t let go of me. I’m counting on you to be the one to need me, live with me, and be the death of me.”

“I don’t wanna be the death of you…Mn…”

Another kiss, for good measure, then he’s leaning his forehead against yours. There’s something warm about the feeling of being close to you. He ‘loves’ you. He’s obsessed, if he’s to use the right terms– A long-term kind of obsession, one that runs deep into his veins. It’s as close to love as he can get. He smiles at you and chuckles softly, before looking over your shoulder. “Heart.”

“Heart.”

“It is time to make your guess. Please enter a prison cell. One person per cell, please.”

Banda pulls away and looks at you. “If you kill me, I won’t be upset.”

“I’d be. You better not be lying.” you say, gripping tighter at his shirt, just over his heart, before shoving it away slightly. You start walking off and he stares at the heart symbol on your collar. “... See you.”

“See you.” he says, like a statement. He will see you.

[writingwisterias]

I know requests are closed so there really isn't any rush, please take your time and respond when you are ready. :) But I would love to hear your take on the reader letting Leon use them as a toy, while he looks at porn or scrolls other girls profiles. I just want to be a vessel for his cock and nothing more <3

I sure can omgggg, I mixed this is with an idea that has been stuck in my head all fucking day! I know this is late lmao but it works perfectly. I can't tell if I hate or love it either

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Degradation Kink, Cock warming, Dom!Leon, Intox Kink, Age-Gap, Overstimuation, Dickhead!Leon, Erectile dysfunction (Whiskey Dick), Light Praise kink, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Reverse Cow-girl, Light Angst, Drinking, Alcoholism, Self-doubt

Vendetta!Leon x AFAB!Fem!Reader

It wasn't normal to have a relationship like this, you knew that. To be with someone so closed off to not only the people they care about but themselves. You knew you weren't going to get anything better with him but he still gave you attention. Still kissed your pretty tears away when he would fuck you. Being used by him at least made you feel like you had a purpose in this life, that someone actually wanted you.

It didn't matter it was just for sex. For Leon that was perfect having no connection to someone meaning he didn't have to spill the horrors that plagued him.

It wasn't unusual for you to saunter into bars, prying on the broken men slumped against the stools for free drinks. Uni was rough, barely having enough money to pay for your food yet alone the drinks you craved. All that work, a diploma under your belt just for you to be wondering here every night dressed to the point where your tits might as well just hang out. Normally as a thanks to the poor souls you would convince to get a drink or two, you'd drag the round back or to the toilets and give them a few pumps of their gross cocks and then leave them in the alleyway drowning in the aftermath of their orgasm.

Not Leon though.

He didn't fall for it. Leon's words never slurred like the others guys did, his shoes didn't drag across the floor in an eager drunken stumble as he followed you with a warning smirk. You weren't used to drunk men being so coherent with you, to actually realize they were paying for your drinks with the promise of a ghost of your touch. The growing pit in your stomach told you that you would have to do more than a few fake moans and whimpers to get him to cum. His looks made it worthwhile, his attitude demanded your attention and effort. Almost like if you didn't cave into this persona he put in place you weren't worth his time.

However, Leon differed to the other men, somehow in a more pathetic way that caused you to suck in you bottom lip to prevent the low chuckle. No despite the darker look in his eyes, the ego you were surprised even fit in the bar entrance. The poor guy could not get his cock to rise. His cheeks flushed pink as he stared at his stubborn dick as it flopped pathetic in front of you. Trust it to ruin his night further.

You thought Whiskey dick was just a rumour, never really experiencing despite all the older men you dragged around like a puppy on a leash...it until now. Maybe that's why you took pity on him and allowed him to drag you back to his home on a risky drunken bike ride.

It was all so dangerous...so thrilling. Being dragged back to the strangers house, the feeling of sipping the alcohol from the glass he held in hand. That night changed everything, not just for him but for you. Perhaps this was you purpose in life. Your true calling was to be this sex doll for a depressed alcoholic so he could finally get some release in his supposed shit life.

It should have insulted you more that the only purpose you to him was to be a glorified doll but then you would have gotten this lavish life. To be able to wander around his penthouse free of rent, money chucked at your feet to keep you quiet as he sauntered off to god knows where. Your soul purpose to him was to sit there and look pretty.

So that's exactly what you did.

Leon's cock was so far inside of you stretching the limits of your poor pussy. It had been hours since he managed to get it to even twitch let alone becoming hard enough for you to sit on it like this. He spent half the time blaming it on the stress from the mission he had just returned from and not the whiskey glass that was sat on the side table. Your throat burned from the neat liquid that he gave you. He had to share...he always shared. You didn't care though not when it took away the burn from his stretch or the ache in your thighs from where they remained spread out across his own.

He didn't pay any attention to you, no, his eyes were glued to the phone that he held out to the both of you. Your job was to squirm and clench him as he watched the porn he pulled up. His fingers absently moved around that needy little clit drawing figures of 8 around the puffy nerve. Smirking at the small gasps that left your lips as his finger pinched it. You couldn't see the video, not with the tipsy glaze that washed over them. Instead you had to rely on the stimulation he was giving you to reach an orgasm.

You moaned loudly as he finally started to move his hips, a shallow grind nothing like the pace the man had on the video he was watching. Leon liked to make it last, after all the days of him getting this hard and thick were far and few between. The sudden change was a lot for your tispy brain, his soft grunts filled your ear as he nipped at your neck. You felt his arm around your waist tightening as he adjusted you. "Shh, just take it" Leon grunted, his lips muting you in a harsh kiss. His lips tasting like the remains of the whiskey from his last sip.

"Good girl" He groaned as his hips grinded inside you, his length barely exiting you.

You cheeks flushed darker with the compliment, your back arching against his chest just for something...any form of simulation. Leon's grip loosened around your waist allowing your hips to circle slightly. You listened as his grunts soon turned into groans as he felt your walls contract around him. You worked yourself to an orgasm, providing him with the warmth as stimulation of your moments not entertainment.

Leon's eyes still remained only on the small screen. Watching the guys cock slide in and out of the girls pussy much like his was doing right now.

He watched your breasts bounce in the corner of his eye as you adjusted yourself to used his knees for leverage to bounce once his arm fell from your waist. Your nails bit into the fabric of his trousers. "Fuck" You muttered as he shfited himself to sink back in the chair, his legs spreading wider. "Shit I needed this...I need you" He groaned. You weren't sure if he was telling the truth most of the time. You could never tell if you were actually something to him instead of a glorified fleshlight.

"Much better than my hand or any toy...my personal little sex doll"

Each word sent tingles down to your pussy, your clit twitching against his balls. "Leon-"

"Dolls don't talk sweetheart, I want to hear my video"

An apology lingered on your lips along with your moans and whimpers silenced by the bite of your lower lip. You were you to do anything above your station for him. It was all becoming too much, his cock was perfect filling you perfectly as the tip brushed against that spongy spot inside. The twitches of it were becoming more violent the closer he got. His grunts and groans finally becoming breathless, all signs that he was almost done. That his tired dick was finally ready to pump the cum it was meant to do after so long of forcing it to rise.

Your moan slipped past your lips as your orgasm finally snapped, your walls sucking him in tightly. No doll could do that, squeeze him like a vice as they whimpered and shivered on his lap. "Fuck sweetheart" He grunted as he buillied his cum into you. His eyes only leaving the phone to pull you back against him to stop the obstruction to the money shot of his cum leaking out from between you falling on the fabric that surrounded his balls. He watched your chest rise and fall you heaved out breaths, your limbs becoming loose on him like a weighted blanket.

It didn't take long as guilt settled whilst he came down from his high. Leon the thought about the way he treated you, the way you just put up with it all with no complaints. As if that was your only worth in this life.

He couldn't bare look in the mirror not when the eyes of his younger self would stare back in shame. Instead his fingers placed the phone on the side table and reached for the whiskey instead. Drowning the thoughts was better whenever it was with your pussy or the amber liquid. He wasn't ready to face the younger version of himself. Or the belongings that he managed to keep buried deep on the top shelf of the closet, where they should stay.

He knew you had your own problems that's why you didn't hesitate as he bought the glass to your lips. You didn't cough as the burn of the amber liquid settled on your chest. Instead you looked at him, eyes begging and craving for something more from him. This was the only intimacy that you got, these post nut clarity where his mind was just slightly clearer. Perhaps this is all you'll ever get from him. The intoxicating whirlpool of Leon Kennedy.

[withlove-xixi]

— THE WAKING AND DREAMING: sanji x reader

ᥫ cw: drinking + alcohol, smoking ᥫ wc: 3122 ★ it would not be xixi's self-indulgent valentines without my man, my number one for life, my sweetheart loverboy, my soulmate, my boyfriend, my husband, my one and only sanji ( ˶´ ᵕ `˶ ) cross posted on ao3

— SANJI WAS IN A GOOD MOOD.

[♡]: the sweet memory of last night’s dreams still lingered fresh on his mind, the ends of it never wisping away from his gasp as he plays it again and again as he prepares for his day. he’s had the dream engraved into his brain at this point, seen and felt the way you fit into his hands over and over again like it was a memory.

IT WAS RARE TO SEE SANJI SO CHEERFUL SO EARLY IN THE MORNING. Patty had to take a double look when the sous-chef had passed by his station earlier, perplexed by the dreamy look on his face and the rosy tint on his cheeks. Typically, on a day where the Baratie was fully-booked, packed to the brim with guest after guest, Sanji would be far less enthusiastic, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he prepared his station with an already half-burnt cigarette wedged between his teeth. But today, as customers begin to dock as soon as the Baratie opened, Sanji’s cheerfulness stayed unfazed, smiling as he cut some ingredients in preparation for the day’s special.

Patty and Carne watch uneasily; in all the years they’ve worked with the kid, they’ve never seen him so… happy, not even when Zeff first let him try out his own recipes or when they had gifted him his first set of knives. It was concerning to say the least, especially how the boy smiled softly and politely excused one of the new hires who had bumped into him on the way to the sink. Sanji would’ve typically started cussing and threatened to kick the poor guy’s teeth in. But there was no such evidence of violence on the blonde at all, a complete still cheeriness that was starting to creep out the rest of the kitchen crew.

The only one who seemed unaffected was the new hire who had bumped into Sanji, some part-time busboy Zeff had hired to lighten the load on the service crew, which was expected for the guy who knew Sanji the least. For the most part, most of the kitchen staff either didn’t care or pretended not to, but as the day went on Sanji’s unworldly demeanor started to get on everyone’s nerves one way or the other.

“That’s it! I’ve had it.” Patty finally says, teeth grit in frustration, having waited for Zeff to leave the Baratie before choosing to disrupt the atmosphere of the kitchen. “The hell’s wrong with ya, kid?”

He stands behind Sanji, arms folded over each other as his patience visibly wears thin. Though, everyone else in the kitchen seems to breathe a sigh of relief that finally someone had gone impatient enough to address it.

“Hm? Me?” Sanji asks, tone almost dreamy as he turns to Patty with a small, carefree smile on his face.

Patty’s face scrunches in disgust. “Yes, you, ya dolt. The hell are you so happy for?”

“Hm? Ah… I just had a good night last night…” Sanji says with a soft sigh as he turns his attention back to his work.

There’s a chuckle from behind them and Patty turns to see the busboy laughing in amusement as he struggles to carry a big bucket of dirty dishes to the sink. “Heh, I’ll say!” The kid says as he waddles between two of the waiters towards the sink.

“Hell does that mean, new guy?” Carne calls from his station. Apparently the whole kitchen is eavesdropping, because some of the other chefs mutter along.

The new hire shrugs, nearly dropping the bucket as he continues to haphazardly make his way to the sink. With an echo of loud clanks, he sets the bucket down on the counter and sighs with relief before responding. “He’s a lucky guy, is all!” He says as he starts working on the dishes.

Sanji pauses, brows twitching in confusion as he turns back to look at the new hire with cautious curiosity. “Lucky?”

The new guy chuckles again. ”Heh, no need ta’ brag.” There’s a lopsided grin on his face as he washes the dishes, smiling like he was in on a joke no one else in the kitchen knew of. “M’ just sayin’, if I had a pretty girl like that on my lap, I’d be grinnin’ for a week til my cheeks bled out!” 

There’s a sudden pause, a stillness of the sounds of cooking for the whole kitchen to bask in confusion. The crew stare at the busboy, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere and whistling as he worked on the dirty dishes, then turned to stare at Sanji, a completely dumbfounded look plastered on his face as the faintest hint of pink begin to dust the apples of his cheeks.

“Wh… What…” He mutters (though it nearly sounds like a squeak), blue eye staring directly at the busboy, mouth hung slightly agape.

The busboy shrugs. “Come on, dude. Ya don’t gotta play dumb.” He says simply. “Saw ya makin’ out with that pretty waitress last night.”

Again the whole kitchen turns to look between the busboy and Sanji, whose face had grown bright red now. Carne is frozen in total shock, Patty looks somewhere between wanting to tease Sanji and wanting to strangle the kid.

“Hey, what’s going on, I’ve got like two tables asking me to follow up on their food.” There’s a voice from the door. Sanji turns a deeper shade of red because he knows too well that that’s your voice.

Patty is the first to recover, instantly turning to bark orders at the crew to get back to work and to work double-time while they were at it, though he was at least kind enough to ignore Sanji because the sous chef looked about ready to melt or crumble or explode. Patty waves you off with a curt apology, promising that everyone would get dishes out the window within seconds.

