#youre talking to them? you have like a human decency responsibility to not make this person feel worse about something that bothers them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedgito · 2 years ago

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i have a request 🫣 prince paul having an affair with his chamber maid, and he’s extra mean and arrogant because she’s the help. maybe it starts out with him requesting (demanding) she wear skimpier clothes in his presence and it just escalates from there 👀

author’s note: honestly never forgiving you for this. <3

cw: 18+ (minors dni) period typical drama (you don’t need to have seen the show to understand), chambermaid!reader, lots of degrading (not in a nice way), adultery/infidelity, mentions of reader being infertile, lots of tension, bratty!paul (he’s such an ass), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, power imbalance, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5.5k

He’s not quite the man you expect at first glance. Paul, that is. His mother was an atrocious being, soft for show and nothing but hard edges, laced with ill-intent at every turn, opportunity—every chance she had, she was betraying the semblance of trust she had built.

And maybe that was her plan after all, the reason why she rules the way she did—but people talked and you heard every bit of it.

No one cared for chambermaids, especially not the one addressed to a tantrum prone young prince who despite his misfortunes still had the attitude and personality of a spoilt-child, all condescending tone and disregard for basic human decency.

But, it’s your normal—and it’s easy to fall into that routine, his voice is like white noise as you work, if he had the nerve to notice you. He’s often caught up in his own thoughts, scowl on his face as he brushes past you with no acknowledgment, not that you expect it. He’s cold at first, brisker—more than he has been lately, but your place was recognized.

Paul didn’t have the time to talk to the likes of you.

Yet, that’s exactly why he did—though, it wasn’t without your own valiant effort.

The first time it happens you almost jump out of your skin, pressing fresh sheets on his bedside chair to redress his bed, his pouting figure perched at the end, head bowed.

“Can you believe her?” He asks, voice soft but tense. You turn back, thinking he’s talking to someone—anyone but you.

There’s no one.

So, you say, “She’s quite evil, isn’t she?”

It’s a solid enough response to get a reaction out of him, even if it’s barely noticeable. His shoulders shake with the chuckle he holds back.

“She’d have your head if she was to hear that,” Paul points out, tipping his head back over his shoulder, eyes still downturned toward his floor, “careful what you say.”

“Sir, I need to change your bedding,” You urged, hands gripping the silk duvet, destined to rip that blanket away whether he moved or not, “please?” You ask softly and he’s standing silently, rounding the bed to reach for the gold plated goblet at his bedside, sipping what you could only assume was a fruitful, fancy wine from their large collection.

He watches silently, intently as you rip the old sheets away and replace them with new ones, body stretching over the bed as you fold in the corners, breasts pushed tight against the fabric and hips peeking out through the stiffly tailored dress, the itchy material driving you crazy every day.

His lips are perched on the rim, dark eyes glaring from a distance as you glance up at him briefly, met with his heated stare. You blush slightly—no man has ever looked at you in such a way.

You clear your throat quietly, flipping the blanket over the sheets and smoothing it out until it’s pristine—and you almost make it out without consequences or crude commentary.

“Lose the dress next time,” Paul orders, “it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Pardon?” You ask shakily, dirty fabric balled up and held tight against your chest, “Sir—er, Prince Paul, your majesty…I don’t think that is appropriate.”

“You’re my chambermaid,” His expression changes quickly, speaking through clenched teeth, “you do as you’re told.”

You nod obediently, though slow.

“Only here,” He clarifies, “Close the door from now on, only come at night—do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good,” His face changed on a dime, softening slightly as he stepped toward you, ringed fingers clinging against the metal of his cup as he tilted it toward you, pressing it against your lips, “drink.”

You’ve never tasted alcohol, not allowed those luxuries. It’s bitter as it hits your tongue, the tartness of the wine causing you to grimace slightly, lips stained a deep red as your tongue peeks out when Paul pulls the goblet away.

“Obedient,” He notes with amusement, snorting softly through his nose, “that is…useful.”

He doesn’t elaborate, nodding for you to leave as his expression hardens again, eyebrows drawn together tight.

“Mutter off,” He grumbles, “and do as you’re told.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, the situation souring in a matter of seconds as you walked away quickly, disappearing down a dark hall to rid yourself of the dirty laundry, avoiding the judging gaze of the consort as they walked by, ducking your head in a effort to hide in plain sight.

Before that encounter, Paul hid himself away after the death of his first wife and child—and while his wife had been horribly unfaithful, you could never wish that on anymore. Paul constantly grumbled about having a child to serve the purpose that his mother wanted, he’d finally accomplished it and then it was being swept out from under him in such a brutal manner.

It didn’t soften the blow of infedelity any less, or that he’d lost his son, a potential heir to his throne.

And for a while you barely see him, either tucked up under his covers and refusing to let you inside, or gone on some task with his army of men—you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You were poor, lowly, at the bottom of the pecking order and never destined step foot outside of this place, that much was obvious. It’s taught you to be mindful and overly observant—you knew Paul’s wife was cheating on him from the beginning, small inclinations that things were arye, but it wasn’t fully confirmed until you walked into a vacant room to his unfaithful wife being fucked by his bestfriend. As horrible as Paul may be, you weren’t sure he deserved that.

The period between then and now is tense, but manageable. You’ve got plenty of duties to keep yourself busy outside of his room, helping set tables for one of the many extravagant parties the council had weekly, tidying up the main rooms and helping greet guests from time to time. You were always presentable, clean, hair pulled back in a loose bun and any strays tucked behind your ear. It added an extra softness to your face, bare of any makeup—Catherine always commented on how beautiful you were, too pretty to be in the position you were now. You could never tell if she was lying or not, her first nature is always to make connections first and destroy them later.

She wastes no time in finding Paul a new wife, much to his initial dismay. He becomes rebellious during the time before, not that he wasn’t already the cause of most issues, but you quickly become used to it.

You find yourself picking up two pairs of clothes rather than one, slipping into his bedroom in the early mornings while he’s still tucked under the duvet, a naked, nameless woman wrapped around him and much less covered.

His mother would have a stroke if she knew he was finding sexual comfort in the likes of paid sex rather than putting his efforts forth to find an acceptable replacement, someone who is fertile and willing to submit.

And you can always slip in and out without being noticed, returning at night to finish up the more tedious and difficult tasks, avoiding conversation and his eyes at all costs.

Until you walk into an unfortunate situation one night, Paul buried in the cunt of a woman who’s much too loud, his pale legs tensing with every rough thrust of his hips—and sex wasn’t foreign, but it was private. It was a private, sacred act that should be kept between the two parties, but for Paul, that’s not the case.

He hears the door creak open, your eyes wide as he glances back at you, a deep smirk on his face.

His clothes are clutched to your chest along with his necessities for his bath—you’d normally start it for him by now, but you’re frozen, eyes stuck on the sight before you.

“She’s watching,” Paul says to the woman quietly and she moans softly in response, “—do not let me stop you,” Paul says, voice labored slightly as he wraps his hands around her thighs, pulling her impossibly more flush, his body blushing a bright shade of red, similar to the fake blush you patted on most morning as you helped him dress—though this, it’s so much better, “I’m nearly done.”

