#which is the part that manipulates them instead of motivating them

[hentired]

A lot of people are missing the point for that marketing post i think about Barbie / Oppenheimer / Grimace Shake challenges etc.

Its not about not posting about seeing a movie. You can see a movie and tell your friends about it, post about liking it or whatever. That's fine. The problem is that it's becoming a trend to go see these movies or participate in these challenges. People aren't doing it out of intrinsic motivation, but because they want to be part of the trend. This is what makes every corporate marketeer cum their pants.

Marketing is not to cater to people who would watch these movies nonetheless. Its to convince the people who normally wouldn't to do so anyway. Its about making people who don't participate feel left out so they'll go see it anyway and post their pink Barbie-watching outfits on Instagram so everyone else knows they're in on it. Its social manipulation to convince people to be part of something. Its very healthy to be conscious about it when you post about these trends and its also good to remind yourself that you shouldn't do anyone's marketing for them for free.

Again, there's nothing wrong with seeing a movie and posting about it. There is something wrong with making people feel left out for not seeing something and pressuring people to see something to belong in the in group.

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

If you were to write Lila would you keep her being a con artist criminal with multiple identities but hinted at/revealed it earlier than S5 or would you cut that part down of her character entirely ?

It would really depend on how much space I had to fill. Gabriel is not the kind of villain that you can draw out forever. His story needs to have a clearly planned ending right from the start. In fact, I think they drew him out at least a season too long. So, if I also had to fill eight seasons, I could see myself going the Lila route. I'd just make a few changes. Off the top off my head, here's how I'd handle serious villain Lila as opposed to what canon wrote, which is petty school bully Lila who is entirely unbelievable as a serious villain.

First of all, Lila wouldn't be introduced at the end of season one. While her and Gabriel probably need to have some overlap, that's way too soon. In my version, she shows up at the start of season four and she'd be heavily toned down. We'd know that something was off about her, we may even keep the liar thing, but it would be a lot more subtle. Lies like, "Ladybug rescued me" and "I got to go backstage at a Jagged Stone concert" instead of "Ladybug is my bff" and "Jagged Stone wrote a song about me." Her goal would no longer be gaining peons, but instead gaining true close friends who like and trust her. The reason for this is that Lila is replacing Optigami as Mayura's last sentimonster.

See, season three ended with all those identity reveals and most of the revealed identities are in the same class. That's curious, so it makes perfect sense for Nathalie and Gabriel to want someone undercover in Adrien's class, but they can't do it. So Nathalie makes a sentikid of her own, gives her the power of manipulation, and sends her off to try to find Ladybug and/or Chat Noir by whatever means necessary.

This would give a clear reason for Gabriel to trust Lila, a clear reason for Lila to know all about the miraculous, and a clear reason for Lila to hate Ladybug. In this version, I wouldn't do Nathalie's lackluster redemption. Instead, Nathalie stays bad right up to her death. Perhaps her last act is getting the butterfly to her daughter and ordering her to get revenge on Ladybug and Chat Noir should Gabriel fail. After all, Gabriel can't wield more than six miraculous at once, so it makes sense for him to send Nathalie off with at least one of them while he enacts his master plan just in case it fails.

That's just one potential path to take. I also like the idea of having Lila be someone who came to Paris in order to find the miraculous, but who has no ties to the Agrestes. That would require some pretty big changes to her character, though, as I can't see that type of character caring about things like dating Adrien or being a model or all the other crap that has nothing to do with gaining a miraculous and everything to do with popularity and social clout. Lila canonically doesn't know that Gabriel even has a miraculous until the final of season four, so she basically just lucked into finding one instead of doing anything logical to find it because this show has no clue how to actually write smart, clever characters.

In summary, I'm totally fine with complex, master-manipulator Lila, it's just hard to figure out the best way to make her work when we don't know anything about her backstory or motivation. The version proposed above is just the best I can do to fit her into the role canon placed her in. A role I could easily see later seasons flat out ignoring.

[artyandink]

‘34 château margaux

SUMMARY: Spencer never knew to feel about you. Actually, he did. You were a career criminal, but also a liaison for the FBI, which prevented your arrest. You’re cunning, manipulative, persuasive and oh, so seductive. Spencer was warned against you, and he knew it. But even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory couldn’t resist you. Even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory can’t help but lose control around a woman like you.

TW: mentions of smoking, wine, seduction, badass reader, s7 Dr Spencer Reid, mentions of organised crime, mobs and mafia, Spencer’s weak for reader the poor baby, Hotch slander, smut

STW: Spence doesn’t stop the reader from kissing him, marking, oral (f. receiving), brief handjob, praise kink if you squint, dirty talk but Spencer style, degradation I think, wine play (I think), temperature play as subtext, ass slapping, profiling during sex, threat of exhibitionism, light choking, switch!Spencer, switch!reader, pussydrunk!Spencer, slight overstimulation, fingering

SONG INSPO: Greedy by Ariana Grande, Acapulco by Jason Derulo, I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift and Make you Mine by Madison Beer

Femme fatales had a specific profile.

The "femme fatale" is typically depicted as a highly attractive and enigmatic woman in her late twenties to early forties, often characterized by a seductive allure that masks her manipulative and dangerous nature. Her primary weapon is her ability to ensnare men through charm, beauty, and sexual allure, ultimately leading them to their downfall.

While her motivations vary, she is often driven by power, revenge, or hidden trauma. Early literary examples include the biblical figure of Delilah, who betrays Samson, and Salome, who demands the head of John the Baptist. In classical mythology, Circe and the Sirens use their allure to seduce and destroy men.

The femme fatale's archetype is also evident in later works like Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, who manipulates her husband to commit regicide. This profile of a femme fatale highlights her as a complex figure whose allure conceals a more sinister intent.

That was your profile.

Hotch had warned Spencer not to get too close to you, because you knew how to use your everything, and you had a sweet spot for the latter. Not because Spencer really was a likeable son of a bitch, but because you found him more fun than the other agents.

You were a pretty face, sure, but you were also a genius. A Dr Spencer Reid level genius, but you were the side of the spectrum that dissolved into a life of high crime and corruption.

Instead of becoming a federal agent - or law enforcement - you were the trusted advisor to a lot of the mafia and mob population, and even that was enough to put you away on charges of incitement/inchoate crime. But you were useful, extremely useful, so you also then became the liaison for the FBI whenever the mafia or mob circles became involved in an investigation.

This time, you were, as the unsub of a case in Las Vegas, Nevada seemed to be purchasing drugs like M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. It was a powerful mix and the dose was enough to cause immediate system failure and then death. The drugs were being purchased from casinos which were rumoured to be the cover of Vegas’ mob circles.

Your hotel room was the kind of thing Spencer only hoped to see in movies, with warm lighting, patterned red wallpaper, mahogany flooring with underfloor heating, glass and gold tables, mahogany dressers and a huge king-size four poster with curtains the same colour as the walls. There was a liquor cabinet as well as a fancy looking cooler, and it was nothing like Spencer had been used to seeing as he grew up in this very city.

It didn’t feel like his territory anymore. He wasn’t as comfortable as he usually was around these parts. He took the couple steps in, having closed the door behind him, now standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Maybe you weren’t in. Phew.

“Dr Reid.” Came the voice that made Spencer feel like he was on fire, a perfectly manicured hand brushing over his shoulder as you walked up from behind him, having come from the bathroom that was no doubt as fancy as the bedroom itself. After all, this was the penthouse.

You lived it big as a career criminal.

You stepped out from behind him, lips that he’d unintentionally imagined on his body stretched into a smirk as you picked up a quarter-full wine glass from the table and took a sip. You were killing him, wearing a black silk robe with just the right hint of lace, which stopped at your mid thigh and had a neckline that had his eyes dropping briefly before he schooled them and gave himself a very firm lecture inside his head.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Again, that voice, the cadence of it, Spencer couldn’t understand how something as simple as a damn voice could have him so unbelievably weak for you.

Spencer raised his hand in greeting with his bravest attempt at a smile, like he usually did.

“It’s a case.” He dug in his messenger bag, handing you some photos of some bodies. “Someone’s targeting bank workers around Vegas. It’s a ‘drug smoothie’ of M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. Morgan dubbed it that. Actually, smoothies are meant to boost the health of the drinker and contain nutrients from a liquid base such as yogurt or milk puréed with fruit, vegetables or items in a mixer, so I don’t see how this particular drug mix is a smoothie— a milkshake perhaps, as it hasn’t got as much nutritional value beside providing substantial energy through the intake of sugar and carbohydrates.”

He paused, seeing the soft, amused smile on your face, the light of the room casting a perfect shadow on the curve of your cheek. It felt like you were ethereal. “Did I say too much?” Spencer said meekly, rubbing his jaw.

“Not at all, Dr Reid, I completely agree. You can tell your friend Morgan to change it and you have my wholehearted support.” You gave him a nod, your head tilted and eyes looking big with the way you were looking at him. “You have no clue just how much your knowledge turns a girl on, baby, no clue at all.”

Spencer cleared his throat, realising that he was veering off topic and also almost salivating at the sound of you calling him baby. Having to lecture his eyes once again for looking at your legs that seemed to go on for days and seemed to also be calling for him to grab, knead and grip. “We need to stay on topic. Hotch needs the information about the case, and you need to give it.”

Spencer couldn’t help but always let his mind drop into the gutter at the sight of you. It was a Pavlovian response at this point— pure, unbridled instinct.

He couldn’t help but notice that with the way the robe draped on your body, you had nothing on underneath. That kind of assumed information had Spencer reeling.

You waved a perfectly manicured hand with scarlet nails, dismissing the idea of maintaining professionalism. “Hotch needs this, Hotch needs that. No offence to him, but he’s got a lock on you, Dr Reid. Enjoy for a night, let your hair down.”

“Well, t-the phrase ‘let your hair down’ originally was meant literally back in 1850, which was its first recorded usage but it has its roots in the 17th century. It was taken literally because women wore their hair pinned up in public, but the meaning of the phrase was to ‘get familiar’.”

Oh.

“Sorry, I can’t.” Spencer added hurriedly, searching for a notebook and pen in his bag. Licking his lips subtly at the sight of your v-neck and the way your hair framed your face. The curve of that pretty neck he wanted to kiss and lavish so it made those pretty lips fall open—

Jesus, keep it together.

“Anyway, do you want some wine?” You asked, tapping the bottle. “‘34 Château Margaux. This hotel really does have good taste.”

“I don’t drink on the job.” Spencer answered coolly. “And definitely not with criminals.” He would had Hotch not warned him— bad Spencer.”

You pouted, feigning upset. “That just breaks my heart. Putting my job against me? I’m only the advisor to some very powerful forty-and-above men who want some sexual gratification and overall ego boosts and also carry some lovely baggage with mommy issues written all over it. They want a pretty face to spill their secrets to, I give them that and get some cash in return.”

You saw the look on his face. “I’m not apologising for being a career woman.”

“Yet you liaise with the FBI about all that these forty-or-older sexually frustrated men tell you.” He countered quickly, firmly looking you in the eye. Not down at your lips, not at your tits, nor your thighs.

Spencer shook his head in exasperation, even though a shiver ran down his spine at how you advanced towards him, undoing his tie with a practiced hand. “What- ma’am, you can’t do that—”

“Ma’am?” You laughed, getting the maroon tie off and dropping it to the floor, unbuttoning his collar deftly. “Jesus, sweetie, that makes me feel old. Call me by my name, don’t be shy.”

Your name slipped off his tongue in barely a whisper, and became his only known prayer when he felt the warmth of your hands through his shirt, sliding up and up until the searing heat ran over his neck, resting in his hair and trailing down his arm, your nose brushing his before slotting in place.

Oh, God, he thought as you took his hand in your own soft one and guided it to press against your thigh, the fingertips of his index, middle and ring finger feeling silk while his palm, thumb and fifth finger felt smooth, creamy skin.

Oh, fuck, he thought as your lips got close enough to his to be a teasing venture into the cracks in his walls and defences that he’d flimsily put up against you.

“I’ll give you the information you need.” You said softly, in a way that had Spencer’s breath hitching. He should have looked away. He should’ve removed his hand from your thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was stuck like that, entranced by you. “You just need to let loose for me. For one night, I’m all yours. Drop that professionalism, Dr Reid. Let yourself go.”

“You’re a career criminal.” Spencer murmured, his hand beginning to rub your thigh, gripping slightly at the end of the downward stroke. Bad hand.

“Semantics.” You smirked, biting your lip— oh, hell, that did nothing for his self control. It made him want to kiss those lips until they bruised or swelled, until they numbed. His hand on your thigh made his tongue long to devour your pussy. The way you were looking him made him feel like he was merely a puppet on strings. “Come on, Dr Reid. Don’t deny yourself a good time, hm?”

Spencer would’ve answered, but then your lips pressed against his, and suddenly, he had clarity. That this was wrong, so very wrong. But it felt so damn good. His hand now kneading your thigh was wrong but felt electric.

He pulled back, but his mouth didn’t need to do the chasing that they ached to do. You did it for him, silencing any bubbling protest. You kissed him for the sake of coaxing him to give in, to just kiss and touch until his lips and conscience went deliciously numb.

“We can’t-” He felt your lips against his, a hum replacing his words, unknowingly stepping back towards the bed. Or maybe he knew. “We - mm - Hotch will - mhm—”

“Baby, what Aaron Hotchner doesn’t know what hurt him.” You murmured, pushing him back onto the bed. Spencer fell back without a protest, taking you in, especially as you straddled his lean form that had scooted up the bed, set his messenger bag aside and began popping the buttons of his shirt while grazing his lips with your own, teasing him, taunting him and daring him to let go as you rolled your hips slow and steady against his.

A grinding motion that drove him insane and made him moan and gasp. The fabric of his trousers really did nothing to alleviate the friction and pressure.

Spencer’s hands shot to your hips, unknowingly helping you and guiding your movements under the guise of getting you off him. “Ma’am, I mean—” He whimpered your name instead of saying it like a normal guy would, “please, d-don’t—”

Saying don’t stop was the intention, but he held himself back with the rapidly fraying thread of control. His eyes screwed shut then opened wide with a gasp, wanting to lose himself in you.

He wondered if this was his state with every woman or just you.

Definitely you was the answer when you took your mostly empty glass of wine, pouring the remaining contents over his chest. Your cold hand cupped the side of his neck, a shiver flitting over his warm skin as you then bent forward, lapping up the liquid from his chest. Sucking, drinking the earthy-noted wine with a suspiciously high efficiency. A moan that even surprised him left his mouth when you ground down against him again, your tongue on his skin, and he never hated his trousers more than right this moment as the fabric strained against his clothed need.

He loathed them when you reached for the sash of your robe, untying the waves of tantalising silk fell off your shoulders and over the side of the bed, revealing nothing underneath.

His mouth went dry.

He swallowed.

He snapped.

Within a second, you were flipped over, Spencer’s lips crashing down on yours as he kicked his shoes off, toed his socks off as he kissed you like he was going feral, hand tangling in your hair as he practically rutted against you, hard and fast and oh, so relieving.

He was gripping your face, free hand pushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue and making the blazing journey down your neck, which you bared to him gladly.

“Is this what you wanted?” Spencer panted, sucking at your pulse. “You wanted me to lose control, baby? Yeah, you got it. You. Got. It.” He punctuated the last three with nips to your collarbone and followed up with presses of his mouth on the swell of your tits.

You couldn’t even think, just letting out moans and sighs and needy whimpers of his name and unintelligible sounds, which did good to satisfy his frustration. Spencer’s mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking while tweaking the other between his fingers to have you arching into him and a smirk forming around his temporary fixation.

He switched his attention, pushing you down by your waist with his free hand to keep you from arching up. “Sit pretty and take it.”

Oh, those words sent a hot shiver up your spine. And then back down again, straight to your already soaking pussy.

He let your tit go with a small gasp, his eyes zeroing in on the prize and prompting him to start kissing down your stomach and nipping at your thighs.

If you chose to wear that robe for another person in the near future, they’d see his marks on your thighs. His. That was a thought that had a warmth swelling in his chest and cock.

He pushed your legs apart, holding them apart with his elbows and biting his lip at the feel of your hand in his hair. Testing the waters, his middle finger pushed with no resistance into your throbbing pussy, which had you gasping and moaning his name, while Spencer groaned yours upon feeling how you squeezed merely one finger.

Spencer had long fingers. Imagine what that meant for all you ladies out there.

He would’ve began pumping it, but he withdrew it and began licking it clean, tasting you on his tongue and almost whining at how good it was. Ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact, he maintained very intense eyes contact with you as he licked one long stripe up your cunt.

That didn’t last very long. The moment he got one proper hit of you, his eyes rolled back, then closed, mouth fell open, and he properly got to work, drinking you up like you did that wine on his body.

You’d honestly never been with a man as dedicated to eating pussy than Dr Spencer Fucking Reid.

“I’ve profiled you, y’know.” He murmured, still lapping at you and acting as if you weren’t writhing, moaning and arching your back - a complete mess - while he was having a fucking casual conversation with you and being the little shit that caused it.

He paused to suck at your clit as if it was all casual and part of a daily routine, little hums and encouragements between words where he’d absolutely devour you and make it look like him playing poker. Easy. “You’re promiscuous - mmh - like Lady Macbeth, except without the - mhm - implied infanticide and insanity.”

Spencer used his elbows locking your thighs in place to spread you open and get a new angle, and god damn it worked, because while you were crying out his name to Jesus and the holy mother Virgin Mary he was acting like this was another day at the office. “You use your body to get what you want - that’s it, be loud, baby - and on all counts it works. You also know how to play into people’s - fuck - psyche. It’s what makes you a textbook femme fatale.”

His middle finger slid in again, along with his index - both ridiculously long - and he crooked them just right, reaching places you didn’t even know existed and hitting the bullseye that was your g-spot all while tracing his name on your clit. Again, acting like you weren’t a complete and utter mess by now, but you were too far gone to care.

“You have an ability to see someone’s emotional desires— now, for example.” Spencer glances up at you, his free hand massaging your thigh and his fingers working you, pumping in and out and making sure his thumb got your clit while he talked. “It makes you highly manipulative, a-and your confident demeanour makes it - so tight, pretty girl - easy for people to trust and confide in you, hence why you’re the advisor to a lot of the mafia bosses on the FBI’s most - mmh - wanted list.”

Upon feeling and seeing how close you were, even if you didn’t know it yourself, Spencer smirked up at your face, looking like the prettiest picture with your eyes rolled back, mouth open, hand holding the sheets and your cheeks as pigmented as they could go. “But you’re easy to read when you’re in a vulnerable position. So why don’t you be a good girl, and come for me?”

You came apart easily at his cue, your high crashing over you like a fucking tsunami, feeling him lap at your pussy to clean you up— or so you thought. He actually didn’t stop, murmuring something about “one more” as his brow furrowed in concentration, really zeroing in on his target.

Not stopping, not letting up.

You were pretty sure you saw God and his army of angels frowning upon the sinful deed you two were partaking in, and how you were partaking of each other, while Spencer continued to steal your thoughts with that damn talented tongue and fingers.

He moaned at the taste of you, feeling drunk on everything you were giving him. Your sounds, the feel of you, the taste of you— you consumed all his senses.

You were a forbidden fruit. He was eating it. Except he was taking more than just one bite of the apple.

When you came again after a few more practiced licks, you felt a lot more sensitive then usual, but the satisfied look on Spencer’s face told you he’d made you come twice instead of once.

Testament to his skill, you guessed.

Spencer wiped all the residue of you off his chin with his thumb, licking his lips and quickly sucking the slick off by popping the thumb into his mouth. He made it look like his everyday Tuesday.

Then he undid his belt buckle and dropped it aside, his trousers and boxers going with as he pressed kiss after kiss to your body on the slow journey up. Spencer groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, your thumb teasing the head before your hand began to move up and down… until he stopped you.

“Not right now, baby.” He chuckled. “Another time. Statistically, I’m fifty percent more likely to come if you do that.”

“That’s the idea.” You winked, but removed your hand off his dick anyway.

“I’m sure it is.” Spencer smiled, then looked around. “Do you have condoms? J-Just cause using protection during sex, particularly condoms, is crucial for several reasons, both from a-a health and social standpoint. First, condoms are one of the most effective methods for preventing the transmission of sexually transmitted infections, i-including HIV. These infections can have long-term health consequences, some of which are irreversible or even life-threatening. By using a condom, you're significantly reducing the risk of both contracting and spreading these infections to your partner. Second, condoms are a reliable method of birth control when used correctly. They prevent sperm from reaching the egg, thereby reducing the likelihood of unintended pregnancies.”

Then you pulled out the top drawer of the bedside table, which was full of condoms of all sizes. Which had him both slightly jealous and sheepish. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Spencer grabbed one, tearing the foil off with his teeth and expertly sliding the rubber on and entering you so fast your moan came in delayed timing.

“Fuck.” You gasped, especially as you adjusted to him and even better when he started moving back and forth at a steady rhythm, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in, feeling your pussy practically mould to him in a way that had his eyes rolling back and hips snapping forward harder.

It made your nails claw at his back, which made him bite his lip and release it, claiming your lips in a hungry kiss. ‘34 Château Margaux. It had an earthy taste to it.

Your perfume was intoxicating, and he smelt of new books and a cologne that drove you mad. You also got notes of butter popcorn from his time watching Russian movies and his lips distinctly tasted of you and you only.

It felt like your claim on him.

Next thing you knew, he’d pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach and thrust into you again, his mouth latching to your shoulder and leaving marks as he took your neck by his hand, not squeezing hard, but just enough to let you know he was there.

“So tight. How’re you gonna look - shit - all those mafia bosses in the eye, huh?” He panted, punctuating his words with a snap of his hip while you were reduced to cries of his name. “When you can’t walk because of an FBI agent?”

“Spencer, fuck!” Was the only admittedly pathetic thing that came from your mouth, along with a whimper when his hand came down on the side of your ass, soothed by a rub.

“That’s right, baby, call out for me.” He murmured, sucking a mark under your ear. “Make sure everyone in this hotel can hear.”

You found yourself coming at the words, gripping the pillows with your eyes rolling back, Spencer’s own copying as he felt your cunt clamp down on him like a vice. His hand on your throat squeezed a little tighter - but he was aware that it wasn’t enough pressure to cut off an airway - with his head dropping to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the heated flesh as he followed with a few clumsy, shallow thrusts later.

Oh, he knew what he did was wrong. He just couldn’t help himself when presented with you.

Spencer pulled out of you, both of you practically spent of all your energy. You rolled onto your back, wiping away a forming tear due to your sensitive pussy being wrecked by Dr Spencer Reid, but it was worth everything.

“I forgot one thing.” He murmured, moving so he could pull you into his chest and kiss your hair. Remarkable how this man can go from a hot dominant to a hot nerd. “From your profile, I mean.”

“Yeah, Dr Reid?” You smiled, kissing him softly yet intensely, drawing a hum of contentment from his lips.

“You, ma’am,” Spencer cheekily emphasised between kisses, “are very sexually proficient.”

That got a laugh from you, breaking away to playfully swat his chest, which got a noise of surprise from him and a small "son of a bitch!". “Is that your way of telling me this was mind blowing sex?”

“That isn’t how you tell someone that?”

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@cheynovak

[autistichalsin]

I think one understated part of Halsin's character is that he was never bad at leadership per se; rather, he was bad at Druidic leadership, and almost all of this was because of a combination of trauma and moral conflict.