And when you leave, the whole kitchen breathes out a sigh before falling into chaos. There’s loud chatter and commotion, all directed towards Sanji.

“Hey, brat, the hell is the new guy talking about?” One of the chefs calls out as he frustratedly chops up some vegetables.

“Tch, come on, you can’t possibly be pissed at Sanji for makin’ a move first.” Another replies to the other.

The first chef shakes his head. “She’s the only cute server we have, it’da been nice if the rascal didn’t hit on her.”

“It’s to be expected, Sanji’s always had a crush on the lass.” A third chef butted in.

“No, I don’t.”

Everyone stares up at Sanji for just a split second before heading back to work, most of the chefs chuckling or laughing at the defensive statement.

“Hah! Whatever ya say, kid!” One of the other chefs calls out, chuckling with mir before turning back to the steak he’s searing.

“It-It’s true!” Sanji tries, unsure why he’s even trying to cover it up. “A-And nothing like that happened last night!”

There’s a loud sigh next to him amidst the hushed laughter. “Kid, ya don’t gotta cover it up, man.” One of the chefs says as he tosses his stir fry. “Painfully obvious ya like the girl, an’ honestly? I’m happy for ya, kid. Good shit.”

“But I—”

Patty sighs and pats Sanji on the back. “Just get back ta’ work, Sanji. You could whine ‘bout it all ya’ want on yer break, but for now, man yer station, boy. Yer garlic’s burnt.”

Unable to protest, Sanji turns back to his station, the look of confusion, frustration and dread evident on his face. His jaw is clenched as he quickly stirs the ingredients in his pan.

Pieces fall on Sanji’s lap like a blank jigsaw puzzle, no pattern on the pieces, just left for him to cluelessly try to form shape. Because he remembers kissing you, he remembers your heat on his lap, your touch on his face, your lips on his, but what he remembers is a dream. He’s certain of it because he can’t seem to recall anything before or after that moment; like the moment his eyes opened during the kiss, you had vanished from his arms and he was instead met with the peering sunlight through his curtains. Sanji’s got no clue how you ended up in his arms last night and he woke up in his bed with no recollection of getting there. It helped too that the moment just felt so surreal to Sanji, he remembers clearly how it felt like he was moving in pudding, thick, sluggish and sugary.

But then, if it truly were a dream like Sanji remembers, then there was certainly no possible way for that busboy to have known what happened (and Sanji might give the guy a beating for watching him kiss you).

Sanji’s mind is split, half focusing on his work— which entirely isn’t like him at all since he’s always giving it his all when he’s in the kitchen —the other half helplessly and uselessly racking his memory for any more pieces he could use to puzzle together the full picture. He remembers… you moving to sit on his lap, then… he cupped your cheek then he kissed you. Or had you kissed him? Where… where were the two of you anyway? And really, how the hell did he end up snugly tucked in bed? It was all truly a blur, a mix of colors and hazy sounds and the distinct feel of your heat against his skin and the weight of your tongue against his. 

Well, now there was only so little Sanji could do. One was to confirm what happened, because a., his curiosity is getting the better of him and b., it would be nice to have his scrambled recollection of last night’s events to be neatly arranged. But that would mean confirming it with you, who, if last night truly wasn’t a dream and Sanji really had you on his lap with his mouth on yours, Sanji isn’t sure would be the best to approach. That and he’s certain it would be difficult to face you, on his part at least, because even now the embarrassment is eating him up. Another thing Sanji could do was smoke to relieve himself of the tension and stress all this was causing. And smoking seemed like the better option so that’s what he does, finishing up the rest of the work on his station before hurriedly and quietly slipping out the back of the Baratie to see how many sticks he can smoke in one go.

But when he opens the door leading to the outside balcony, he finds your back slumped over the railing, half your body leaning over it with your head drooped down to the ocean. At first Sanji takes this as his cue to silently retreat, find some other place to smoke and maybe bash his head into a wall. But then your body tenses, he sees it clearly with how your shoulders lurch upward and how your grip on the railing tightens. Sanji pauses for a moment, he’s sure you haven’t noticed his presence, so it might help his situation to at least see how you’re reacting after what might have potentially been you two kissing last night—

Then you puke. And on instinct Sanji’s rushing over to pull your hair aside and rub your back.

You pant when you’re done, your body relaxing as you catch your breath and wipe the tears from your face. “Tha…” You begin as you turn to face Sanji, who you’re only now realizing is Sanji.

In an instant, your expression changes, you’re biting your cheek, averting your gaze, furrowing your brows. It’s the only confirmation Sanji needs to know whatever dream he had last night wasn’t a dream at all. Some way, somehow, you and Sanji had kissed last night. That lingering sear of your skin against his wasn’t just something he had conjured up in his imagination, that was real, that happened. Sanji’s face instantly heats up at the realization, then he goes rigid because he realizes his hand is still lingering on your back. Then he quickly pulls away, clears his throat, and pats his suit for that familiar small box and lighter.

There’s this… silence that falls between you two. In a way, it’s more of tension, or more specifically, the unwillingness to create tension. Because the air between you two isn’t thick or suffocating, it’s breezy and open and awkward more than anything. It’s not the same air as when the chefs butt heads in the kitchen or when a couple breaks up in the restaurant. It feels… oddly comforting. Probably because you’re with Sanji, and he always makes you feel at ease.

“Hey, uhm… Do you… remember last night…?” You ask carefully, head facing forward, gaze fixed on the horizon before you. There’s a look of grimace on your face, and Sanji can’t tell if that’s a good thing for him or not.

Sanji swallows nervously, trying his best not to tremble much as he pulls out a cigarette and hastily places it on his lips. “Depends… on what you’re talking about…” He says, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette once he’s done fumbling around trying to light it. His tone is even, almost dismissive, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing for you or not.

Because on your end you remember the party, a late night private event of some prominent person who had begged and pleaded with Zeff for the Baratie’s catering. Somehow, they had convinced Zeff for the reservation, and so you had your first even overtime shift, serving hors d'oeuvres and drinks to fancy looking guests as they chatted and swayed to the band they had brought along. It was the first time the Baratie’s held such an event, typically their reservations are strictly during regular meal hours, and it was a relatively small event with a set menu, so Zeff had kept only half of the service crew and a handful of chefs for the shift.

The night of merriment did little to soothe the exhaustion you already had from your shift earlier that day, and certainly being around so much snobby rich-looking folk didn’t help all the more. The only thing that ebbed the urge to hide away in the stock room for a nap was Sanji, who was stuck in the kitchen preparing what seemed to be an eternity’s worth of finger food and fancy drinks. Each time you’d enter the kitchen to refill your tray, he’d flash you a warm smile, which instantly eased any tension that built up from being out on the dining floor, that and because he had cheekily flashed you a glimpse of an expensive extra bottle of liquor he had stolen from the host.

And so when the party was over and the guests had gradually departed the Baratie back to the main island, you and Sanji sat on the stairs amidst the leftover mess from the party, taking turns drinking from the bottle. The rest of the late night was spent leaning against him and giggling about silly stories and complaints about the guests from earlier that evening, though from your memory this is where things begin to get hazy.

You remember… what you think is him brushing your hair aside… or maybe he was cupping your cheek? Then… it’s all black… then suddenly you're on his lap with his tongue in your mouth. 

Sanji clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the present with a new found warmth to your cheeks. “Well… is there anything… specific I’m meant to be talking about?” He asks, eyeing you with caution as he takes a puff of his cigarette.

You turn away, trying your best not to be so obvious despite your heartbeat roaring in your ears and the dryness in your mouth. “Well… there was that party last night…” You start, tone taking up a caution that mirrored his. “And we were working late… and you had stolen that bottle for us to share… as we drank on the staircase…”

Each time you spoke, you’d glance at Sanji, eyeing him and gauging his reactions, trying to figure out exactly what he was trying to get out of you. But he’s relatively unhelpful, nodding along with his eyes shut like he’s confirmed the truthfulness of your recount. 

“Why? Do you remember otherwise?” You ask and you see him freeze for a bit before taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Perhaps…” He mutters, the smoke escaping his lips as he speaks.

You sigh then turn towards him with a pout. “Alright, enough. What the hell are you on about, Sanji?”

His expression instantly shifts, eyebrow raising and mouth agape in a mix of panic and surprise. “Well… It’s— You know…”

Your cheeks warm as you watch him stutter, because that alone tells you exactly what he’s trying to get out of you. “What? Did you want me to tell you we kissed?” You must sound annoyed because Sanji flinches at your tone then pouts at you, and suddenly you feel bad because he’s looking at you like a sad puppy.

“I-It’s… Well, yes, but… I-I didn’t… Well…” He says, hands grasping at the air, before he sighs, head slightly slumped down. “I… didn’t remember…”

You blink at him. “What? What, you were that drunk?”

He makes a sour expression. “I don’t know! I thought it was a dream…”

“You thought it was a dream?” You ask, trying your best not to laugh because Sanji looks like he’s about to throw himself overboard from embarrassment.

“I guess! I don’t know, I assumed it was!” Sanji says, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t know, it’s all fuzzy to me!”

You can’t help but giggle, a smile breaking on your face as you look at his flustered expression. You quickly cover your mouth with one hand. “So you came to ask me? If we kissed?”

Sanji pouts and crosses his arms. “The busboy said he saw us and I didn’t think it was even real so I had to make sure… for my sake.” He grumbles.

You giggle a bit more. “Why wouldn’t you think it was real?”

He straightens up, staring at you with an unreadable expression despite the pink on his cheeks. “I dunno, like maybe you didn’t like me…”

“Everyone likes you, Sanji. Especially me.”

“Yeah, but—”

You cut him off with a laugh filled with mirth, giggling as his face burns a bit more. He turns away in embarrassment, pouting slightly with furrowed brows. You smile fondly at him, before you shuffle closer and lean up to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Did that feel real to you? Or are you going to think it’s another silly dream?”

He stares at you, before smiling back at you, a playful smirk that winds its way on his lips. “Hm… dunno… Kiss me again just to be sure?”

You laugh again, leaning your head against his shoulder as you giggle. “Alright. But you better not forget this time.”

[phighting-x-you]

If anythingggg id like to askfor more of that but like

Katana takes reader aside to try to warn them, but he keeps getting blocked by other phighters

Ok thank youuuu

I guess part 2s are becoming a regular on this blog,,,,not complaining ehehehehe,,,

Yandere! Phighting x human! reader part 2! 💘💌

It's been six months since you've been trapped isekai'd into Phighting!, and you've adapted to living in the game. Infact, the Phighters were planning a half-year anniversary party for you, how sweet!

Most days, you interacted with the Phighters and sometimes spoke with the NPCs. You even met the local Broker! Much to the dismay of a certain someone...

"Awww, what a cute little thing you are!" The Broker claims, squishing your face in his hands with a bright grin on his face. His hands were soft and cool as they cupped your cheeks. "If ya want, I could set you up with some sweet gear, on the house!"

"Hey! Hands off!" From the distance, Banhammer was approaching. Broker giggled and unhanded you, choosing to ruffle your hair.

"Oh-oh! Banny doesn't seem to like me much, and I thought we were friends! Oh well, I'll catch up with you another time. Bye-bye!" And with that, The Broker was gone just as Banhammer managed to reach you. He growled, agitated.

"Damn Broker slipping through my grasp again! Stay right away from him, if he's givin' you trouble, ya tell me." The Warden says, putting a firm hand on your shoulder.

The Flipside Brothers had also invited you to watch Phights alongside them! How exciting is that? The Phighters were delighted to see you watching from the stands, all trying to impress you at the same time.

Everything was going great, the Phighters had even planned a present for you! One you'd never forget!

"Alright, listen up!" Subspace clapped his rugged hands, capturing the attention of all Phighters in the cafè. "The anniversary party will be soon, and we need the perfect gift for Y/N."

"How about letting them choose the theme for the next Phestival?" Boombox suggests, leaning back in his chair. "I'm pretty tight with The Flipside, so I'm sure they'd allow it."

"Or how about gifting them something beautiful?" Vine Staff muses, gently drawing circles on the table. "Shuriken and I can turn their garden into something breathtaking!"

"Those are all good ideas, but..." Sword cut in, clasping his hands together in thought. "It has to be something personal, to show how much we love them."

"He's got a point. We should give them something, like a token of appreciation!" Slingshot brainstormed. The room was filled with murmers, everyone giving out their ideas.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Coil sped into the room, a bright light in his eyes. Rapidly, he ran to the front of the room, bumping into Subspace.

"Oh, for SFOTH's sake Coil! Do you min-"

"Shush! Everybody, listen!" Coil bellows, everyone snapping their heads towards him. "I've got the perfect present for Y/N! Look at what I found!"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, squared disc, looking very much like a spawning square. Coil threw it onto the floor, where it smacked against the ground before turning into...someone?

It was a Phighter.

"Y'see, I went scrolling through Y/N's Roblox profile to try get some ideas for what they'd perhaps like. I got curious and looked through their creations, and that's where I found this fella!" Coil explained, proudly patting the back of the Phighter. Suddenly, Medkit's crystal began to glow, his eyes snapping open. He had an idea.

"That's it! We could use Y/N's own Phighter...and make them one in the same!" He announced, slamming his fist on the desk with such excitement at the idea. "Not only will they be like us, but they can join the Phights!"