Your mouth is slightly agape, tongue feeling dry as you try to regain your composure, shaking your head as you slip past—the noises grow louder, heavier, and you quickly shut the bathroom door out of fear you might be caught again, eyes drawing toward him without meaning to.

You draw the bath, scolding hot as he liked and dip your fingers in to test the temperature, shaking the water from your fingertips as the door creaks open.

He’s still naked, unashamed as he walks toward you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Paul naked, but it feels different. He’s not as showy, and more often than not he’ll shove you away, order you to busy yourself as he washes up—he doesn’t say a word this time, lifting his legs to step into the tub, softening cock bouncing against his thigh. He’s large, girthy and uncut. You’ve never heard many of the women talk about him in such a manner, so it comes as a surprise the first time you see it. It’s nothing like the older men you’ve seen undressing from their loins during your rounds—he’s younger, leaner, and oozing with an unbelievable confidence.

You still barely spoke to him then, handing over the washcloth and soap silently as you walked about, filling up his glass with the alcohol he usually requested; an awful tasting red wine that was much more bitter than it was sweet.

It was quite poetic, actually. It represented Paul perfectly.

His eyes drag up your coveted figure as he reaches for the glasses, stopping on your face, cheeks hot from the stuffy temperature of the room.

“Stay,” He says fiercely, catching you by surprise, “you can help, be of use finally.”

When he turns to sip and sit the drink down you roll your eyes, fist clenching tightly.

“Do you mind?” He asks, holding up the soaked washcloth toward you.

“Your majesty…you want me to bathe you?” You ask slowly, carefully.

“Are you hard of hearing or something?” He asks coarsely, teeth biting through his words as he bared them to you.

It was hard to know what would set Paul off, even the littlest things a trigger.

“No, no.” You reply softly, not bothering to finish your sentence as you squeezed the washcloth over his back, his shoulders stretching slightly as he rolled them, lifting his arms up on the edge of the tub.

“Not quite used to that?” Paul asks curiously, tone softer now.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to—“

“No use being coy.” He notes, looking back at your briefly.

You weren’t nearly as timid as he assumed you were, not in the slightest. But, you appreciated the life you had, that you were living, and you weren’t going to jeopardize that by letting your sharp mouth get the better of you.

“Not necessarily, no.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve caught Potemkin in some…strange situations, but I usually excuse myself quickly—“ Paul leans back slightly to give you access to his chest, the wetness of his hair dampening your dress, “sex is private, s’not meant to be intruded on.”

Paul hums a soft noise, eyes linger over your body as you stretch and rub at his chest with the soap, smoothing out the washcloth over his skin before your hand dips under the water, reaching the soft skin of his stomach.

“You’re much too shy,” Paul teases, “you cannot be that way here, not with who I am—with who my mother is.”

“I do my duties and stay in my room, your majesty. It is important, also, to be mindful of where you stick your nose.”

It earns a laugh from him, genuine and unrestrained. His wet fingers loop around your wrist as it resurfaces from the water, and he’s pushing your sleeve up slightly, wetting the fabric.

“I tend to enjoy it,” Paul admits, “what a better way to remind people of what’s rightfully mine, yes?”

You snort at that, glancing down at him. Every signal in your brain is telling you to shut up, but your mouth moves anyway.

“Mmm, I assume paying for it also translates over to it being your property, correct?” He scoffs lightly, not as angry as you were expecting, but his grip tightens.

“Correct,” He seethes, tilting his chin up daringly, dragging you closer abruptly while your hands shoot out to catch yourself, gasping sharply as his face is mere inches from your own now, “—need I remind you that you are also my property?”

“I’m well aware, your majesty.” You bite back, “That does not allow you access to my body if you wish to lose a limb—“

“A delicate thing like you—“

You shake your head slowly, the words dying on his tongue.

“If you would like to keep fucking women in your bed, or at all, I would be careful with your next few words, sir.”

Paul smirks slightly, pushing you away with ease.

“I never said anything about force, you know,” He hints at, “I’m not that evil, not in that sense, at least.”

“As you shouldn’t be,” You retort, “Are we done here?”

Paul stands as you reach for the weak excuse for towel, cock resting proud against his stomach as both of his hands cup himself, allowing himself some decency—though it’s blatantly obvious.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or offended, handing the towel off silently and dragging your feet toward the door.

“You can leave, yes—“ He hesitates for a moment, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Is everything okay, your majesty?”

Paul smirks darkly, eyes drifting away from you.

“Just a thought—I shall keep it to myself,” Paul says cryptically, “—‘less I risk losing an appendage as promised.”

Your laugh curtly, a subtle smile creeping onto your own face.

“You’re very smart, sir.” You tease.

“If only my mother would think as such,” He responds bitterly, mood shifting quickly, “—leave me, busy yourself.”

It’s not as harsh, but you don’t linger any longer than needed.

It’s the first time you manage to have a semi-normal conversation with Paul—though, nothing was ever conventional with him.

He remarried a few months after the encounter in the bath, your small conversations coming to an abrupt stop, his demeanor flat and angry more often than not.

No more random ladies in his bed, no more late nights perched on his desk table letting him ramble on about how much he hated his mother—you didn’t exist anymore.

He’s being the good little boy his mother asked him to be and promises her another heir, hoping this one holds up. And his wife seems kind-hearted at first, but that quickly sours.

It’s how you were in the position you were now, in his chambers stripped down to nearly nothing, as he’d asked, and going on about your business as if nothing was different. You didn’t have the luxury to question Paul’s orders, being as obedient as you could—as you were always taught to be.

He’d been angry the night before, about his mother but…something else. It lingered, you didn’t ask, and now it was itching at your mind, bugging you to no end.

Paul catches you when you’re bent over to grab a piece of stray stationary that had fell to the floor, making a noise you can’t decipher before speaking.

“Good,” He chide, “you listen.”

You weren’t sure what Paul was capable of, truly—and you didn’t want to find out. Because being the spawn of his mother, those tendencies were there at the surface, if not already exposed.

You turn slowly, breasts pressed together in the thin bra, underwear clinging to your hips and you curtsy slightly.

“Your excellency.”

You were laying it on thick, wondering what his angle was.

Paul examines the room carefully, stumbling a bit as he walks.

Drunk. He was drunk.

Not so much that he couldn’t speak or think for himself, but he seemed looser, less perturbed. His face was flush from the effects of the alcohol as he slipped his glass up along a random shelf.

“Fresh linens—you’ve even got my outfits lined up for the ceremony tomorrow,” His eyebrows quirks up interest, “you have been very busy.”

“It is just my job, sir.” You explain softly, hands clasped in front of you tightly, the cold draft in the room making you shiver.

Paul approaches slowly, plucking the stray paper from the desk and examining it, “Seems someone has been rummaging through my belongings again.”

You freeze, eyes tracking his every movement with regret, knowing that you were likely to blame—it could be a hit this time, a few stinging words and a night without a meal, you braced for impact.