The part about trauma has been discussed many times, but suffice to say, Halsin being forced into a leadership position he never wanted or asked for? It was traumatic. He lost the previous Archdruid, a man he admired greatly, to a curse he blamed himself for, which also claimed nearly every friend he had: "it would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost." He then was forced into said Archdruid's role, not allowed to heal from his trauma, and not allowed any confidantes, because the few friends who survived the battle were now his subordinates instead of his peers. He went from Halsin Silverbough to Master Halsin. It is no wonder, then, that resentment towards the role built to the point that he began looking for any excuse not to fill that role, and that's before you factor in the additional motivation of wanting to see the Shadow Curse broken and seeing the Emerald Enclave refusing to help him.

He says himself he hates the role for forcing him to spend less time in nature to handle the other Druids' problems. He would rather be in nature than solve the personal problems of the Druids. And of course, by the time he leaves, this resentment is far from onesided, as now more Druids than not have lost respect for Halsin. Yes, a lot of this is due to Kagha's manipulations, but also? A lot of this is very clearly due to a conflict of ideals.

For example, Druids are supposed to loathe the undead, yet Halsin cherishes Astarion's presence. He views them as worthy of respect and a place in the world, and sees them as distinct from beings that are both unnatural and inherently evil. This is a MAJOR difference in ideals. This likely contributed to many ideological conflicts between Halsin and the others.

And of course, Druidic leadership, at least here, is implied to be somewhat authoritarian in nature; even the Druids who hate what Kagha is doing refuse to make a true stand against her, and will join in on the Druid's side fighting against the Tieflings if the conflict started. It implies an authoritarian, "my leader for right or for wrong" structure.

By contrast, in the epilogue, when Halsin is at his happiest, he is in a leadership role, yet rather than being Master Halsin, he is Alderman Halsin, and he doesn't command the commune; he guides them, with help from others as more of an elder than anything. He is partially in charge of managing conflicts between those at his commune, yet it doesn't take him away from nature, and he feels he has a place there he truly belongs. Because instead of being forced to be something he's not, he is being allowed to use the skills he has to make everyone, himself included, happy. He is allowed to have friends and peers, and is allowed the family/children he was never allowed to have when making endless, unappreciated sacrifices at the Grove.

In short, what Halsin wanted was to be a mentoring sort of leader, not an authoritarian one, yet the Druidic structures forced him to be the latter, when he never wanted the role at all, and after a highly traumatic event to boot, and with him being forced to follow beliefs that were at times contrary to his own values.

Halsin was in many ways a poor archdruid, but he wasn't a poor leader.

[ash-says]

Tips for Dysfunctional Family Girlies Part 2:

1) Get your basics straight. Education. Boundaries. Financial independence. Further breaking it down and linking it if you get proper education at some point you are bound to get an awareness of this world, if you are able to adapt and improvise yourself and develop your emotional intelligence and get your boundaries straight you will save yourself a lot of unnecessary drama and problems. Education (formal and informal) both will help you in gaining opportunities and if you are financially independent, you are holding the power to make your own decisions.

2) Develop thick skin. Your mom is calling you names. Slut, whore and what not. Your dad doesn't trust you and abuses you physically. So, what now? Are you going to let them define what you are or internalize the anger and use it as a fuel to become successful? Choice is yours.

3) They say you don't owe an explanation to anyone. Sorry to burst your little bubble. Actually you do. We live in a society and have relationships that we need to maintain for survival. This hyper independent stuff is only good to read. We have responsibilities that we need to fulfill. If you don't owe an explanation to anyone then don't cry about a closure from someone too. If you can live by this go ahead and practice it.

4) Stop isolating yourself. That's it. That's the point.

5) First kill the fear inside you. Being a rebel outside the house is no good. Be disciplined. Know how to manipulate your family members in your favor and if you can't just find the weak points and threaten. I know it's difficult to implement but you learn through trial and error. Plus something is better than nothing.

6) Stop glorifying people who treat you with kindness and love. That's the bare minimum. Just because you didn't get it served in a silver spoon doesn't mean it is not served in a silver spoon. People can have ulterior motives and even if they don't fix it in your brain that's normal. No rose colored glasses allowed.

7) Don't be afraid of indulging in your sexuality. No I am not saying go and have sex with people. I mean it in a deeper sense. Connect with the repressed sexual side and try to find healthy outlets. Don't dim yourself to fit in others'expectations or to ease someone's insecurity. Be unapologetic about your wants and desires. Know yourself. It's a powerful energy source if you know how to use it positively.

8) Cry, cry and cry. Wail like a child. No need to keep it all in. No need to act like a macho woman BUT only in front of your god or your belief system. Max in front of your truly trusted people.

9) Question everything as easily as breathing. Doubt every thing. Every action. Every person. What proof do you have to not doubt ? Stop giving benefit of doubts. Stop looking for excuses on how they could be good and instead look for ways in which they can harm you. That's your lottery to be poised and composed. It's just what it is.

10) Obsession. We have it in loads. That's natural to us. So the trick here is to be obsessive. Hella obsessive but about things, topics, goals, subjects, inanimate things,etc. God forbid but never be obsessive about a person. Not even over your dead body. Why? For that I need to make another detailed post I think.

[valtsv]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

[beware-thecrow]

I fucking hate BNHA The last panel about "granma is here" in fact further proves my point on another post of how empty and nonsensical BNHA became in the last arc because AfO wanting Tomura from the very beginning made impossible for him to be saved anyway, which means all his beef with the heroes became unjustified and his speech about violence and heroes and villains held no importance in the end. Why?

Because you cannot have a character built over the premise that society was so corrupt and selfish that put a little boy in the bad bad villain's reach for 5 arcs, to then say "oh, wait. He was fucked anyway because the bad bad guy was behind everything all along"

A bad bad guy not even all might in his prime could defeat, so it doesn't matter if people would or wouldn't help others. "It's all bad bad guy's fault anyway and he's practically immortal." Perfect, now we know granma didn't stand a chance against AfO, he planned this.

The whole idea of a society that relies on heroes too much instead of everyone doing their part from kindness falls like a house of cards if you have an evil so corrupt that none of said kindness will mean a thing. The moment Horikoshi went from "Tomura was found by AfO" to "Tomura was planned by AfO" the core theme of his series crumbled down. The league as a device lost its meaning, the characters that composed it became unjustified because whatever motivation they had was in fact a manipulation from the greater evil. And this applies to everyone.

What's the point in Toga and Twice calling out the lack of help for people with mental illness and problematic quirks if the message still is "If you do bad things out of despair no one will help you and you'll get killed." And yes, Toga died loved, Toga wanted to be loved, but she didn't wanted to die?? She was literally an abandoned child who found a family and ended up dying giving blood to the same girl she stabbed. And yeah, it's kinda poetic she died giving blood instead of taking it, but what was the point if she doesn't get to know she's loved? Further more, are we really to believe Ochako loved Toga? A girl she literally didn't know. Sorry, but once I got lost in a mall and a police officer helped me find my mom, that doesn't mean the officer loved me. And yeah, Ochako tried her best to be a good hero, but it's not about what the characters do, it's what the story tells you it happens with what they do. The story just told you the ill and abandoned die in the end before anyone helps them. And they die hunted by the police. What's the point of Touya as a whole? oh, wait. I know, it must be very awful for Endeavor to be such a bad person, his child ended up incapacitated. Very hard on Endeavor. Fuck Dabi being turned into a piece of charcoal, IT'S HARD ON HIS DAD.

What's the point in Spinner pointing out discrimination and people following him if in the end we got that he should have stayed in his lane, in his room, friendless because he only went out to be seen by someone who accepted him, just to have that person tortured in front of him before he was killed. And for what? For a teen to tell him "Yo, bro. I punched your bestie to death, make a comic about it. Btw you'll be staying in jail forever. So so sorry for you guys." Proving once again, murder is okay if you are on the right side of the story. No matter how much compassion, Tomura showed Spinner, or how much he suffered through life. Heroes had the right to kill him, and there was nothing Spinner (who legit loved his friend) could do about it because AfO had taken over. Again, another good character turned pointless, with a pointless point of view, with a pointless conclusion because he can tell the story of Tomura Shigaraki all he wants FROM JAIL, but under the public eye Tomura will go down as an insane mass murderer either way since looking at him in any other light would inevitably make a target of Izuku for killing him and that won't happen. You cannot have "the best hero ever" and "he killed this dude that was kinda right" in the same sentence. It doesn't make sense. Not to mention his case against discrimination went nowhere since everyone who followed him became a villain and the only person who actually makes a point about discrimination ends up being Deku on another, totally different chapter that had nothing to do with Spinner. And...he's a hero so he can say whatever he wants, we go back to "questioning bad, unless a hero says it" and "people are really that horrible in BNHA universe".

Tomura's case it's even more fucked because even when he said he didn't want a future, every single wish he had fell flat. His hatred for not being saved as a child proved to be out of anyone's control, his desire to destroy society didn't land because nothing really changed. There are still schools for child soldiers, and people are still not questioning the violence heroes use to keep the status quo, and certainly no one is wondering how is that a couple of heroes were able to kill a couple of villains (because so far Hawks still has a job). His friends ended up dead or locked away, and the child in him that begged to be saved ended up...being not. In the end, we got a suffering festival for Tomura, from his granma being pushed to drop her kid, his dad being tricked, his parents getting killed in front of him, Mon-chan and Hana's memory squeezed dry and young Tenko asking for help while Tomura was assaulted by his creepy guardian for 200 chapters straight just to tell us that Deku at sixteen was a great hero for putting a twenty one-year-old dissociated guy out of his misery like a euthanized dog. And for what? To finish a guy who was infatuated with his dead brother AND THAT COULD HAVE BEEN EXECUTED IN JAIL LIKE...300 CHAPTERS AGO, since the manga already made the point that villains can be executed with little repercussion, and it can be justified if said villain it's a threat. Then...why was AfO alive to begin with? Oh, I guess this is something we can trust to a 16 year old instead of... the government or whatever. And yeah, these are tragic figures, they certainly are, but you can hardly claim that they achieved anything in the end because the first premise of the league, why it was formed and why they joined was

To live as we want/are. And now they are dead, or locked away, or bedridden crispy for something that was planted by someone else from the very beginning. And what they believed didn't change anything in the end because it's not like the public saw them do something meaningful but, again, they are being told what to believe, by whom? BY THE HEROES. Are we really arguing that Iguchi's comic will change society? ARE WE FOR REAL????? Have you ever read the story of Jesus Christ? he died for our sins by Marvel. And on top of that as the last nail in the coffin to prove that NOTHING changed, Hawks really said rebranding + target audience =📈🤙🏼 StOnKS✨ I wish I was joking.

[after-witch]

Caring Was a Thing With Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Title: Caring Was a Thing with Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Synopsis: Sigma is good at caring for Sky Casino. And he finds that he really, really wants to care for you, too.

Word Count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, unhealthy relationship, kidnapped reader, kissing, drugging

You do not belong at the Sky Casino. Sigma knows this the instant that you’re granted access, all nervous smiles and downcast looks at the guards who usher you politely (but by no means meekly--they were hired to keep his clients, his world, secure, after all) through the security system.

Not that you would be the type to be hiding weapons or some secret, dangerous motive. No, no, that’s not you. He gets a read on you instantly, and he doesn’t even have to touch you. Though, he thinks, neither are you some voracious gambler looking for a higher thrill than those found in measly casinos on land. 

So why are you here? It’s curious. A debt you must pay, perhaps? Someone leaving home for the first time, intent on something new and exciting?

Ah, but he doesn’t really have time to be curious about someone that doesn’t pose a security risk, does he? So he shelves away that curiosity with his other unwanted things. Instead, he’ll stick to what he needs to know: your name, what you like, what you dislike. The facts necessary to create a mental shelf that will help you enjoy your time here.

That’s what he does best, make everyone within the casino happy. And safe. Safe as they can be, here in the sky, under his leadership. It’s all he has, this place, this space, these myriads of bells and whistles; sights and sounds that haunt his dreams, ephemeral though they are; now you, too, are part of that machine underneath him. 

--

Your code name is B8934. You don’t belong here.  You don’t fit in.

But he hates it when leave, all the same.

Because you really are different from the others. 

The first time he spoke with you, he almost couldn’t hear your voice. Soft and sweet, a whispering gentle tones that seemed to pull him towards you. But it was you who leaned in towards him, repeating yourself, apologizing for being so quiet. So shy. He told you it was nothing, no problem, and you cleared your throat to repeat your words.

“Your hair.” He had blinked at you, and you stammered out: “I like it, I mean. It’s really pretty.”

A new feeling had come over him then. A strange one. A prickling in his cheeks, a slight pressure. You didn’t realize it at the time, but you’d just stolen his first blush. 

And… it continued from there.  Your attentions. You sought him out, here and there, and at first it raised the creeping ivy of his defenses. Did you think he might rig games in your favor, if you befriended him? You wouldn’t be the first to try and, as he read in a book and spend an hour agonizing over the non-literal meaning, “butter him up.” 

But you weren’t like that. It became clearer and clearer with every day, every meeting, every hour you spent with him. You weren’t looking to manipulate him for anything; you were simply being you. 

You’re sweet. Kind. Entirely out of place here.

And Sigma thinks he might be in love with you. 

Yes, this must be the feeling that swells in his chest every time he sees you. Alone or in a crowd. It makes him feel faintly sick, and sometimes he even catches sweat building on the back of his neck. Words, which don’t always come easily to him anyway, seem to stammer and stutter all the more often.

This awful pressure in his chest, which is perhaps not so awful at all, makes him want to write down everything he can about you. So he does, carefully jotted in a notepad that he’s dedicated entirely to you and no one else. 

You don’t spend a lot of money. Perhaps you don’t have it. You don’t like seafood, but you sometimes eat oysters if someone else buys them and encourages you to down a few. He finds that he hates this, when it happens; hates the sight of you laughing with someone else. You laugh too loudly sometimes and then catch yourself doing it, and you touch your cheeks, even if you’re only talking with him--do your cheeks burn?

All this and more, carefully recorded and organized, so that he can reference it when he needs to; after all, if the casino is under his management and protection, don’t you fall within that carefully drawn up category? His goal is to keep the casino safe. To keep the patrons happy. 

You should be safe and happy too.

But more and more, he finds himself asking that same question: can you be safe and happy if he’s not there to make sure it happens? Who knows what you get up to in the outside world. 

Here, you can be a little too naive. A little too trusting. You sit close to drunk men who edge their greedy fingers on their thighs, and you never notice until they brush your skin and you slap them off. You accept fancy drinks bought by strangers with a grin and a raise of the glass. You bet too much money and drink too many roaming glasses of free champagne, stumbling and woozy by the end of the night.

You are in over your head, clearly.

He sees it, even if you don’t.

And that’s why he slipped a sedative into the cocktail delivered to your table tonight. You downed it without a second thought, which only confirmed his decision. 

You’ll thank him eventually, he thinks. When you realize that this is for the best.

--

The last thing you remember is losing a round of blackjack and downing a pretty pink cocktail that someone (but who?) sent to you. On the house, the waiter said, and that’s all you needed to hear before drinking the entire glass in one undignified gulp.

Maybe that’s why your head hurt so much. (Okay, that, and the multiple cocktails you’ve had tonight.) Maybe that’s why you couldn’t remember how you got here, in… someone’s room, on their nice, soft bed? 

Maybe that’s why there was a chain on your ankle.

Oh.

What?

Your clarity sobers up enough for you to yank hard at your leg, which rattles with the weight of a thick, silver chain attached to a silver bracelet around your ankle. The sight of the chain, the feel of its weight, the realization that something is terribly, terribly wrong all seem to crush your chest at once. 

Sobs come then, wheezy sobs, accompanied by thick tears that drip down your cheeks. 

“It’s… all right. Calm down.”

Your body jerks--Who is it--and your eyes dart until the source of the voice steps into the light.

And just like that, you stop crying. You break into a relieved, shaky smile. 

Because it’s Sigma. Sigma walks out of the shadows and for a brief moment, your heart soars. He’s here to rescue you! You got drugged by some creep and he’s looking out for you, like he always seems to do. He’s kinder than he realizes, and you’ll tell him exactly that after he gets you out of here.

Only he doesn’t seem to be moving towards your chained up ankle. Nor does he seem to look shocked at what he sees. He only looks... concerned, which is reasonable. But 

“I-I promise it’s not permanent,” he says, gesturing towards the chain. “It’s just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while you’re still… adjusting.” He looks around, eyes downcast and uncomfortable. “You have everything you could ever need here. Good food. A comfortable bed. I’ll make sure you never need anything and never get hurt.” There’s something like pep in his voice that makes you want to puke. “I promise. I’m very good at managing these things. If-if there’s something you don’t like, I can get you some things, some books or--”

“Sigma,” you say, voice cracking. “What’s going on? Why--why am I chained up? What did you do?”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“But why?”

And then there’s a pager going off, and he huffs, pulling out his phone and flipping it open with hands that shake. 

“What is it?” You watch his eyebrows furrow. His frown twitch. “I’ll be right there.”

He glances at you, and he looks so sad and worried that some part of you wants to feel sorry for him. But then the reality that you’ve woken up on a bed (his bed?) with a chain on  your leg comes swinging back, and that fades away.

“I’ll be back soon. There’s…” He gestures towards the top of a dresser pushed against the wall, which you can see is littered with snack bags and water bottles. “Just for now, don’t worry, I’ll have real meals brought in. And um.” He stares down at the floor, and a peek flush creeps onto his cheeks. “The chain can reach the… bathroom, if you need to.”

He turns, and you almost get the impression that he’s forcing himself to leave without looking at you. His name dies on your lips before you can speak it.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Chained up.

In an unfamiliar room.

Because of Sigma? But why? Wasn’t he your friend? Or, as close to a friend as you could get, considering he basically owns the place?

And what did he intend to do with you? He didn’t seem like… that kind of guy. He was quiet, shy. A bit like you, except he didn’t drink, which always made you loosen up more. 

Curiosity and fear lead you to slowly step off the bed. Your head is still fuzzy from the drinks or drugs or both. But you don’t stumble as much as you thought you would when you make your way around the room, dragging the silver chain behind you.

There’s a dresser. A nightstand. The bed. A TV, but there’s a layer of dust all over it, and you doubt it’s been used much. 

A desk. Although it’s not messy, it’s terribly cluttered, covered in a few stacks of books and assorted printed pages all bound together. There are all sorts of bookmarks and sticky notes in them, and you can see the traces of pen ink on the margins of them. He’s been studying… something… hard.

A book on nutrition. A printed analysis on the optimum temperature for indoor health and wellness in all seasons from the maker of some heating and cooling system. A vintage volume bound in fabric with the gilded scrawl, “A Conversational Guide to Making Conversation.”

Your fingers just touch the edge of a printed article entitled oh-so-bluntly How to Kiss when the secure door slides open and Sigma steps in.

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

Then he looks down to see what your fingers touch, to see that you’ve found his stash of reading material, and his skin flushes.

“That’s--it’s just--” And oh, how his stammering might be cute, if you were anywhere but here, in this room, with a chain trailing from your leg. “I wanted to make sure I did things right when I brought you here.”

Things.

Like feeding you. And keeping you warm.

And kissing you?

Heat creeps up from your toes to your scalp.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you murmur. Of all your conversations with Sigma--the shows you liked, the books you read, the cat you saw at your neighbor’s apartment window every morning--you’d never touched on anything like this. Why would you? This was something you kept tucked away at the back of your drawer, never to be known to anyone but yourself.

“Of course you haven’t,” he says, and there’s something like eagerness in his voice. “I haven’t either. I mean, I want to--with you--I’ve been waiting.”

Waiting, you think? For me? No, not for me. Waiting until he could take me.

Because that’s what he does. He takes.

He takes a step forward, and you’re afraid to move. Even when he takes another step, and another, and he’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

He takes those steps, and then he takes your first kiss. He doesn’t grab you or hurt you or force you, and maybe that makes it hurt more. 

His lips are soft. There’s a faint scent--mint, maybe--that lingers from his breath. He doesn’t stick out his tongue, but only covers your lips with his own, a faint wetness clinging to your lips as he pulls away.

His breath is heavy. So is yours. For different reasons, you imagine. Very different reasons.

You step backward now, chain clinking, until you hit the bed. Your legs give out--this is not the knee buckling that is meant to happen with a kiss, is it?--and you stare ahead. At Sigma, but not at him, all the same. 

The silence between you stretches thin until he clears his throat.

“Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

You nod, even though the last thing you want right now is food.

“I’ll get something!” He says, perhaps too quickly, because then he’s clearing his throat and repeating himself. “I’ll have a meal brought up. I know all your favorites, and I’ve made sure they’re extra nutritious.” He blinks, then seems to consider something. “Ah, are you cold? I can go get you something warmer, flannel or a blanket or…” 

“Yes,” you answer, not really listening. 

His voice seems far away. You seem far away, even to yourself. 

Your fingers clench the soft, silk sheets underneath you and a slow, rolling thought wraps itself around you like an unwelcome blanket.

That was your first kiss. He took your first kiss. Or you gave it, and maybe here, in his room, with a chain keeping you from going too far, it’s the same damn thing. 

And it won’t just be your first kiss that he takes, is it? No. A glance around the room, a bit of applied thought, can attest to that. He intends to keep you for… forever?

Forever is a long time and so much will slip away from you, right into his hands. Onto his lips, onto his fingers. Sigma will be your first everything. Your first kiss.  Your first cuddle. The first one who tenderly kisses your knuckles and works his way up your arm to your neck, tickling it with peppered touches. 

He’ll be the one to take your virginity, too, and there’s some awful feeling in your stomach as you idly wonder if he’s gotten a book about that particular topic yet. 

[cutieeva]

For Eternal

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Brainwashing. Toxin relationship. Dubious consent. Stalking. Attempt home invasion. Sexual Themes

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :

❛ 最強 ❜ (Y/N)'s heart was broken by the least person she expected. The boy she devoted herself for four years to be returned with the fact he never loved her once thus moving to Makochi town she met the leader of Bofurin who oddly seem to mend her cracked heart. Or is he really ?

Loving someone means compromising, building trust, open hearts to one another, have secrets spoken between the pair, accepting each other. Isn't it ? then why ? then why (Y/N) is the only one compromising ? trying to build one sided trust ? opening her heart bare to him by smiling the largest in his presence yet slowly her lips aren't ready to twitch. Slowly secrets were not in between them rather silently remained unspoken leading her no more to accept him. Loving him which was natural to her became a burden to bare. Calm words replaced with screams, smiles into frown and loving gaze into tears.

She couldn't be the only one making effort to meet, messages left in read, no longer good nights hushes spoken, his gaze solely on his paintings, their conversation for them to communicate became his to vent about his problems related to paintings and her to listen when words itching to spoke 'listen to me'. Her need of comfort from him after having awful days were spend all alone because of his 'I am busy painting'. She felt a tool for him to use yet he never became her tool of need instead he was never present in her need of time in the first place. So, she tried, tried, tried her best to be the ideal person he needs because he was her only paradise, the only one she could smile the brightest and only one who would appreciate her happiness, tell her how beautiful she is, gaze softly, spoil gently however that all vanished when his words in their each fights were "This is why women are troublesome". "So emotional you are". "Control yourself". "Stop crying !" So she ghosted her any emotions, numb to his angry outburst, ignore his spiteful words burning her because of how she stopped smiling yet never did he asked the reason behind.

She truly was numb, her heart exhausted, body given already and mind in daze. But her hopes of mending their love was altogether crushed, tramped, walked over when she discover his paintings. Oh so painting he dies for was filled with multiple women smiles yet their smiles were the only part drawn beautifully apart their entire face, body was either burled or dulled. Her eyes scan the dates was before their meeting so in desperation her fingers clawed for the rest ones, ignoring her doubtful question about his love, brushing off their first meeting flooding to her mind where they met at a museum and he said "Your smile is beautiful. So beautiful I am mesmerized". The way his lips curve were smiling and his eyes genuinely looked at her as if she was the brightest last star to be seen, so dazed and genuine his words were that she felt safe enough to trust him only later to fall for him.