"I'll be more than happy to train 'em up!" Scythe agreed to the idea, her teeth flashing in a wide grin. "Good thinkin', 'kit." Everyone else loved the idea, beginning to plan it in thorough detail.

------------------------------------------------

Katana's breath hitched. He had been listening in from outside. Turning you into something you're not? It's a sickening idea. He can't stand for this, he won't allow it. Kidnapping you was far enough, transformation was a whole new level of deplorable.

He crept away quickly and quietly, making a beeline straight to your home. He had to warn you, he had to tell you the truth. He had to help you.

You had been learning to ride your newly-gifted skateboard outside when Katana had rushed over to you. You were concerned when he didn't say hello back.

Swiftly gripping your hand, he pulled you back into your house, closing the door. He began to explain everything.

Unfortunately, before he could tell you very much, there was a knock at the door.

"Hello, Y/N! Isn't it such a beautiful day today?" Subspace asked, motioning towards the sun in an overzealous manner. You smiled in agreement. Katana, on the other hand, went completely still. His stomach dropped when he saw Hyperlaser and Biograft behind the scientist.

"Now, I was just looking for Katana. We have something planned for you, and I have to talk to him about it. Why don't you take a walk with Biograft? He wants to learn more about humans!"

With a smile, you stepped out of your house and began to take a stroll with the robot, describing what it's like to be human as best as you could. When you were fully out of earshot, Subspace pulled Katana through your front door and slammed him against a tree, grasping his horns in a harsh fashion.

"Listen here..." He growled, angry pink fumes spilling from his gas mask. "You aren't getting in the way of this. Hyperlaser told me everything, and I don't think he's above silencing his own partner for good if he has to!"

Katana struggled, reaching for his gear. Hyperlaser, however, ripped it from its sheath and threw it far in the distance. The overwhelming black mask burning right into the samurai's eyes. A tear of frustration spilled from his mask, making Subspace smirk sickeningly.

"I always knew there was something off about you. Do you not love Y/N? Is that it? Do you hate them? You heartless twit!" He continued, spewing accusations in Katana's face. He slammed the samurai's head forcefully against the tree, making a sickening thwack! sound before shoving him on the ground.

"Consider this your only warning. If you try interfering with us again, then I guess Y/N will be replacing you on the roster!" Subspace spat, kicking Katana in the ribs before marching away.

Wheezing in pain, Katana lifted his head up to look at Hyperlaser, shaky tears pouring down his face. A silent stare down between the two told them both that their relationship was no more, ending with Hyperlaser walking after Subspace, not looking back at his pained ex-lover.

As the days drew closer to the anniversary party, you didn't see Katana as much. It was almost worrying, but Hyperlaser assured you that Katana wasn't feeling very well, but you'd see him again at the party!

News about the party spread to the Flipside Brothers, who said they'd definitely come. The two went on to have a meaningful conversation about the party, worrying over what they should wear to the occasion.

"Dom should I just wear my usual suit or should I wear one of my Phestival outfits? I think my Ice Cream outfit would do nicely." Valk asked his brother, looking around his closet. Dom, who was busy responding to fanmail, simply just hummed in agreement.

He should probably fetch an outfit for the party, too. He put his pen down and opened up his own closet. Dom eyed up his Raven outfit when a thought dawned on him.

"Hey, Valk, do you think the Phighters have a surprise planned for Y/N?" He asked his brother.

"Oh yeah! Boombox told me they're gonna turn them into an Inpherno." Valk replied casually, taking his outfit out of the closet. "I was thinki-"

"Sorry, what?" Dom cut his brother off, slamming his closet door shut in surprise. Valk turned to his brother, surprised by the sudden sound of impact. The purple brother looked shocked.

"Turning Y/N into...an Inpherno?" He repeated, his expression contorting into worried concern. "Would that even work?"

Valk laid his Ice Cream outfit neatly on his bed and walked towards his brother.

"Listen, it sounds bad. But think about it, it'll be awesome! When Y/N becomes an Inpherno, they can also become a Phighter and-"

"And what if it goes wrong? What if Y/N ends up mutilated? Will that be awesome?" Dom rebutted, sending his brother into silence. Valk chewed his lower lip as he considered the possibility.

"Well, no, of course not." Valk answered, looking at the framed photo of Y/N beside the brothers. He picks it up and sighs. "Y/N doesn't even remember how they got here."

He paused, suspicion growing in his eyes. "Dom. How do you think they got here?"

"I don't know, man. But something tells me they didn't come here of their own accord."

Both idols stood in a silence, thick with contemplation. Eventually, they made a plan. A plan to find out how you got here.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 37: Liminality

"What’s the King of Curses like?"  

Walking beside your mare, leading her by the reins, you incline your head toward the small boy, then to the girl perched in your saddle atop Ayana.  

It had taken some effort to get her to accept the strangers. Considering how skittish she is—and the fact that you’d just ridden her into battle—you couldn’t blame her. 

"What’s he like?" You pause, considering the question, sifting through the many words you could use to describe him. Too many. Unkind ones. And most not meant for their ears. 

"He’s…"  

Your gaze drifts, following the others walking quietly beside you on the dirt-packed road. After leaving Sukuna behind at the eastern village and heading south, you came across a few survivors. Fifteen of them.  

Fifteen out of nearly one hundred and fifty.  

That was all that remained.  

From what you gathered, their community had been large, built around rice cultivation. Now, it’s nothing. Reduced to just two numbers that hold the weight of your failures.  

"Why does he wear a piece of wood on his face?"  

Eyes wet, the boy’s voice pulls you from your dark thoughts. Your focus moves back to his rambling. You start to answer, but a sharp throb in your jaw stops you—the ache of the impact you took earlier, the bruise that you feel sitting there. Your tongue glides against the cut inside your mouth, where old coppery blood still clings. 

"I hear he’s got a second mouth right here." He points to his stomach, eyes eager and round. "I heard it also has enormous teeth and a slimy tongue and everything."  

"Gross." The girl behind him wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"He does," you admit, though you wouldn’t say you find it disgusting. Maybe once you did.

The boy nods excitedly at your response. And that’s when it reminds you, how little people actually know about Ryomen Sukuna beyond his strength, appetite and the strange nature of his body. To them, he’s just an anomaly.

"I heard he stuffs people inside and tears their skin away to slurp it all up." The boy hesitates before his next question. "Is he gonna do that to us?"

The reins gripped tightly between your gloved hands tighten. Fuck. In your exhaustion, you hadn’t even considered that. All you’d thought about was getting them to shelter. And now, here you are, leading a group of survivors directly to the shrine.

"No," you say firmly. "He won’t eat you."  

You won’t allow it. You’d fight him first. Or, more likely, attempt to do so, given how drained you are. Though, truthfully, you’re more concerned about arriving and convincing Uraume. Without Sukuna there, and after already leaving the shrine once, your return will be… confusing.  

"Does the second mouth talk?" the boy asks. "Oh! Does he talk to the other mouth?” He leans forward toward Ayana’s curving neck, wide-eyed and curious. “Can he have full conversations with it?"

"I bet he spreads it open like this." Your attention falls on the girl again as she presses her hands against her soot-stained robe, dragging her fingers across her stomach as if prying open an invisible mouth.

"That makes no sense!"

Their voices grow louder and more animated as they discuss their wild speculation, and Ayana lets out a weary whine. You think about asking them to quiet down for your mare’s sake but decide against it. They’ve just lost their home, and if this conversation keeps them from dwelling on the horrors and the dead they left behind, you won’t take it from them.

With the villagers travelling on foot, the trek back takes longer. And by the time the sun dips behind the clouds and sinks lower, the world darkens. A queasy feeling emerges as the top of the shrine’s edifice begins to peek through the thinning trees, their bare branches reaching into the fading light.

Back again so soon.

Guiding Ayana onto the temple’s grounds, you notice the children have gone quiet, their earlier curiosity beaten by the journey. Slowing your steps, you reach up to help the girl down from the saddle. She slides off easily, small feet landing with a soft thud before you turn to the boy, lifting him with little effort.  

"There," you murmur.  

He says nothing after that, only glancing toward the shrine before taking the girl’s hand. The two of them, along with the thirteen others, stay close as you guide Ayana toward the stables.

Inside, the familiar scent of hay and musk greets you. Sukuna’s obsidian mounts shift with interest in their stalls, dark smudges against the evening light.

Leading your mare into her stall, you give her a soft pat before tucking her away. She exhales heavily, eager for rest. As you step back, your fingers brush against the letters tucked beneath her saddle, and without a second thought, you retrieve them.

Stepping out, your gaze momentarily falls to the floor—to the space where your tantō had fallen, where it had sat at your departure.  

But now there’s nothing. Only empty straw.  

Back outside, with the villagers, you guide them up the shrine’s steps. At the doors, you lift your hand to knock, knuckles poised, but they peel open before you have the chance to strike wood.

White hair. White robes stand on the other side.

“Uraume.” Respectfully, you bow your head. 

When you lift it, their severe expression is already settling into place. 

They stare at you.

“What is this?” Their focus passes over from you then to the fifteen at your back, scanning each face.  

“The attack in the east,” you begin, “these are some of the people who survived. They—”

“I can see that,” they interrupt.

A breeze drifts through, cool against your skin. You resist the urge to shift, and step between them and Uraume’s assessing eyes. 

“Why are you here?” Their focus returns, narrowing on you.

Ah. There’s the question.

“Lord Sukuna, we—” Found each other again? “He told me to return. There have been some… complications.”

Both implicated and once again bound together as two unwilling conspirators.

Stuck.

“Complications,” they repeat. “As in, you are the complication.”

It isn’t a threat, but their tone is unfamiliar, peaked with something you don’t quite recognize. Suppose things change. Your hands curl into fists. Their gaze glides downward before a look of interest ghosts across their face, and you wonder—are they thinking about fighting you?

“If that’s how you wish to see it, then yes. And if you want to challenge me, then you can,” you say, and they tilt their head, watching you. “I will fight you, and I’ll probably lose to you anyway.”

It frightens you how easily the demand leaves your mouth. You don’t want to fight Uraume, not truly. But then again, you’re tired of thinking you’re anything less than what you are.

“I’ll say this,” you continue, swallowing, and behind them, attendants gather at the end of the long passage—Ren among them. Your eyes meet before you pull them away. “Just allow them to stay for one night. That’s all I ask. When Lord Sukuna returns, I’ll deal with the consequences.”

And convince him not to devour them.

"Even if I allowed it,” Uraume exhales slowly. “Provisions are already stretched thin. We cannot offer them food."

Their words drop into your stomach. 

“Please.” You step closer. “Just one night.”

Uraume blinks at you, and after a moment, they lift a hand, motioning to the attendants. One steps forward, gesturing to the villagers to follow and slowly, one by one, they move inside the shrine, and are led down the corridors toward the central hall.

You follow, watching carefully. At the mouth of the great doors, a few hesitate, hands hovering at their sides, reluctant to settle in a place that belongs to a monster. Ren and the other attendants step in, offering what little reassurances they can offer. With gentle hands, they guide the wary in.

A woman kneels beside a man, blood soaking the front of his robe. A pair of twins curl into each other, foreheads touching, feet dirty. Some clutch what little they managed to salvage, bundles of cloth, a single heirloom wrapped tight in their arms.  

Still, silently, they draw close, allowing themselves to grieve together. A few families. Friends. Lovers… Siblings.

You should find pleasure in seeing this. But you can’t feel anything, only the hot press as a lump of feeling works its way deep into your throat. You need to be alone, need to find comfort in something familiar, even if it’s just four walls, a narrow window, and a floor.

Taking one last look at the embraces and avoiding Uraume’s eyes, you retreat from the central hall.

Moving down the corridors, your breaths grow shallow, lungs tightening and tightening, your feet soundless as you turn left, then right, then left again, spilling into the passage that holds only your and Sukuna’s rooms.  

Yours?

Was this room still yours?

So much had changed. It felt like you had lived two different lives in the fragile hours between dawn and dusk—one spent as you were, the other as something else entirely. A day of loss and gain, of being emptied of something beautiful. Something brave.  

Trembling gloved fingers brush the panelling as you slide the door to the chambers open.  

Nothing.

The futon is gone. The fabric partition. The low table. The chair. The brazier. The tatami mats. As if no one ever lived here.

A shell. Lonely. Empty.

What did you expect? 

Unwanted in two places at once. Here—and if it’s true, which it cannot be—with your sister.  

Stepping inside, you quietly close the door. The weight in your hands registers belatedly, the stack of letters, held tight, creased into your grip. You hadn’t even realized you were still clutching them. Without thinking, you place them down on the floor, on nothing, because there is nothing left to hold them. The gloves come off next, ripped from your hands and tossed aside.

Bare hands clenching into fists, you take a step, and it comes, the first tear slips out.

Then another.

And another.

It’s too much.

Fighting the urge to curl up into yourself, you simply sink to the floor because there’s nowhere to sit or to find even the smallest comfort. The rest come. And when they do, they crash over you in one great, sickening flood.

“Fuck…” you breathe through the shaking. “Fuck.”

Tears splatter from your chin to the floor, small, quiet sounds that feel too loud in the hollow space.

“You’re okay… this… everything will be okay…”

Lies never seem to taste good on your tongue, they’re just bitter falsehoods.

Fingers digging into your arms, holding tight, you hug yourself as if it will keep you together. As if you weren’t supposed to feel this exposed and fragile. But who were you kidding? It didn’t matter. You were both.