“Do you women really think of yourself as the smarter species?” Paul asks, curiously but his voice is laced with an edge, a motive. “That us men are that dim.”

“Uh—“ You start quietly, stammering for the right words.

“She’s fucking the cook, you know.” Paul drops on you, making everything click in one fleeting moment. “The help. Like you.”

You bow your head, your normal snarky response subdued for the moment.

“She’s been writing letters, just the same as the other filthy fuckin’ whore I used to be bethrothed to.” The smell of liquor was strong as it fell from his breath, but his eyes still connected with you, flicking with life.

He always looked sad, small in comparison to most of the royals despite his attitude and harsh manner of dealing with things and people and really anything that bothered him. He was just as vile as he was kind—most of it being an act.

You knew he wasn’t being sweet to you out of the goodness of his heart, he had reasons. He was calculated in the most deceiving ways.

“How—how do you know?” You ask softly.

Paul huffs a small laugh, dropping the paper back onto the desk and allowing his other to trail up your front, finger wrapping around the material that joined your breasts together—if he pulled hard enough it would snap, the weak fabric no match against his strength.

“Caught them.” He spits out viciously, plump lips pouting around the words as he tugs you toward him, you move easily.

You weren’t scared of Paul—that was never the case. But, you knew it wasn’t smart to go against his actions, the things that he wanted. Because really, you weren’t sure how badly you wanted them either, until his fingertips were touching your skin, his eyes roaming your nearly naked frame.

“But sir, she’s—“

“With my child.” He answers for you, pausing for a moment to catch the stutter in your breath, his hand smoothing down over your stomach, your skin ice cold underneath his scolding touch. “No more sir, or your majesty—or whatever bullshit they teach you to say to me.”

You nod jerkily, head dipping down to watch his fingers trailer further and further, breath quickening with every movement.

“Considering my first son was not even my son, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Paul says lowly, his hand cupping your cunt light, the delicate touch of his fingertips tracing along the seam of your underwear, “it seems no woman can understand the concept of faithfulness.”

And you had to give him that—as much of a tyrant he could, he’d never tried to be unfaithful in his relationships. He had his indulges during those long, lonely in between periods, but never during.

Yet, here he was. A married man, touching you in ways that felt…too good. He was no different than his wife, but maybe that’s what he wanted.

“I must admit you are much prettier than the previous help, solnishko.” His free hand reaches up to tilt your chin up confidently, eyes connecting with him surrounded by an intensity you haven’t felt before. “I would much like to keep you around.”

“Unless I disobey,” You counter softly, “you would not hesitate to order my beheading, yes?”

Paul shrugs carelessly, “You wouldn’t be the first, I can assure you it would not be the last.”

His thumb rubs over your chin, rising to your lip, saliva wetting his finger as it stilled there, giving him a glimpse of your clenched teeth, not realizing your fist had been curled so tight at your sides until he’s speaking again.

“Relax,” He comforts, though it’s nothing but a mockery, “I would not hurt you, not unless I’m given reason.”

Your eyes squint slightly, narrowing on his bluff.

“Say it,” He orders, “say what is on your mind.”

“You are a scared boy,” You challenge, his demeanor faltering for a half-second before he recovers, “all talk and nothing else.”

The gentle hand on your face quickly turns to stone, slipping around your throat in warning, squeezing lightly. Your eyes close, trying to ignore how unbothered you are.

It wasn’t the first time your life has been threatened, it was all old news.

His fingers move quickly, slipping under your panties to touch bare skin. Paul snickers evilly at the wetness pooling between your folds, the soft noise your throat makes when his finger drags through—warm and thick.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Paul says smugly, “how long?”

“I’m afraid I might need you to elaborate, sir.”

The squeeze is light, but tense. A warning to your words.

“Paul,” You correct yourself quickly, “I apologize—old habits.”

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks slowly, tongue and teeth enunciating every word like he’s spitting venom at you.

You couldn’t give him a period of time, because there wasn’t one. The attraction was a surprise to yourself, from the moment he touched you after stepping into the room, you knew. You could handle the not so subtle glances he took, the teasing words and throw them right back—but you both had never crossed this line. Sure, Paul could be coarse and suggestive more often than not, but part of him never expected you to follow through on his commands, even if it meant your life.

He’s intrigued by you, enthralled. He hates himself for it more than he cares to admit. But, all good things did come in moderation.

“Must you ruin the mystery of it all?” You retort playfully, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head, trying to decipher the growing smirk on your face. “May I ask you a question, your—er, Paul?”

“So long as you choose your words wisely.”

“Why ask me here in such a state?” You ask, “If the others knew—if they found out, you would surely face consequences yourself.”

“I won’t,” He forces out through clenched teeth, jaw flexing underneath the skin, “this stays here, understood?”

“What exactly is this?”

He can see the way you’re relaxing under his hold, more comfortable speaking to him in such a tone. He’s used to being talked down upon, constantly disregarded—never challenged.

“Madam, whatever I want it to be.” He smiles, sickeningly sweet, proving his point by dipping a finger into your entrance.

You gasp softly, back hitting the edge of the bed as he maneuvers you the short distance there.

“But, your wife—“ You interrupted in a hushed tone, his mouth hanging open slightly as he glared up at you, “how does this make anything better?”

“Not better, even.”

You nod obediently, moaning softly at the loss of contact as he stands, wiping his hand along the front of his trousers.

“Undress yourself.” He orders, seating himself on the edge of the bed as you turn, switching positions with him.

Your eyes glance toward the door briefly, the light from the moon shining in through the stained glass, the candlelight dim—if anyone walked by, they would assume Paul was sleeping, but behind closed doors…it made your heart skip a beat in anticipation, excitement even.

It was reckless, but you didn’t care.

Paul unbuttons his trousers swiftly, already down to a few layers rather than his several, regal waistcoat and all—it was just his loose white shirt and a faded pair of tan pants that cuffed at his ankles.

He’s not shy in the slightest, cock already half-hard as he palms himself, squeezing lightly at his balls before fisting himself tightly, raising a foot up on the bed frame to steady him, free hand coming to rest beside him.

Your bra goes first, loose straps falling down your shoulders with no resistance, pulling at the string holding the material together tied behind your back. The cold air has the soft buds of your nipples hardening instantly, skin prickled with goosebumps. Paul makes an appreciative noise, thumb rubbing at the thick head of his cock, the uncut skin allowing for an easy slide as he works up a harsh rhythm, cheeks flushed an even deeper red than earlier—there’s more than just alcohol affecting his system.

He doesn’t speak a word, only nodding his head to urge you further, slipping your underwear down and beyond your ankles quickly.

“You are—“ His voice catches, grunt slipping past his lips, “divine.”

You smile slightly, a surge of pride rushing through your body at the sight of him, clearly unhinged by you.

“Would you like your cock sucked?” You ask bluntly, adding the endearment for extra measure. “Sir.”

Paul grins widely, reaching forward to tug you by your wrist, “Get over here.” He urges, settling to your knees impatiently, never one for niceties.