THUD ! the rest paintings after their relationship were too pervade with her smiles with not any care to draw her even appearance only the colored honey coated smiles of her. The hard boards fell out of her hand with thud crashing into the floor along her heart, hopes and tears. After long time being numb to emotions she was cursed to feel was betrayed, pain and tears because she realize he didn't fell for her rather her smile. She wasn't his lover rather his one of the collections he preserved. She for him was a piece to hang in his collection that's why he care not to see her after he captive her. She was a source of his motivation, a muse to compliment not love to cherish. Breath halted to scream her anger out and eyes fire her hatred. Hatred for falling such illusion she dreamed, giving away her four years for such a man who doesn't deserved her. "Enough". She had enough. Endured enough lessons, gathered enough strength to be brave enough to finally utter her least imagined words. "I am breaking up with you". He first froze to process then protest angrily before paled down seeing her blank stare registering he lost her. For eternally. He fell on his knees, gaze in nihility and she took the chance to move out of his apartment they shared dragging her luggage.

Standing in the doorsteps of her parents she cried her heart out, nuzzling in their comforting pats and hugs she yearned before continue living shut in her room, feeling no need to move, walk, eat, sleep. Merely alive in the fleeing days that's when her parents suggested for her to go visit her beloved grandparents town. To change and restart her life again dusting her past to which she agreed not because she wanted instead went with the flow like an lost child told what to do. Still numbed she reached the new town—totally lost to find her grandparents house she last visited at the age of thirteen. "I should call them". Ringing she heard from her phone "The number you have dialed in unava—". Quickly she tab the red button knowing if her third call isn't picked then the next call won't be neither. Irritated by the beaming sun on her. She wiped her sweat over her (S/C) forehead looking any roof to rest meeting a café named Pothos. "Maybe I can eat something too". Stretching her stiff shoulders she walked over to the café entering. The moment she does so automatically relaxes her muscles, providing a cozy air and delicious aroma of meal. "I think I made the right choice". Unsure she walked near the counter a girl stood serving a old couple meal.

"Hello. Excuse me". Bravely she called out making the girl turn around who to her surprise was beautiful, smiled. "Welcome to Pothos café. Please take a seat". She pointed in front of wooden seats. "So, what would you like to order ?" Politely the beautiful girl asked.

"Any menu to choose from ?"

"Oh yes". (Y/N) looked at the menu written quite appetizing dishes. "So, I never seen you around. Perhaps a newcomer ? or a single visit ?" The girl titled her head in curiosity.

"Umm..neither. I am here to spend vacation with my grandparents". (Y/N) replied smiling a little finally deciding what to have. "I would like to order Omelette rice and Gateau au chocolate". The young girl smiled wider.

"Oh, the popular dishes of our cafe ?"

"Seem to be". (Y/N) agreed, leaning comfortably at the wooden counter, eyes darting around to find not much people like she expected when roaming the roads filled with mostly old people, some young men and tons of gangs she assume. If she recalls correctly the town, Makochi is mostly known for it's chaos, violence and gangs surrounded that's the reason why her parents visit to her mother's parents became little to no more but why did suddenly her mother suggested to come here ? at such an dangerous town all alone ?

"Here your food. Please enjoy". Hot smoke of the food touch her cheeks as the inviting aroma entered her nose and her eyes stare at the attractive looking food. She is certain it's going to be tasty and indeed the flavors melted in her tongue as the chewy texture was tender to eat, creamy cheese was cherry on top with the perfect amount of rice blending heavenly with the omelet. One word, this was incredible however unaware to (Y/N) her feelings openly displayed on her face that the beautiful girl couldn't contain her giggles. Her closed eyelids snap open. Feeling awkward of the unknown reason the worker laughed.

"I-I am sorry". Laugh bubbles in between her words. "It's adorable. How easily I can tell you liked it". She explained embarrassing the opposing girl. "By the way my name is Kotoha Tachibana, the waitress of this café". She introduce herself, forwarding a hand.

" I am (L/N) (Y/N). Pleasure to meet you". She shake her hands when a idea pop up. "Oh ! Kotoha-San, could you please tell me the directions of this address ? it's my grandparents house". Tachibana look at the address on her phone and gave a thumps up.

"Not worry. I know this place. Let me write you a easier directions to navigate". Quickly (Y/N) watch the girl write on a piece of paper she tore from somewhere before handing to her. "Here. Hope you understand but if you still have problems then I can a Bofurin to guide you after all they must be patrolling here soon". She suggested making the the (H/C) head girl confuse.

"Bofurin ? who are they ?" Never did she heard a name like this however she blinked watching how her eyes twinkled in delight.

"You must not know but three years ago this town was full of teams and gangs and whatnot fighting everywhere since then the town has changed and the people who changed it were the students of Furin high. The first doing they did was set up the sign in front of town". Her eyes wide now knowing the reason behind her mother suggestion because the place changed for better. Also she remembered seeing a sign written about anyone past this point who causes pain, who beings destruction, who holds evil in their heart will be purged by Bofurin without exception. "Originally they had Furin high's name written next to it eventually the town people gave them a new name as the protectors who fight to defend the town called Bofurin, the chime of the windbreaker and the protector of Makochi town". She finished leaning on the opposite side of wooden table.

"Also, a year ago a huge fight occurred between a bad gang called shadows and Bofurin and of course the Bofurin won". She summarize in calm tone. (Y/N) merely stare in awe feeling it only happens in anime, guess she was wrong.

"No, thank you. I can take care of myself". Tachibana frown nevertheless supported her decision.

"And thank you for the meal. It was truly delicious". She paid the bill.

"Your welcome". Tachibana said "Please come again". She really looks forward seeing this girl that she notice walks on eggshells a lot. Perhaps she is the quiter side.

"I will". (Y/N) turn her heel and look up when her heart dropped and eyes wide in surprise because in front stood outside the door is her ex-boyfriend, the reason of her running away, the cause of her pains.

"How did he found me ?"

"How is he here ?"

"How long was I stalked ?"

"Is he crazy ?"

Thoughts like magats crawl around her mind, overwhelming her not with fear strangely rather anger, bitterness and hatred. Anger for ruining her peace, bitter seeing the face that sacred her, hatred at herself for telling each things about her to where she lives, her grandparents lived and all yet she knew nothing about him. How unfair.

The tiny smile on her bloomed tarnished returning into indifference as she walked towards him, to be precise the only exist door and twist open the doorknob finally crumbling the wall seperating them.

His lips parted, gaze yearning mirroring hers few months ago, hand holding a white piece of paper she assume could be the address but she without wasting a time walk past him. Not sparing another glance when his once warm palm grasp her arm tightly turning to face him yet her head kept at another direction.

"Please, please, please (Y/N). My love, forgive me. Please do not leave me. I will die". He pleaded. "I was wrong. I was wrong to use you. Wrong to treat you like an tool I thought because yes at first I did had a motive but believe me breaking up with you made me realize your worth". His other arm grasp her another arm tries to hug the body he believes his.

Seeing her still not meeting his eyes, his palm grip her chin to forcibly look his eyes, look at his direction, look at him but she refuse to look at him even though she felt the pain of his tighten grip on her everywhere. The assault touches were disgusting to her. "No. No. No. No. No. Please, please, please, I am sorry. Please don't look so lifeless, please look like the (Y/N) I love, please smile again". His end words broke her heart a little when she felt it couldn't anymore. He was, is and will be selfish. How selfish is he asking her to smile when he was the one to stole it and paint it away without any care to know why she smiled.

"Why ? didn't you told me I am too emotional ? Why arent you liking me when I become a empty shell of myself ?". Finally fulfilling his wish of looking into his eyes with plain hatred she announced, tearing herself away from those harsh grip. "I am not your doll to do what you command". She glared down. About to walk again when he hugged her from back.

Cold water fell on her clothed shoulder she knew was tears. He shook his head. "No. You are my (Y/N) I know you still love me because I do". His hands held her tighter to the point all (Y/N) was feeling suffocation, frustration boiling her veins.

"I am not your object, Tokusa. I am a human being of my own". Her voices spat calmly than she wanted. Could feel strangers eyes burn her skin, words whispering to each other. "Leave me". She break through his web of touch. Hurry to leave in case he hold her again which he tried when his wrist caught by another.

Her (E/C) sight followed to find the earlier woman, Tachibana holding his wrist in deathly grip. "Don't you understand when she is telling you to fuck off ? Because if you don't I would love to smash my eggs on your dumb head". She warned surprising both (Y/N) and Tokusa.

"Who are you—".

"Tokusa. Leave". He turned to disagree when his heart quiver seeing how dead those eyes look. "Or else I will call your parents to say how much of an disappointment their son turn out to be". She sneered unable to hold her anger octave under her voice.

"And Kotoha-San, thank you. You can let go his hand". Tachibana in doubt looked at him before letting his hand go that fell limp. "And sorry for the unnecessary scene". She bowed down to which the girl shook her head immediately.

"Not at all ! It's not your fault". (Y/N) didn't correct it and merely said. "I will take my leave". She turn around to leave when the ex tried to grasp her hand again however she without looking move away walking past him defeating the desperate man.

As she walked she missed to notice a group of men wore green collar and sleeve embroidery blend with black uniform and button showcasing Furin along their badges.

"Go away ! You are never welcome to my cafe !" Soon their attention drawn back to Tachibana sending daggers in his way who's shoulder slumbed and defeated go away.

"Who was that weakling harassing a girl ?" Haruka Sakura asked, already scowling at the back of the man.

"I have no idea myself". The waitress replied easing the bubbling worry for the girl she met seconds ago.

"Isn't it clear he is her ex ? Judging by their conversation he must have made a mistake making her leave their relationship but after regretting wanting her". Hayato Suo elaborate. Once again amused by Sakura's flustered expression missing to notice Hajime Umemiya's narrowed eyes. However Toma Hiragi did.

"Hopefully she is okay because looks from their conversation the ex wants her no matter what". Akihiko Nirei sighed.

"Do you know about that woman much ?" Hajime asked his sister, who told her the little information she had from their earlier conversation.

"(L/N) (Y/N) ?" Her name roll out of his lips oddly ring pleasantly to his ears. He hummed thinking of her when she passed him.

Meanwhile a shiver ran through (Y/N)'s spine. Shaking her head to off the negative thoughts about Tokusa disturbing her holiday. She merely dug deeper into her grandma's fragile body and listen to grandpa's blarbling about how happy he is to have her.

"Thank you for the dinner grandma. It was Amazing ! Just like mom's". Her aged grandma chuckle moving away the dishes in the sink (Y/N) fought to clean because she wants to help her grandma not pile more work.

"You are really the good girl I always seen ! I am proud how you turn out". Grandpa pleasantly complimented making a small smile spread across her face when the doorbell ring. She turn her head back to her grandparents to see if they also heard because it's so late at night to visit at their home.

"Maybe it's the Bofurin children". Grandma's assumption turned wrong quickly due to the increasing rate of ring again and again shifting to banging.

"(Y/N) ! (Y/N) ! This is me Tokusa ! Please open the door ! I want to talk to you properly". The banging grew desperate so her heart to get rid of him. More than fear the emotion she calmed down was anger, annoyance. She wishes to smash his head until pool of blood covered his body.

"What should we do dear ? Who is this man that wants to talk to our granddaughter ?" Grandma worriedly ask breaking (Y/N)'s shallow thoughts.

"It's alright grandma". She hugged her. "You too grandpa calm down. I am coming back within seconds". With that she march towards their door ignoring her grandparents mutters of stop and slammed open the door let light fall over his guilty face.

"(Y/N) please, please be with me". Straight away she was in his grip, his hug tighter than usual and less care to ask her for forgiveness more so want her without her consent.

Dread.

Disgust.

Bound.

She experienced those once again alike in their relationship. She purely dreaded to be the numb shell of herself, sacrificing little by little her heart until nothing left for her to feel as he greedily feast on her like an filthy parasite. No memories of them in the past could she anymore feel elated rather indifference. "I lost love for him". She realize Or perhaps it tuned to hatred.

Sighing she prepared to push him when a whisk of air slammed on the floor, his body shove to the dirty road. (Y/N) astonishedly stood, re-playing the scene on her head occurred at such an unfathomable speed. Looking around she found a odd white mix black slit hair with heterochromia fire eyes glaring at the man at his feet. Her eyes slide to his uniform catching the Bofurin symbol on his badge resembling the word from the sigh board she saw at the morning.

"Miss, is he pestering you ? Would you like me to get rid of him ?" His voice deeper than she expected asked burning his eyes onto her.

Her (E/C) eyes went to his fallen body. "Yes, please do". No emotions held on her voice she turn to leave noticing other men behind the back blending with the shadows stood. One with beautiful sliver locks inheriting tall statue another long blue hair messily spread with his bend spine yet still tall and a smiley boy having flowing brown curtained hair with his left eye patched stood beside a messy short blond hair holding a notebook.

"Were they patrolling ?" She thought when a grasp escape her lips of an familiar hand grip on her wrist this time intending a bruises to print.

"Do not leave please. Why can't you see my pain ? I gave you my everything ! Graced you like an goddess, pampered you like an princess yet this is what I get". Snap ! The thin thread barely holding her years bottled feelings flooded away.

SLAP ! Tokusa's eyes wide, his face turned to one side throbbing his cheek even printing her fingers. "How shameless you can be ! Asking my heart when all you did was tampered ! walked all over me. Treated me like an non-existed person, a non-living piece to own and now after you stole my smile you want to erase it too ! Please get the hell out of my life ! You fucking pest". She screamed. Openly, loudly and without hesitating those locked emotions she itched spat on his face. Wet water run down her face she care not to wipe because she didn't realize tears streaming down.

Tokusa heart broke. Wordlessly standing beaten by the guy who was surprised by her sudden outburst totally different from her morning indifference.

"Please go. I have lost myself giving you bits and pieces of me so you could be happy. I don't want you anymore". A throbbing sensation raise her throat, raspy voice it become and eyes hazed. Rest. Rest is all she needs, climbing on the bed hiding inside her blanket from the pain of words, huddling into a shell position. Not desiring to hear she went inside slam closed the door and ran inside her room passing her grandparents who heard from the beginning.

"You bastard ! How low of a pest you are to make her cry ?" Sakura ruthlessly kicked him on the stomach and raised his fist to be stopped by a hand. Hajime's hand "Don't".

Frustrated he obeyed disregard the glare from Sugishita and step back. The leader step forward towering over him, the previous dull atmosphere dropped, a thick tension covered above Tokusa, he felt could die just from suffocation.

"Leave. Any unwanted outsider are not welcome if they cause problems for our town people. You did so leave before the bones in your body would fell limp". Cold his voice was, turquoise eyes bore right into his soul, slicing inside his guts. Something told Tokusa if he didn't listen, the darkness will consume in form of this unknown boy in front of him.

Alike a coward he listened running away. "What a let down". Hajime mutter confusing the group as they rarely ever saw him so cold, devoid of any mercy unless a fight surrounds.

The sun blessed the earthling with it's scoring rays liting the world up yet (Y/N) senslessly laid covered underneath her comforter. The door of her bedroom opened with a thud startled her.

"Grandma ?" She watched how the aged woman carrying a long bag with a thin paper on another.

"Here are the list of groceries I need or else no breakfast". (Y/N) sighed deeply.

"I want no breakfast".

"We do". She in beat replied. "This old woman and her husband do so bring the ingredients for me to make the breakfast". (Y/N) whined feeling the handmade bag fell on top of her face.

"Can't you order it in your phone ? It's much easier and faster !"

"It's a small town not city".

"But—".

"No buts ! I am hungry. I already have gas problems if this old woman die then the murderer would be you". As if she is a lawyer point her finger rudely in accusation. Annoyed she grabbed the bag and went outside—.

"Change your night dress, wash your face". In command the girl comply clearly hating her grandma at this moment. Shutting the bathroom door she settle to clean herself.

"Plan successful ?" Slowly peeking behind the wooden door grandpa asked.

"Plan successful". She exclaimed, patting her own chest after all they actually do not lack any ingredients at all but they noticed how depressed and lonely she looked. They sewed a plan to get her some fresh air.

"2 set of eggs. 1 kg of onions—" She read the list of ingredients out loud, walking reckless to reach the stores her grandma even sketch pictures and name for guidance. Unconsciously she rubbed the chibi drawnings in the corner of her papers 'You can do !' 'Go ahead !' 'We believe in you'. If one glance they will belived she was going to a tournament to win not stores to buy regular groceries.

"Hmm...this is the vegetable store ?" Her eyes stare at the board to not mistake at her part and look at the middle age man "Excuse me, could you give 1 kg onions and....". She tailed off telling all the written list to which he nod.

She sighed again feeling a little accomplished for succesfully conveying her needs. Suddenly a shiver ran her spine again, breeze flowed faster, multiple footsteps echoed even between the hustling market. She turn to find the group of men wore the same uniform last night, marching together as they greet all the town people warmly where they happily gift them few things.

"They are like heros". She found the familiar men at the very front and immediately hid her face recall how rudely she closed the door not carying of their well-being or showing gratitude.

"Here is your ingredients !" The working man hand over her bag and she took it exchanging money when in curiousity she glance behind to peek only to flinch by meeting those striking turquoise eyes already gazed at her.

She avert her eyes again, flustered to do anything. "Are you alright, Miss ?" She flinch meeting a different man, the messy short blond hair one. "After the night yesterday did he came to disturb you again ?" His thin press lips curve into a smile to relax her nerve a little yet the spotlight of other eyes felt like an needle poking her skin.

"No thankfully". Her heartbeat fast as she spoke to the blond haired boy. "Also, thank you for helping me. Hopefully you can forgive me for my rudeness the other day". (Y/N) bowed down to the split hair colored boy.

His face heat up in a second astonishing (Y/N) at the same time entertaining her.

"No problem ! I-I-I do what I do". His speech stuttter and his heterochromia eyes bore into anywhere apart her direction earning a small chuckle.

"He looks honest". Her eyes somber not paying attention to the leader of the group staring bluntly at her.

"He won't forgive you". She blinked facing up the tall man.

"Hmm ?"

"I said, he won't forgive you for your rudeness". A frown replaced her lingering curve of lips.

"What do you mean ? And who are you ?" With caution her eyes look up and down at him however he remained unfazed, not smiling his usual expression that his teammate notice.

"I am the leader of Bofurin, Hajime Umemiya and I decide if you are forgiven or not". She felt intimidate under those eyes. "But under one condition I can". Finally a smile bloom his thin lips shifting his entire aura softer and more welcoming she had to blink twice.

"And what is it ?" Tip of teeth bite inside her flesh scare of what he might want.

"If you treat us a meal you would be forgiven". He suggested overlooking his teammates and (Y/N) titling their head.

"Okay...?" She agreed having no excuse to deny and soon she found herself walking beside the leader towards the same cafe she went yesterday morning.

"This cafe ?" She mutter.

"My sister Tachibana-chan works here". In a sing song tone he told not falling to surprise her at the fact itself and his drastic change of attitude.

The door pushed open. "Welcome to Pothos café !" The same beautiful lady greeted. "Oh ! (L/N)-San, nice to meet you again". She held her hand clearly excited to met her again warming (Y/N)'s heart.

"So am I". From the tail of her eyes she saw them sitting towards one of the table ready to order. "They look used to it".

"Take a seat here". Her attention went to Hajime pointing at one of the open seat, unable to deny she obeyed sitting inside when realization wash her.

"Wait, I sit inside means—" Just like she expected Hajime sat next to her in process collide their hands that he moved but shoulders touch when Sakura pushed into the seat. Gulping she glance at him who looked at her too. She shifted in her seat maintaining a distance.

"How uncomfortable". She cowered more to not have her any part touch. Thankfully she had the luxury to not due to his entire covered sleeve however after their order. Once in a time their palm touch, hands brushes each other, glances one another, fingers accidentally intertwine to grab the same spoon and all of it unnerved her to the core she choose to overlook ate her order.

"Do you not like vegetables ?" The question was unexpected for (Y/N) and let her notice how in her meal she left almost all the vegetables excluding potatoes. Embarrassed she clench her corner of plate. He noticed.

"Not worry, I myself hated eating vegetables". The lie roll down smoothly than he expected making all of his teammate's jaw dropped. "But now I enjoy them do you know why ?" He titled his head smiling.

"Why ?" She asked curious.

"Because I know the right way to eat them. If you know the secret of eating vegetables you would come to love them too". Skepticism she felt nevertheless she nod. "That's why come with me to see a place !" Her eyes wide again.

"Right now ?" Uncertainly she questioned.

"Right now". He exclaimed standing up and notion her to come with him. Spin her head felt due to all the rush requests. In blink of an eye bill paid, walked out of the café with bunch of unfamiliar men regardless if they are labeled as protectors and stood in front of an awe-struck view from the rooftop, a huge tree beautiful planted and in sidelines are the sweet shimmering plants.

"Is this yours ?" She bend to view better for the first time her eyes looking at someone's garden as her friends lived in apartments while her parents house has an abandoned backside. Many times thoughts of gardening sweep through her mind however her dislike towards eating plants always held her back so she never ate plants neither grew ones. "So pretty". Truly did the roots of plants looked cleaned, vegetables hanging like an painting she was tempted to touch.

"Yes, You like it ?" His breath touch her cheeks.

"Very much". Absentminded she turn around only to be off guard by how inches away their faces were. Her heart halted and eyes racking over his face, so close to see his long lashes, chapped lips, beautiful shade of blue in those eyes. Swiftly she stood up almost falling over yet didn't still felt the warm hand behind her waist. Heart racing, eyes darting from one place to another to check if someone caught them and relief pass inside when confirmed no one.

"They are beans sprouts. Want to try ?" For some reasons (Y/N) hallucinate his corners of lips wider.

"I will pass". She avert her eyes to the eye-catching tree. A mistake she come to regret because he snare the chance to offer her a bag full of beans spout, tomatoes and few other green veggies wrapped in a visible plastic. "W-What.. what are you doing ?"

"Gifting". His turquoises eyes twinkle in pixie practically shoving the heavy bag of vegetables.

"But I-I-". She paused fearing for her life if she declined. "I am not good with vegetables so please keep this. I do not want". Overcoming her fear she clearly pushed back the bag that he crossed his hands.

"You must or you aren't forgiven". He use the almost forgotten scenario against her.  

"What ? didn't you said treating you meal would make me earn your forgiveness ?" Her frown deepen.

"Well, you must eat some because tomorrow I will come to ask reviews". Heading no attention to her question he tied the plastic knot around her wrist for her to easily carry. "Whether this time my plants grew well". (Y/N) in disbelief looked at the boy in front of her before seeking help from his teammates who unusually acting busy like Sukura fixing his already straight collars, Suo checking Nirei notebook with him, Hiragi dazing at the empty blue cloudy sky and Sugishita at the crawling ants on floor.

"How sweet, they are helping their leader". Holding the urge to scoff she took a deep breath. "I am taking my leave". She bowed to each man present.

"Won't you like to view more plants ?" Staining a smile she shake her head and ran before he could stop her.

In one word to describe the dinner it was a disaster. The moment she caught the sight of it with no appetizing aroma she had a hunch of not being good however that was a understatement when bitterness hit the taste buds almost piling the vomit out of her throat. Less than a bite she had ate along her grandparents. Her grandma apologized muttering she rarely cooks beans sprouts or any vegetables due to her husband picky tastes alike of (Y/N). That night she slept with empty stomach drafting into sleep.

Unaware the next day woken up she to open the door "I am coming !" Slide open the traditional Japanese wooden door she met the gaze of her least wished boy. Grinning ear to ear.

"Good morning". He greet racking her body carefully she shifted at his notion.

"Morning, what are you doing here ?" She bluntly asked not wanting sweet chit-chat after the disastrous dinner she had to ate all cause of him.