All the tender bits peeled back, raw and bare. All the emotions that made the tears fall faster.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Knock, knock, knock.

You suck in a breath, furiously wiping your eyes before turning toward the door and scrambling to your feet.

“Yes?” The word trembles as you force yourself to steady. “What is it?”

Calm.

The door slides open. Ren stands there, a pile of fresh garments in her hands. Behind her, two attendants carry a folded futon between them, keeping it from touching the ground.

“We thought…” She glances at the space, adjusting the fabric in her arms. “You’ll need somewhere to sleep, so we—” Her voice trails off as her eyes settle on your blood- and soot-stained kimono, then lift to your face.

One look at her, the softness, the guilt, the regret that’s there, and your chest constricts. 

Don’t.

Salted tears crowd your vision.

“I—” The words won’t come. Your mind is water.

“Give us a moment,” Ren murmurs, worry in her voice. The attendants bow and leave as she steps inside, shutting the door.  

The moment it closes, you think you might fall, your limbs and body so heavy that you sink back to your knees again. This time, it doesn’t stop. You let it happen, unburden yourself and cry.

Fabrics rustle as they fall to the ground, followed by two clipped steps and the swish of robes. Ren kneels. Then, gentle hands settle on your shoulders. The smallest kindness. Kinder than the way your sister held you at the harvest festival.

It’s this touch that breaks you apart.

“I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” Your voice barely carries, muffled by your palms pressing into your eyes.

That young village girl, mouth agape with blood in her teeth and screams in her chest, shudders against your eyelids.

You can’t breathe.

“What happened?” Ren asks softly, squeezing your shoulders.

“I—”

You can’t think straight, can’t see straight.

“I don’t know—”

Anything.

I don’t know anything anymore.  

“I don’t recognize myself,” your voice wavers as you fist your hands into the fabric of your kimono. “I’m confused, and—”

Lost.

Trapped between anger and the betrayal that still clings to this place—between the people here, the implications and the fucking monster you can’t seem to sever from your life. No matter how hard you push and pull against each other, you can’t seem to be separated.

“I killed so many people today.”

And I enjoyed it.

Tainted.

Tears drop onto your hands as you look down, away from her face.

“Everything feels out of control. Everything is spiralling. I want it to stop.” The droplets race faster down your cheeks, reaching your chin. “I want—”

To stop living as two different people.

“I want to go home.” You fight against a swallow that stings your throat, and her hands tighten on your shoulders. “But I have no home to return to.”

Ren says nothing, and you don’t look up at her. Not that you could, with your vision clouded and heavy with tears.

But there’s a pause. Her hands shift from your shoulders to your back, pulling you close and then the embrace.

You almost freeze. She hates being in others' spaces, yet here she is, holding you like she means it. Like she understands. And it’s what you didn’t realize you needed. Someone to keep you close, to hold you long enough for you to finally, simply, let go.

Her grip on you is a shell, and you bury your face into her shoulder, tears soaking into her garment. 

Gods knew how long you stay like this, only that it feels like weight after weight, two months of it, years of it, sliding off you. Gone. Until all that remains is an empty numbness, a good, quiet kind of empty.

“I didn’t have the chance to say this before.” Ren swallows at her words, and you hear it in her voice—the breaking. “I thought you were gone for good… and I was a coward.”

Another swallow. Her body tenses.

“But… I’m so sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the apology until she gently leans away and brushes your hair from your face. You’re not ready to acknowledge her words. Not yet.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, and you peek up at her, at her eyes shining before she wipes at them, only to grip your arms again.  

Leaning back, a wet, broken laugh escapes your throat.  

“I am. But I also think”—hands sweeping outward, you gesture to the entire room—“this is all a fucking mess.”  

Her brow dips as if she’s fighting a laugh, and a moment later, she lets it go.  

"That's true," she says lightly, not dismissive, just honest, like saying it out loud might make it easier to bear. And it’s the softness in her voice, the quiet acceptance of everything that led to this moment, that nearly undoes you again. You suck in a stuttering breath, willing another sob to disappear.

Hesitantly, Ren’s hands move toward your forearms, skim past your wrists, carefully avoiding your hands before retreating to her lap.

You stare at her tightly clasped fingers before you whisper, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

But you do. And it still hurts.

Ren takes a breath.

“He told you to come back… didn’t he?”

Sighing, you rub your forehead in an attempt to ease the throb settling there, and her gaze softens.

“Yes.”

She nods. The faintest nudge at the corner of her mouth says enough.

“Curious,” she hums.

Is it?

She doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she rises and turns toward the door, sliding it open just enough to call the attendants back inside. They step in quietly, setting the futon down and smoothing out the blankets. Neither of them speaks their task quick as if sensing the fragile state of the room.

Once they finish, they bow in unison. Ren nods, dismissing them for the evening, and the door slides shut behind them before turning back to you.

“Meals,” you mumble, scratching at a dry piece of blood on your kimono. “Where should I take those from now on?”

Ren’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“You can have them with us,” she offers, “if you like.”

You nod softly.

“Is there anything else you need?”  

“No.” You shake your head, then dip your chin. “I’ll be fine.”

She bows before gathering the fresh garments she brought, spreading them neatly onto the futon.  

“These are for you.” Among them is a simple robe, a yukata, and other pieces to keep you warm as the weather continues to cool. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate. Just ask me. And… I’ll figure out how to refurnish everything in here, to make sure you’re comfortable.”  

Inside your chest, something tugs.  

“Thank you,” you say before she steps silently from the room.  

Shrugging off your crusted kimono and hakama, you take in the streaks of blood and soot. It’s everywhere, and it stinks. Tossing the stiff fabric aside, you pull on the fresh yukata provided and sink under the bedding.  

The moment your head touches the pillow, your red, sore, tender eyes have already fallen shut.  

* * * * *

Sleep doesn’t come.

Even hours later, though you feel lighter, every time you close your eyes, it’s the same.

You see the young girl screaming as you fail to reach her. You see the faces of dying men at your feet. You see the wall of arrows, the darkness giving way as the pile of bodies buries you. And you see yourself, back bowing under the heat of the branding iron’s descent.

A descent into too many impossibilities.  

Traitor.  

Blinking back swollen lids, you roll over.

Betrayer. 

Arms folding across your chest, you dip your chin for comfort and shut your eyes.

Drip, drip, drip—

Your eyes snap open.

Finally.

Lying in the dark, the noise drags itself down the corridor. Thick, heel-heavy footsteps have your attention swinging to the door. They pass slowly, and they sound… wet. Dripping wet, soft, and warm.

Staring into the dark, you continue listening as Sukuna’s feet kiss the floorboards, a faint, slick suction accompanying every lift. For whatever reason, it turns your stomach.

Eventually, when he passes, you note how he takes his time to move down toward his chambers. His presence, usually a weight in the air, feels strangely absent; energy, which should flood your senses, is… muted.

Odd.

Pushing the bedding aside, you slide out of the futon and move to the door quietly. Through the tiny crack in the panel, you smell it.

Blood. Hot, fresh, rancid.

The door slides open, and you step into the passage, eyes trailing the smooth wooden floor. Copper coats your tongue. One foot out, and you drop into a crouch. A slick, ink-like path glistens in the dim light, winding down the corridor—leading to Sukuna’s chambers. You glance up, your eyes adjusting to the dark, but what little light spills from his room illuminates the doors, slightly ajar.

You look back down at the mess. Gods, the smell. It makes you sick.

Blaming some twisted sense of curiosity, you follow it to his room and peer inside. The ghostly blue light of the moon and the unlit brazier in the corner leaves the space colder than what it was last night. Your gaze drags further, and there—sprawled in the low chair by the garden door—Sukuna sits, head tipped back, four eyes closed, not a muscle moving. He looks peaceful, like he’s resting.

Until you see it.

Through the loose panels of his kimono, the mangled flesh of his chest gapes open like a black void.

He is… injured. Vulnerable in a way, he never is.

How? When you parted, he was unharmed. Now, he looks awful.

Swallowing, you clear your throat, then slip inside, pressing your feet firmly to the floor to stay silent. The fabric of your yukata hisses with each movement.  

He doesn’t stir.  

You move to stand beside the chair, where his legs stretch straight out, occupying too much space. In the dark, you can see the long, bleeding trail that rolled from his naked chest down to his bare feet, which are soaked and glistening.  

At your side, your hand twitches. You could reach out, press two fingers to his throat, and feel for the pulse that should be there. But considering he never wants you to touch him again…  

“Lord Sukuna?” you mumble, inhaling the heavy scent of iron. 

Silence.

He doesn’t move, body slack, four arms draped over the chair’s edges.

Boneless.

“Have you finally blessed us and died?”

The words crawl from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you wince.

Despite everything you feel about this man—which confuses you more than it should—he saved you today. Saved you and offered to make you stronger. To him, that likely carries more weight than you can fully grasp. And now, he’s your only real ally in navigating this underbelly until you find the answers you need. Trusting the King of Curses will be necessary. Difficult, but necessary.

Staring at him, still, he doesn’t move.

Your mouth twists.  

Curse him.  

Carefully, you lean forward, fingers hovering just shy of his thick, corded throat. Even from here, you feel the heat that pulses from the open wound.

If he were anyone else, this would have killed him. And unlike him, you wouldn’t have even had a chance to recover. You would be dead.

Middle and pointer fingers extending, you lower your hand toward the carotid artery buried beneath all that muscle and—

His upper left hand snaps around your wrist, holding you in place.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, the bottom pair of his eyes peeling open, cutting through the dark.

So, not dead.

Your mouth pushes into a thin line.

“What does it look like?” Your brow folds. “You’re hurt.”

The words come out wrong, your voice rising in a way that sounds like concern.

Sukuna’s top pair of eyes open into slits, pinning you under the full weight of all four reds. He stares—not just to uncover your intentions, but as if you're swinging around a particularly sharp weapon. Then, just as suddenly, he releases you, skepticism clear in the slow curl of his fingers.

Silence.

You stare at each other. Two stubborn, skeptical creatures circling the other but unmoving.

It’s maddening, this limbo.

With a lazy shift, Sukuna reaches to his right, pushing open the shoji door to the garden. It rustles aside, and moonlight spills in, washing over the floor. Your gaze follows it, moving up his figure until it catches on the hole in his chest. His skin, usually sun-kissed, is pale and drained. Blood clots at the wound’s thick, ropy edges, the pulpy flesh inflamed and raw.

“And somehow that requires you to touch me?” His voice is low as he cocks his head, settling back into the chair in a way that looks anything but comfortable.

“I was seeing if you were dead.” Your eyes trace the bloodstains, obscuring the thick tattoos draped over his shoulders and chest before settling on his face.

“And after what you said about this situation pulling us together, I thought I would…” You trail off. This distrust between you, resentment, this push and pull. You’re tired of it.

“You thought you would what?”

“Your wounds.” Your throat clears, leaving the rest unsaid. “They should have healed by now. Why haven’t they? What did Zen’in—”

Sukuna flicks a finger at you from where his hand rests, cutting you off with a low grunt.

You sigh. This fragile alliance will be harder to manage than you thought.

“Are you in any pain?”  

Somehow, you don’t remember moving, but you find yourself standing between his spread legs, knees almost touching the seat of his chair. You’re unsure why you ask and his mouth twitches, eyes opening, glaring at you as if wondering the same.

“No,” he grumbles before tipping his head back and shutting his eyes again. “Now, get the fuck out.”

Fuck you—that’s what you want to say, with nothing but the barest touch of your fingertips.

But—

“You’re an insufferable ass.” Comes out as you turn away, and you catch it just before you leave—the amused baring of his fangs.

Then you're gone from his chambers.

Only to return moments later.

As you walk back, your focus slides to the raised futon, the place you woke up this morning. It’s bare. The sheets gone. The blue, luxurious quilt you swamped yourself in is also gone, like he couldn’t rid himself of what had happened last night fast enough. Like the way your body melted into his, and how he lost himself in you never happened. 

You hope the scent of you lingers anyway. Like a rotting stain.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna shifts in the chair, pushing a fist against his left cheek, eyes moving from you, to your face, to the objects in your hands.

Reaching him, you nudge apart his legs with your knee, ignoring his question as you slip between them and kneel. The basin of water meets the floor with a hollow knock, the bundle of cloth set beside it. Tucking your feet up underneath the fabric of your yukata, your face burns, but you keep your head down, already knowing the expression he wears. Instead, you sink your hands into the cool water, wringing the fresh cloth until droplets trail down your fingers, soaking the edges of your garment. Pushing to your knees, you shift closer where your hand settles on his thigh, pressing over the fabric of his hakama—a silent reassurance, I’m not going to touch your skin, monster. His muscles flex beneath your fingertips, a subtle reminder, I will never entirely trust you, snake.

Then, the damp cloth moves to his burning flesh, and you apply just a little more pressure than necessary, forcing the wound to bleed.

“Woman,” he growls.

“Oh, shut up.” Your eyes flick up to his. “I know it doesn’t hurt.”

Slouched back, Sukuna stares at you, nostrils flaring, the cloth squelches in the silence, and his lip curls slightly—disapproval in its purest form.

Your mouth fights a grin.

Glancing down, you carefully begin to clean the injury, and for once, you tend to his wounds instead of the other way around.

Silence settles between you. Quiet. 