But, you didn’t need that. You didn’t expect it from him.

“How do you like it?” You ask curiously, nudging his hand away to replace it with your own, eyes watching the small, glistening bed of precum that leaked from the tip.

“I’m sure you’ve sucked a cock or two before.”

“I’m asking you,” You challenge, “What do you like?”

“Control,” He answers quickly, without hesitation, “going to let me fuck your mouth, milaya?”

The softness of the word makes you smile, though it’s subtle.

“As you wish, your excellency.”

He hates the terms, the formality of it, but it only eggs you on further. He was still Paul in your eyes, but this was easier. It kept a level of disconnection you need.

His hand roots into your hair roughly, gripping a decent chunk before pulling you forward, his large hand enveloping your own to rub the head of his cock against your lips.

“Open,” He orders, pressing your mouth open, “further—-there, good.”

You moan at the guidance of his hand along your jaw as he presses himself further into your mouth, “I know,” He soothes, “it’s much larger than what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

And he was, by far—but you’re also not exactly inclined to say yes, not allowing another boost to his ever growing ego.

You moan softly, eyes falling shut when the head of his cock nudges against the back of your throat, breathing deeply through your nose as he watches, waiting for you to pull away.

It never comes.

You can see the burning flames of fire in his pupils, deep set behind those wide brown eyes. He’s speechless, for once.

He pulls you back harshly, allowing you a small gasp of air as the corners of your mouth quirk up in amusement.

“Does that answer your question?” You say teasingly, a mocking need to your tone that Paul has never heard before. But, he can’t be bothered to reprimand you, too busy wallowing in his own desperate need for pleasure, release—human connection, even.

Paul growls low through closed lips, pressing his cock back inside your mouth with ease, the warm, flat of your tongue running along the underside of it, a faint taste of his cum rendering you thoughtless.

It’s been long, far too long.

And you’d do just about anything for a moment of blissful peace, drowning in your own arousal.

His thrusts are pointed, lacking the delicate touch you’re used to, but it’s everything you need, swatting his hand away finally to cover what your mouth couldn’t possibly reach, his other still firmly fisted in your hair. It had to be a mess now, pulled from its bun and glowing over your shoulders.

Paul wasn’t trying his best to stay quiet either, groaning a flurry of obscenities above your head—“Fuckfuck—need to have you,” He begs, “I will not finish this night off without knowing every piece of you, darling.”

He pulls you away suddenly, lips flushed and covered in spit.

“Maybe I’ll make my mother happier with another heir,” He jokes lightly, pulling you to your feet, shoving you promptly onto the edge of the bed until you’re settled on your back, ass flush with his hips, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your thigh, “—it’s only a joke, you may laugh.”

“I am unable to bare children, Paul.” You tell him openly, “Why do you think I have this job? Because I enjoy it?”

His fingers slip over your cunt wordlessly, pressing into you slowly. Two fingers instead of one, but the stretch is welcomed.

“What a shame,” He comments quietly, your breasts bouncing slightly bad your gripped the sheets beside your head, hips rocking with the steady movement of his fingers, “wish there were more help like you.”

“So you could fuck them, your majesty?” You retort.

It strikes a nerve, his cock replacing his fingers rather quickly, without warning. You gasp ruggedly, hand reaching out to grasp at his wrist, his hands smoothing over the tops of your thighs to pull you close, his brows drawn together in concentration, short blonde curls stick to his forehead.

“Watch your mouth.” He warns, eyes darkening with his words.

“Or what?”

You must’ve had a death wish, but Paul can’t even be bothered to act upset.

“I assure you, you do not want to find out.”

And with that, Paul swats your hand away, his own circling around the backs of your thighs to push them higher, his eyes dragging toward the point of connection, and you’re gripping him better than anyone he’s ever had, the warmth like a vice as he grunts, sharp thrusts producing the loud slaps of skin against skin mixed with your own desperate moans.

Paul doesn’t try to quiet you, only spurring him further into madness.

“Just as fucking mouthy as I thought,” He tells you, “why must you challenge me so much?”

“It’s—it’s,” You stammer, his hand muffling out the scream that threatened to escape, his eyes examining you until his thrusts slow slightly, allowing you to continue, “You like it too, I can see it.”

“So what?” He asks redundantly, breath labored, “Does that make you special?”

You reach for his white tunic, thighs widening to pull yourself upright, forcing him even deeper inside you. He watches you intently, your face stopping a few inches from his.

“You tell me, sir.”

“Paul,” He tells you, eyes rolling back as you squeeze yourself around him, the hand not busied with his shirt wrapping over his shoulder, pulling him to you, “say my name.”

“Paul,” You relent, adding a dangerous comment to hopefully spur him further into his growing addiction for you, “you shall be king soon, yes?”

He nods absently, his mouth reaching for you, tilting your head up to give him access to your neck, feeling that mouth to mouth might be too far, despite your current situation.

“Then fuck me like one.”

There’s a noise that settles in his throat, deep and suffocated as he grips the long tresses of your hair, pulling it taught as he fucked into you wildly, “You are dangerous, milaya.”

“I know,” You smirk viciously, head dipping down until your eyes connect, “—so come inside me. I will walk around the halls and no one will know, it will be our secret, sir.”

His face buried into your neck, one hand gripping at your thigh painfully tight as he slips one between you both, drifting over your clit gently, the small touch igniting a spark inside you.

It’s never something most men paid attention to, or yourself even, to busy with your duties to allow time like this to yourself—it doesn’t take much, a few quick, precise circles before your clenching around him tight, forcing him into his own orgasm, his teeth peeking out to bite against the skin of your neck softly, his groans muffled by the action.

There’s a moment of calm that washes over, Paul’s hips moving slowly as he comes back down, removing himself from you just as gently.

“Secrets.” He corrects. “I will never be done with you.”

You laugh softly, tilting your chin up dangerously close, lips barely grazing his own.

“I never asked you to be, milaya.” You retort, repeating his earlier term of endearment.

“Tell me,” He starts, eyes raking down your figure and back to your face, “do you understand Russian?”

You nod shyly.

“You are going to get me in trouble, my little darling.”

If only he knew how right he was.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #prince paul x reader #prince paul #prince paul x you #joseph quinn smut #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson #my writing

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abrcmswrld · 2 years ago

Text

Talk to Strangers

Edward Nashton x Coworker! Reader

━━━━

Word Count: 4,951

Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), stalking, unprotected sex, angst and fluff and smut, a decent bit of tears, obligatory mentions of murder

Summary: You’ve warmed up to Edward despite his cold nature, but what happens when the puzzle pieces start to fall together and you can feel someone watching you in the darkness?

Authors Note: I actually tried so hard on this yall, I posted this to my ao3 page first so I am sorry if the formatting is all kinds of messed up on here :( This is my first fic i’ve posted since 2017 so I sincerely apologize if it’s meh, i also don’t have anyone else proofread my fics so i apologize for any errors i missed! enjoy!