"To have the reviews of my plants". She waver a little forgetting the deal she thought of a passing strings of words not a serious promise.

"It was good". White lie came out not to say the bitter truth behind his plants he must have grew with hard work yet once again he surprised her by guffawing at her face.

"The lie wasn't good". He criticized making her lips part. "Because I am fully aware bean sprouts are going to taste bitter if not cooked well or someone who doesn't know the right method". Speechless and fool she was feeling. How could he ? if he knew the taste will to be bitter then why gave her ? rather if he clearly knows her dislike towards vegetable why gift her any vegetables in the first place ? was he making a joke out of her ? taunting her by abusing his power of protector ? Fed up by meaningless antics she decided to shut the door at his face but he was faster, better, stronger. Grip it in a second.

"Don't close it". In tranquil manner he looked as if he isn't holding a wooden door by his one hand. "Do not be scared. I am not making fun of you or any sort rather I want to help you love vegetables". Hearing it paused her actions.

"Why ?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Simply because why not". She held her eyes to roll anytime.

"I am sorry but I like the way I am". His eyes twitch a little.

"By the way, have you eaten breakfast ?" Hajime questioned. Still blocking the door by his hand.

"No". She stated shortly. Thud ! the door in rapid speed fling opened, blowing ample air over her face. Her breath hitched and (E/C) look up as fear creep within her by the astonishing power. A power she never came face to face with.

"Sorry about that. Let's now go". Placing his hand behind her back, he gave a little push yet enough to cross the line of her doorstep, the safety of her home, comfort of her trusted four walls before taking her away to the very same awe-struck rooftop. Sitting on one of the wooden seat, he served a dish she ate yesterday night : Moyashi bean sprouts.

"I ate it". In disdain she utter.

"Oh ? really ? well you didn't ate my Moyashi Bean Sprouts". His chest puff in confidence. Sighing she closed her eyes and hold the chopsticks preparing to vomit this time without any restriction however rather than overwhelming bitterness she tasted was sweetness, hint of fresh and soft to chewy hit her. Her eyes wide open delightfully shocked as to ease the doubt she ate more yet the more she ate the longer she begin to adore the taste each time more sweeter, more chewy and better than the previous bite that she forget about the boy sat in front of her who watching the unfolding scene a smile stretch his lips.

"Tasted delicious didn't it ?" Reality wash her from the heaven (Y/N) was indulging. Rightfully she nod. "Indeed it is delicious. I rarely ever enjoy vegetables this much". A tiny smile blossomed earning a breath hitch from Hajime. It was as if his breath stole by the serene person in oppose him.

"Come next day". He blurt out.

"Hmm ?" Her eyebrows frown and the softer look retuned to blank.

"I said come the next day. I want you to eat my cooking again". (Y/N)'s lips parted unable to voice out her question. Why ? why her ? he was the leader of Bofurin and the center of everyone's adoration, anyone would agree to eat to his cooking if he wish to test his cooking skill hell ! his teammates are enough to testify yet her ? why grace her with such kindness ? does he also want something from her alike to Tokusa who wanted her for his collection, Is he wanting her for his amusement ? or to win her fragile heart before ruining. Kindness never come free does it ? not from strangers at least she lessoned still she utter.

"Okay". Watching the brighter of his shining smile showing his canines along his eyes gleam in pleasant. Previous his unnerve statue transforming to comforting, a sign of warmth and more welcoming she desire to deny her heart not tickle. No No, she is not ready for another heartbreak, another commitment that's why she stood up in process raising his brows.

"What happen ?" His smiling gaze falter.

"I am going home. Bye". Hastily she walk to touch the doorknob when a hand block her way. Still keeping her eyes on the door, breathing slowed, time seem to pause. His body lean close, too close to her liking. He bent a little to his ear level and whisper.

"You must come or else I will come to take you". His words was a promise he will fulfill yet not answering she pushed him gently where he did step back and ran away missing the hand waves of upcoming Bofurin boys.

"What happen to her ? did you scare her away ?" Hiragi stare at his friend's smirk.

"Who knows ?" Oddly he sounded content.

"(Y/N) come downstairs !" Confused (Y/N) glance at her phone checking the time 8:00 am then why is her grandma is calling her for breakfast. Nevertheless she drum her feet on the wooden floor, doing little dances and jumps landing in front of grandma.

"Yes". She dragged the s in mischief manner, for some reason in good mood that revolve into five stage of emotions. First shock, second denial, third embarrassment, fourth irritation and fifth anger. "What are you doing ?" She asked Hajime sitting on the sofa comfortably as if it's his house, facing her.

"The little dance and jump was good. Looks like you are in good mood". He bluntly jumped on his comment soaking on her body wrapped in her night outfit, the way her silk shirt hanging loosely that he shame to admit he could see the outline of her breast bouncing along her (F/C) silk peignoir following her thigh shorts baring her (S/C) longs.

"Grandma why didn't you told me he was here ?" Hajime cursed himself mentally snapping out of his submerged thoughts by her loud yell.

"Because he helped us a lot. He was the one who bring us needed ingredients and help to finish our chores" Grandma explained washing the dirty dishes.

"So you betray your granddaughter".

"Yes". Her mouth agape by how fast the aged woman nonchalantly confessed.

"And you ! Why did you come here ?" Hajime amused at her disgruntle attitude.

"I came to take you to eat. Don't you recall my words ?" She knitted her brows before the sentence flash across her eyes.

"You must come or else I will come to take you".

"You were serious".

"Most of the time I am". Irritated she avoid his intense gaze.

"Now go change". A silent second flew and (Y/N) bite her lips, closed her eyes wishing to melt under the ground itself realizing her inappropriate outfit in front of a boy and add to her abash no bra was underneath her night gown.

Swiftly she ran upstairs neglect to seen his crimson hue taint around his face warmly. Soon she find herself back to the rooftop alone next to the said leader serving her yet another meal called Carrot Gyoza. It is also great to taste making her forget it's created from the same vegetables she dislike.

Yet from that day on she for breakfast each day came to his place, trying new dishes involving vegetables one time Renkon, another time Okra Tempura and so on. Slowly she learn to enjoy dishes she never dreamed of even indulging, appreciating the plants, sometime gazing at the sky. Eventually her heart knock to open the lock door to meet him yet the questions stilled of why choose her ? A stranger not even a mutual friend, neighbors, same town people no— they are complete strangers to one another and her answer came to one day.

"Try it. Stuffed bell paper with cheese and vegetables. Try to guess the names". She bite immediately lost in mist of heaven. Flavors twinkling, cruchy pleasant noise to hear as well to chew.

"Cheese, shredded carrot, potato and chicken !" Her eyes snap open as a unknown gleeful smile graced pausing the time for Hajime this time. She looks divine. He thought as his hands reach to cares the softness of her skin, tender of her eyes yet halted in air when caught by (Y/N).

"Wha...." Her question tailed off darting between the hand and his expression. "May I ask you a question ?"

"Y-Yes". For the first time he stutter.

"Why are doing this to me ? Do you by chance��". She gulped the food, found her mouth suddenly dry and the sky dulled. "—pity me ?"

Rather quickly Hajime shake his head desperately. "Of course not. Never ! Since the moment I met you never did I even felt pity for you instead the reason behind I am doing this because you looked so broken, so ruined that I wanted to see how you look when you are happy. I am after your happiness because if you are happy in my presence that means I will be a part of your world, crossing inside your bulit world". Never did she expected this answer yet his eyes were sincere, full of honestly fill her reflection on those turquoise eyes with lips press thin in seriousness.

"Do you like me ?" The words remain unspoken. Frighten by the answer she will receive so she left and he let her.

Returned home, staring at her ceiling she not know what to feel, many emotions toying at the same time diffuclt for her to understand the language of feelings. She once again felt like a girl discovering what romantic love is for the first love.

Moon hanged at the darkness liting it's light amidst the countless stars and (Y/N) sighed admiring the nature's beauty by sitting on their garden backside alone. After stuffed by the dinner she ate, she star-gazed feeling unusually empty.

"Dearest, I have something !" Turning head at her name did her jaw almost fell finding grandpa holding a wine of bottle.

"Grandpa ! It's not good for your health !"

"Shush ! It's going to be alright if consumed little. Here want some ?" He shushed her pouring himself a glass and her. She reluctant sip a little enjoying the taste she rarely drinks for the sake of her good health.

"It's good". He chuckle.

"I knew it ! Because the year is (Y/B/Y)". The (H/C) head girl surprise to know the wine is as old as her birth year. No wonder grandpa kept it preciously because it reminds him of his granddaughter.

From little sipping to entire glass they both shared happily. Time flew like the cold assault of breeze and night remained young. "(Y/N) ! (Y/N) ! (Y/N) !" Rubbing her eyes she look at Hajime's face.

Huh ? What is he doing here ? Her mushed brain questions, unable to control her parts to speak or slurs of nonsense. He held her tightly.

"You are really drunk. Aren't you ?" His melody chuckle dance on the air putting (Y/N) back to sleep yet she stayed awake, a little sober as seconds pass.

"What are you doing ?" He silently jiggle the spare key (Y/N) recently learnt kept under a flower pot. Talk about being foolish.

"Your grandma advise me to use this when I want and I wanted to meet you so I came not knowing.." He point at her blushed face however to (Y/N) his words went over her head only concentraining at her own question she unable to ask.

"Hajime do you like me ?" Suddenly the crickets noises, birds chipering, breeze howls stifled, his usual smiling eyes serious, a heavy tension pungent within the atmosphere. Sliver light descend upon him.

With solemn he spoke. "Yes". Only to be his eyes wide because her fluttering kiss pressed over his. Pupil dilated into little hearts as he kissed back, moving their lips.

A test. A small test (Y/N) presented to trial whether he is after her body by taking advantage of her drunken state to use her or respect her as a human being. She is rather tipsy so fighting for her dignity would not be difficult she hoped if he failed the test.

Still a part of (Y/N) strongly want him to success, to be her dream come true and be her true love albeit they met for few days ago but she knew it was all more than wish because Hajime continue to move their tongues, sucking her little to every saliva like a starved man and filling the gaps between their body by pulling closer. Her chest gaze his, breaths eratic mingling to one another until he pulled away as she decided he failed then he pulled her by the back of her neck.

Confused.

Scared.

Panic plagued her mind for being so foolish to test a man's desire in such weak state. Now how ? How is she going to resist ? She can't fight let alone win ? Yet all the piling questions flee away when a rather tender kiss place on her forehead hitched her breath.

"I am sorry for kissing you in your drunken state. I know you might not even remember it tomorrow but it's my responsibility as both your protector and suitor to not commit an act you may come to regret". With that his fingers slide away along the warmth. He is leaving....? He respect her ?

Because if he didn't he wouldn't go such lengths to help (Y/N) even if it meant to finding series of lame excuses, pestering her, barging inside her house, always cook her meals that must have took time to make, thinks of her opinion, keep a hand on her back to hold her faster if she needs his help when they walk. In all way without knowing her struggles he helps her. Merely for her happiness.

How sweet, how good he is to. Her palm held his moving figure's hand. "(Y/N), please let me go. I might not able to control myself".

"Why ?" Her words slurred. "Because I am girl". She giggle.

"No ! Because you are the girl I like". Warmth flow inside her chest, unlatching butterflies inside her stomach yet she wants to feel the warmth outside too. Warmth of his touch on her body with those huge hands she once feared.

"Don't go".

"I must or—".

"Lose it. Lose all control. I like you too". She whispered following to pull him with her almost no strength and pressed their lips again. "Make me yours". She pressed her lips to his chin, cheeks, nose. Her toes upwards reaching for the man she come to like. Perhaps her haste choices are from the wine's chemical yet she fears to lose this boy.

"You know how to drive someone crazy ? Don't you ?" Gentle his moments are holding her hips and hungrily kissing her lips

Soon in a blur his hands clutch her body in perfect carry with his questions of her bedroom direction and her slur words to point like a child before her back bounce on the soft comforter of bed, the fabric of her home with him looming above her. His statue shadow covered her, shielding her even from the moon light peeking shy in between her shut curtains.

Little dots in darkness dancing her vision was so she blinked, blinked until his hard knot up and down his apple adam and his peaceful turquoise eyes transform into adultery lust. A lust shaping into little cupid hearts the Eros shoot his arrows at humans came to view. Perhaps written in star their encounter was that's why coming to love came as natural as he breaths to live. His will to live was (Y/N). A sweet little sugar drip in his violent life to sweeter the taste.

Perfect the play ended. Perfect the play of good was. Hajime coo at the beautiful girl in his hold, giving herself. He bite back the laugh threatening to pour out of his lips just the simple thought (Y/N) beliving she even has a choice to choose. Never, from the moment they met each other did the naive little love had a choice. At first it was a curiosity to see how Indifference she could be. A sudden urge to peek at her layers of emotion she can express on her face was controlling him until fate served him the chance as the form of that night where they were patrolling at night and caught the wind of her ranging ex begging to be taken back.

Hajime wanted to save her in damsel in distress yet Sakura did quite his job however the next thing happen was entirely blame on (Y/N). The second tears bled those jewel (E/C) eyes. So crystal clear that emotions were conveyed with silence and he listened giving him a reason to be close to her. To fulfill his curiosity to see more her expressions while leaning into her world little by little.

Swear to the heavens and goodness of his heart was falling for her a trick of fate. Falling for those fidgeting fingers, nervous glances, bleaming eyes after tasting the food she liked, unable to hide her heart, tiny smiles blossoming. He never thought a curious wish leads to a dangerous yet beautiful word love at the same time a discover creeped inside his mind. Perhaps it was the hidden demon within him imagining how short life is what if she avert his proposal ? Shy away from his confessions ? Refuse to see him as a lover ? Thus he set a play. The flawless play to catch the love of his life into believing she was giving her hand to him in contrast he was griping her hand all along. An act played in theater pouring emotions to tuck the viewers heart and make them believe the fantasy play real however in his case it's a trap distorting the entire line between a mere play and reality.

And the nail of coffin is the current time he snare the chance to craft her drunken thoughts into love. Twisting those yearning of validation, need of comfort into flutters of love and need of his hold. Ultimately he won. The play ended and curtains closed behind the secret scenes remain buried away. She was his and he—hers.

Rays of golden lit glowed on (Y/N)'s sleeping figure, eyelids flutter like wings of bitterflies to process the warmth of another person snuggling on her. Glancing at her tail of eyes found the boy of her love dreams, in flesh and naked— shameful memories sweep her mind heating those (S/C) cheeks.

"We are in relationship right ?" Insecurity rush in her veins.

"Of course we are". Tense her body became. "You said that out loud sweetheart". He shift closer to her body as he hugged the naked waist of her, tender flesh belongs to him. "You are mine and I am yours. Never in the world would I exchange you for anything". Raspy voice coated honesty.

"You are stuck with me". His turquoise eyes bore into hers, pulling into a slow kiss. "For eternal".

FIN

[cjrae]

Tragedy of the Jade Nightingale. Or: My thoughts on Vol. 11 of the Apothecary Diaries.

Given that this volume just came out in English a few days ago, spoilers under the cut!

I usually think of the Apothecary Diaries volumes as pairs - usually two volumes make up an arc. If so, Volume 11 will be the first half of the arc with 12, but it also functions beautifully as a tragedy in it's own right.

** I will be only discussing information appearing officially through Vol. 11. Yes, I have read the fan translations of the web novels, but given that details can change, until it appears in official English translation, I won't yet be including it here.

The Hero

Gyoku-ou. Talk about someone who thinks he's smarter than he actually is. We knew this guy was a threat all the way back in Vol. 8, with how Gyokuyou reacted to her brother's letter and his veiled insult of sending a younger version of herself to catch either her husband's attention or the Imperial Brother's. Now we get to see him in action and he's scary - right up until he's not.

This man is charismatic as anything - he understands what makes people tick on both an individual level as well as a social level. His ability to wield a mob effectively makes him extremely dangerous, but I'm oddly put in mind of Lakan's initial impression of Fengxian. "This woman is strong, but she only knows how to fight in her own, small world."

The world Gyoku-ou inhabits is a very small, petty one. You can see it in his conspiracy theory about Jinshi's birth.

Jinshi is one of two people Gyoku-ou fails to read. When he brings Lakan and Jinshi to his puppet council to gauge support for attacking Shaoh, he thinks he's got a young malcontent in his hands, someone who wants power and is prone to the flashes of temper and insult that often drive young men. Someone who is easily manipulated. Instead, Jinshi mops the floor with him in that meeting, cutting Lakan's support out from under Gyoku-ou and making it clear that his priority is peace above war.

This doesn't take away from Gyoku-ou's political genius - this meeting teaches him that Jinshi has to be maneuvered around, rather than maneuvered directly. If the Imperial Brother doesn't want to play his part, then too bad. Gyoku-ou will see to it that Jinshi is hedged in all directions except where he wants him to go - which is to war. And even then, he's got a fight on his hands as Jinshi fully takes advantage of Empress Gyokuyou's information to undercut Gyoku-ou's support within his own family.

It's a mark of Jinshi's political skill that Gyoku-ou's move in that family council is to flirt with treason. If he can't maneuver the Imperial family through Jinshi, then he shifts tactics to turn Jinshi (and the rest of the Imperial Family) into the villain of his piece - a prince born and raised into utter depravity.

Let's just sit with what Gyoku-ou suggests to the rest of his siblings (minus the Empress) in that meeting. He implies that the Emperor impregnated his own mother in order to produce an heir. A son that he loves so dearly (and unnaturally) that he would willingly look the other way while Jinshi murders his other children in order to make sure that his brother-son-lover succeeds the throne.

This is a brilliant examination of how the bare facts of the situation can be construed by people with very different motivations to fit whatever worldview is most convenient for them. I'm a fan of the palace politics in this series because they feel very real.

Gyoku-ou doesn't lie once. But boy does he create a narrative that suits his purposes and dares anyone (namely Rikuson) to tell Jinshi. He is escalating the situation and he's doing it fast, while also challenging the legitimacy of the Imperial Family. A fact which, if it does get back to Jinshi (or the Emperor), could get the entire new You Clan wiped out just as fast as the Yi Clan was. This scene functions as a microcosm of Gyoku-ou's two fundamental character flaws; his short term thinking and his utter self-absorption.

Becoming The Wind

Since Rikuson was introduced in Vol. 5, he's been a mirror for Jinshi. He's a "pretty boy," calm under pressure, fundamentally kind and decent to other people while also being extremely competent at his job. Unlike Jinshi, he's also a bit older and more mature. He also clearly admires Maomao and sees the qualities that make her exceptional, despite her various masks.

As it turns out, Rikuson mirrors Jinshi in another important sense too - he also has a secret identity. The Yi Clan were the de facto royalty of the Western Capital and Rikuson is one of the direct survivors of the clan. He was never in the line of succession given the Yi Clan's matrilineal structure. But they were quick enough to save some of the children, namely Rikuson and Empress Gyokuyou's three ladies in waiting, Haku'u, Koku'u and Seki'u.

Rikuson, who was Gyoku-ou's excuse to trick His Former Majesty into giving him the authorization to destroy the Yi Clan. Rather than truly being an bastard Imperial prince, he's a young pawn in Gyoku-ou's hands to whip up an armed mob to hunt Rikuson down - and his mother and sister give their lives to ensure his survival - not for vengeance, but so that the Yi Clan's mission of protecting the west will live on even if the named clan itself dies. So, like Jinshi, he is dedicated to the welfare of the people above all else.

The trouble with relying on an unruly mob is that it's sloppy. Gyoku-ou left multiple survivors and they have absolutely no love for him. He's left weapons at his back.

Rikuson is the other person Gyoku-ou utterly fails to read. He spends well over a year back in his homeland, working for Gyoku-ou as an aide ostensibly from the central region, patiently waiting for an opening - even as Gyoku-ou, who knows that Rikuson has to be assigned to the west with some kind of ulterior motive, is so blind that he thinks he must be a secret member of the La Clan, rather than the Yi boy he tried to kill seventeen years earlier.

Rikuson represents the culmination Gyoku-ou's short term thinking in that he doesn't bother to think about the threat of any surviving Yi clan might pose to him.

He will not insult his mother's memory, or his sister's. But if his mission of protecting the west coincides with vengeance for his family? Sure enough, Gyoku-ou's insistence on going to war (and dragging the Imperial family's legitimacy into his motivations) gives Rikuson his opening; especially because he isn't a vigilante.

He is acting under orders.

The New You

Rikuson's point about Gyoku-ou's life being a tragedy hits home when you consider Gyokuyou's thoughts of how she knows her father loves her - but would also abandon her in a heartbeat if she is no longer valuable to him. Unlike her older brother, she has a very clear-eyed view of how their father operates and focuses on making sure that her value never drops in his eyes.

Gyoku-ou's value to Gyoku'en plummeted the day he destroyed the Yi Clan - Gyoku'en's family. He was given a second chance to show that he could still perform the single function of the men of the Yi Clan - to protect the west. When he endangered it instead, Gyoku'en sent the weapon he'd spent seventeen years preparing (Rikuson) with an execution order.

By first destroying the Yi Clan and then following it up with a proposed invasion of Shaoh, Gyoku-ou proved to Gyoku'en that he was no son of his. Given how desperate he was to be his father's son, this whole book is a tragedy in the classic sense. The Jade Nightingale was so desperate to reinvent himself as a Jade Eagle that he destroyed himself in pursuit of the one thing he never lost - his father's love. But, to be his father's heir, what he needed was Gyoku'en's trust and respect, not his love.

And he killed that seventeen years ago along with the Yi Clan.

Ironically, the foreign born girl that he despised and attempted to undermine at every opportunity, emerges as their father's true heir and mother of the nation, with the rest of the surviving Yi clan as part of her loyal retinue.

In her triumph, the Yi Clan is reborn as the You Clan as Gyoku'en, a Yi man, is given a clan name on the strength of Gyokuyou's role as Empress. So much of their history has been lost, down to the matrilineal succession and family records, but their mission lives on through the Yi men who will continue to protect the west, no matter the personal cost to themselves. There is no room for self-absorption here, therefore Gyoku-ou has no place in their new clan.

Also, a parallel to pay attention to is how the destruction of the Yi Clan and the Shi Clan are mirroring each other with the children being saved. The Yi Clan is reborn with a new name, which leads one to wonder what the consequences of saving those Shi children will be long term.

A Dagger In The Dark

Gyoku-ou sucks up a lot of air in Vol. 11 because he is driving the action - Jinshi, Maomao and their party are all stuck reacting to him, except for one character; Chue.

We see Chue attach herself to Maomao starting with the ship and it's not difficult to guess that just as Lihaku is serving as a discreet bodyguard for Maomao on Jinshi's orders, Chue is also there as protection. Chue doesn't try to conceal that she is clearly trained in espionage either.

Rikuson's proposal to Maomao is not a serious bid for her hand, but nor is it a joke - it's a message to Chue that Jinshi needs to tighten security around Maomao. As he puts it, he knows the "hyper protective" elements around her will close ranks. Because he's foreseen a strategy that may not have yet occurred to Gyoku-ou (who tends not to pay attention to the bit parts of the play), but if it does would almost certainly push the country into war.

Maomao is the lever that could move both Lakan and Jinshi.

All he has to do is kill her and make it look like a foreign attack. Lakan's instinctive ability to read a situation and Jinshi's formidable investigative skills would likely be dulled in the face of their rage and grief. Especially since they are technically Gyoku-ou's guests and don't have freedom of movement to push the issue.

Rikuson seizes his opportunity before Gyoku-ou can continue to escalate, but he realizes quickly that Chue arranged the stage and was there as both spy and backup assassin. (I think it's safe to say that Gyoku-ou's conspiracy theory AND that Yi family ledger will be reported, given that we know there were ladies-in-waiting at the meeting and that's how Chue was disguised - and she didn't actually promise to dispose of it).