This close, you feel the heat radiating from the blood that seeps loose, pooling in the deep grooves where a blade must have pierced through, twisted, and then torn its way out. With each pass, the rag darkens, fresh layers of wet crimson giving way to raw tissue beneath. Slowly, Sukuna’s body relaxes. The rise and fall of his bare chest deepens, the jagged edges of the gash stretching with every breath.

Your attention drifts lower, over the ridges of his muscles, slipping toward the open maw of his stomach, but something is missing. The tongue, usually lolling or twitching, is absent.

“Your stomach mouth… thing,” you murmur, eyes darting to his face. “The tongue. It’s gone.”

Sukuna glances down, unbothered.

“What of it?” he grumbles, shifting his enormous legs on either side of you. “It will heal.”

Your hands slow. Again, that stubborn silence creeps into the space, just the damp fabric, the open door, the night.

“What really happened?” you ask, voice tentative as you drag the cloth across his pectorals. “After I left.”

Sukuna watches you through a slitted gaze, his lower eyes following your hand while the upper pair remain locked on your face.

“Nothing.”

Nothing.

“It’s not nothing if you look like this,” you say bitterly, gesturing to the rawness of his wounds, the sheer amount of it. “I can hardly sense your energy.”

The King of Curses’ body twitches once before he tosses back his head, and a deep laugh reverberates from his chest.

“To someone like me, it’s nothing. But to others—” His head lowers, and in an instant, every trace of emotion locks down tight, leaving almost nothing behind. “—to others who are weak, I suppose it does look like something.”

Others, meaning me.

Jaw tightening, you don’t respond. Instead, you pat the area dry, set the rag aside and retrieve the other longer piece of cloth.

“Remove your kimono and come forward,” you instruct, tapping a hand on the edge of his knee.

He doesn’t move.

You press a knuckle into him.

“You’re going to wrap it?” he scoffs, dragging his leg away from your prodding touch.

You glare at him in silence, perfectly fine with letting him bleed all over the place until, after a drawn-out breath, he finally shifts. With a tug, he shrugs off his charcoal-grey kimono, letting it slip from his shoulders and fall into a mess on the floor. Then, peeling himself from the chair’s back just enough, he allows you to reach around him.

Bracing yourself between his outstretched thighs, you step closer and work the cloth beneath his second pair of arms.

The soft, dry drag of linen unspooling is the only sound between you, and with careful fingers, you dip your head around his upper right shoulder. 

Swift, glancing heat tickles against your temple—his breath. There’s blood in it. The iron scent is thick, but it doesn’t mask the rest. Raw meat, torn sinew, the faint, sweet tang of torn skin, still warm.

And you wonder who he ate after you left the village.

Disturbingly, the thought brings a sense of satisfaction after what was done to the people there.  

And you…

“You’ve been crying.”

Sukuna’s low voice rumbles right beside your cheek. Your eyes jump to him. His mask comes into view, his scarlet gaze flaring like four burning coals.

"What?" You look away, concentrating on wrapping the cloth over his massive frame. With a firm tug, it comes back around to the front. One pass done, just a few more, and for whatever it’s worth, you can at least say you tried to bridge this terrible divide.

"Your eyes." In your periphery, Sukuna nudges his chin toward you. "They're red. You've been crying."

The remark sinks in, leaving you strangely heartsick and irritated that he noticed, even in this light.  

"That makes three times now that you've seen the remnants of it. Does that make me weak too?" you bite out. A misstep.

"Four," Sukuna replies smoothly.  

Your brow furrows.

"Excuse me?"

Your hands push around his torso, fingers dancing gently into the cloth, making the second pass. From the corner of your eye, you see him watching you. 

"Four times," he repeats, then falls quiet, leaving you wondering and waiting.

"The first was after you killed your mother."  

Beneath his thick limbs, your hands still. You blink down at the curves and lines of his torso, at the way his body—never meant for this world—barely fits into the chair, spilling over its edges, at the way the space around him seems to shrink.

It takes three heartbeats for the words to land.  

"You—" Your breath falters. You recoil, pulling back from the underside of his arm. You look at him, grip tightening around the cloth, and a quiet sound dies in your throat. The fabric crushes between your fingers until energy—your energy—seeps out, pooling into bruised knuckles.  

Everything that’s happened, the chaos, the urgency, the way events have hurtled you forward, has left no time to stop and think about that night.

About the fact that he was there. That he saw.

He saw the aftermath of the lowest point in your life. He saw you losing and taking something vital in the same breath.  

You remember when he made you tell him about your dream, when all along, he already knew what was haunting you. And now he sits here, reminding you.

Trapped in some state of suspended motion, your mouth keeps opening and opening as if widening it enough will force any words to come out.

But they don’t, and Sukuna speaks first.  

"There’s too much softness in you." He leans in, his face hovering above yours, his expression slipping toward something pitying as his eyes fall to your hands, tangled and frozen around the cloth.

"It makes you vulnerable."  

When his upper right hand moves forward, you flinch, instinctively pushing back—but his second pair grips your hips, holding you in place. His palm brushes over the rise of your breast, pressing lightly.

"This, right here," he states, tapping once. "This makes you weak."

Your eyes drop to his massive fingers, swallowing the space over your chest.

A soft heart.

"You're clever." Another tap. His hands lift from your hips. "But your heart drowns out your mind."

As he draws his arm back, fresh blood seeps through, staining the cloth wrapped around him.

One more tap, then he withdraws entirely.

"Bringing a group of villagers here"—he chuckles, and your eyes snap to his—"that was stupid."

You step forward again.

"They had nowhere to go," you say, voice steady. "Let them stay one night. That's all I ask."

Sukuna watches you for a moment.

Soft heart. 

"They’ll leave at dawn," he says flatly. "And you’ll be the one to tell them. Or"—he pauses—"they’ll make a nice addition to my dwindling storehouse. Flesh seems difficult to come by these days."  

His gaze settles on your face, studying your reaction, while his lower eyes drift, tracing the angle of your jaw.  

"You wanted to play the benevolent saviour. So finish the role properly."

"Fine." 

Gripping the cloth again, you yank it tighter, pressing down until blood beads against the weave.

"I will.” You see yourself as anything but benevolent.

“And maybe I should just smother it.” Another yank. “Every shred of softness. Is that the answer you want to hear, my Lord?"

He smacks his lips together in annoyance.

You pause. 

"Seeing you fight without your emotions choking you would be a sight worth seeing." Sukuna drags a thumb over his lower lip, lost in the way of studying you. "You’d be far stronger for it. Maybe even strong enough to be worth fighting me again."

Heat sears through you. The suggestion angers you. The idea of forgetting a fundamental part of yourself angers you.

And yet, a small part of you wonders if he’s right, to let your heart darken, become a monster.

Still.

"Well," you hum sarcastically, sidestepping the weight of his words, "That’s—" Yank. "Not—" Yank. "Happening."

A final pull. His body tenses.

Blowing out a breath, you tip your head, preparing for another pass, but his attention swings to your jaw again, this time, it lingers. A moment too long.

Without warning, he leans forward in the chair, upper right hand grabbing your chin harshly and bringing you to him.

"Who did this?" he growls, his features tightening.

You freeze, stop what you’re doing as he lifts it, forcing you to lean into him and the moonlight creeping into the room. Red eyes narrow, falling to the throbbing bruise planted there.

"Why?" you whisper, tonguing the spot where your teeth had cut into the muscle.

"Why?" His thumb gently traces the outline of the welt, and his other fingers smooth up, curling around the hinge of your jaw, holding you in place.

"Because.” Sukuna’s voice drops to something dangerously soft. The touch drifts upward to your temple, into your hairline, where there’s a slide of heat. And inside, you fight against the intimacy of his touch, the quiet way his fingers follow the contour of your skin.

"Seeing aches painting your body has always made me wonder if whoever hurt you is dead."

Always?

The word snags in your mind, rubbing raw. And you can’t help but ask yourself if he knows he’s giving himself away. Again.

"It was from today,” you say, meeting his half-lidded gaze. “Someone was faster than me. And yes, he’s dead. I killed him and enjoyed it… watching him rot."

A slow, dark grin spreads across his mouth.  

"Did you now?" he purrs as his frustrating charisma returns.  

"I did." Your fingers drag over the cloth in your hand, tracing its texture.  

His thumb glides along your jaw, slowly mapping over the bruise once more before he lets you go.  

"And how did it feel?" He stretches out like a lumbering predator, sinking back deeper into the chair.  

And you know what he's asking.  

"I've killed before,” you say. “But this was different… I enjoyed watching him underestimate me. Only for him to die moments later under my touch."

Sukuna’s smirk is chilling. Amused. All canines.

"It seems that softness of yours has teeth after all." Shifting, he leans in, the blood from his chest wound seeping through the bandages. "Becoming more a carnivorous flower, perhaps."

The scarlet spills sluggishly, darkening the fabric in uneven patches before trickling lower, slipping past the final layers of bandages and trailing toward his hip bones, where his hakama sits low against his skin, the dark fabric soaking up the rest.

You only watch.

So does he.

Easing forward onto your knees, you pick up the wet cloth again, wipe it away, and resume the bandaging. But your mind drifts, turning over the pieces of today—how the fuck everything went so wrong. How you’d been accused of instigating a fucking coup. How your sister has taken her place as the Kasai clan’s head. How—  

"When will you start telling me the truth?" You tighten the third wrap, pressing into him to secure the final one.

“When you’re ready.” He leans forward, allowing you to slip under his arms.

“When I’m ready,” you echo into his ear as your faces pass side by side. “or when you’re ready?”

His eyes dart to yours. You pull back. He doesn’t answer, and a breath huffs out of you.

With his torso finally wrapped, you drag the cloth around and come to his front, smoothing your hands over the bandages stretched across his massive chest. Feeling him like this, he tenses.

There’s a pause.

You eye him, trying to decide how to say this.

“I want to speak with my sister.”

“No,” he snaps.

Your teeth click together.

“Why?” you hiss, gripping the end of the cloth. “Stop making this difficult, and just tell me.”

Despite the sharpness in your voice, your hands remain careful, tucking the fabric securely into place. 

“Please,” you add.

Begging. Pathetic.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you’re not ready,” Sukuna growls, his hands moving, engulfing your wrists, pulling them away from him. “So no, I won’t just tell you.” His voice tilts mockingly, tossing your own words back at you before he slumps into the chair, ending the conversation.

Mouth twitching, you yank your wrists free from his grip and settle back on your knees.

And still, the question knocks around inside your mind—

“Why are you really doing this?” you ask, searching his face. He once called it purpose. Everything had one. But slowly, you learned the difference. And now, you’re not waiting for an answer.

“Today, when I was restrained and about to be branded, I felt it.”  

You lean forward again, lifting off your heels and closing the small space where you sit between his outstretched legs.  

“The rage pouring off you. The anger. Is this some kind of atonement?”  

At this, the muscles in his jaw clench and pulse.  

You keep going.  

“When will you finally be done clinging to your pride and ready to admit it?” Coming forward, you mimic him—the way he spoke about your weaknesses. Your heart. “Because I’ve seen the way you war with yourself,” you continue quietly, your finger hovering over the bandaged cloth, which won’t last. He’ll heal, like always. No wounds. No scabs. No scars.  

“Since the day I arrived, it hasn’t stopped.”  

Your voice barely rises as your finger slowly descends toward his heart, pressing lightly against the fabric’s soft weave.  

“Especially after everything, after drowning yourself in me just to understand, now you feel something.”  

There it is.  

The magic of liminality. The sum of all the shitty experiences that made you brave again in a single day. Or impulsive. Spoken in the heat of the moment, when silence should have taken hold, and your stubborn mouth refuses to stop.  

“And you hate that it’s me.”

He doesn’t move. He simply watches you as if, once again, you’ve become a creature he can’t quite comprehend. And perhaps you are only this brave because you know he won't cut you into a thousand tiny pieces.

“You hate that it’s the daughter of someone you despise. The one who did something to you that no one else but you can understand.”

Don’t do it.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

Don’t say it.

“The one who makes you feel when all the others, their warmth, their flesh, their power, fail so miserably to compare.”

What the hell are you doing?  

“That’s why you keep hurting me. Because you enjoy it. And because it’s easier than admitting what I am to you.”

Sukuna’s brow splits.

Inside your chest, your pulse screams.

“And for whatever reason, you refuse to let me go. Even when you want to so badly.”

Stop. Talking.

Under the pad of your finger, his heart throbs, a rushing beat, the only sign of movement in him.

“So, say it.”

Your throat tightens.

“Just, once…”

Your eyes find each other.

“Tell me.”   

This is it. This is how you finally die, from tearing open a wound in front of him and demanding that he look.

Gods, you feel sick.  

Three unkind seconds pass, and he doesn’t answer.  

Outside the open door, the wind rattles through the wilting garden while the shrine’s old bones settle around you with a low creak, and still, you wait.

Down at your outstretched finger, the King of Curses takes a pitying glance, like he’s deciding how best to flick his wrist and slice it off.

“Tell you…” he finally mutters under his breath, four eyes dragging to your face as his upper right hand engulfs your wrist and yanks it away from his chest.  

“You think this is about pride?” Suddenly, he sits up, towering over you, and your heart slams behind your ribs. “You think I need to atone for anything?” Loud, cruel laughter rips from his chest. “It’s almost amusing how you keep trying to shape me into something I’ve never been. While you stumble around, blind, desperate for any reason, someone might love you, because deep down—” His grip tightens just enough to make your wrist ache, “you hate yourself.”