Ao3 Link

He's arrogant. Oh so arrogant, and you can't fucking stand it. You watch him every morning as he strides in, past your desk at reception, white button up shirt, clear framed glasses, shaggy hair that falls over his forehead . He's certainly not a hit among the office, so maybe you're not wrong in your feelings. Though your other co-workers generally regard him as a pushover- not a self-absorbed asshole. He's good at what he does, sure. He's earned his spot, but he often brings a shadow into the rooms he walks into. A presence that you can only describe as infernal.

You don’t know much about his story. You generally pride yourself on getting to know the people you surround yourself with, but he has never let you get close enough to find out. Maybe that’s why you find him arrogant. He thinks he’s too good to speak to you for more than two sentences related to files he needs you to fax for him. What you do know about him is that he’s been at KTMJ for longer than you have been- maybe 5 years more. You can still remember the first time you met. You were fresh faced and eager. Seeking validation, in desperate need of some stability.

You extend your arm for a handshake. His hands are slightly clammy as he accepts your handshake. And though you had greeted him with your brightest smile (might as well go all in if you ever wanted to be anything other than a receptionist) he hadn't smiled back. He'd kept a rather straight face as he gave his brief introduction. "Edward."

Now you have a sense of stability. Sure, the quality of life in Gotham is subpar and you still haven't received that promotion, but you make enough to live comfortably in comparison to others in the city. You try to count your blessings.

━━━━

You had already been having a shitty day. Your landlord had informed you of an increase in rent rates by slipping an envelope under your door. Sure, it sucked to be asked to pay more for an apartment that could be deemed shitty by any normal person with a pair of eyes, but it was the lack of communication that got you. Not even the decency to call your residence and tell you with their own voice. Just a slip of paper under the door.

But you tried to bring a good attitude to the office. You hate being the one to damper the mood. You would rather leave that to him. Always him. Never smiling back at you as he walks through the door, never meeting your eyes to acknowledge your presence, nothing. And you were used to that. It would be okay, if it weren't for the stack of papers that laid on your desk when you got in. Neatly stacked with a green sticky note reading "Need copies. -Edward" scrawled in messy handwriting. You immediately feel the flames rise into your chest.

It's a quick stride from your desk to his cubicle, stack of papers tightly tucked into your fist. You slam them onto his desk as soon as you reach it, and he raises an eyebrow at you in response. "What the hell is this?" He glances at the papers and back at you. "The copier isn't working. I wrote what I needed." You sigh, annoyed at the fact that he doesn't understand.

"You couldn't have waited for me to get here and brought them to me yourself? I would really appreciate it if you would treat me like a human being every once in a while, ya know, actually acknowledge my existence." You realize how dramatic you must sound, but in all honesty you've been thinking it for years, it was only a matter of time before it came out. "I needed copies. I didn't think my acknowledgement meant that much to you." He holds his hands out in defense, feigning that he actually cared if he had hurt your feelings.

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." You plant a hand on the table in front of him as you crouch to his level.

He sighs and you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

He finally faces you.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot."

His voice doesn't carry any malice, yet the words feel like a slap in the face to you. It leaves you scrambling for a response, opening your mouth only to close it a second later. Until you decide to merely respond with a nervous chuckle. Sure, you thought his response showed his ego, but you had to admit. He got you. He faces you once more at the sound of your light chuckle, green eyes meeting yours completely. "I guess you're right."

You catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"If it means that much to you, I will greet you next time."

━━━━

And he does. Greet you that is. You find yourself talking to him more and more. Sitting in the break room with him at lunch, looking over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle he works on at his desk and giving your best shot at an answer, relishing in the furrow of his brows as he turns to look over his shoulder at you. He's an asshole. He's arrogant. But there's something about him that's drawing you in. Sometimes you feel like a fish caught in a net. All those moments he'd brushed you off and yet you find yourself repeating the little quirks of his soft smiles in your head. You hate the term "work husband", but it seems that Edward is slowly becoming the very definition of that.

You don't speak outside of the office, but you find yourself gravitating towards him when you're stressed. You tell him about your landlord and the reason you had gotten so defensive with him. He understood.

"It's a cesspool here. None of these people actually care about people like us, not the landlords, not our coworkers, certainly not the politicians." He had said in that moment.

As October rolls around and the leaves begin to fall, you find yourself beginning to bring two coffees to work, one for you, one for him. He always shows an appreciative nod. But the moment you start to think about asking him to actually go out with you for coffee is like being the fish pulled out of the water and accepting it's inevitable fate. You were gonna let him drive you insane.

You're sure of it as you are caught up in the nerves and find yourself softly grabbing his hand to stop him outside the front doors of the office. You quickly pull your hand from his. no doubt blushed a deep red. But he just stares, waiting for you to speak. You clear your throat. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." And it pains you the way he doesn't speak, just continues to stare.

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

He loosens the tension in his shoulders and looks down. "Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. God, you hoped you hadn't made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

You quickly shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." You hope it hides the pang you feel in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow." You swiftly turn and walk away before he can respond.

━━━━

But you wouldn't see Edward tomorrow. Matter of fact you wouldn't see him for the next three days after Halloween. You try not to let it bother you.

It's the beginning of a cold November, he's probably just sick or desperately needed a vacation. Or perhaps you'd seriously fucked it all up and he couldn't even stand the sight of you. You can't stop the deep sigh that comes from you as you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand. Embarrassingly, you ask Zach if he's heard from Edward. Not that you expected him to be particularly helpful. "Are you guys, like, fucking?" You are stunned and stammering your words. "Wha- No! No. I just worry about him."

"Look, I wouldn't worry about him too much, I mean the guy's basically a fucking recluse. When do you ever see him outside of here? Maybe it's good that he's somewhere besides here."

Still, there's no chance of you actually focusing on work and you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news headlines, before one in particular catches your eye.

'Mayoral Incumbent Donald Mitchell, Jr. Murdered in his Home on Halloween Night.'

Holy shit.

━━━━

Edward is back at work after three long days, and despite your worry of his annoyance and anger, he is oddly elated.

It's the first time he approaches your desk. Leaning against it, coffee cup in hand, and flashing an awkward smile before asking, "So did I miss anything?" It leaves you a little taken aback, but it's a relief to see him approach you willingly after your last conversation.

"Um yeah, Zach was a total prick as usual- Oh! And our mayor was murdered."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from the coffee cup. You feign annoyance, "No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

━━━━

The first time you see the green mask you are in a huddle of coworkers around a computer screen.

'Police Commissioner, Pete Savage, Murdered. Killer Leaves Shocking Confession.'

"My God. What a sick freak." Zach interjects.

You can barely stand to watch. The video is hardly graphic aside from the disturbing voice of the masked man, but the implications of what happens when the video cuts off leaves your stomach turning. You walk away. Desperate for some space, but also desperate for a distraction. Edward sits straight in his office chair across the room. You hesitate slightly before striding toward his desk and leaning your weight against it. You can feel the sweat beading at your forehead as you lightly brush hair from your eyes. "Shit."

It's merely a whisper to yourself, but he turns his head to face you. For once his face shows concern towards you. Yet he still says nothing, only looks. Observant as always.