Gyoku-ou doesn't bother to think that while the Emperor may be far away and the Imperial Brother is a manageable threat, that the people surrounding Jinshi may not be bound by his strictures. Hence, Chue was on standby. No matter what, Gyoku-ou was never going to make it to that ritual. He was never smart enough to realize that his crossing the line would be never be forgiven.

While Jinshi would order an execution if necessary (and has in the past), he would never order an assassination. Therefore, it's evident that Chue reports to someone else. Who that someone is, we don't know, but there's only one person further up the Imperial tree than Jinshi, so it would be reasonable for Rikuson to assume that the Emperor has placed additional protection around not just Jinshi, but Maomao.

Exclusive: Baby Swap!

Jinshi's birth is not a secret to the audience and while Maomao doesn't have confirmation, she's pretty certain of her suspicion. This volume made it patently obvious that there are others out there who are perfectly capable of putting the pieces together, even if the details are twisted.

Let's return to Gyoku-ou's conspiracy theory.

He's put together all the correct pieces. The Emperor's attitude toward Jinshi makes no sense in a traditional palace setting - a much younger, handsome, charismatic and competent brother? That's a threat to the Emperor and his direct line. But Jinshi is never treated that way - instead he's indulged on many fronts.

He's allowed to duck most of his official duties as Ka Zuigetsu (except for a few he can't, where he appears masked).

He's allowed to pretend to be a eunuch for six years and run the Rear Palace.

When he finally reveals himself to the court to put down the Shi Rebellion, he's described as "hale" and "just as proficient in the military arts as the administrative." (More proof that Jinshi is NOT the best judge of his own abilities). He emerges fully formed into court politics - a perfectly trained Crown Prince - only to have a newborn given the title instead.

Gyoku-ou deliberately put the worst possible spin on these facts. I suspect the rest of the You siblings are going to keep their mouths shut about Gyoku-ou's ugly theory, but if he could think of it, if Maomao could think of it with just seeing Jinshi standing next to Lady Ah-Duo, then so can others.

Maomao can be mad about Jinshi branding himself all she wants, but it's currently looking like an absolutely BRILLIANT move on Jinshi's part. Whatever doubts Gyoku-ou managed to plant about Jinshi and the Emperor's motives with the rest of the You clan siblings, Empress Gyokuyou is not likely to entertain it.

Also, it got the Emperor to essentially "banish" Jinshi to the edges of the Empire shortly after his new Crown Prince was born, which makes it look to other members of the court like the Emperor is taking steps to rein in his younger brother and balances the factions that have to be forming back in the capital.

This is not a secret that can be kept forever. No matter how careful Ah-Duo and Anshi were, the information is starting to leak out around the edges, as we see that the Empress' ladies in waiting that were dismissed clearly had eyes and ears - and in at least one case, a loose tongue.

The next arc is being seeded and Jinshi is inching closer and closer to that throne. He ran the Rear Palace for years (essentially managing the nation in microcosm) and as of the end of Vol. 11, he's now stepping up to govern a province and gain actual ruling experience while also having suppressed a war.

I've said before that Jinshi ascending the throne is the bad ending - if there is a single person who is more trapped by the palace than the prince, it's the emperor. We'll see what happens!

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 32

Make Your Bets Now!

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 12,614 😳😳

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: A Forest ~ The Cure | Burn Your Village ~ Kiki Rockwell

Summary: The White Stag is chased through the woods. The hunters begin to show their true colors, while the prey just tries to survive. You might not be the only one running away.

Recap: The banquet is underway, and you were dressed as the White Stag. You met your nine suitors, some of whom came as a shock. You gave each hunter an arrow, a symbol of their right to claim you. Uncle Cedrick just gave you a ten minute head start.

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I've been dealing with all the things! I've still been writing, as you can tell by the word count! 😬 Lol, I did a poll way back when Shanks first arrived asking if y'all would prefer two regular size chapters with no smut in one, or one giant chapter with the smut. So here ya go, lol, you asked for it! 😅🤭

Content Warning: There's not much dark content to warn for this chapter (besides the usual Numbers Game shenanigans & Buggy's POV on the Dr. Vorsan visit), but I wanted to give a heads up that there is a flashback of the 14 year old reader having a crush on an adult. Nothing occurs, but there is some very mild creepiness that could be interpreted as inappropriate. I WILL NEVER write about minors in that way, so please know that this is just a teenage crush! In case you would like to skip that, I'll bracket it with these ~~~⚫~~~

Fic Updates & Questions:

I will be retroactively adding titles to all chapters. I prefer to have titles for every chapter of a fic, but decided not to add them when I thought this was going to be a one shot 🤦🏼‍♀️ (We're getting closer to the end, and outlining will be way easier if I can remember which chapter things happened in, lol.) I'm going with quotes/lines from the chapters for the title theme. Also, I only used "part" instead of "chapter" on tumblr for formatting space, but I always call them chapters so 🤷‍♀️

Since this is a reader insert fic (that I thought would be a one shot 😅), I've tried to keep as many personal details as vague as possible so that we can all hop onto that lovely, green couch. I'm not planning to state the reader's age within the fic, but as we get further into the story, some of you numbers girl's may be able to figure out the math based on the flashbacks and such. I have a whole ass timeline graphed out, so if anyone is interested in knowing the specific ages and dates of related OP canon and Numbers Game canon, I'd be down to make a separate post just for that.

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc. As we get further into Egghead Arc, there will be some spoilers (mainly from manga cover stories or SBS questions for minor characters' motivations, such as what the Vinsmoke's and Charlotte's have been up to since Wano, and why they'd want to marry our lovely heiress.)

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Toxic Family, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Pain Kink, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Blowjobs, Threats, Relationship Drama, Anal, Doctors, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

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~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“I told you to run.”

Uncle Cedrick wet his lips after he hissed at you again, smirking while you transformed for him, and for his silent hunters and cheering guests. 

The white stag. The hunted. The prey. 

You’d never felt less human than you did right now, and the sense of danger in the air sent you racing toward the trees. 

It was disorienting to move in this fumbling body. Some foul magic must have stolen your hooves, your graceful limbs, your fur to fend off the cool breeze of the night. 

All you had left were your antlers, but they couldn’t help you flee. You escaped your heels, kicking free from the tight shoes as though they were traps meant to hold you still for the hunters to find. The dress made you panic, the weight of it wearing you down like trash left to suffocate creatures too helpless to free themselves from human garbage. You tried to lift the heavy skirts while you ran, but the train dragged behind you, catching on roots and branches as you fled. 

Logic started to break through the adrenaline in bits and pieces, but the forest had pulled you into a dream.

“This isn’t a dream,” you panted to yourself, slowing down to lean against a tree. 

That wild panic had left you with no idea how long you’d been running, but your heart was trying to escape from your body, and your lungs struggled to catch up as you let yourself stop. 

That should be enough drama for Uncle’s show. Why should I care who catches me first? I have to date all of them anyway. 

And the fear was back. 

Nine men were about to stalk you through the woods at night, and you’d just run deeper into the darkness, like a fucking idiot.

Though you doubted that staying closer to the courtyard would have made you any safer. All of those leeches were here to watch the show. They’d probably already placed bets on which hunter would get his greedy hands on you first.

Don’t cry. 

You almost did. Every time you thought you could accept your fate, Uncle Cedrick found ways to make it more torturous, more humiliating. 

Apathy tried to protect you, a welcome friend that lulled your emotions to sleep until you stared into nothing, your logical mind reciting your thoughts on a loop to distract from what you were putting away.

I already gave the leeches a good show. It doesn’t matter who catches me first. 

Useless rage replaced your apathy in a flash at the memory of the traitor touching your skin. Shanks was the last man you wanted to catch you, but Uncle’s threats felt like hidden traps, like suffocating trash, like this stupid dress that snagged on every branch. 

I won’t give them anything else to hurt me with. 

Crashes and yells entered the forest like a storm, and you were the white stag again.

You ran. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Shanks had only been gone for a day, but the clown found himself aching for him in a way he hadn’t in years. 

Letting Shanks back in had opened the door to all this shit he’d tried to stuff away, but he didn’t have room for all of these feelings right now. Not when his star was slurring her words, her voice high and distant while she tried to convince this fucking doctor that all their time together had meant nothing.

“It was all pretend. I was bored. I know it was risky behavior, I s-see that nn…”

“I’m glad you’re expressing that awareness, Y/N,” Dr. Vorsan’s voice bore down even through her frantic heartbeat, “but you still haven’t talked about the clown. It’s important that we understand our triggers so that we can prevent future episodes.”

She’s not breathing!

“You don’t want to have any more episodes, do you, Y/N?”

“No,” she agreed, though Buggy barely heard her over her now ragged breath. 

“Good. Part of staying well means cooperating with your treatment,” the slimeball purred. “Why did you go with the clown?”

“He was sweet. And funny... I liked him.”

Buggy looked to the ceiling, unknowable emotions pulling his face into a grimace. 

“You just told me that it was all pretend. That you were bored.”

“I, yes…”

“Clarity, Y/N,” the pompous creep scolded. “We can’t make changes if we don’t acknowledge our patterns. Why did you go with the clown?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy growled.

The next words he heard had to be from her lips, but it sounded wrong, as though she’d been possessed by the concept of emptiness itself. His star was hollow. 

Gone. 

“I used him. I wanted to run. I’m selfish.”

No, baby, don’t say that.

The fucker didn’t say anything for too long. He couldn’t hear any rustling, only his empty star, breathing just enough to keep her alive. 

“Your family was very worried for you. That extreme, self destructive behavior—“

“I know,” Y/N snapped, then Buggy heard the sound of skin against skin, as though she’d slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m s-s-sorry, doctor, I…”

“It’s quite, alright, Y/N,” the man fucking chuckled. “You’ve just experienced an episode that must have caused some additional trauma, but you’re safe now.”

Buggy hadn’t taken notes, and he looked down to find a shredded notepad on his lap, his shaky hands clenching into the paper. 

“Do you want to be safe?”

“Yes, doctor,” Y/N stated, the gravity of a black hole in her voice. 

“Was it safe to run away with pirates?”

What the fuck is he doing to her? 

“No.”

“Good. Now, tell me about the clown.”

Circles and circles of this talk spun through Buggy’s mind, and it seemed like nothing was said, yet he could hear his star break a little more with every word. 

“I’ll rip his tongue out, baby. Make him eat it for you. Don’t listen to him.”

“Excellent work today. Self reflection is difficult, but it’s the only way to heal.”

“Thank… Thank you, doctor.”

“There’s no need to thank me. You have the power to stay well all on your own, as long as you put in the work to take care of yourself. Just try to remember the kind of life you wish to have. You don’t want to lose yourself in another episode, do you, Y/N?”

“No, doctor.”

The clown laid in silence for hours while his broken lover did the same. Somehow Y/N built herself up again, preparing to head to dinner with her sister, and her voice was almost as clear as it had been before the session. 

She keeps all of this inside… I didn’t even—

“Come on, little clown. Don’t eat dinner on the floor again.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

The Emperor of the Sea followed an usher to his seat, feeling high as he twirled the decorative arrow in his fingers. He was lucky to have made it in time, and luckier still that Y/N had looked at him like that. Shanks was sure that it wasn’t really lust in those magnetic eyes of hers. Buggy’s fallen star was difficult to read, but it had to be a message. An opening. 

I’ll get you out of here, Y/N. 

Even Benn’s smirking face couldn’t diminish the flames she’d warmed in him, his first mate pulling his seat out while he approached. The last few tables at the edge of the courtyard seemed filled with guests that were either late or large, the nearest competitor being the two story tall Prince Fukaboshi. 

Before Shanks could greet his rival, Sylvad’s voice carried through the night air, testing the Emperor’s ability to fake a smile. 

“Thank you all for joining our family as we celebrate the hunt for a new member! I am honored to help strengthen the Sylvad legacy by making sure that my enchanting niece finds the most loving, and of course, the most profitable match,” he admitted with a smug laugh. “Just as this marks the beginning of a new era for our family, I’m sure that most of you have sensed the shift in the waters.”

Cedrick paused for effect with Y/N posed like some pretty doll at his side while his guests murmured in agreement.

“For generations, the Sylvad’s have stood in enthusiastic support of the Marines. Although I still pay them an exorbitant amount to show up when I call, their many recent failures, and acts of overreaching, have shown them to be nothing more than expensive, and exceedingly annoying guard dogs.”

The laughter he drew was mixed, both nervous and pleased, and Shanks was sure he wasn’t the only one to catch the threat in those playful words. 

“The world is changing, and I intend to keep my family strong, even if we have to shoo the seagulls away,” he vowed with enough humor to keep the mood light. “But enough about all that, we’re here to enjoy ourselves. Let’s welcome in the New Era together with a good old fashioned hunt!”

Confusion was clouded by the applause Cedrick had demanded with his gestures and tone after he offered Y/N a hand. Watching that man touch her had Shanks’ jaw clenching, holding himself back while she truly looked like prey under his smirking grin.

“I think our white stag is feeling a bit skittish, but that's nothing a little chase can't fix. The first hunter to catch her claims the first date!”

Shanks watched in horror as Cedrick led his niece to the edge of the courtyard, speaking to her too softly to hear before she ran toward the trees, stumbling in that fucking costume he’d stuffed her into. 

Benn nudged his ankle, stopping Shanks from finishing his movement. Gryphon was on the ship anyway, and he wasn’t sure what use his sword would do other than to comfort his helpless soul.

I’m a villain now. Maybe I should just kill everyone here. 

He chugged the glass of wine in front of him, as though swallowing the liquor could help him swallow the layers of guilt that made no sense to him.

The bright light of that wounded star disappeared into the trees, but there was no reprieve. A large, white canvas was rolled out over the side of the manor walls while servants pushed a massive transponder snail on a wheeled cart up the path. The courtyard was silent until the snail’s eyes flickered, its mouth open as sounds of heavy breathing and snapping twigs came through before the live feed was projected. 

Two images appeared on that blank wall, bringing gasps and applause from the guests while Sylvad preened.

“In ten minutes,” he announced, doing a flourish as a timer popped up on the frantic screen, “the hunt for the white stag begins. The man that touches her first wins the hunt, and will earn the first private date tomorrow evening, as well as the pleasure of dining with the lovely doe tonight.”

The lovely doe in question was panting as she kicked off her heels, running barefoot through the woods. On the left was a jostled scene of darkness and trees, but as she looked down to lift her skirts, it was clear that a cam snail must be on her head, maybe hidden in those antlers. The second image continued to flip, showing her running and struggling through the brush from endless angles. 

Does he have a surveillance snail on every fucking tree on this island?

“What a strange courtship custom,” Prince Fukaboshi noted quietly, although his size let the words carry enough for Shanks to let out a sharp laugh, smiling up at the merman to cover his anger before Sylvad continued.

“You may woo my niece however you like, so long as it doesn’t cause her unsalvageable harm, or remove her from this island. I won’t have my vacation home turned into a war zone, so do watch your violence. I know that some of you have had disagreements in the past, but let’s keep the fighting to a minimum unless it’s part of a game, alright lads? We wouldn’t want to spoil the fun for everyone.”

Leeches…

Servants came around to all the tables to take bets from the guests while the courtyard followed the white stag’s every, panicked step. 

Hawk was right, this security is something else.

“This isn’t a dream.”

“Aww, isn’t she a darling,” a diamond-studded, older woman crooned, inspiring more guests to make noises about how precious she looked while she caught her breath, eyes blank as she leaned against a tree. 

“You’re gonna catch that little bunny, aren’t ya, Captain?”

Shanks let out a breath, finally breathing, when he met his first mate’s gaze. Benn was steady, the curve of his lips and shine of his eyes hiding the intensity from those that didn’t know him, but his captain recognized the look. 

It’s time to get serious.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

Easy silence wrapped around the three men during dinner, interspersed with deep, hushed voices, and the scratching of Buggy’s pen while he doodled. He couldn’t help but feel thankful for the less noteworthy hours that had passed since his star had met with the doctor. 

“Zala checked in,” Crocodile reported between bites. “Guess she wasn’t suited to the restaurant business after all.”

“That’s Miss Doublefinger, yes?”

“Not anymore,” he sighed at Mihawk’s question. “Zala used to work well with Daz Bonez, and she’s investigating Dr. Vorsan. Refused to help without bringing Marianne along though… Ms. Goldenweek.”

“The child,” Mihawk questioned, giving a gentle tilt to his head. His lover seemed to get touchy when his old organization was brought up. 

“She’s eighteen now,” came the curt answer, although the larger man almost smiled at those damn, golden eyes. 

“Uncle ChodeTick’s talking to her, taking a walk,” Buggy reported, guilt cutting them off before they could get too flirty. The clown scribbled his notes, the easy silence less easy now. 

Mihawk’s lifetime of dedication to becoming the strongest did nothing for him now. All he could do was watch every subtle, pained expression on Buggy’s face while he suffered, the bravest of them all. 

“The agents are infiltrating the asylum the doctor runs when he’s not fucking with our girl,” Crocodile shared, his voice hushed. 

“Sending a teenager to infiltrate an insane asylum? You are ruthless, aren’t you,” Mihawk flirted lightly. He was learning this man, and for the first time he wasn’t making excuses about why. His tone paid off, and he smirked at the playful look on that scarred face.

“Marianne‘ll be fine, I’m sure she’s looking forward to art therapy. Plus, Zala will— what’s wrong, Buggy?”

The clown gestured for silence while his face went red with rage, listening to the rules, and the threats that her monster of an uncle was caging his star with. 

“FUCK!!”

The nearly empty plates and glasses went flying as Buggy flipped the table, his body shaking in every direction, unable to sit with himself for another second.

“I’m pathetic! I can’t help her. I can’t fucking do ANYTHING!”

Crocodile and Mihawk caught as many pieces of him as they could, and wrapped themselves around Buggy until he breathed again, holding most of his body between them. 

“Don’t say that, Buggy.”

“Shh, little clown. You’ve done enough.”

“He’s gonna make her…” Buggy barely managed to choke out the sound, glad that the asshole had left her alone already. One more word from his lips would have made the him explode. 

Her words were worse though. 

“She said she’s gonna fuck the ones she…” He cried out between their now stiff bodies. “He threatened her with… She has to…”

“She has to do what, Buggy,” Crocodile asked, amazed at how steady his voice was while he knelt down to meet the clown’s tired eyes. He kept his hand stroking along his side, that body slumping instead of flying apart now. 

He couldn’t say it, exhaustion making the clown sway against Crocodile’s touch before he floated his hand toward the mess he’d made of the table. Mihawk caught the notepad, his eyes going apocalyptic as he read over Cedrick’s “rules” for the games.  

The swordsman wanted to fly into violence and rage, to turn to ice, and make everything in his path disappear. 

But Buggy’s eyes made him pause, the words on the page having too many consequences, too much weight. 

“Buggy, she said this in anger, did she not? I doubt she’ll really—“

“You didn’t hear him,” Buggy snapped, starting to float and pace while Crocodile read the notes. The clown snatched the notepad off the floor after the scarred man dropped it, his hand shaking with rage. 

“He’s twisted,” Buggy continued.

“He’s dead,” came a rough voice, the fury of a sandstorm barely contained in that vow. 

“Yes, he is,” Mihawk promised as he reached for Buggy. He pushed that lovely, blue hair behind the remaining ear, almost smiling at the ear plug he found. “We will get her out of there, but we need you sane. If our little rabbit needs to take care of herself, we’ll find a way to keep you—“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Buggy floated just out of reach, glaring down at the swordsman as though he’d started speaking some alien language. 

“You shouldn’t have to listen to that, little clown,” Crocodile soothed, resting his own rage when he realized what Mihawk was saying. “If it happens, we’ll make it loud over here so you can’t hear, or you could—“

“You want me to shove my fingers in my ears while her screams echo through the halls,” Buggy hissed. His anger was building up around him, heating the air, strangling any sense of peace from the room as those old words hit their mark. 

The two monsters under his glare froze, shame stunning them into silence. 

“You think I said I’d rather watch you fuck my star into oblivion just for FUN,” he seethed, his eyes going manic while he floated above them. “I’m a sick fuck, and ended up having flashy, old time, but that’s not why I had to watch.”

He was that frightening showman again, and they were drawn into his act. 

“I’m sorry, Bug—“

“I made myself watch while you took her from me,” he recalled in an almost sing-song voice that chilled the other men’s blood. “I watched and watched, because… I have to listen because…”

The crack in his own voice made him waver, dipping in the air a bit while he stared at the pained faces of these terrifying men. 

“What if they hurt her?”

Silence clashed with the cacophony inside their minds until Crocodile reached toward the clown again, gripping into his shoulder, and sending fear flashing through him while their faces grew closer. 

“We’ll kill them.”

“B-but–”

“Come on, brave, little clown,” Crocodile breathed over his trembling lips. “Why don’t you show me all your toys, huh? How many Buggy Balls would it take to blow up that whole fucking island if we need to?”

As they sighed, falling into the relief of distraction together, Mihawk sank against the wall, becoming nothing more than a threatening statue. He could have tried to grab onto the lifeline his lovers had just created, that comforting moment of camaraderie in violence while the clown indulged in and shared one of his favorite topics.

Yet, the swordsman couldn’t let it go. 

His little rabbit, forced to bed her captors again. 

She’s strong. She’s wicked. She’ll enjoy herself. Then we’ll get her back.

The fear that Y/N might enjoy herself enough to not want to return left Mihawk sick. He had to step outside, wandering down to the garden he’d barely thought of since she was no longer there to smell it on him. 

He found himself fisting into the dirt in that walled garden, huffing a laugh when he smelled the faint, sour scent on his fingers before wiping them on his pants. Red flashed in his mind, and the ex-Warlord sat in the dirt, wishing that love and trust were as simple to cultivate as the garden he’d been too preoccupied to plant. 

“I trust you,” Mihawk whispered to his red haired lover across the sea. The thought of how insufferable Shanks would be if he ever uttered those words in front of him brought a soft smile to his lips. “Please, bring her back. I need her by my side.”

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Time was a human construct, and as your ungraceful body ran like the prey he had transformed you into, you couldn’t tell how long it took for the yells and crashes to race toward you. 

Eternity. 

One fucking second.

A clearing appeared before you, but as you stepped into the open space, an impossible man filled up your world. He knelt down, still towering over you, and all the sounds of chaos in the forest faded while his crimson eyes asked for permission.

Katakuri reached for you, his massive hand outstretched, but he didn’t grab you. 

There was no way you could describe the subtle shift in those stunning eyes when you lifted your hand to take his, but they went wide before you made contact, his hand shooting out impossibly fast behind you. The giant of a man wasn’t fast enough, and cold fear poured through you before you had a warm body wrapped around yours from behind.

“I’ve got you, bunny,” Shanks purred, breathing a little hard as he pressed his lips against your ear. His arm was wrapped around you, holding you tight, as though you were a prize the others would try to tear from his grip. 

You wished they would.

“If we were allowed to wear our raid suits we would have–”

“Don’t complain, brother,” a taunting voice floated through the trees while Shanks looked you over, never taking his hand off of you while he guided you through the trees. “We’ll have plenty more chances. Our little bride likes being hunted, remember? You heard what the old man said about the Cross–”

A strange noise left your throat when Shanks bent down to wrap his arm under your thighs, lifting you up over his shoulder before running too fucking fast. Running until you saw the lovely lanterns again, until the courtyard came into view.

Your own bedraggled image was spread across the outer wall of the manor, the huge snail showing two screens that flashed through replays of your pathetic race and capture. It showed a few highlights of the hunters, including Shanks smashing through what looked like a wall of giant crackers, and Iceburg crawling on the ground in the wrong direction. Now they displayed various angles of the winner carrying his prize.