The barb strikes deep, lodging in right next to the hurt.

Was that true? Do you hate yourself? Or is this just another way for him to deflect from the horrible truth standing right in front of him, staring him down?

“And I don’t care,” he spits, flashing his teeth. “Not in the way you wish I did. If anything, I’ll admit you are an annoying scratch that won't heal.”

A scratch? The woman the King of Curses has seemed to have been obsessed with for years—a scratch.

“I don’t need you to care or atone in the way you think I want.” You hiss, freeing your hand and snatching the damp cloth from the floor. “I want you to stop pretending because it’s starting to get tiresome.”

You toss the bloody fabric into his lap. He frowns at it.

“Eventually, as you said, I’ll leave and live as something else entirely. And that will be as far from here and from you as possible.”

Sukuna’s slitted eyebrow pulls inward.

Before he can react, you grab the water basin and rise smoothly to your feet. Still, you hesitate, waiting to see if he’ll admit something. Anything.

He doesn’t.

Deep down, you already know. You nearly scoff, but what’s the point of dragging it out of a creature like him?

“Goodnight, my Lord,” you say sweetly, gracing him with an exaggerated bow. Emotions be damned. “I hope you have a wonderful—” Your eyes shoot to the empty, barren raised futon, and his follow yours. “Sleep.”  

Pressing your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you restrain yourself, resisting the temptation to say something truly petty as you straighten, stepping carefully around the smears of blood on the floor and walking away.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he grumbles behind you, irritation picking through every word. “A fool for even saying something so stupid, wi—”

His words break off.

You still, half-turning, one eyebrow lifting. 

There are only two things he could have called you—wife or winter flower—but he stops himself. Pausing in the doorway, you listen, wondering if he’ll slip and call you either just hours after the boundaries were set.

“Leave,” Sukuna mutters, sliding a hand through his hair as he stands out of the chair. Moving to the garden door, he shuts it, casting the room into darkness once more.

“Get that rest you so desperately lamented about.”

With his upper hands, he reaches behind his back, dragging them through the bandages, unravelling your work. The strips peel away, drifting to the floor, revealing freshly healed skin, streaked and ruddy.

As if nothing had been there at all.

“Tomorrow, we learn what’s under all that skin and blood of yours,” he says lowly over one inked shoulder, his eyes trying to hold yours.

But you’re already walking away, the words he couldn’t bring himself to say left unsaid.

[rebelliousstories]

Would You Go With Me?

Relationship: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of a Crime Scene, and Blood, Vague Mentions of a Serial Killer

Word Count: 1,196

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: She’s come back. But people are never the same as when you leave them.

Part One: The One That Got Away

Consider Donating: Here

“‘Ya amar’? You haven’t called me that in a very long time, Em.” The woman stated with a tilt of her mouth, focusing her attention on the evidence board to their left in the conference room where the other profilers were.

Emily just stood there, floundering like a fish out of water. This was the first time in many years that she had set her eyes on her in person. While she still looked gorgeous, the closer she looked, the more she noticed; there was no doubt that the years of nightmares she undoubtedly had were not kind. There were small scars, and one large scar left over from the incident. Bags underneath her eyes that were nearly dark enough to be bruises. She wore no makeup which Emily knew meant that something was wrong.

“You… your house.” Prentiss inquired, her voice unsteady.

“Unfortunately, a necessary precaution.” She stated, drawing her attention back to the dark haired agent. “The blood is mine, so don’t waste time typing it. I’ve taken little by little over the years so that if I needed to, I could fake a crime scene easier.”

“You’re the point agent for The Mimic case?” Thankfully, Hotch swooped in which let Emily process her emotions.

“I was,” she sighed, leaning against the door frame.

“Why would you fake your death?” Liam asked, also dealing with the information.

In lieu of an answer, the former agent placed an envelope down on the table. There was a black heart with an arrow drawn through it. She had apparently already opened it, as the edges were torn, and in her hands, she held the contents. A single piece of paper with a legible, yet messy scrawl.

“That was left on my front porch.” She muttered, re-reading the letter. ”Don’t bother checking for prints either. Imitirovat never leaves any.”

“We should bag these for evidence still, and analyze the writing. It may be able to tell us something.” JJ stated, picking up the envelope and walking back into the conference room they had been given. Their unit chief left with the natural blonde, which left the three former partners in Liam’s office in silence.

“I am glad to see you alive, mon ami.” Shelby whispered, his face scrunched as he tried not to let his emotions take over.

“Good to see you too, Li.” She said, dropping her eyes to her hands, which still had the letter. Sensing the tension, the Frenchman left the two women be with just a pat to their shoulders.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. There was just too many things to say, and not enough words in any language that they knew. Combine that with the amount of time that has passed, and they were both struggling. However, she figured she would make the first move and come over to sit in the chair opposite Emily rather than just standing about the room.

“I thought you were dead.” Prentiss picked at her fingernails again, resisting the urge to bite at them.

“Sorry, Em. Honestly didn’t think that you would be the one to find that. Figured some beat cops would.” Running a hand through her hair, the woman took her time to focus on the other.

She looked amazing. The bangs were gone much to her dismay, but she could get used to this version of Emily. There were no bags under her eyes, and she looked well fed. Her clothes were tailored to complement her figure. All in all, she looked like the Emily she used to know.

“Have you lived here this whole time?” Emily asked, not really knowing how to speak with her.

“No,” she shook her head, “I’ve moved around every few months. Haven’t stayed anywhere longer than six months the entire time. Stayed in D.C. for a while.”

At that, Emily’s head shot up. “You were in D.C.?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Sergio’s cute.”

Prentiss chuckled. “Of course the best tracker Interpol ever had would be able to find me and my cat.”

She also let out a small chuckle at this. But another bout of silence passed between them. It was that awkward silence where you were terrified to say the wrong thing and make everything go sideways. A type that they never had before now.

“I’m sorry I never came back.”

“I’m sorry I never reached out.”

The women overlapped in a breath. Looking into each other’s eyes, they began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She motioned for Emily to go first.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Emily spoke. “I’m sorry I never reached out, or tried to find you. I just figured you needed some time to recover in the hospital alone because you wouldn’t let me touch you at one point. But when I came to collect you on the day you were to be released, you were already gone. The next day we got your badge and gun in at Interpol.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back.” She repeated softly. “I don’t really remember a lot from the hospital stay, so I’m sorry that I pushed you away. When I was released, and you weren’t there… I don’t know. I guess my brain ran straight to survival mode because it was all too much. The agents we lost at the safe house. I was terrified that he was going to find me so I ran, and I kept running.”

“Listen, it’s natural to go into that mode. I just wish we would’ve found each other earlier.” Emily leaned forward, and captured her hands in hers.

“Still, we’re here now. Hunting a serial killer just like old times.” The other woman teased, a genuine smile coming to her lips.

Prentiss chuckled, looking around for a brief moment to collect her thoughts. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. So, how about we get out there and get this guy one and for all? I want this case closed.”

Saying nothing, the woman stood, bringing Emily up with her as their hands were still connected. She gave a final squeeze before walking over to the door. However, as she hovered in the threshold, she turned to face the dark haired woman again.

“Maybe once this case is done, you wouldn’t mind letting me take you out for a drink?” She offered hesitantly, scared that all the time apart had changed them. But Emily, ever the confident and sure of herself woman, came to stand next to her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, she ducked in to press a kiss to her cheek, careful to wipe away the lipstick mark that was left.

“I’d like that.” And with that, Emily went to where her team and Liam stood near the evidence board. Reeling from being that close to her again, the woman sighed, and brushed her fingertips against where she had kissed her. With determination in her soul, the woman vowed two things as she went back out; she was going to catch this bastard, and she was getting that date with Emily.

“Every ending was a beginning in disguise, and I chose to begin again with you.” Unknown

[lexicrvg]

On a random night in 1989, Ice and Mav have a fight about their future together. Ice wants to quit the navy and love Mav in all the ways he deserves, out and proud, but Maverick doesn't let him. He knows Ice wants to climb through the ranks and get stars on his shoulder, he can't be the reason Ice misses this.

That night, they broke up. Ice couldn't bear be with someone who didn't love him just as much as he loves them, and Maverick couldn't tell Ice he wouldn't give up flying for him.

Ice quits the navy. He would've done it with or without Maverick.

30+ years go by, and their lives haven't even once crossed paths, not even at Slider's wedding nor Sundown's funeral. It seems like the universe had separate plans for them, and it stuck this way.

(They were at both of these events, but Wolfman was in charge of "Not let Mav and Tom see each other" and he always aces a task)

Until Wolf's retirement party, that is. With him being the center of attention, he gives Hollywood the most important task of his life, Wood have other plans tho, he's very easily distracted by his husband's beautiful smile and when they're least expecting it...

"Hey" Maverick says, sitting on the bar, side by side with Tom.

"Pete!" Tom opens a big smile "Long time no see!"

"Yeah, right." Mav takes a pause, looking at the other up and down. "You look great"

And he did. Being away from the navy must've given Tom 10 years of his life back.

"You look exactly the same," Tom laughs. "Like, scarily so."

Pete laughs with him, although the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. In just 2 minutes, between seeing Tom from across the room and engaging in conversation with him, Mav noticed he seems... happy.

"I think I've been time traveling in those jets," he jokes, and Tom laughs. Again.

Tom didn't have such an easy smile back then. It rubs on Maverick the wrong way.

"How have you been?" Tom asks, after taking a sip of his vodka.

Maverick did not have a good answer to that question. Miserable? Missing you every day of my life? Discharged?

"Good" it's what he settles for. "You?"

Something in Tom's eyes twitches, like he's well aware Maverick's lying to his face, he says nothing about it, and Mav doesn't give him a chance to. He spots the ring on Tom's finger and, before he can help himself, he asks:

"What's her name?" Earning yet another laugh from Tom.

"I know it's been a while, but I'm sure you remember I'm not particularly interested in women." Tom plays with his ring and adds: "His name is Grant, and he's..." Tom searches for something in the room, then points. "... right there."

Against his better judgment, Mav turns to see where Tom's pointing. He regrets it immediately. Grant is gorgeous.

He's the exact opposite of Pete. For starters, he's tall, taller than Ice, taller than Slider whom he's talking excitedly with. Grant's hair is silver, and he carries a smile that would make Mav swoon if the situation was any different.

"We met in 2001" Tom continues, smiling lovingly at his partner. "Got married in 2016, and..."

"And...?"

"Our kid came to our lives in 2019. She just turned 10."

Maverick feels like he's going to throw up. Husband and daughter. Tom had both a husband and a daughter while Pete was still in weird terms with Bradley and as single as he's ever been. It wasn't fair. He was the one who didn't want Tom and now... Now, Tom has been living a happy life with a family he could only dream of when he was in the navy, and Pete still held onto a tiny bit of hope that he would get Ice back.

It wasn't fair. Not at all. He might die of regret.

"Listen, I gotta go to the restroom, " Ice said, getting up. "You stay here! I'll be back. We have a lot of catch-up to do, " and walked away.

Mav downed the rest of Tom's drink in one go, very disappointedly realizing it was water and not vodka.

"Hey, shortstack!" comes from Ron Kerner, looking a bit tipsy, bringing Grant on his arm. "I want you to meet my dear friend, Grant!"

"Yeah, I..."

"Grant, this is Pete Mitchell, Tom's wingmen" hearing Slider refer to him as Ice's wingmen did something weird to Mav's heart. "Mav, this is Grant Kazansky, he's..."

"Ice's husband, yeah, I heard."

Both Slider and Grant giggle at this. Grown man. Giggling. "He hates being called Ice nowadays," Grant explains. "He says Iceman is someone who should stay in the past."

"Sorry, old habits." Mav opens an awkward smile.

"Can I get you a drink?" Grant offers. "Something stronger than Tom's water."

"I thought it was vodka." Mav murmurs.

Already gesturing to the bartender to bring a drink, Grant says: "He stopped drinking when our princess came to our lives."

"And yet I'm her contact emergency" Slider interrupts.

"Because you let her eat ice cream before dinner!"

And isn't this nice? Maverick thought to himself. Him, his biggest love's husband and fucking Ron Kerner all sitting together and having a nice chat!

Before he could actually throw up in front of these people, he excused himself and went to get some fresh air.

Not even 5 minutes go by before someone sits down besides him on the sidewalk.

"He talked about you." Grant says, offering Mav a glass of something that might be whiskey — or apple juice, you never know.

"Good things, I hope." Mav says, taking the glass.

Grant snorts, but doesn't answer. Awkward silence rovers between them.

"Do you love him?" Pete asks, breaking it.

Without missing a beat, Grant answers: "More than I ever loved anyone."

Something twists in Mav's stomach, but he ignores it.

"That's good. He only deserves good things."

But it went without saying. Grant knew Tom deserved only good things, hell, Ice knew it. He would never settle for less than he deserves, and that's why he's with Grant and not Maverick.

"He's lucky to have you," Pete finishes, swallowing the bitter taste the words leave in his mouth.

"I'm lucky to have him." After a beat of awkward silence, Grant adds: "You should come by to dinner."

Mav must've heard it wrong, so he waits for Grant to correct himself. It never comes.

"What?"

"Dinner at our place," Grant explains. "He'd love to get you back in his life, he treasures his friends a lot."

Friends. Right. That's what they are. No.

"We haven't been friends in a long time," not since 1986, he lefts unsaid, since we started dating.