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture towards the group of coworkers still huddled and murmuring among each other. He glanced back, before turning back towards his work. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." There's a little pause as if he is hesitant to say anything before finally replying, "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

You straighten up, looking at him with shock. "I think they were still people with families." He frowns at you before you finally walk away from his desk to make your way to the restroom. You needed to get a grip.

━━━━

Edward apologizes for his insensitivity after work. You had stayed with him outside of the building long after all of your other coworkers had left. "It's fine." You refuse to look at him as he lights a cigarette and gets in a few quick puffs. You're being mean. But if you're honest the combination of his rejection and his comment earlier in the day had set you off. "And I'm sorry for last week." Only then you look up at him.

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

The feeling of chapped lips on your own stops you mid sentence. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes and you crave more, but he pulls back quickly. His free hand remains at your cheek, holding your face in a gentle caress. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." His eyes never leave your face. It's the best look you've gotten of them. Of him. His features are gentle behind shaggy hair and acetate glasses.

Something feels wrong and eerie in the back of your mind. Like seeing him this close gave you a sickening feeling of deja vu. Things were definitely complicated. The bags under his eyes were showing his exhaustion well, he had gone from elated to unwell since his return. He seems like a broken man, but he'd never let you close enough to find out why. You can't help but feel the connection, like he deserved a shot even if he didn't want it. Even if he thought he was smarter. Even if there's a side to him that could hurt you. You push down your feelings of uneasiness.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

"When you're ready."

━━━━

You're awake nearly all night the next weekend. Spending the entire time digging through news about the figure known as The Riddler, his possible next targets, possible identities, and most importantly all of the video footage he'd put out in the last few weeks. It's certainly not healthy. You generally steer clear of these sorts of things. Years of therapy had gotten you far and you would rather not ruin it by desensitizing yourself. But you can't help it. You find yourself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you find yourself tuning into his streams late at night.

He speaks with such a confidence in himself. As if he has all of the answers, and is just waiting to enlighten the world. His followers are even more terrifying. They'd do anything for him. You wonder how low a person must be in life to resort to this sort of behavior. But, you're not a psychiatrist. Who are you to speak on these people. These strangers.

"We are going to cleanse this cesspool of city."

You slam the laptop shut.

Sleeping isn't easy after this sort of activity. You should've known. You turn on a show you don't actually care about to give yourself some sense of security in background noise. And soon you find yourself drifting asleep. It's not great sleep. You can sense yourself tossing and turning, but you can deal with it. Everything is fuzzy until you find yourself on your back.

Paralyzed.

It's not uncommon for you to experience sleep paralysis, but you've experienced it less after your time in therapy. You try to keep your breathing steady, trying to convince yourself that whatever you see is merely a hallucination.

Shh. Shh. Just breathe.

But the figure that appears is familiar. That's what scares you the most. The green coat and mask is horrifying as it inches towards the bed, and you can't scream. you can't move away. You can only watch the blood drip from his gloved fingertips onto your floor as he stares. Tilting his head at you slightly, as he brings a hand up to his head. You can hear your heart pounding and you are practically internally begging yourself to wake up. The latches on his mask pop open and you're horrified to find that the face underneath is so familiar. A slight smirk on lips you have kissed before. Blood dripping from a hand that you've held before. You try to scream. Tears falling down your temples until he is suddenly gone and you shoot up in your bed.

You can't hold back the cry that escapes your throat. It wasn't real, he's gone, and you're safe in your room.

━━━━

Until suddenly the safety of your room begins to feel a lot less safe. You hear it. The creaking of the floorboards at night, the slight tapping against the glass of your bedroom window. The slight squeak of leather rubbing and rustling together. You're too scared to open your eyes those first few nights. You'd rather be blind and take your fate than die in paralyzing fear.

But you know it's him.

It was never unclear what was staring at you in the night. Maybe the nightmares of the leather gloves touching your skin hadn't been nightmares at all. You want so badly to be sickened. To run into your bathroom to empty your stomach out of panic and fear. Instead you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and arousal in your gut.

He thinks he's smarter than you.

You find yourself playing into his games.Attempting to one up him. To show him you aren't scared of him. That you can keep up. You begin to deliberately change in front of your window. Letting lacy fabric hit the cold floor and standing just a tad longer, stalling before covering yourself back up.

You hope he's watching when you peel off your work tights. You hope he's imagining himself on his knees tearing the delicate fabric from your form, only to be blocked by a thin pane of glass. You wanted the upper hand.

You hope he's watching as you sink two fingers into yourself, thinking about crisp, white button ups and clear framed glasses.

━━━━

The next few weeks are tense at work. You heard the news of what happened to Gil Colson at Don Mitchell's funeral. Edward would walk in everyday, and attempt to greet you, only this time it's you who is short. You have a little hope that he can't see straight through you. But you can see it in the way that he looks at you that you're an open book. Who's to say that he won't just watch, but actually kill you to keep you from talking. But deep down you both know your lips are shut tight.

So you work through the days, just ready to get home. You can hardly stand to look at him. It makes you feel like you're an accomplice. A sitting duck for a man who probably doesn't even care about you, withholding a tip to the police because deep down you really do like him. And you had hoped he liked you too until things got complicated. Now you think it would just be best if he abandoned you right where you were. But he doesn't. In fact, he suddenly has more courage than you'd ever seen from him. It's evident as he catches you by your arm and pulls you into the alleyway beside the office after work is over. It's dark and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but he kisses you like nothing is wrong. Like he has no clue. Like nothing has changed.

You pull away from him, wide eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?" He asks quietly as he brushes a hand up your arm. You can't help the break in your voice. "I know, Edward."

He just stands and stares. "What?" You take two steps back. "You're killing people." He continues to stare. He drops his hand from your arm. The silence scares you more than anything. But he simply sighs.

"I think you should go home and get some rest."

And before you can argue he walks away with a quickened pace.

━━━━

So you do. You return to your shitty apartment and try to compose yourself. What would he do now that you said that? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had accused him of something he genuinely didn't do. But it didn't feel wrong. You sigh as the hot water hits your back. You had hoped a shower would help you feel refreshed, but for the first time in a while, it feels like a chore. You can't enjoy it, so you rush through it. As you step into your bedroom you stop in your tracks. The window is slightly ajar, a cool draft flowing in tingles your bare legs. And then you see him. The figure in the darkness of your room. This time you're not dreaming.

He's in your room. You're paralyzed. The position you swore you'd never let yourself be put in. He's got the upper hand.

He just stands there. A part of you wishes he would attack you. Kill you. Anything just to break the still silence. You realize you're shaking. You agreed to play his game and now you're trailing his lead, allowing yourself to be beaten.

"Edward."

It comes out as a shaky whisper, but he visibly takes it in as he steps toward you to close the distance. You can see his eyes crinkle at the corners through the green mask. He's smiling. And he reaches a gloved hand to your face, cupping one cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand even through the glove. So, he is human. The Riddler has a beating heart and flowing blood. He is not a cold, lifeless monster. His stoic frame you had become so familiar with at work was gone. He catches a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

He is terrifying.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

Before you can entirely comprehend the statement and it's implications, your brain forms the word that leaves your mouth. "Gone?"