Shanks was surreal. No one cheered for the slab of meat he’d claimed, not when the Emperor of the Sea looked like some dark god of the forest, a hero bringing home a feast to his starving people.

The image had you closing your eyes, playing into the exhaustion so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. 

“Red Haired Shanks, everyone,” Uncle announced as he slowed the audience’s applause, and you opened your eyes to find him beside you, leading your captor to the head table. “The emperor has earned the first private date tomorrow evening, as well as the seat of honor tonight. I hope everyone worked up an appetite.”

I’m not here.

Both men had their hands on you while they propped you up between them, and you faced the courtyard to find the ravenous guests practically drooling over the sight of your torn and dirty dress. Thankfully your back was to the screen, so you didn’t have to keep watching yourself stumbling through the dark. 

The stragglers made their way back, and your mind kept spacing, floating while your torturers chatted, until dinner arrived. 

Servants carried a long stretch of table over the stone path, “ooh’s” and “aah’s” making you more nauseated the closer it got, until they laid out the mythical beast before you. 

Your uncle had caught a white stag. 

He had caught it, killed it, and was laughing while its dead eyes stared at you, its useless antlers like some tragic centerpiece. Uncle Cedrick ordered its flesh to be passed to every plate, so that each of his friends might share in his auspicious meal. 

“Here’s to those with the heart of a hunter,” he toasted. “May your arrows always hit their mark.”

Every bite they took tore through your own skin, the slow prey gone still while the pack of wolves enjoyed their meal. An animal again, your mind was incapable of reason or words, but even the soul of the deer could feel this truth pulsing deep within the bones that the monsters hadn’t yet picked clean.

You would not survive this. They were going to devour you whole.

~~~

“Y/N? Sis? Are you okay?”

Some part of you that only existed for your sister reacted to the worry in her voice, blinking up at her while she carefully pulled the antlers off of your head. Another image of the deer’s mutilated body flashed through your mind as you watched her hold them to her chest before turning away, hurrying toward the door. You stared, thoughts thankfully leaving your mind while she threw the cursed antlers down the corridor.

“Are you okay,” she checked in again when she returned her gentle fingers to your hair.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, voice coming out raw. “Where is everyone?”

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” Kat assured. Her sharp eyes were wider than normal, but your urge to comfort her couldn’t break through your exhaustion, your delirium. “I didn’t think you’d want all the servants around.”

Gratitude swelled with the lump in your throat while Kat’s soft fingers transformed you, bringing you back to humanity. 

“I’m sorry he’s still such an asshole to you,” your sister breathed, starting to clean the scrapes that littered your legs and feet. “Running through the forest like… You’re getting married, not hunted. He didn’t need to make it so… I’m sorry.”

“Married,” you gave a tired laugh, closing your eyes before you went down the spiral. A hiss left your lips, your body jolting when she dabbed at a particularly unpleasant scrape.

“I’m going to call Dr. Gilli,” Kat announced, stopping you from digging your nails into your thighs. “No one else, and I’ll stay with you, okay?”

“No pills. No shots,” you ordered, too frantic to care about holding it in. 

“Of course not,” she sighed when your breathing started to calm. “I just don’t want to be responsible for your legs falling off from infection. Is that alright with you, sis?”

“Fine.” The slight teasing Kat had managed to put in her tone made your lips twitch, but that hint of relief took all of your energy. Your sister stayed with you, holding your hand while the family doctor looked you over.

Dr. Gilli had always been sweet to you, but the sight of your blood on her gloves while she gushed about how beautiful you looked, and how lucky you were to have such a romantic engagement, made you want to kick that sweet face in. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Kat frowned, shooing the woman out just in time before you punched her in the throat for asking you about babies. 

Kat helped you into bed, crawling in beside you like you were kids again. 

You used to be the big sister. Four years had always felt like such a big gap, especially with everything you had tried to protect her from. 

Until you couldn’t even protect yourself, and Kat had to become the big sister. 

Gratitude and guilt over that fact could never balance out, and as much as you loved her and needed her right now, you ached for her to leave so you could break down. 

Instead, slow tears stained your pillowcase while her comforting presence held you in a quiet cage. 

“It’s only a month,” she whispered while she stroked your hair. “We’re going to find the best husband for you, and then you’ll take over the company. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you, Y/N, just like dad did… I know you’re ready, and I’ll be right here with you.”

Kat’s misplaced trust froze you for what felt like hours, but somehow you fell asleep. Your name echoed through a storm while you watched the wolves tear into her flesh, helpless to keep your sister from the starving beasts.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

For a split second upon waking on the morning of the banquet, Buggy’s first thought hadn’t been panic for her absence, but a hum of pleasure at the warmth surrounding him. 

Guilt sent him flying into pieces to escape Crocodile and Mihawk’s arms, and they blinked up at him as though they’d forgotten her too. Buggy only relaxed when he saw the reality of the day harden their faces. 

Another day full of hushed voices, and waiting. Scribbled notes, and stifled comfort. Fear, and an unsteady hope that Shanks would be the hero again. 

~~~

“What’s this,” Buggy growled at the wide eyed, young pirate that had set down a bright blue cocktail on Y/N’s desk. He’d found himself sitting there tonight, updating the other men while the suitors were introduced, and he closed his eyes to stay focused on the muffled voices. 

The clown had started to panic earlier when his star was told to leave her locket behind, almost losing her because his gift didn’t fit the “theme.” She must have stuffed it into her dress from the way her heart thumped even louder within him, and he coughed to fight the heat in his throat.

I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.

“You like sweet drinks, don’t you?”

Buggy jolted, pretending that surprised squeak hadn’t just left his throat before he met Crocodile’s eyes across the room. 

“Y-yeah,” Buggy frowned, but he avoided the collection of garnishes and tiny umbrellas to take a sip from the curly straw. He found the taste of pineapple, coconuts, and sooo much sugar, covering up the rum that he most definitely needed. “Thanks.”

The scarred man raised a brow, and Mihawk’s soft chuckle from his own desk added to the shiver going up Buggy's spine.

They’re trying to distract me… 

“Thanks, daddy,” Buggy corrected, almost smiling at that frightening, but pleased face until her voice filled with hope.

‘Mr. Iceburg?’

“Mr. Iceburg,” he repeated while her heart went wild. 

“Iceburg,” Crocodile asked quietly, looking at his own notes. “From Galley La? He wasn’t on the list…”

“She knows him already,” Buggy reported. He tried to let it mean nothing. “She likes him.”

“Of course, Sylvad’s has had ties with Water 7 for generations,” Crocodile nodded, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“She may like him, but she loves you,” Mihawk startled him as he appeared beside her desk. “Don’t forget.”

“I’d never forget that,” Buggy snapped, sighing when wicked fingers teased over his tense shoulders, helping him focus.

He focused on her breath, her heart, while she met all the men vying to touch her, to take her. He focused on trying not to freak out the longer the night went on without hearing that familiar, heroic voice. Their best chance.

“Something’s wrong,” Buggy rasped, hardly hearing Crocodile's chair thump onto the new carpet over the deafening silence of his star forgetting to breathe. It seemed like her heart had stopped beating, until her uncle’s grating voice came through, and then it pounded like a bird smashing itself against a window to try to escape.

“The clothes suit you well, Emperor.”

“I had no idea that fashionable friends could be so generous,” Shanks charmed, his voice a miracle. “Or that I’d have the pleasure of meeting such a gorgeous, little bunny again so soon. Sorry, you're a gorgeous, little doe, aren’t you?”

“It’s Shanks,” Buggy shared, almost jealous of the relief that washed over their faces before he closed his eyes to the world again.

Shanks played the roguish pirate to perfection, and Buggy had no notes for his performance. Even muffled, Sylvad’s voice was clearly satisfied, eating up the Emperor’s words. 

“Red Hair made it? He’s a suitor?”

The soft questions ripped Buggy’s eyes open, and the relief he still saw there made him sick. 

“She hates him.”

“What do you–”

“Who does she–”

“She HATES SHANKS!” 

Buggy didn’t notice when he’d flown into pieces, but he floated erratically before them, trying to understand, trying to explain. 

“How… She didn’t say that out loud, did she,” Mihawk asked after a pause, studying his movements. 

“Why would she hate him,” Crocodile mused. His silver eyes stripped him down as he stepped too close.

“How the fuck would I know,” Buggy yelled, horror filling his veins at the way her heart seemed to fight itself in its cage. “This is how she sounds when she’s with Uncle ShitFuck, or that fucking doctor! She hates Shanks. She HATES HIM! What are we gonna do?”

“Shh, shh, darling,” Mihawk breathed, catching Buggy’s face in both hands while his body still flew through the air. “Y/N thought he was going to steal you from her. If she hasn’t forgiven him, then we’ll just have to find another way.”

“But she–”

Every floating piece of him stuttered in the air when cruel lips kissed his so sweetly. 

“I am long overdue for a hunting trip,” the swordsman teased over his skin, twisting those wicked fingers into his hair. “Having all three of us here is a waste. I’ll go thin out the competition.”

“No.”

The refusal was deep, yet gentle, and that scarred face towered over them both while Crocodile tugged at Mihawk’s chin. 

“We’re not doing that. We can’t go against her wishes, not until we know why she’s doing this.”

Buggy felt pain searing behind his eyes while he tried to listen to two things at once: Cedrick Sylvad’s speech, and the moral dilemma of these ex-Warlords.

“I agree,” Mihawk said evenly, barely sparing a glance while Buggy brought his body back together beside him. “But these men want our little rabbit, and her illustrious name for their own reasons. If it’s possible to convince the worst of them to drop out, then we should try.”

“Are you running away again,” Crocodile sighed, the pressure in the air making Buggy want to sink to the floor.  

“Don’t worry, daddy,” Mihawk purred, expertly slicing through all the tension in the room. “I have a spare earpiece snail, so you can scold me all you like while I’m away.” 

‘Did you hear me,’ Cedrick seemed to hiss at Buggy, swimming in guilt for falling into the distraction of the men before him. 

“Chase?”

“What is it,” Mihawk checked in, scanning his face. 

“No,” the clown paused, more endless horror pouring into him. He had to step away, the sounds of her panic while she raced through the woods sending him into helpless rage. The other men let him feel into it, until he rounded on them again. 

“They’re hunting her like an animal,” Buggy seethed, flinching at the sound of his star falling, panting, pushing herself on. “She’s terrified, she’s– Fuck this!”

A wave of sand hit the door before Crocodile blocked his path, only fueling that need to protect her. 

“Marines on call. Germa Kingdom. Big Mom Pirates. Fishman royalty. And we still don’t know what kind of security forces Sylvad keeps on the island, not to mention whatever the Concealer keeps around him, or the President of Galley La,” the larger man listed, his voice firm, but going soft when he touched Buggy’s cheek. “The second you hear our sweet girl ask for help, or say that she doesn’t wanna be there, I will drain them all to dust… but we still don’t know what he has on her. She told us she wanted to go.”

‘This isn’t a dream…’

In a trance, the clown let the other men lead him to that flashy, green couch, his notepad and fruity drink set up on the new coffee table while he slumped into her spot between them. 

“Shanks got her,” he reported, unable to share in their relief with the sound of her strangled breaths so loud in his head. He could barely hear a thing in her world now, the muffled voices beyond theirs were too difficult to make out, especially when another heartbeat filled his mind. His old friend must have been carrying her, and the sound of both of their hearts pounding so close made his gloves damp when he rubbed at his tired eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Mihawk tugged at him gently until Buggy curled in against his exposed chest. The swordsman didn’t recoil from the faded paint, or the hot tears that streaked down his skin the longer the clown let himself stay there. “If our little rabbit doesn’t trust our hero, then we’ll just convince the rest of the suitors to give up the hunt.”

“Try not to start any wars, little prince,” Crocodile hummed, setting his massive hand over Mihawk’s where it was resting on Buggy’s thigh. 

“War is tedious. I am looking forward to a peaceful life,” Mihawk vowed, stroking Buggy’s hair while the man let exhaustion relax him deeper into his lap. “We just need to retrieve our lovers first.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Oh sweetie, you look so–”

“Take a bite.”

Mom’s too shiny smile hardened slightly before she tasted your oatmeal, avoiding the servants that hovered around you in clouds of makeup and hair spray. 

“You’re about to have brunch with your suitors,” she reminded you when you snatched the food from her, practically inhaling it before more pencils or brushes could touch your lips. “Don’t you think it will look strange if you don’t eat with them?”

“You don’t seem to care how strange it looks to sell off your own daughter,” you laughed, noticing a servant’s eyes widen just a fraction when they took your empty bowl. “I’m cooperating, but I will not be leaving my food or drinks unattended until I feel safer. You want your child to feel safe, don’t you, mother?”

“I found some,” Kat beamed when she barged through the door, waving a deck of playing cards above her head. She tossed it to you, and you gasped, surprised that you caught it from the air before it could hit one of the staff. Thankfully, the full skirted dress you’d been stuffed into this morning had pockets, so you tucked your little game away, forcing your mom to taste the rest of your breakfast before the brunch dates began.

But Kat was making that face. Little sister face. 

“What’s that,” you gestured toward the item she had tried to conceal when she sat across from you, tucking it behind her body.

“Just some trash I found in the hall. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Give it,” you ordered, giving her big sister face.

“It’s nothing we didn’t already know, okay? So just…”

“At least I’m not the only one being used,” a sharp laugh left your throat. “How much berry do you think he’s making off of this game?”

Mom ordered the staff to leave before leaning toward Kat, and didn’t whisper quietly enough on her way out.

“Brunch is about to start. Make sure she looks presentable.”

“Can’t sell me off if I'm not pretty, can you?”

“Y/N,” she started, looking convincingly hurt, but Kat got her out of the room before either of you could make it worse. 

You stared at the “trash” in your lap, the crisp scent of expensive ink and paper filling your lungs while you examined the brochure. 

‘Which Hunter Will Claim Her?’

That tantalizing question was scrawled across every page, while the nine suitors each had their own section, their profile, their face, and a stupid little quote about winning you. This barbaric game was disguised behind a snooty font spread over images of dappled sunlight through Sylvad trees, and decorated with arrows and leaves.

Cedar leaves.

You wanted to tear it to shreds, but you were pulled in, studying every detail.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Giberson

Age: Couldn’t Recall

Height: Misplaced Measurements

Birthday: August 14th

Title: “Warehouseman”

Favorite Food: Rye Whiskey

How he plans to win: “I’m sure the lovely lady and I will have a delightful time. You don’t get to be my age without learning a few tricks.”

~

Ichiji

Age: 21

Height: 186 cm (6'1")

Birthday: March 2

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Strawberries and Whiskey

How he plans to win: "I’m a Vinsmoke."

~

Niji

Age: 21

Height: 185 cm (6'1")

Birthday: March 2nd

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Blueberries and Scotch

How he plans to win: “She’s coming with us. If I don’t win, there’s two more Vinsmoke’s.”

~

Yonji

Age: 21

Height: 194 cm (6'4")

Birthday: March 2

Title: Prince of the Germa Kingdom

Favorite Food: Green Peas

How he plans to win: “I wouldn’t mind ending up with a woman like her, so I’m gonna turn her into a princess.”

~

Iceburg

Age: 40

Height: 199 cm (6'6")

Birthday: January 3

Title: President of the Galley-La Company, and Mayor of Water 7

Favorite Food: Curry Made by an Old Friend. A Drunk, Old Friend.

How he plans to win: “Mm, well... I suppose I’ll win because I know her best.”

~

Fukaboshi

Age: 24

Height: 604 cm (19’10”)

Birthday: February 4th

Title: Prince of the Ryugu Kingdom

Favorite Food: Abalone Steak

How he plans to win: “I hope that she carries peace in her heart. If she does, I will stop at nothing to earn her love.”

~

Cracker

Age: 45

Height: 307 cm (10'1")

Birthday: February 28th

Title: Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates, and the Minister of Biscuit

Favorite Food: Biscuits. Dislikes Kimchi and Carbonated Drinks.

How he plans to win: “Easy. I’ll outdo them all.”

~

Katakuri

Age: 48

Height: 509 cm (16'8½")

Birthday: November 25th

Title: Sweet Commander of the Big Mom Pirates, and the Minister of Flour

Favorite Food: Doughnuts. Dislikes hot ramen.

How he plans to win: “I will win because I must.”

~

Shanks

Age: 39

Height: 199 cm (6'6")

Birthday: March 9

Title: Emperor of the Sea

Favorite Food: Kimchi Fried Rice and Lobster. Dislikes Blueberries.

How he plans to win: “Just gonna show the cutie a good time.”

~~~~~~

‘Make Your Bets Now!’

Kat was right. You knew that the audience was enjoying the game, gambling while you just tried to survive, trying to secure the least abhorrent future that you could. 

“Venison…”

“Heeyyy,” Kat fumbled through positivity as she pulled the brochure from your white-knuckled grip. “At least we know how tall they are now!”

“I love you,” you thanked her, amazed that you could still laugh.

~~~

“Such pretty, little fingers… I hope I pass your test.”

“It’s not a test,” you lied, shuffling cards instead of tearing the old man’s eyes out. “Just a game.”

“It has to be the Queen of Hearts,” Giberson winked over his Bloody Mary.

“It’s the Four of Diamonds.”

“So you are choosing the next winner,” he scolded lightly when your prediction was revealed.

“How could I possibly choose when I have so many charming options,” you reminded him as you pushed the deck across the table so he could shuffle for himself. You weren’t ready to pick and choose between these hunters. There’d been no time to feel them out. 

So they had to guess.

The lighthearted brunch felt anything but with so many eyes on your skin, especially with Uncle’s giant projector snail that blew up your image across the building again. All the smaller snails circled around you, their slow, unreal eyes reminding you how trapped you were.

Always trapped.

“That’s alright, dear. Making decisions is tough, isn’t it? I’ve been hearing about what a smart girl you are though! So, what’s the card?”

The old man’s condescension was so typical, you were contemplating rooting for him, just so you could end up with a predictable partner.

“Jack of Hearts,” you smiled after counting down twenty two cards out loud, yet again.

“Whew, that sure is something,” Giberson waved the Jack of Hearts he’d revealed, making sure the rest of the guests could see while he bragged about you, as though your skills were somehow reflective of his own talents. 

As though he already owned you.

“You shuffled,” you teased, guiding him to set up the trick one more time. “Can you guess the card?”

“Queen of Hearts,” he winked again.

Gross. At least he might die soon, that’s a plus.

~~~

“You look beautiful this morning, Y/N,” the firstborn Vinsmoke brother purred when he took Giberson’s seat. 

Every moment was on full display for the other suitors, and for the guests that had stayed on the island for the entertainment. It seemed that the courtyard was to be your new realm, with plenty of space for your much taller dates to join you at your little breakfast table that was set up on a slightly elevated platform. 

A stage. 

“Thank you, Prince Ichigi. You’re looking quite well yourself.”  

Fuck.

It wasn’t a lie, and your pulse sped at the smug smile he gave when he tilted his head down to examine you over his dark, red glasses. 

There was something dangerous in that smile, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide it made you pause, not sure how best to deal with this entitled prince.

“What does our lovely bride enjoy when she’s not being chased,” Ichiji purred, already claiming you with his words. His sunglasses did little to hide his eyes as they raked over your skin. 

“I enjoy numbers. Mathematics,” you almost squeaked. Heat rose up to your cheeks while you started to shuffle the cards, noticing the number “1” embroidered on his maroon cloak while you explained the goal of the card trick. 

“Seven of Clubs.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Ichiji, you’re wrong again.”

You had to risk a small sip from your untested water glass to fight the dryness on your tongue.

“That’s alright,” Ichiji teased, nodding at the sound of bells marking his time. “That’s why my family always brings numbers.”

“My turn, brother,” the blue haired prince announced as he clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Be nice to our little princess, Niji,” he ordered, pressing your knuckles to his lips before heading back toward the rest of his family. 

“Of course,” your new date smirked, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind that blue head of hair. 

The large spikes and swoops of his hairstyle covered one of his eyes under his gold sunglasses, hiding one of the eyebrows that you kept trying not to glance at. The three brothers shared an odd curl to the ends of their brows, You couldn’t tell if it was a cosmetic choice, but didn’t want to risk insulting such powerful men in case they were sensitive about it.

“Don’t tell me my brother already wore you out,” he clicked his tongue, snapping you out of your memories. 

“I’m so sorry, Prince Niji, I must still be tired from the banquet. What were you saying?”

“Fetch our little bride some coffee,” he snapped at the nearest servant, banging lightly on the table until the dishes rattled.

His harsh tone was almost enough to make you forget your precautions, but you had enough to worry about without the uncertainty of who prepared your drink.

That curly brow raised with satisfied surprise when you rested your hand over his, his lips parting while he ate up your act.

“Would you mind sharing your coffee, Prince Niji? I’d hate to waste any more of our time waiting to wake up.”

“What’s mine is yours, princess,” Niji purred. He caught your hand as you pulled away, and you let him hold it while you drank from his mug. His coffee was unbelievably sweet.

Stop. Don’t think about…

“Thank you,” you hummed, swallowing the heat in your throat while you tried to not to look at his blue hair with that practically syrupy coffee still on your tongue. “Will you help me with a little trick?”

~~~

“It’s up to you, little brother,” Niji reported when his time ran out. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been watching these pretty hands,” Yonji assured him, kissing your fingers before he sat down. His dark eyes seemed fierce without colored glasses to hide them, and his green hair was slicked back instead of swooping up and out like his older brothers. He wasn’t hiding his interesting features.

“So you think you know the trick,” you challenged, giving him a chance. 

“I think I’ll win your heart,” he swooned, and the sappy look on his face made your hands fumble while you shuffled the deck. 

He focused intently now as you laid them out, and revealed certain cards, counting down to the guess. 

“What card is—“

“Three of Spades,” he blurted out. “What’s your guess?”

“Three of Clubs.”

“Again.”

The youngest prince refused your small talk, avoiding your gaze until his final guess.

“King of Hearts,” Yonji beamed, puppy dog eyes finally on your face again. “What’s your guess, princess?”

Would it be weird to marry Kat’s favorite?

You didn’t glance at your sister, but knew she’d be watching while the green haired prince scored the first point, hearts practically floating around his head when you revealed the card. 

“I told you, princess,” Yonji vowed as he stole a quick peck to your cheek. “I’ll be the one to win your heart.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~⚫~~~

The man that had won your heart beamed when he saw you gazing up at him. His blue hair seemed to glow in the sun, but nothing could gleam like those strong arms, slick with sweat while he climbed down the ropes to meet you on the deck of the ship.

“Oh my, look at you,” Iceburg hummed, tying a bandana over his hair to catch that salty water before it dripped down his face. You stared at those gorgeous, purple tattoos that crawled down his shoulders and arms before he patted the top of your head. “Where’s your dad hiding?”

“He had to take a call, but I helped him write this proposal, so he said I could bring it to you,” you squirmed, handing him the file.

“He’s got you working at thirteen,” he whistled, taking the document while he shook his head. 

“I’m fourteen now,” you declared. 

You couldn’t keep yourself from rolling onto your toes a bit, lifting your chin in hopeful challenge. 

“You’re gonna be running things soon, huh,” he smirked.

Mind going absolutely blank under his attention, you just gaped at him like a fucking creep.

“This ship’s almost finished.” Iceburg leaned close, knocking on the railing behind you. “Would you like a tour? It is your family’s wood that makes it so strong, after all.”

“I– Are you sure? I’ll be fine waiting if you need to get back to work. You don’t need to watch me.”

The desire to follow him around like a puppy was overpowered by the distaste at him feeling the need to babysit you, but the look on his face made you laugh, forgetting it all.