Grant seems to think about it, then decides, "Now it's a good time to reconect. Enjoy your drink."

Then he walks back into the bar, leaving Mav and his thoughts alone.

It all seems a bit crazy for him. Ice — sorry, Tom — has a husband. And they've been together for more than twenty years. A husband who loves him dearly and isn't afraid to say so. A husband who goes to navy events just to celebrate Tom's old friends. A husband who looks like could and would kill anyone who did Tom wrong. A husband who sat down with Tom's ex and invited him to dinner just because.

Pete thinks he should accept the offer. Just to see what Tom's been up to and meet his daughter, would she like him? Would she call him "Uncle Mav"? He should call Slider and check on what to wear and say...

Oh. He doesn't know what to say around Tom. They're strangers now. The man who he once shared a house, a bed, a life, and a heart with is now a stranger to him.

The realization does something to him, something very bad. He takes a sip of his drink and decides this day could not get any worse.

Huh. Whiskey. A good one. At least Grant knows his liquor.

[infernal-ism]

I apologize but I feel like I'm talking largely to myself tbh. it usually doesn't bother me, but I'm gonna say — and I'm sure it's gonna disappoint plenty of people. yes, Saint is bi-gendered. and this does, in fact, mean that he can switch between the physical characteristics of either, but that I spent so much of his conceptualizations hyper-masculinizing him to a point, especially trying to fit into a type of dynamic where I feel like people expect masculine muses to fit. yes, he can and is able to be the more dominant participant, but let's clear up what the fuck that even means to both him and to me:

it does NOT mean, you should expect him to take on the characteristics of the masculine ( ie a penis ) just because the other character has the same equipment he feels like having these days. you'll bump uglies as far as I'm concerned.

no, he won't change it because it's possible. he'll do so when he feels like it.

yes, he's perfectly capable of being dominant while getting dicked. please broaden your horizons on dominance and submission.

dominance / submission ≠ top / bottom.

as someone who's had to play a shorter male muse, the tall tree men on main ( Saint included ) doesn't automatically mean a shorter muse isn't completely comfortable with their height. the same way taller femme's aren't upset about theirs. I know I tease people about it, but only if I've seen it bother them. Saint's just like that.

it makes me side eye when someone says “oh, but you could just change”. yeah, and the moon rises at night what of it.

if I read a character is gay man or a straight woman, I hesitate to consider shipping, because shit is complex and he's got parts that align in some ways more than others. and yes, being of both genders and being able to switch at whatever time he feels ( I mean he has a male animated ( bc I think the way the females are drawn are incredibly cookie cutter and make me 😬 ) and a female rl ( because it's hard to find a male that I like vs a female, ironic it's the same issue in reverse ). if I could depict how fluid he is, I would.

let me sit you down when I say this, SAINT HAS A PUSSY NINE TIMES OUT OF TEN. do you understand what 2 : 1 means? goddess during the day ( morning and evening ), only considered a god at night. his Venus ( the feminine ruler and divine feminine) is a raging influence during the day, while Mars ( the masculine ruler and the divine masculine ) is largely in the night. it might feel is insignificant, but it's a major energy shift.

I take into consideration the energies that effect him, how he feels ( this man has been hyper-masculine for more than half of his conceptualized and roleplayed life, it effects his mentality ), and how these things factor into his aus even.

I just mean this to say: if you have issues with feminine muses, or even the mention of pussy, there's a door for you.

and for my feminine muses, Saint isn't your daily dose of male attention. he's more like your best friend that wants to eat your coochie and get off on watching you do the same. idk. I would like to interact with more, but there needs to be a bit of an understanding, do you feel me?

I feel like these are things that can sometimes shift away from a character. you need to understand that he's not going to shift and change to scratch your itch of being dicked. he'll do it if he wants to, and only then. and if he's comfortable with you, he will. if he feels like you're not after him for one thing, it's likely to happen because he does enjoy being connected to you this way.

[demonpoppyseed]

“I love making you whimper and whine,” Armand said. “So fucking pathetic for me.”

“Daniel?” Louis asked, brow creased with that facsimile of concern that always made Daniel suspect that this whole endeavor was nothing but pointless play acting. Daniel blinked rapidly.

“Uh,” he said. Armand was staring at him. Daniel looked quickly away from him and shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Haven't been sleeping,” Daniel said. He crossed his legs surreptitiously and cleared his throat. “You were saying something about –”

“The clubs we used to frequent in San Francisco,” Armand interjected. “Perfect hunting grounds. I'm sure you're familiar with them.”

“Yeah?” Daniel said, strategically casting his gaze somewhere to the right of Armand’s face. “You’re so sure I'd be familiar with the underground BDSM clubs in San Fran in the 70s?”

Louis bit back a laugh, looking away towards the windows in an effort to avoid breaking. Armand stared straight at Daniel, eyes bright and unblinking.

“Yes,” he said.

Daniel met his eye then, giving him a look over his glasses that lived somewhere between reproach and acquiescence.

“Fine,” he said, looking back down at his laptop. “If I remembered anything from the 70s I'd probably remember the underground BDSM clubs. But since my memory of my twenties is swiss cheese, you'll have to enlighten me.”

“They were wondrous things,” Louis said dreamily. “Melting pots of desire where a man could seek out the company of other men without drawing the least bit of attention, and a vampire was only another fantasy to covet. We were open about what we were in those days, in much the same way we had once been open at the Theatre des Vampire.”

“Yeah,” Daniel snorted. “Let them think the fangs are prosthetics, the biting’s a fetish thing. Sure. What do the kids call that these days? Informed consent?”

“Our victims craved death, Daniel,” Louis said. “They went down on their knees in the dark and begged for it.”

Aching knees on hard cement. Flashing, colored lights. The press of a crowd.

A boot hitting his stomach, hard enough to send him sprawling on his back, all the air forced from his lungs.

Pain.

“Please, Armand,” a voice mocked, high above. “Please, please, please! What is it you think you are begging for?”

“ – most ethical hunting I've ever done,” Armand said, laughing.

Daniel didn't bother trying to patch together what he'd missed. He didn't need to hear them praise themselves for killing a bunch of gay kids with leather fetishes and undiagnosed depressive disorders. It was only dumb luck that he hadn't been one of them.

“More than dumb luck,” Armand said.

“Stay out of my head,” Daniel shot back automatically. “Is there a point to this fun little side trip? Just wanna remind me that you fuck? Congratulations.”

His head was seriously aching. When had that started? He found it disconcerting, the way pain curled up in the corners of his body, never entirely gone, just waiting to stretch its legs and take up more space.

“I can fetch you some aspirin, if you like,” Armand said.

Daniel ignored him.

“Louis,” he said. “Where are we going with this?”

“Just giving you some context,” Louis said, shrugging. “What our lives had become by the time we met you that night at Polynesian Mary’s. We had, perhaps, thrown ourselves a little too enthusiastically into that world. Or at least, I had. Armand found it all a bit…”

“Distasteful,” Armand finished.

“You?” Daniel said skeptically, peering at him over the top of his glasses. “You found it distasteful.”

He glanced between the two of them. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

“Oh, I get it,” he said. He pointed at Louis, but directed his accusation at Armand. “He was putting out all over the city and you weren't getting any.”

Armand glared.

“Our relationship was… strained during those years,” Louis said, with the cadence of an admission, as if it weren’t obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that their relationship had never not been strained.

“I think that's enough context. Don't you agree, mon amour?” Armand said with a strained smile.

Daniel grinned at him.

Gotcha.

Armand’s lips parted slightly. Daniel’s grin faltered.

“Perhaps,” Louis said, either oblivious or pretending to be, Daniel wasn't sure. He smiled ruefully at Daniel.

“I know I take advantage,” he said. “Sometimes I lose myself in the retelling, and forget that the point of this endeavor is not my catharsis.”

“I think we're pretty far past that at this point,” Daniel said. “But who fucking cares? Readers love catharsis. They get off on it.”

“Do you get off on it, Daniel?” Armand asked.

“Oookay,” Daniel said. “I think that's my cue to fuck off. You two can go ahead and dig up your marital issues without me. Trust me, I'm not gonna have any useful advice. I have what my daughters call a 100% divorce rate. You'd be better off having that bitchy hallucination of your ex as your marriage counselor.”

He glanced over Louis’s shoulder, just to fuck with him. The look of shock on Louis’s face made Daniel think he'd accidentally hit a bullseye. Jesus Christ.

He realized at that moment that he would now have to stand up. He glanced involuntarily at Armand and caught him smiling at him like a hungry cat.

He shut his laptop with a loud clack, stacked his notes on top of it, forcing himself not to hurry, and held the stack in front of his crotch as casually as he could as he made a beeline for his room, only barely restraining himself from running.

He needed a break. He needed to jerk off.

He needed Armand to take a long walk off a short volcanic rim.

As he gratefully neared his bedroom, a soft laugh fluttered in his mind.

That's not the sort of rim I was thinking of, Daniel.

Face hot, Daniel slammed the bedroom door behind him, dropped his laptop and notes on the bed, and hurried in the direction of the en suite shower, as if he could outrun the demon’s long fingers as they reached for his mind – those long, beautiful, elegant fingers that he ached to feel –

He closed his eyes and thumped his head against the tiled bathroom wall.

He was so fucking screwed.

[lurkerdemon]

We Have a Blob-lem - Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Danny & Jason are around. Then a Blob crashes the party.

Content Warnings(?): Mild swearing, and Guns

Word Count: 1547

“Wow, you suck at this.” 

Another beam of green energy flashes through the air at the can Danny launched across the training area of the cave. The laser clips a top corner and sends the object spiraling into a wall as Jason flips him off with his free hand.

“You. Shut. And I’m still hitting them!”

Danny simply floats over to throw again. The next can gets hit right on the bottom as it makes its spiralling arc through the air. The resulting concussive force from the Fenton brand weapon launches it upward as it collides with the stone ceiling far above with a resounding aluminum clang. Danny gives a low whistle.

“Overcompensated the aim. Cool party trick though.”

“Ass.”

“And that’s why we’re friends!”

The slug Jason aims at Danny’s arm has no real force to it, but that still doesn’t prevent him from going intangible just to watch the larger man take a moment to regain his balance at the lack of resistance. Jason glares and Danny chuckles.

“I told you it’s different when you use lasers!”

“Danny, I know how to use more weapons than you ever will, dead or half-alive.”

“And I was told how to hold a Fenton blaster when I was seven. Plus I can to do this-”

Danny waved one hand as green energy enveloped four cans and then chucked them across the room. All he needed was one jump-suited finger as an ecto-beam shot out and blasted each can to a partially melted mush. They hit the floor with a dull, metallic thud while Danny took a bow.

“And now you’re the showoff.”

“Coming from the guy who just bragged about knowing how to ‘use more weapons’ than a ghost. Maybe you could do with the reminder to stay humble.”

Jason turned around to spare himself from seeing more of Danny’s smirk as he made his way back to the nearby table.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how your aim is with something that has more kick to it then.”

He stopped halfway, body stock-still and tense. Danny frowned and floated down to take a look for himself.

“What? Cat got yourrrrrrrrrr - Oh. Oh no.”

Sat at the table where Jason had left his holsters for his favorite pistols was a familiar green blob, the soccer ball sized creature giving low growls as cartoonish pointed teeth gnawed on the grip. It jerked backward occasionally, slowly making progress before one final pull got the weapon free and onto the table. It continued chewing.

Jason broke free of the shock and pointed.

“What is that?”

“Umm. Damian’s new pet? Let me just-” Danny floated sloooowly closer, “Vee. Hey Vee! Good blob. Stay right there.”

“V?”

Danny stopped as the blob’s attention turned. 

“Short for ‘Eviscerate.’” He said in a low voice.

“The hell kind of name is that?”

“Look, you try telling Dami what to name his pet. It took me an hour just to talk him into a name that we could come up with a nickname for. Not many options for ‘Destroyer of Worlds.’”

“... Dee?”

“There are three potential D’s at this place already, I am not adding a fourth and getting confused with a blob ghost!”

Danny winced at the louder than intended exclamation, turning to the now growling Vee who was starting to drag the gun backward along the table. He glared at Jason.

“Oh please. I’ll do it.”

“No wait!”

Jason strode forward, closing the gap in a few steps, to which Vee responded by enveloping the gun whole in it’s body. He scowled and approached even faster.

“Give!”

Too late. The blob darted away from them just as Danny moved to cut off its exit further into the cave.

“Vee! Vee drop it!” 

Vee darts left. Danny dips left. 

Vee darts right. Danny dips right. 

Jason began to creep up from behind while the blob’s little eyes showed more smugness than Danny thought possible. The standoff lasts several seconds while Vee shimmies in place. All three of them tense at the same time.

What neither expect is for Vee to glow, Danny sensing ectoplasm concentrating on the gun as the blob deflates by a third of its size. He has enough wherewithal to put up an ectoshield in front of Jason just in case, only for Vee to take on the tell-tale transparency of intangibility and run through him instead. Gun and all.

Both look on in horror as it heads straight up the staircase leading back to the manor.

“Okay so, didn't know they could do that.” Danny says with a dumbfounded look.

“Never would have guessed. You owe me a new gun if it messed up my favorite.”

“Hey! I'm already letting you use the Fenton one!”

“Excellent point. You're letting me keep the new gun if it messed up my favorite.”