He simply smiles again, this time reaching his hands behind his head to abandon the mask he had come in with, and there he is. Cherubic features glowing under the street lamp light that flows in from your window. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You attempt to struggle away from his grasp in disgust at his words but he holds you tight in front of him. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged." The soft light is hitting his features just right. He looks like an angel in devils' clothing. And his tight grip is right back to a gentle caress. His hand reaches the small of your back and you're sucking in a shrill breath.

His kiss is soft, inexperienced. Much like the other times you had kissed. But he is treating you like glass that might break. You think it might be the first time you've seen him relax enough to be seen as a particularly gentle being. He's ditched his looming, arrogant behavior you're so used to just to show you his utmost affection. It's the first time you have seen him like this since the first time you had kissed.

But some part of you is burning. He's not your prince charming. You know exactly what he is capable of, you've seen it. You're not glass. You're not a damsel. This is a man who has watched you undress for him through your window for weeks. This is a man who has killed. And it shouldn't bring heat into your core the way it does. Perhaps it's the thrill of the danger.

You kiss him so hard that your teeth clash. It stuns him as his hand lifts from your body momentarily before finding purchase at your hips. He's inexperienced, but the desperation coming from both of you is enough to cover it up.

The warmth and weight of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating. The little sparks of guilt and shame that flash in your stomach are quickly subdued by his nimble fingers caressing under your nightgown and up your thighs to hook in the waistband of your panties. You can't help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

It's almost strange to see him on his knees. He has built himself up to be godlike. You were sure he wouldn't mind you on your knees in front of him. Absolutely worshipping him. The warmth of his tongue swiping over you has your thoughts lurching, and yes, god, he is divine.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

You can't help but tangle your fingers into his beautifully unkept hair and pull. He is ravishing you. Sinking two fingers into you until you feel the heavenly curl right into the spot that makes you whimper. "Eddie-" He swallows your moans in a desperate openmouthed kiss. His fingers are working you open, you can feel tightness build in your stomach. Like a rubber band ready to snap. But it's ripped away from you as he pulls his fingers out of you and swiftly pushes you to the bed. The sounds of his belt buckle coming undone has your heart racing faster than it already was, your stomach fluttering.

He buries himself inside of you with no hesitation, no time to adjust. It hurts and his inexperience is noticeable, but the look of bliss on his face and his slight whimpers has you ready to cum before you've even started.

You're gripping onto the back of the green leather parka, reminding yourself of who you're with. Who you're letting fuck you right now. But those green eyes bring you back to all those times he'd flash a slight smile your way in the office. He'd try to hide it but you're the only person he showed fondness towards in that hell hole of a workplace. Thinking back to the night he had kissed you has tears welling up in your eyes again. He notices.

He slows his pace momentarily, letting his short thrusts turn into long drags. A gloved hand wipes tears away once again and you meet his concerned gaze.

"Does this not make you happy?"

Your hands move to cradle his face. A move that he's certainly not used to as his thrust halt for a moment in surprise. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops his movements completely now. The room has fallen silent apart from the heavy breathing between you two.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

You knew the answer before you asked the question, but it hurts just as bad anyway. You don't take your eyes off his. The Riddler's facade is cracking before your eyes, you can see his eyes becoming glossy. It's almost like he's turned into a completely different person. He kisses you. Deeply, but not rough. There's so much pent up feeling behind it, you could sob even harder. But you don't and he keeps kissing you as he resumes his movements.

You're not using any protection, but you're too blissed out to care. You crave that feeling of warmth. "Eddie- I-"

His hips start to stutter as he cuts you off and buries his face in your neck. " I love you- please God- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." You hold his face in your hands guiding his gaze to meet yours again. "Edward, I love you."

That's all it takes for him to fall apart. His whimpers and cries are like music to your ears and the feeling of warmth as he releases everything he has into you is blissful. You both have to take a second to recover, foreheads pressed together. But eventually he rolls off of you carefully and tucks himself back into his pants. The silence is deafening. You said it to push him over the edge, but was it true that you loved him? The idea of falling in love with Edward was easy in your mind, in a perfect world the idea of settling down somewhere else and waking up next to him felt good. But this wasn't a perfect world. Edward killed people, powerful people, and the chance that he'd get away without paying for it was slim.

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

His hand grips yours as he looks at you.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

You do as he asked of you. Got a hotel in Bludhaven and in the next couple of nights you watched the television endlessly, waiting to see his face. The night you finally did, you cried yourself to sleep, gripping the hotel sheets as you buried your face into your pillow.

But you held yourself together and did as Edward asked.

When the man in the bat suit showed up at your hotel door a week after the flood you give your best answers.

"I'm visiting a friend, but the flood has kept me in town."

"No, I didn't know him well, we just worked together."

"I mean he was a little strange, but I never thought he would murder someone."

“I would never have expected it to be him.”

"I hope he gets the help he needs."

#edward nashton #dano!riddler #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #dano!riddler x reader #paul dano #danonation #the batman #edward nashton smut #edward nashton fluff #edward nashton ily forever -abram #gonna log off for the night to keep my nerves down i think

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madwomansapologist · 5 months ago

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notes on The Illuminating Storms

"We remember the good times and the bad ones, forgetting that most times are neither good nor bad. They just are." - Kaladin, chapter 21.

I need to explain something that really bothers me about Dalinar. He's wrong. Even if he's right, he's wrong.

I agree that fighting this war won't led them anywhere. That going after gems while ignoring what's happening on their nation is not very inteligent. I also don't think Elhokar is... smart.

Still, Dalinar is on the wrong for being so openly about how he would rather not fight this war. This is a stupid thing to say and to do. His brother was killed. It doesn't matter if he feels the lack of Gavilar: in what world one of the leaders could act as if this war wasn't the most important thing to ever happen and not be on the wrong?

I think he's right. Since I haven't finished the book I can't say anything about if his methods worked or anything like that, but as a politian Dalinar was the absolute worst. You can't not listen to your family that has the same goals as you but listen to your enemies who wants to make you look worse than you're and expect things to work the way you want to.

He's Ned Stark. Good, but stupid. You need to understand when to voice your believes, or else you might ended up telling the queen that you know her children are bastarts.

Again, I think Dalinar is right. But you don't build a reputation about being a fucking monster on the battlefield just to wonder about morallity during the war to avenge your brother.

All that being said, i love Dalinar. I think he committed attrocities, I'm pretty sure he killed his wife, and I expect him to fuck his dead brother's wife.

His whole "don't make your soldiers do what you wouldn't" is fucking basic human decency, but everyone on camp disagrees. Is like telling your parents that if they have covid they need to quarantine just to see you ENTIRE family laughing at you.

It's not a pacifist doing that. This is a man known for being good at killing. And even he thinks that using those bridges is too much. Of course we all think this is a horrible thing, but to have him react this way about it makes it even clearer how dehumanizing this is.