“I don’t wanna go back to work,” the handsome shipwright complained, scrunching up his face in a pout that rivaled your sister’s. “I’d rather show you around, and grab some lunch when your dad gets here. Can we?”

“Okay!”

~~~

This gorgeous, lovely man knew more about Sylvad wood than most of dad’s executives. Listening to him talk about it always made you happy, knowing that your family was part of something so important, so loved. 

Iceburg led you through the ship, telling you how he had worked each piece of lumber, how it all moved with the wind and the waves, even guiding you to slide your hand along the trees your family had grown, smooth and silky to the touch after he’d treated them. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” he praised softly, watching your hand against the wood before pulling a pen from his toolbelt. “Well, let’s go get some food, girlie. You can tell your dad what a great job you did presenting your proposal.”

“But you didn’t even read it,” you blurted out, shocked when he pressed the document against a wall to sign his name.

“You and Arbo are good people, plus you’ve got the best lumber in the world,” he laughed while he led you up the stairs toward the sound of footsteps. “I trust you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Iceburg… but you just agreed to build a small fleet to expand our shipping operations in the East Blue. Are you sure you’ll have time for that while you help Tom finish the sea train? Hi, daddy!”

“There’s my girl,” your dad grinned, kissing your temple when you joined him on the deck. “Make any deals without me?”

Iceburg handed the document over, waving his own copy in your direction. Your skin flushed with heat again when he snuck you a wink while your dad glanced at his signature. 

“She’s very convincing. You’ll be able to retire in no time if she keeps this up.”

He was the perfect man. Strong, kind, silly, sweet, and so painfully hot, it drove you mad. You’d had a few crushes on your classmates over the last couple of years, but nothing compared to the way you felt when Iceburg looked at you like that. 

“I don’t doubt it,” your dad praised. He wrapped his arm around the shipwright’s shoulders, nodding his head toward the docks. “Is Kokoro still making that delightful curry?”

“I’ll never let her stop,” Iceburg laughed while he led the way. “Tom should be over there too, let’s go grab some lunch and catch up.”

“Sounds perfect. Do you want to come, sweetheart?”

~~~⚫~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

He’s not who I thought he was. He’s a creep. Another leech trying to latch on and drain as much berry from me as he can. Don’t forget. 

You were pathetic, getting flustered while he watched your hands, his calm voice taking away all your caution. 

“I have to apologize,” Iceburg hummed while you shuffled.

“Why is that?”

“Mm, well,” he looked down at his striped jacket while he patted his pocket. “I left Tyrannosaurus with my secretary. I didn’t think bringing a pet would be… I should be more focused on you.”

“What do you— oh!”

The cards scattered across the table when you jumped, laughter sneaking out of you. 

“This is Velociraptor,” Iceburg announced as a field mouse crawled out of his breast pocket. “I found him during the chase, I hope it’s alright to have pets during our stay. Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I’m fine, sorry,” you recovered from losing yourself in that laughter before gathering the cards again. Your eyes were still watering when you watched the cute creature dive back into his pocket after a few soft pets from his strong fingers. “Can you guess the card?”

“Oh my,” his brows furrowed, watching your waiting hands. “I really need to pay attention, don’t I? I’d love to spend some more time with you.”

He leaned forward, his height making him tower over you at the little table, and you found yourself blinking up at him.

Forgetting.

“I…”

“Is it the Seven of Clubs?”

“No, Mr… No, Iceburg.”

~~~

Prince Fukaboshi was led through the courtyard by a few attendants, both fishmen and mermen featured amongst the group. He looked down at you, mouth opening to speak before Uncle’s voice carried over.

“Why don’t we give our hunter a closer look?”

Grabbing onto the edge of the table took all of your focus, and you knew that your fake smile fell when you started moving through the air. The ground flew away, the wooden platform beneath you rising up toward the prince, gentle surprise on his face.

The snails on the table didn’t seem phased by the change in elevation, and it was hard to pretend they didn’t exist while they slowly shifted positions to better capture you and your date for the audience below. 

You decided not to look down to determine what kind of contraption had lifted you so high, instead looking at the prince before you. Fukaboshi took up your entire field of vision, and it was easy to see the concern on his expansive face.

“Are you alright, Miss Sylvad?”

His teeth look so sharp…

“Please, Prince Fukaboshi,” you trembled, focusing on the cards as much as you could, “call me Y/N. Can you guess the— oh, I’m sorry, are you familiar with these sorts of playing cards?”

You were barely hanging on. He spoke, he guessed, and you could feel the rumble of his voice even though your mind wasn’t quite letting it in. Your body performed without you, your lips reciting words that carried no meaning. 

“This courtship custom is unlike any I have seen before,” the prince frowned while you set up the cards for the last guess. “Since it is all strange to me, I couldn’t be certain, but…”

The pause was long enough for you to meet his eyes, so large, and filled with what looked like compassion. 

No. 

“Miss Y/N, I am seeking your hand so that my people can gain protection and resources so that they never suffer the cruelty and humiliation of slavery again,” Fukaboshi declared. The snails on the table lowered their eyes, but his voice boomed too loud to hide. 

Bells. 

“That is—“

“I never want to see anyone treated the way my sister was by those monsters at the Reverie.”

“Monsters?”

The dangerous question barely made it past your lips before the platform jolted, slowly bringing you down, away from his determined face while the bells kept ringing. 

“Are you being held against your will? I cannot abide another moment of this if you are being used like a pet for their amusement.”

“N-no,” you panicked, craning your neck to see him while you shook your head, hands pleading, voice dripping with lies. “You are so kind, thank you, Prince Fukaboshi! I’m sorry, I must seem scared, but I’m just nervous. This is all a bit overwhelming, but I promise I am glad to be here!”

“Your turn’s over, Prince. You heard the girl.”

Cracker’s manic smile appeared as the table sank to the ground. It felt like your frantic heart had been left in the sky, floating up there with those huge, concerned eyes. 

“Thank you, Prince Fukaboshi,” you beamed, feeling forever selfish at the temptation. 

I can’t risk a stranger, a whole kingdom. I’m not worth it. 

Neither of us would make it out alive anyway. 

“It has been my honor,” he said evenly, though his eyes were scanning the crowd now, a new tension held within his enormous, warrior’s body. 

The snails woke up, those slow moving eyes reminding you that the show must go on.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” 

Cracker sat down, and the platform probably should have lifted a bit as the shirtless man was closer to your reality, but he was still even taller than… 

You had to stop comparing these men to your daydreams. 

“Eight of Diamonds… Damn,” he brushed off his loss before looming over you. His dark, brown glove was softer than you expected it to be when he cupped your cheek, almost the whole side of your face. 

“You understand family duties, don’t you?”

All you could do was nod under the wild look he gave you.

He’s fucking unstable.

“That’s good. Family is everything.”

Is he flirting? 

A dangerous giggle almost escaped, but you kept it in, smiling sweetly while he failed every guess.

The bells finally rang out, but they couldn’t save you from his last words, his promise.

“Our family needs you, Y/N. I don’t care if you’re my wife or my sister, I’ll protect you with my life.”

~~~

This time you were grateful for the moving platform, a reason to look away from Cracker’s confident face. The true reason for the movement came into view, his brother waiting patiently for you to settle just below his eye level. 

Those eyes… 

Charlotte Katakuri was too fucking tall. Too fucking scary. Crimson eyes assessed you, his arched brows and sharp nose not nearly harsh enough to distract from those thick, dark lashes of his.

He’s too fucking pretty.

Now that you were this close, you could see scars on both of his cheeks. They led down toward his mouth, still concealed by that massive scarf. Prince Fukaboshi’s sharp teeth came to mind when you wondered what he could be hiding, so you shuffled and shuffled, trying to think about anything else.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” his polite voice made you shiver, seeming to vibrate the elevated stage you were perched on. 

“Same to you, Katakuri,” your voice shook. You couldn’t afford to show this much fear. Predators always looked for weak prey. “Would you mind helping me with a little trick?”

“If that’s what you wish,” he agreed. There was no way to tell if the hint of a smile you heard in his voice was truly hidden beneath his scarf, but it set you on edge, nonetheless. 

“Can you guess the card?”

“It’s the Ten of Hearts.”

He stated it as if it were true, as if he were simply remarking on the weather around him.

And it was true. You’d known it before you revealed it, this simple math trick like the comforting rhythm of a familiar heartbeat. 

“You’re right,” you breathed when you turned it over. “Care to go again?”

Katakuri nodded slowly, but his eyes never left your face, ignoring the cards on the table until you asked for his next guess.

“The Queen of Hearts.”

“Yes. Have you seen this trick before?”

“In a way,” came his cryptic response. “Shall we go again?”

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the cards. Those stunning eyes were so fucking intense as they bore into your skin that you almost forgot to do the math before you asked for his next guess.

Then you wished you had forgotten.

“What’s the–”

“Shuffle again.”

“But you haven’t–”

You stopped breathing when one of his giant hands shot toward you, his fingers sooo fucking big when he laid them over yours. 

Delicate. This giant was gentle when he covered your hands, covered the cards, practically covered half the little table.

“This card makes you sad,” he whispered, though there was no point with all the surveillance, and with his booming voice at the center of attention. But still, he whispered. “Why don’t you shuffle again?”

Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. Stop. 

There you go. Just smile. 

A small miracle let you slip out of your body, out of your mind, while you shuffled the unrevealed Six of Spades back into the deck. 

Katakuri was still quiet, still watching. So polite while he guessed the right card, letting you pull yourself back together.

Hiding all the struggle behind your Sylvad smile.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he touched your hand again when the platform started to lower. “I’m looking forward to our next meeting.”

You hadn’t noticed the bells.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🗡️~~~

“When are you leaving?”

“There’s no point in waiting,” Mihawk avoided the larger man’s eyes. “The sooner I convince the competition to back out, the sooner Y/N will be free of them.”

“Yeah, but how,” Buggy sighed from his lap, the swordsman’s skilled fingers nearly dragging him down to sleep already. “How the fuck are you gonna convince these assholes that they don’t wanna marry her? She’s perfect! Plus, they get in on that stupid company, and get whatever other bullshit DickHole is selling. What can you do besides poke ‘em with your fancy stick?”

“That’s what I plan to find out,” Mihawk smiled, though the finality in his tone was enough.

“Come on, Buggy,” Crocodile nudged his legs aside, offering the clown his hand while he stared at their determined lover. “Let’s remind our little bird why he should fly back home when he’s done pecking people’s eyes out.”

Buggy let out an exhausted giggle while Mihawk shivered, his eyes rolling back just a bit. Just enough.

“You thought you could run away that easily, huh,” Crocodile threatened with his words, and with the tip of his hook below that sculpted chin.

More guilt almost tore the clown away while he watched them, but Buggy chugged his sugary drink, grateful for the quiet of faraway sleep. He started to pull the swordsman up by the collar of his frighteningly fancy jacket, and that arched brow was an instinctual warning.

The clown heeded the warning, loosening his grip on the jacket, only to yank the man off the couch by his hair. Crocodile joined in on his smug laughter, roughly pulling Mihawk against him before he’d stopped moaning from the unexpected pain.

“You’re not leaving tonight.”

Heavy. 

Whatever they held between them felt heavier than either had expected.

“I’ll go get the bed ready,” Buggy sighed as he half floated toward the door, “but I’ll need another drink if you guys take too long.”

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🐊🗡️🐊~~~

“Are you alright?”

Mihawk laughed at the question, and Crocodile wanted to shake him. He was sick of seeing his lovers fall apart right in front of him, with nothing he could do, or even understand.

He ached to understand this man. They had faced each other in battle just a few years ago, but that Summit War felt like a fever dream now.

Not that this new life didn't feel like a dream.

This man…

Crocodile kept getting him. Meeting him in ways that both surprised, and soothed him. 

Mihawk laughed again at the thought of new vocabulary, but Crocodile pulled him close.

“I’m not ready to lose my business partner,” Crocodile confessed, the words too heavy for the smirk he tried to give. 

The words were enough.

Mihawk laid his deadly fingers along that silk vest, silently asking for a kiss while he stared up at the taller man. 

The swordsman felt like a fraud. 

How could someone like him that had carried nothing for so long be filled with so much? He didn’t want to lie anymore than he already had. 

Crocodile gave him what he wanted. A heavy kiss.

“Let’s not keep our clown waiting,” Crocodile rasped, tracing his thumb along Mihawk’s sharp features. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

~~~🗡️🐊🗡️🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

They’re holding hands… 

Crocodile and Mihawk had called through the door, all of their hands occupied until Mihawk handed the slack-jawed clown another cocktail. 

“Nice room service,” Buggy tried to recover. 

“Come here, little clown.”

The scarred man let go of one lover to reach for another. Cupping his hand along Buggy’s jaw, with those large fingers combing into the hair at the back of his neck, Crocodile breathed down on him until he was nodding, red lips still parted.

“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” Crocodile purred, squeezing his face lightly when Buggy tried to argue. “But it looks like we’re gonna have plenty of alone time soon. Plenty of time for me to spoil you.”

“Y-yup! Lots of…”

“Is that what you want?”

“Sure, whatever you say, bos— Yes, daddy.”

“Good boy.”

Buggy disconnected at the ankles to float up into Crocodile’s deep kiss. He nearly spilled his drink before the larger man lowered him down again, eyes dark and satisfied while he watched his clown. 

“You deserve more attention, but you handled him so well. Help me remind—“

“Let’s fuck him up, daddy!”

Buggy downed his drink with one hand while the other snuck past Crocodile’s body to wrap around Mihawk’s throat. 

“You do know that I’m still Dracule Mihawk, don’t you?”

Wicked fingers dug into the floating hand, dragging it down his own chest while he resisted. 

“Whatcha gonna do, Hawkeyes? Stab me? Slice me,” Buggy laughed, setting down his glass before sending his other hand. 

Crocodile started to undress, chuckling softly at his boys. 

The air shifted as danger, delicious danger, poured from the swordsman while he leaned into Buggy’s touch, forcing his floating hands closer to his own body with every taunting step.

“I’m going to play.”

Mihawk’s golden eyes seemed to flicker with his threat, and Buggy felt a flash of fear, a glimpse of a beast. In that moment, he almost gave in, almost let the beast win.

Wherever his burst of confidence came from, Buggy went with it.

“Why don’t you play with daddy’s balls then, huh, crybaby?”

One of the clown’s hands broke free from that hold, and Mihawk couldn’t fight the moan that tore through him when gloved fingers ripped into his hair again, forcing him to look at Crocodile. The larger man was so very large, stroking himself while he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Gods, that fucking cock.

Buggy took advantage of Mihawk’s wonderment by kicking the backs of his knees until he hit the floor, and wrapped himself around the swordsman’s back to leave lipstick-stained bites along his neck. 

“Don’t lie. You wanna get fucking wrecked, don’t you?”

“I don’t like liars,” Crocodile teased, circling his thumb over his tip, taking in a quick breath of satisfaction at the desperate look on Mihawk’s face at the sight. “Do you want us to wreck you, little prince?”

Mihawk melted as that lovely hook pressed into his throat. Buggy rubbed himself against his back, and the swordsman laughed, feeling entirely fucking spoiled. 

“Please, daddy.”

What a fucking sight… 

The scarred man still couldn’t understand how these lovely men were somehow his, not after everything he’d done, everything he’d felt before. Watching Mihawk beg so sweetly while Buggy stripped him made Crocodile’s cock so hard it almost hurt, his rough fingers easing up against that sensitive flesh, until wicked fingers, wicked lips, replaced his own grip. 

“Fuck. Such an evil little mouth you’ve got– Shit…”

Buggy realized his own mouth was hanging open as he undressed, but he couldn’t care to close it while he watched Mihawk swallow more than looked humanly possible.

“Help me out, Buggy,” Crocodile groaned while he gripped Mihawk’s hair, his hand bobbing up and down with that pretty face. “Stretch out our filthy prince for me. No way he’s leaving here before I ruin that perfect, little ass.”

Sloppy, muffled whines escaped him, and Mihawk’s eyes rolled at the daunting threat. Buggy was there, lubed, and ungloved fingers fucking into him until he shook with need, with pleasure. 

“Get over here,” Crocodile growled, stepping back to yank Mihawk toward the bed by the hook around his neck. Buggy helped him along, floating hands lifting that moaning form into place. 

Mihawk’s place was on his hands and knees in the center of the bed, and he lost himself there in the tender and vicious touches his lovers showered him with. In their praise and teasing, pleasure and pain. In the taste of Buggy’s skin as he shoved his cock down his throat. 

He absolutely fucking lost himself when Crocodile lined himself up. He was the world’s greatest swordsman, and he enjoyed pain a great deal. Yet his former enemy was about to pierce him so thoroughly that Mihawk whimpered around Buggy's length, almost afraid. 

Then he felt nothing but that heavy cock, stretching, and claiming, and filling him until tears streamed from his golden eyes.

“So good, so fucking good for me,” Crocodile grunted. He dragged his hook down Mihawk’s side, still not believing what he was seeing. 

Dracule fucking Mihawk, moaning around a clown’s cock while his pretty, little hole sucked him in again and again. 

“Let’s give our twisted prince what he wants, eh, Buggy? Make sure he remembers where he belongs.”

Buggy stuttered in agreement, nearly gone before he obeyed. He tore at Mihawk’s hair while his other hand scraped brutally down his back. The twitching that his rough hands caused forced his cock even deeper until he spilled his pleasure down that desperate throat.

Crocodile sliced his hook around the swordsman’s body, pouring red from that perfect chest while he stuffed his little prince full. The overwhelming sensations had Mihawk coming harder than he’d thought possible, and the sounds he made were unreal. Pathetic. 

Music to the ears of his sated lovers. 

The clown didn’t need to be ordered or asked, Buggy just helped Mihawk stay steady while they pulled out of him. So many praises showered them both while the swordsman just breathed, assessing his every, vicious ache. 

Crocodile hated to leave for even a moment, but he didn’t need to worry. Buggy’s hands had already flown to the bathroom to wash themselves, spilling a bit of soap on the counter before grabbing what he needed. When Crocodile returned from the shower, Buggy was still wiping the other man clean, humming while he trailed gently over that perfect skin. 

Mihawk’s skin was littered with scars of battle and lust, of trust, and he had just enough energy for a weak smile as Buggy’s fingers danced over them all. He moaned, twitching in those gentle arms while his lovers washed him in the shower, no way to recover this soon. 

“Don’t whine, crybaby,” Buggy mumbled, too focused on cleaning and bandaging his wounds while Mihawk melted into the burn. “We’ll slice you up some more when you get back.”

“He’s right,” Crocodile hummed. Seeing these lovely boys taking care of each other gripped something deep within his chest. Whatever it was sparked fear in him, so much so that he had to pause while they laid Mihawk on the fresh sheets between them. 

I can’t lose them. Can’t lose any of them. 

“We’ll be waiting, little bird,” he pressed a kiss to Mihawk’s temple. Contented, sleepy sounds filled the air, and he tried to trust that this lovely new world wasn’t about to end. “Fly back home, alright?”

He couldn’t shape words, but Mihawk hummed his promise before he drifted away.

Home…

~~~🗡️🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Morning, Y/N— well, afternoon by now, isn’t it?”

You shuffled just to have something to focus on while you simpered for him. 

The traitor. 

“Good afternoon, Shanks. I’m looking forward to our date this evening. Since you already won, I’m afraid you’re out of the running for the next date. We have to give everyone a chance, of course.”

“Of course.” 

You couldn’t fucking believe the charm that oozed off of him when he beamed at you. 

“I’d still like to try your little game though, if that’s alright, gorgeous?”

Shanks stayed quiet while you laid out the cards, some face up, some face down, before you counted down twenty two from the remaining deck. 

A comforting rhythm, the answer already dancing in your mind. 

“It’s the Eight of Clubs,” Shanks purred, touching the back of your hand. Lingering against your skin.

He looked so fucking smug. 

A sick stillness went through you before you revealed his answer. 

Of course, he knows this trick. He probably learned it before the first time he betrayed—

“Let’s go again,” Shanks ordered, the heat in his voice sending shivers across your shoulders, crawling up your neck. 

The eyes of his competition were on you, but the Emperor looked at you like you were already his. Like you were spread out before him, venison for the skilled hunter to devour. 

“Shuffle,” Shanks threatened, catching your chin in his dangerous fingers. 

Just smile. Just pretend.

“I’m not done playing with you yet, little bunny.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note:

Oh my goodness. Thank you so much for waiting, and for reading that giant chapter!! 🥰🙏🏼 I hope you enjoyed it, I've been going bonkers waiting to hear all your thoughts on this big ol' mess!

Let me know in the poll if you'd be interested in a separate post of my OP canon + Numbers Game canon timeline. It would give away reader's specific age, so I don't want to share it if people don't want to know!

Note on the Brochure: All of the character details included in the brochure are from Oda, except for the quotes and the missing details for Giberson. I found them on the One Piece Fandom Wiki if you’d like to go check out more about the characters' history. I live on that site, and have to give those fans the credit for compiling all those details! I already spend hours searching for specific parts in the anime for things like lines for speech patterns and such, I’d be lost without the wiki!

Note on the Card Trick: I must confess, I am not as skilled with numbers as our Numbers Girl. This is the same trick I had Buggy use during the flashback of their first night together, and I have no idea if this 15 year old youtube video is full of shit or not, but if you'd like to try it out, here's the tutorial!

Note on this line from the beginning of the chapter: "The White Stag. The hunted. The prey." Kiki Rockwell's voice has been living in my brain, and I realized this line is similar to hers in Burn Your Village "You do not dance everyday with the fear Of living in headlights, the hunted, the deer"

That song is so good, and fits so well! 🦌😭

Anyhoo, I'm off to try to catch up on all of your wonderful comments! Y'all mean the world to me, thank you so much!!! 🙏🏼💜

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 33

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| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[piracytheorist]

I think another reason why Twilight is opening up while living with the Forgers is because he has to care for Anya's emotional well-being. Having seen how headstrong and stubborn Anya is, he has found that he cannot manipulate her into doing what he wants.

Unbeknownst to him, the manipulation fails because she can read his mind and see through all of his lies. He just thinks he happened upon a child so very stubborn that he needs to adapt his methods.

And in this case, his method is by making his asset trust him, so that she will do as he asks (study to get Stellas at Eden) and won't misbehave and jeopardize the mission. Again it's thanks to Anya's mind reading powers and willing participation that the story transforms into comedy instead of a tragedy of abuse it would have been without them, but Twilight has been adapting to a true supportive approach.

And since his core motivation to be a spy is to create a world where children don't cry - which is, practically, caring for children's emotional well-being - taking this approach with Anya allows him to reach back into that motivation. He reaches into his deepest self; a man who cares for other people's feelings and is willing to do everything in his power to protect and provide for that.

Caring for Anya's feelings happens to help his mission, but it also comes from the deepest parts of his true, hidden self. It's not something that will go away when the mission ends or if a considerable hurdle appears, and in fact, it's one of his main redeeming qualities - cause no matter how wholesome the family situation is, homeboy will have to prove his feelings are true; the audience may know that already (and Anya will know earlier than any other character), but it has to be shown in-narrative too.

But yeah in general there's such a good connection between his core traits and the whole bunch of 1) the nature of the mission he took up, 2) Anya's abilities, and 3) his relationship with Yor as a fake couple. It really ties everything up with a pretty, precise bow and makes his character development (and realization) make perfect sense. It's way more than "Oh he just develops feelings because Anya and Yor are Special™" and it's earned that.

(Anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[bookshelfdreams]

There were two great posts about Izzy yesterday, and I would like to expand on and add my 2 ct to the things said in them a little. One, by @celluloidbroomcloset (with additions by several others), about how Izzy immediately falls back into old patterns of manipulative behaviour after his supposed redemption in 02x07, only this time with Stede as the focus of said behaviours instead of Ed. The other, by @batsarebetterthanpeople, about how Izzy's behaviour in 02x06 and onward is more akin to the development a homophobe coming around to a queer loved one, than an arc of queer self-discovery.