Danny narrows his eyes while Jason just raises an eyebrow in an unspoken ‘what’ya gonna do about it.’

“Fine. Just help me catch it before someone gets home.”

- - - - -

Danny was learning a few things right now.

1) It is really annoying to try and find a small pet in a manor with a lot of places to hide.

2) It's even more difficult when said pet doesn't have to adhere to the laws of physics.

3) Blob ghosts, while one of the most harmless ecto-entities, can apparently extend these ghostly rule bending properties to things with enough ectoplasm. (If the now ecto-coated gun in Vee was anything to go off.)

Danny never did enjoy the “learning on the fly” part of ghost stuff, and these weren't an exception.

He called out just as he turned into the main foyer and spotted Jason returning from the left wing.

“I think I got close before seeing Vee go your way. Any signs of them or Alfred Cat-worth?”

“Nothing. Cat’s in Damien's room though. Shut the door for now.”

“Alright, one less thing to worry about.”

“I told you already, the safety for the gun is on – oh yee of little faith.”

“Look with my luck I'm just trying to prepare for the worst. Now I can still pick up Vee on my ghost sense but it's going to be difficult to get the exact position. So I think-”

BANG.

“...”

“... Don't. Say. Anything. I know for a fact the safety was on.”

“.... Anything.”

Jason bit back a groan. 

- - - -

“Eassssy Vee. Everything’s fine.”

Danny really should have made Jason be the distraction. Trying to not look at him creeping up behind Vee again was killing him.

Vee just gave another growl, sounding a lot like a dog saying ‘No’ as it sunk slightly lower onto the guest bed. The blob was a bit smaller again, maybe the size of a handbag, so definitely used up more ecto doing whatever caused the gunshot. Which was fine. Danny was sure the guest bedroom could have used some art hangings anyway. He definitely didn't feel a cold sweat run down his back every time he looked at the wall next to him by the dresser.

This is fine.

“Okay. Okay. I'll stay right here. See. Nice and-”

Jason lunged and grabbed the blob. Vee gave a betrayed howl in return as he forcibly got a hand on the pistol. He refused to let go even as his hand filled with a chill and a pins-and-needles static raced across his nerves.

“Hey! Be careful with them!”

“I. Almost. Got it.”

With one final tug the gun came loose. He immediately checked for the safety (still on! Hah!) and shoved it to the side while his other arm held the angry chaos ball. 

Danny gave a sigh of relief. “Safe.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m still checking the gun over later and then you get to explain the hole in the wall.”

“Hey!”

Jason just grinned. Vee meanwhile continued to wriggle in the hold pinching it to his chest, small dot eyes looking up at him.

Then it bit his arm.

He looked down at it, blinking as confusion turned into a weird wave of cool indifference. Then he frowned even as the blob expanded in size.

“The fuck?”

The irritation quickly slid along that same wave, right before it crashed against the beginnings of something green in his vision. He wasn't Pit Mad, but it was definitely stirring up enough to make him consider punting the thing for whatever it was doing.

Danny stepped in just before that became a serious consideration, pulling the now beach ball sized blob away. Jason felt the wave of whatever that was die back down.

“Bad blob! Bad! You don't know where he's been!”

“Hey!”

Vee was gagging in Danny's arms like it just ate a lemon. It growled and grumbled, ectoplasm glowing again.

POP.

Then Danny is suddenly holding four blobs. Vee in normal ectoplasm green, two a light ghostly blue that reminds him of Box Ghost, and a fourth a dark verdant green that is currently gnawing on one of his fingers.

This time it was Danny’s turn to groan. “Sure. What's one more surprise today.”

“Congratulations, it's a blob.” Jason sneered.

“Hey these are technically yours! Now either you take them, or you’re helping me get them out of here before Damien-”

The door creaked.

“Before I what?”

= = = = = =

1) I debated what name Damien would give the blobs for a long while, and then simply decided to go based on Wayne Family Adventures and say he chose violence (literally) because I thought it was funny.

So now introducing:

Vee (aka Eviscerate aka the one and only Bat-Blob)

May (Maim)

Mu (Murder)

and Kay (Kill)

Imagine with me:

Criminal: *be doing a crime*

Robin: *descends from the shadows and points*

Robin: Kill

Criminal: *Screaming as they get a face full of angry (but harmless) green*

2) I debated specifying whether or not Jason & Danny got armor or something for approaching a potentially live gun and decided to just stop debating and get this posted.

That being said I feel I should say the obvious and take care with firearms. Giving the blob a gun was for the funny.

3) I do have plans for more parts, I am just slow and easily distracted.

[its-echo-song]

Plague AU Ch. 7

Just a little reminder!!!!! This is fiction, these boys in this particular AU are not any sort of relationship to strive for- my writing about these behaviors does not equate to me endorsing them. That said, please enjoy some drama lmao

Three days, three nights, a singular bowl of stew, seven bottles of wine, and a self loathing that doesn’t seem to find its way out of my bones.

I want to rot, just me and several loose pieces of parchment with new, poorly done, drawings of a man I regret missing. Drawings I’m sure will also serve as tender for the fire at a later date.

But I can’t simply remain here, a drunken mess of apathy, hunger, and abandoned desire. No, I must make my way into the world again- I’m out of wine.

Unfortunately, wine costs money, money is scarce now that I’ve been missing from work for thirteen days and… I really don’t have my pick of professions. I eye the plague doctor outfit, dreading the stuffy heat- nowhere near as much as I dread the possibility of seeing Donny. I sigh and set to my task, pulling on the ensemble and making my way into town.

It’s strange starting the day without the routine I’d gotten so used to, a daily dose of brightness in a person before I step into a world full of death. It’s even more off putting realizing how much I’d relied on him, helping me carry boxes, move patients, or generally acting like an extra set of hands. 

I catch myself starting to call his name out of habit, the beginnings of it falling from my mouth like a stone to the ground when I realize I should not. I spend most of the day working on my own, occasionally being assisted by another keeper- one who doesn’t know the ritual the way Donny does. He gets in the way, needs direction, doesn’t just act the way Donny would- I try not to give in to the frustration that finds itself settling into my blood. Then, as I’m instructing him on where to move supplies, I finally see Donny. I don’t think he even realizes I’m here, which is for the better, but the sight of him alone is an icy shock of adrenaline throughout my whole body- enough to make me stumble over my words and restart my sentence.  I can’t bring myself to drag my attention away from him, wonderment at his state tugging me into a steady flow of flaws in logic. It’s not going to hurt anything to observe from across the room, I just want to be sure he’s okay.

Except he glances over his shoulder, catching me staring at him. I shift my gaze away, hopeful that he’ll assume I’m just another plague doctor, that he won’t realize it’s me. All things considered, from a distance I should be strikingly unremarkable.

I hazard a glance back over- I would bristle like a startled cat if I had the ability to. His eyes are still locked onto me but now he’s considerably less cheerful. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at the slight scowl that appears as he turns his attention elsewhere.

My heart clenches in my chest- not that I’d deluded myself into believing he’d suddenly forgive me and all would be well but… well, hope is a foolish thing, doesn’t understand its boundaries even with stern reminders. Hope and I share the same stupidity, in this instance.

Several days go by this way, no contact with each other and nothing but quick glances at the other. At this point, the keeper who had started filling Donny’s role is getting better at his job- able to easily carry out his duties without much direction.

This is when I start to notice a strange behavior in Donny, nearly scavenger-esque like a jackal in the way he waits to swoop in and take the work from the other keeper. I observe this behavior, finding a finite amusement in both the determination he displays, and the astonishment of the other man who is eager to work less.

So as Donny tries to make his way over as if he doesn’t care at all, I intercept. I step in stride beside him, not missing the tension in his demeanor as I do so. “What are you doing?” I ask casually, like nothing has happened, as if we’ve always only been coworkers.

He glares down at me and I enjoy the redness in his face, a true marker that I’ve gotten under his skin in some aspect. “My job. Remember? What we’re here to do.”

“I thought Michael took care of it quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

He makes no response, only looks ahead of him as he walks.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like Michael?”

“I have no opinion.”

“You wouldn’t be jealous, right?”

He stops abruptly, grip tightening on the handles of the box he holds. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I’m just saying-”

“-you have no right.”

I hit the nail on the head, it seems. “Why be so touchy, then?”

He glances around him and places the box on the nearest table –too hard, it clatters loudly and I worry that something might’ve broken– then he turns to me with a fury I didn’t expect, nose wrinkled in disgust. “What do you want, Ha-”

I slap my hand over his mouth, sheer instinct and panic, the action preceded the adrenaline that spikes through my body. His eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, then he grabs my wrist and pulls it from his face, turning and marching with me in tow. I don’t have much option in this situation, wrenching from his grip would be impossible even on a day where he’s less irritated at me.

He pulls open a door, drawing me into a dim and abandoned hallway before slamming it shut behind us and shoving me in front of him. I stumble a few steps before turning to look at him, running a hand gently along the tender bruise that started along my wrist.

I didn’t realize how intimidating Donny was, not fully, not until now. He stands over me with a scowl across his face, fierce and steely. I feel adrenaline give way to sheer terror as I start to understand the situation I find myself in. “Why are you here?”

“I-I needed work.”

“So you come back? You come back and-” He sighs harshly, pulling my mask off and I gasp at the motion, watching helplessly as he throws it to the floor with a strange crackling sound– glass on cobble. “You come back here and stare at me all day? I’m just supposed to be okay being watched like that?”

I stumble over my words for a moment, taking a retreating step back. “I… didn’t mean to. I just… You’re hard not to watch.”

His glare softens slightly, calculation evident in the way his eyes flicker over me, measuring the weight of my words. He’s probably trying to decide if I’m honest or not. “Why is that?”

I swallow, flushing and staring down at my feet, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I don’t- you’re just interesting, I don’t know…”

“You need to find somewhere else to work. I’m not your damn experiment anymore.”

My heart clutches in my chest, a sickly-sharp pang of sadness resonates throughout my core. “No- I don’t- I can’t.” I look up at him again, feeling a familiar pull that hasn’t left me since the first time I’ve seen him, cursing the feeling. “Please don’t.”

He flinches slightly at this. “What, are you willing to admit I’m not just research anymore?”

I grit my teeth, fighting the rush of frustration that is prompted by the accusation. He was never simply research, but admitting to him is admitting to me– I don’t want to start down the same path as I’d walked before, let one person be the thing that causes everything to crumble. “I’ve never said anything different, I don’t know where-”

“We’re done. I’m not sitting around and being drawn for hours just for your fake science, I’m not willing to be lied to.” He turns and starts making his way back to the door and I grab at his wrist before he reaches it.

“Please! Donny!”

“What!?” He turns on his heel, pulling his arm from my grasp. “Goddamnit, what!?”

“I- I’m not just- it’s real science. I’m-” He turns away again and I feel the desperation welling up inside me, overflowing like water at a boil. “I burned them! I burned the drawings! I won’t draw you again!”

There’s a long silence before Donny looks down at me over his shoulder. His countenance shifts from the anger he’d felt to confusion, to sadness. “You… burned them?”

“Yes. I don’t- I don’t have any- I mean, none that you’d posed for. They’re gone.”

“Why would you do that?” There’s an edge of hurt in his tone now, I’m starting to question my choices.

“I- I didn’t- I thought you would be happy about that…”

“You’re right- nothing but research.” He steps through the door, not even bothering to close it behind him. I watch him walk away for a moment before I realize I’m not wearing my mask. I shove the door closed, turning and walking over to my mask, crouching beside it. When I pick it up I notice one of the eyepieces is cracked, spiderweb fractures dancing throughout it.

I sigh, fitting it back over my face and taking a moment to stand in the silence of the empty hallway.

I didn’t realize it’d hurt him the way it did. I feel like I should apologize but- why should I apologize for doing as I please with my own things? It’s not like he drew them.

I open the door, doing a quick scan of the room and realizing with a slight sinking feeling in my stomach that Donny is gone. I ask a nearby keeper where he went and she shrugs. “Home, I think. Didn’t really stop to talk to someone.”

I thank her and make my way to the box he’d placed on the table- a glass did break, there’s salt coating the bottom, shards of glass scattered throughout it. I bring the box back to the supply room – less of an official storage space and more of a small room with more than one cleared bookshelf– and start taking all the other containers out, placing them on shelves. I start picking glass out from the basket, placing the shards in a cloth I’d laid out to the side.

In hindsight, removing gloves to allow myself extra dexterity was not my brightest move. I should know better, now I’m staring down at a large slice cut into my fingertip and trying to grit my teeth through the intense burning of the salt. I swear roundly, several times, shaking my hand and clutching a fist with the other. Goddamn useless, shitty, day.

I wrap the wound in gauze, frustrated and feeling as if nothing good could possibly happen today.

I think, at this point, I need an early day as well.

I head outside, walking the familiar path, a pace that has purpose with it, fueled by emotion more than by energy.

When I get far enough away, I pull my mask off and allow the pain to finally hit in full. I walk off the path, down to the riverbed, and sit in the dirt. Here, I allow myself to cry. Not simply tearful, but wretched, in a way that makes me feel as if my lungs may burst, like I can’t find any air, like the world has completely closed in around me and I am left with my misery.

I sit on the riverbank until the sun sets, staring at the passing of time before my eyes, counting minutes by the number of clouds in the sky, then by how many stars appear.

Then I stand and continue on my way, walking on autopilot, not realizing until I’m there where my feet were carrying me.