Izzy's story isn't about himself. I think this is the first, fundamental mistake people make when engaging with it. He's not a protagonist; he doesn't exist in the story for his own sake. So when ofmd asks "How to reform a toxic person? What does it look like and is it even possible?", the starting point isn't one of empathy with Izzy.

It's one of empathy with Ed. ofmd is asking these questions not because it wants to understand Izzy better. What it wants to explore is the possibility of Ed having the relationship with Izzy Ed wants. Whether Izzy can be brought around to understanding Ed's wants and needs, whether he can understand the hurt he caused him.

This is a fundamentally different approach to how these stories are usually told. Usually, we start out with the unspoken assumption that the toxic person is well-intentioned, good at heart, and whatever pain they caused our protagonist is more akin to a misunderstanding than deliberate harm. Yes, they may have have caused hurt, but if you just see things from their perspective, you'll understand that they only had your best interest in mind, and that will enable you to forgive them.

Obviously this can't not veer off into victim blaming. "The abuser had a good reason for what they did, and therefore, it's your own fault. Or at the very least not theirs."

ofmd fundamentally rejects this. It is very careful to never let the bullies and abusers have a valid point. Abusers are abusive because they get something out of it. To truly reform an abuser, they would have to be willing to build a life for themselves that is a lot less comfortable. Where they have to consider other's feelings, communicate and compromise, meet other people on equal footing, instead of putting themselves in a position of authority. It means letting go of patterns of behaviour that they have so far been quite successful with*.

And Izzy - tries. He is interesting because part of him clearly wants to leave the toxicity behind. He gets to see what positive relationships, human connection, being part of a community look like; he's offered an outstretched hand, and, after biting it a few times, tentatively starts to take it.

But he can't quite get there. The temptation to fall back into what he knows is too strong. celluloidbroomcloset's post linked above talks mainly about 02x07, so I'm not gonna repeat all that, but I'm going to add two little scenes from 02x06 that further cement this. In the beginning of the episode, Izzy finds Ed as he's standing on deck, watching the sea, and the conversation that plays out is a clear mirror to, almost repeat of the Frankfurter clouds scene from 01x04. Ed tries to share an observation with Izzy in an attempt to reach out to him ("Something's wrong. Feels like a storm's coming but I can't see it."), which Izzy, of course, immediately dismisses ("Or maybe you're just a mopey twat and there is no fucking storm").

The second scene is, when Izzy is the only one discouraging Ed from following Stede to his cabin after he kills Ned Lowe. Discouraging support, discouraging connection and emotional honesty; Izzy will continue to try to isolate Stede.

Now, I do not think this, or the things happening in 02x07, are put in there deliberately to show that Izzy has ulterior motives. Rather, they are an illustration of how deep these maladaptive patterns of behaviour go. Izzy isn't able to fully admit to himself the extend of the harm he caused and this is what prevents him from truly changing his behaviour - even when he has just experienced the benefits of a loving, supportive community!

All of this is the explanation to the answer the show gives to our starting question: Is it possible for Ed to have the relationship with Izzy that Ed wants? And the answer is: No. Just because growth is possible, doesn't mean it is enough. Doesn't mean anyone's entitled to forgiveness. Sometimes, the only compassionate thing to do, is to take yourself permanently out of the other person's life.

But Izzy did learn, and he did grow. It's just that the purpose of said growth wasn't to heal him; it was to enable him to understand the hurt he caused to Ed. That doesn't have to mean people like Izzy can never be reformed, it just means that this isn't a story about the reformation of a toxic person. It's the story of leaving this toxicity behind.

And this is why Izzy's heartfelt apology followed by his immediate death is a positive ending. It represents the conviction that no relationship is so broken it can't be mended, but also the assurance that no relationship is so important it can't be ended.

Ed gets to hear the things he needs to hear most - I am sorry, I was wrong, you didn't deserve this - and then Izzy disappears from his life, and with him, all the toxicity he represents.

They can part on good terms, but part they must. So Ed can go into the rest of his life, unburdened.

*read Lundy Bancroft's "Why does he do that", seriously. The whole thing is on archive.org.

[dalishious]

Ramblings on "Eight Little Talons"

The Talons

One of the most interesting things about the Tevinter Nights story, “Eight Little Talons”, is how it portrays the relationship between all the different Talons.

The very first paragraph features Viago reflecting on how important decorum was, because he does not want to be shown up by the others. He then goes onto think about how unusual it is to have such a gathering of Talons, and that they will need to put aside their differences if they want to accomplish their goal of a united front against the Qunari invasion. The quote, “while all Talons were peers, the same could not be said about their resources and influence,” paints a picture of how even though they are all individually powerful, yes, there is still the ladder of supremacy based on First Talon to Eighth Talon. As such, they are all stuck playing a game against each other to keep or advance their positions on that ladder. Additionally, Dante refers to a competition that exists between the north and south of Antiva.

This is, ultimately, their downfall. It’s what Emil claims motivated him to take them out. He admires the noble origins of the Antivan Crows, and dislikes what they’ve become. He tells Teia, “Now, it’s all about family. Blood. Instead of a claw working as one, we fight over scraps. Eventually, we’ll all starve.” And in the end, he says, “It’s always money with all of us. That’s the problem. In the beginning, we were protectors. We fought for Antiva—for the people. Then somewhere along the way we chose profit over patriotism.”

Viago de Riva

I love how Viago proficiency with poison is both a blessing and a curse for him. On one hand, it makes him very good at his job. But on the other, he is profoundly paranoid about being poisoned himself. He has memorized how different ingredients react and can be hidden in different foods, and refuses to consume anything handed to him without either testing it first or preparing antidotes. He dresses to show the least amount of skin possible, and is anxious over any form of contact with another person. He takes a daily micro-dose of Adder’s Kiss to develop an immunity to it.

Another interesting thing about Viago, is how bitter he is about being a bastard son of the Antivan King. When Teia wonders about his past, she knows better than to actually ask him any questions. Viago was only given two choices in life because of the circumstances of his birth: either live in luxurious exile, or join the Crows. He resents all his half-siblings who chose the first, and he resents the king himself. Viago may be more powerful than them all, even the king, but he is now stuck in this life. Had he not been, he thinks he could been a better ruler of Antiva.

While Viago is certainly skilled – he firmly believes he could kill every Talon at the summit if he wanted to - it’s easy to infer that it was nepotism that earned his rank, or at least that’s the reputation he has, based on the comment from Dante: “Your daddy will protect you”.

Viago sees himself as a recluse. Teia says his reputation is that of a curmudgeon, and in her defence, he himself says he doesn’t care about being liked, he just wants to be respected and feared. I think the fact that he was raised in a “gilded cage” with a mother whom he remembers only for her wine-stained teeth had a lot of influence on this. He’s been alone all his life.

Andarateia “Teia” Cantori

Just like Viago, Teia has an unconventional speciality as well. While Viago observes that she weaponized her beauty, I would propose that Teia’s real mastery is manipulation. Using her beauty is certainly part of that, but in examining the way she responds to each and every character differently shows that she is playing a far subtler game. She shoehorns Viago into riding with her in a gondola, so that the others will gossip about how their houses must be in an alliance – the goal being to give them more power in the discussions. She calls Caterina “Nonna”, which Caterina points out that not even her actual grandchildren do, as a way of disarming the First Talon. And when she interrogates Dante, yes the serum he’s under helps, but it’s her cunning persuasiveness that does the leg work.

Viago remarks that at twenty-eight years old, Teia is the youngest Talon in history. Perhaps this is a contributing factor to why she has a different perspective than the others, when it comes to her dislike of “the bottom line” – the obsession with making coin for their kills. She also has her own set of rules the others do not follow; for example, she refuses to kill servants unless absolutely necessary. And she displays the ability to sympathize with people in a way that the other Talons do not. So you could call it naivety, sure. But I believe it’s more to do with just the type of person she is. We know from Zevran how the Crows work hard to burn out everything except murder in their recruits, but the fact that Teia holds onto her compassion speaks of how strong it is.

It’s also worth mentioning that Teia had to accomplish a hell of a lot to get where she is. “An elf born in an alley with no family or connections, Teia and her rise to power had caused quite the controversy. The Antivan Crows always told new recruits that anyone could become a Talon, but it rarely happened.” She tells Viago that she does not let where she comes from define her, nor is she ashamed of who she is. I love that. I love how unapologetic Teia is about herself.

[venus-haze]

My Destruction Is an Hour Late (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: As a nameless, faceless administrative assistant, you never expected any members of The Seven to give you the time of day. In your year or so of working at Vought, Homelander’s taken a particular liking to you, always seeking you out to help him with whatever tasks or projects he can conjure up to take up as much of your time as possible. When you’re not available to help him after hours since you have a date planned, his interest in you proves to be far more than professional.

Note: Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used. First time writing for Homelander so I hope it’s at least okay! Y/N naming convention isn’t used in this, Homelander only refers to you by pet names. This takes place between seasons 1 and 2. On the shorter side of what I usually write, but a lot happens in this. Title comes from one of my favorite lines from Buddy’s Rendezvous by Father John Misty. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Homelander is a warning. Suspected murder, age gap (Homelander is in his 40s while the reader is 20s/30s), emotional manipulation, some dubcon which involves explicit depictions of food play and mommy kink. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Being part of the corporate machine wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of when you were a little girl, but working for Vought softened the blow. You could see the look in people’s eyes when you told them who your employer was, one of the first things strangers learned about you. Interest and envy punctuated every question, but what everyone wanted to know was ‘Have you ever met any of The Seven?’

You had, and you weren’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that in your drive to keep the best paying job you’d ever had in an overpriced city like New York, you earned a reputation of reliability, which meant extra assignments but the overtime pay to go with it. One supe in particular was the source of most of your after hours work. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased about the singular occasion when you were unavailable. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you said. “I can’t tonight. I blocked off my time this evening on my calendar.”

“Yes, I saw that, but what could you possibly be doing that you can’t help me with this? You’re my go-to! I thought you were reliable, but this is—“

“I have a date,” you said softly. 

His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of red in his eyes for a brief moment as he glared at you. He couldn’t have been that angry that you wouldn’t stay late to help him, not when there were dozens of other low-level Vought employees around. You couldn’t accept jealousy as a possible motivation, perhaps possessiveness, you’d heard of his odd relationship with Madelyn Stilwell, who was killed a little over a month after Vought hired you. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you repeated weakly. “I can help tomorrow.”

He scoffed, clearly expecting you to offer to cancel your date to help him instead. Vought was one of the highest paying employers in the city, and you’d heard from your acquaintances in the HR department that the average job posting got well over 2,000 applicants on the low end. It wasn't uncommon for employees to work late nights here and there, but it seemed like so much of your time was consumed by Homelander. You’d foolishly volunteered to help him with something not long after you’d been hired, and as he said, you’d become his go-to. He intimidated you, but at times you found he could be almost sweet when it was just the two of you.

In all honesty, your social life had suffered immensely since you began working at Vought, and some of your friends had stopped the pretense of asking if you were free when they were planning to hang out, and you’d only become aware of the plans when you saw the Instagram stories after the fact. Restaurants, concerts, weekend trips—that used to be you. In a fit of loneliness and desperation one of the few nights you didn’t arrive back at your apartment and practically collapse asleep, you’d opened all of the dating apps you hadn’t touched in months, and quickly arranged a dinner date at your place with a nice enough guy named Jesse. 

You sunk into your desk chair, an expensive ergonomic one he specifically had Ashley order for you because you’d complained of back pain once. Returning to your assignment at hand, you tried to ignore the eyes on you for declining Homelander’s request. At least five o’clock came sooner rather than later, and you rushed to gather your things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid any further confrontations.

It was odd leaving Vought Tower when it was still light out. You’d almost gotten used to leaving for work and coming home in the dark. The train back to your apartment was unusually crowded, a consequence of actually leaving at rush hour. Jesse would be over at seven, leaving you just an hour and a half when you got back home to cook and get ready. You’d decided on lasagna, a dish easy to make but equally easy to impress with. 

Multitasking dinner and fixing up your hair and makeup probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had, but before working at Vought, you loved to entertain. It’d been so long, though, you’d forgotten how involved it was. Despite nearly spilling pasta sauce on your simple yet classic black dress, you were a bit relieved when Jesse seemed to be running a few minutes late–until a few minutes turned into far more.

7:14 ‘If you need directions, let me know!’

7:36 ‘Hey, is everything okay?’

7:53 ‘Are you seriously ghosting me?’

At a few minutes past eight, you angrily typed a simple ‘Fuck you’ when a knock at the door startled you, and you nearly pressed send when you flinched. You had half a mind not to answer. Who the hell did he think he was showing up an hour late? Another impatient, more forceful knock echoed through your apartment and you rose to your feet, throwing your phone aside on the couch and storming over to the front door. 

Opening it, you expected to see your less than punctual date in your doorway. Instead, the man at your door looked extremely out of place in your modest apartment building.

“Homelander?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is that lasagna I smell? Yummy.”

“I—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—“

A drop of blood rolled from one of his gloved hands and onto the floor in the hallway. Your mind immediately raced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d just apprehended some violent criminal. Although, in that case, he’d return to the tower right away and report the incident for the crime analytics team.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, as if he regularly came over to your place unannounced.

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter. “Of course, um, is everything okay?”

Vought kept all employee information in a database, and you were sure he had access to it and found your address that way. Still, it didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important on the Vought totem pole, and you didn’t feel like you and Homelander were all that close. Though, it seemed he knew far more about you than you could have anticipated.

The more you considered it, though, the timing, the convenience of his arrival in the absence of your date, not to mention the literal blood on his hands—you looked at him, wide-eyed at the man who just stepped foot in your home, not wanting to believe the worst but knowing it’d be dishonest otherwise.

Homelander grinned, his pearly white canines glistening like fangs beneath the soft lighting you’d carefully set up in your living room. “Now, why are you looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf?”

Your lip trembled. “It’s nothing.”

“Perfect! Then let’s eat,” he announced jovially. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” you said.

You went into the kitchen to retrieve the lasagna from the oven, which you’d kept at a low temperature to keep the dish warm but not overcook. Grabbing fresh basil from the fridge, you garnished the pasta with a few leaves. Suddenly lasagna seemed like a stupid choice. Jesse probably would have appreciated it, but Homelander was used to food cooked by Vought’s staff of professional chefs. It was too simple, even if you had made the sauce yourself.

He glanced around at the decor in your apartment while you busied yourself in the kitchen. A framed print of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart on your wall, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice among the books stacked on your coffee table, assorted candles glowing softly in your dim apartment, “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

You could feel your face heat up at his correct observation, nodding bashfully as you set the tray of lasagna on the table. It didn’t help that in your excitement for the evening, you’d made a ‘first date playlist’ consisting of Elvis, Sinatra, Simone, and some other older artists that played softly from the speaker you had set on the counter. It wasn’t like you had expected Jesse to be the one, but you wanted to indulge yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I am too, really,” he said, his voice oddly assuring, as if he weren’t saying it just to humor you. “Not many of us hopeless romantics around anymore.”

He had taken off his gloves since you’d gone into the kitchen, laying them neatly next to his plate. You ignored the small droplets of blood that had pooled on the table, focusing on making sure the serving of lasagna didn’t collapse into an unsightly mess on his plate. At least luck was on your side in that respect, as you nearly sighed in relief at the nice presentation. You were a bit less careful with your own serving before sitting down across from him.

Having Homelander eat your food felt more nerve-wracking than if Gordon Ramsay were over, it wasn’t like the latter could laser your kitchen table in half if he thought it was horrible. 

“Goddamn, this is delicious. What’s that I taste in here?” He sounded genuine, not patronizing as you almost expected. Maybe he just didn’t eat lasagna very often.

“I seasoned the ricotta,” you said.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I didn’t know you cook like this.”

“I love to cook, I just haven’t had much time recently.”

“Interesting what you learn about people outside of work.” He grimaced a bit when he took a sip of wine. That was on you and your tendency to buy cheap alcohol. You could stomach the subpar taste for the sake of the buzz, but as far as you knew, Homelander couldn’t get drunk, so there wasn’t even that benefit.

“I can get you something else to drink. I’m so sorry,” you said. “I have water, iced tea, I think some soda, too.”

He looked at your fridge and huffed, displeased. “You have half a bottle of flat Coke. I’ll take the tea.”

You could’ve given A-Train a run for his money with how fast you raced into the kitchen to pour Homelander a glass of iced tea and bring it back to him.

“Did you find someone to help you with that thing you mentioned earlier?” you asked as you handed him the drink.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, like you said, it can wait until tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, biting back a comment about how it didn’t seem like it just a few hours ago. Instead, you sat back down and focused on finishing the lasagna on your plate. Suddenly it seemed like far too much, but you powered through the rest of the meal you’d worked so hard to make as Homelander led most of the conversation, while you gave short responses, hoping he’d get the hint at how uncomfortable you were. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“So, what’s for dessert?” he asked when you collected the dirty plates from the table.

“Ice cream,” you answered. “I’ll get yours first.”

“Nonsense, we can share,” he said.

You merely nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to pull the small carton of vanilla ice cream from your freezer. The bowls in your cupboard seemed too pedestrian to serve Homelander in, until you remembered the plastic, diner-style ice cream cups you’d bought not long after you moved into your apartment. Carefully scooping the dessert into the cup, you were pleased with how professional it looked.

Ice cream and spoon in hand, you set both in front of Homelander, who looked from the treat to you. “Ooh, vanilla, such an under-appreciated flavor, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, unwilling to admit you’d only bought it because it was on sale, and you had left over chocolate syrup from when you were on your brief home cafe kick.

You yelped when he pulled you onto his lap, bracing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He seemed pleased at your reaction, smiling as he took a spoonful of ice cream and held it in front of your mouth. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said.

You leaned in, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed the dessert to you. His smile widened when you swallowed.

“Okay, my turn,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way your hand shook as you scooped up a generous amount of ice cream and put the spoon in his mouth.

The moan he let out as he sucked the ice cream off of the spoon was nothing short of sinful, and you felt ashamed that it stirred something in you. Sure, you found Homelander attractive and had a brief crush on him before coming to terms with the fact that it’d never happen, but this was just bizarre. 

The odd ritual continued for another few agonizing minutes, and it was almost like he was going out of his way to see how much you would put up with before you’d protest or challenge him. You told yourself it was because you wanted to keep your job, and you were definitely afraid of him, but a small part of you that you tried to push deep into the recesses of your mind was starting to enjoy it.

“You know, I’m having a great time. We should do this more often,” he said, finally setting aside the half-empty cup.

You gulped. “Yeah, if you want to.”

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that, I just–I was expecting someone else tonight.”

“Right. Jesse,” he said, spitting the name like venom. 

You’d never told Homelander your date’s name in the brief conversation you’d had with him about it back at the tower. There was no way he couldn’t hear your heart racing. If you didn’t calm down, you were sure your dinner was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

“So, what was the plan after the romantic candle lit dinner? Just a kiss goodnight, or were you going to let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice flat as he pinned you in place with nothing more than a cold stare.

You balked at his wording. Not that you hadn’t heard him curse before, it was a shock in and of itself the first time he dropped the f-bomb in front of you. He’d never been so directly crass toward you, though. “I-I don’t—“

“You don’t put out on the first date?” he finished. “Really make ‘em work for it, huh?”

“I just don’t want to be that intimate with someone I don’t know well,” you answered, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Good thing you know me like the back of your hand, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed one of the slinky spaghetti straps of your black dress, the caress reminding you of how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You'd seen him lift cars with his bare hands and not even break a sweat. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the crook of your neck, then your cheek, until finally he captured your lips in a kiss that left you dizzy. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he forced your mouth open with his tongue. 

Tangling your fingers in his hair in an attempt to steady yourself only encouraged him. 

He pulled you closer so you were fully straddling him, and you knew despite the force with which he held your hips in place, he was holding back. You nearly choked on your own spit, or perhaps it was a mix of yours and his at this point. He was already pushing it with how much force you could handle, and he was holding back. 

When he finally pulled away, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and lips surely in the process of bruising. You could feel his hardening cock through his suit as it pressed against your thighs. He stared at you, intense and uncomfortable for a few moments before his gaze wandered right next to your ass. He picked up the cup of melted ice cream with one hand, and tore open the front of your dress with the other, as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. 

“You dress like such a little prude at work, but this–fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. 

Before you could respond, he poured some of the melted ice cream over your chest, and you gasped at the sensation of the cool liquid making contact with your skin. He watched, mesmerized as it rolled down your breasts, a droplet of vanilla hanging from one of your exposed nipples. He dipped his head, licking it gently before taking your breast in his mouth. 

You whimpered as his teeth harshly grazed your nipple, needy and insatiable as he lapped up the sticky ice cream that’d begun to dry on your chest. 

“Fuck, mommy,” he whined against your skin, throwing you for one hell of a loop.

He poured the rest of the vanilla ice cream on your chest, some of it landing on your already ruined dress. Throwing the cup aside without a second thought, he brought his attention to your other breast which he’d simply been groping until then. You nearly jumped when he grabbed your hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Oh god, he wanted you to pull him closer.

Hesitantly, you pushed his face against your breast, his moan practically vibrating through you. You kept your hand in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he relentlessly sucked and licked your breasts. The stimulation was almost too intense to be pleasurable, but the wetness between your legs said otherwise. You couldn’t hide that from a man like Homelander, your gut twisting at the realization he could probably smell your arousal.

He was fully hard now, and with how rough he was getting, you could tell he was close. Biting your sensitive lip, you slipped your hand between your bodies, rubbing his hard on through his suit. 

“Oh fuck, mommy, don’t stop,” he moaned.

It felt almost wrong, seeing the most powerful superhero in the world so vulnerable, but you knew better. Despite the facade of submissiveness, he was in control. 

“Are-are you close, baby?” you asked, hoping if you played the part, the less time you’d be subject to his troubling fetish.

“Yes,” he whined. “God, I’m–”

He squeezed your breast when he came, and if you weren’t sure it’d be bruised in the morning before, that had made you certain. You gasped in pain, tears rolling down your cheeks which he wiped away in his post-orgasm haze.

“You did so good. You did so fucking good, just like I knew you would,” he praised. 

He picked you up like you were nothing, and in a way, you were nothing. Your body was already pushed to limits you’d never experienced before, and the night was far from over, as you’d find three hours and a broken box spring later. You weren’t sure at what point you’d fallen asleep–or maybe passed out was more like it–but when you awoke the next morning well past nine o’clock, your body was almost too sore to move as quickly as you needed it to.

“Good morning, babe,” Homelander greeted as you shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place.

“Homelander, I’m going to be late—“

“No you’re not. I already called in for you, let ‘em know you’re taking a sick day. We can keep the little white lie between us,” he said, with a mischievous smile and a wink.

“Oh,” was all you managed as you sat at the table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee from the bagel shop you stopped in every morning was sitting neatly at your place. “You picked up breakfast?”

“It’s the least I can do after you made dinner last night. By the way, the people over there wanted me to tell you congrats when I let them know the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Your promotion,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ll be reporting directly to me from now on, take out all of the bureaucratic bullshit between us.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky and uncertain.

He pursed his lips. “I’d expect a little more fucking enthusiasm, but we can work on that.”

“You’re right, I’m just still a little groggy is all,” you said, forcing a smile on your tired face. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

“There we go,” he said, his quick mood shift almost startling you as he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right, babe?”

You glanced at the dried blood on the other side of the table, where he’d been sitting the previous night. Before you could think too much about it, you widened the fake smile you were giving him. “Of course I do.”