The way he wants to protect Elhokar makes me want to cry a little. That feeling of being responsible not because Elhokar is his nephew, but because he is his brother's son (yes, there's a difference), makes me so sad. As the eldest daughter, everything about siblings hits harder.

I hate Elhokar.

His horse is smater than him.

If your uncle says he isn't sure if fighting is the best thing, you don't tell every other leader around you.

When your uncle asks you for a rise, you don't ask his ex-best friend what he thinks about it.

I want Dalinar to fuck Navani just so Elhokar will get hit -999 psychic points.

Wit I love you. I know he's important for the Cosmere, if I'm right his name is Hoid, but eitherway he's so amazing. Even with me not knowing who exactly he's, that man is iconic.

The way he hates Sadeas... iconic.

The way he likes Renarin... iconic.

The way he talks to Navani... iconic.

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#reading the way of kings #reading the illuminating storms #the way of kings #cosmere #brandon sanderson #the stormlight archive #navani kholin #dalinar kholin #elhokar kholin #wit #hoid #hoid cosmere #torol sadeas #renarin kholin #gavilar kholin

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

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Fairy Tales and Paw Prints

You're selected for the Devildom exchange program, but you're not alone.

SATAN x gn!Reader 3.5k Words | SFW | Fluff, Developing Relationship, Misunderstandings/Jealousy A/N: MC's cat isn't named but referred to as he/him. Obey Me! Masterlist

Satan is irritated when Lucifer calls all of his brothers to the library for a family meeting a couple days after your arrival in the Devildom. He feigns disinterest when Lucifer announces your feline pet from the human world has been brought to the House of Lamentation as well.

He watches Lucifer’s exasperated expression with amusement when Asmo complains loudly about cat fur getting all over his expensive clothes, and Levi pipes up that the animal might damage some of his rare collectibles. Mammon makes the mistake of wondering out loud whether human pets are worth anything to Devildom collectors, and Beel has the decency to look the slightest bit ashamed when he clarifies the cat is not for eating.

Lucifer silences them all with a frosty glare, and he emphasizes with a tone that will hear no argument that you’ve accepted responsibility for the animal and any upkeep it requires. He stomps from the room, clearly fed up with the discussion, and Satan and the rest of his brothers leave too - some of them still grumbling about the hassle of having a new pet around.

For all the fuss your pet created at first, Satan notices that your cat hardly makes an appearance in the days since. He doesn’t see the cat when you pass by the kitchen to grab a snack on the way to RAD, and you keep your door closed when you join the brothers for dinner. He thinks he can hear you talking to your pet in the evenings, and he knows he’s heard little chirps and meows that verify the animal’s existence.

Satan doesn’t care. And he’s definitely not disappointed.

He’s reading in the library one night after dinner when you slip in quietly and walk past him, oblivious to his presence, and stop in front of a bookcase nearby. You don't realize you’re looking in the section written exclusively in ancient demonic tongues - you slide books off the shelves, flip through the first couple pages, and then put them back just as quickly.

He’s never going to finish this chapter with that sort of distraction. “It’s hard to read when you’re making a mess of my shelving system,” he says when you reject the sixth book you pick up. He sets his book aside and stands up from the sofa he was reclining on. The surprised little noise you make is not cute in the slightest.

“I’m having trouble finding something that’s not - whatever this language is,” you explain bashfully. You seem to wither under his gaze, and you look away. “I wasn’t able to bring any books with me.”

Satan takes pity on you, but he’s not prepared to console crying humans today. “Come with me,” he says a bit more firmly than he intends to. He doesn’t look back but he doesn’t have to; you hesitate only for a moment before following him dutifully from the library towards his room.

He stops in front of his door and you look at him curiously when he meets your gaze over his shoulder. “Everything in my room is carefully organized. Do not touch anything. Do you understand?” When you gulp and nod your acceptance of his terms, he finally opens the door, walking inside.

You stop in the doorway and stare with blatant shock at the state of his room. Carefully organized? Your eyes scan the wobbly towers of books that fill the space and make it feel uncomfortably cramped. You can barely see a clear path on the floor to walk on. You take a tentative step forward, nearly tripping over a stack of books just inside the door. You flail around trying to find balance, resisting the very real urge to turn around and run for your life.

This room is a death trap.

“What kind of books do you like?” comes his slightly muffled voice. You think you can see a blonde tuft of hair peeking out from behind one of the many bookcases scattered around the room but you can’t be certain. The curtains are drawn and the room is poorly lit.

“I’m not picky,” you say hurriedly. “Anything is fine.” Anything that will get me out of here sooner.

When he appears a minute or two later, he’s holding a leather bound book. He offers it to you, but he doesn’t let go when you try to pull it from his grasp. “Grimm’s Fairy Tales. I hope you remember that no matter what you read in its pages, I promise the Devildom can be far more dangerous to humans like yourself.” He releases the book and you pull it to your chest protectively. “Do not mark the pages or fold the corners. When you’re finished, I expect you to return it. That’s a rare edition.”

You nod quickly, thanking him with one last fleeting glance before you spin around and leave before you accidentally knock anything over. When you make it back to your bedroom door, you open it carefully and slip inside, closing it tightly behind you. You look down when you hear a small rumbling purr at your feet.

“Well, I got something to read,” you say to your feline friend when you crouch down and scratch under his chin. He tilts his head back in bliss, completely unaware how close he came to becoming orphaned because of an avalanche of books.

When you lay in bed that night, the borrowed book in your lap and a cat sleeping peacefully on your legs, you allow yourself to finally relax. You’ve had trouble sleeping since your arrival in the Devildom and you hope that reading will help tire you out. You skim through the stories that don’t interest you but find yourself growing drowsy with each fairy tale you complete. When you don’t think you can stay awake any longer, you turn off your bedside lamp and roll over. Your cat makes a disgruntled noise but makes his way up the bed to you, curling against your chest. You fall asleep with his warm fur tickling your chin.

The next evening after dinner, you plan to return Satan’s book. If you can stay in the safety of the library, or the hallway, anywhere that isn’t the book-laden minefield of his bedroom, you figure you’ll ask him for more recommendations. Maybe you overlooked the bookshelves in the library with things you can understand, or maybe he has some more human world books hidden in one of his book piles. It’s worth a shot!

He doesn’t make you wait long when you knock quietly on his door. He peers at you through a gap before swinging it wide open. You think he’s almost impressed you’ve returned so soon, but you blink and the look is gone.

You hold the book out to him, and he spares it a cursory once-over for damage before he nods with satisfaction. It feels like you’ve passed some sort of test and you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you, this isn’t normally my type of book but it was still interesting…”

You trail off when you notice his gaze flickering away from you and towards something down the hall. You hear an excited chirp and see a blur of fluff zoom past you even as you bend down to try and catch your escaped cat. Satan doesn’t fare much better, his fingers barely grazing the animal who darts between his legs and into his bedroom.

“I am so sorry, I guess I didn’t close my door properly,” you explain, feeling more panicked now than that moment you first arrived in the Devildom. You hear soft meows growing quieter as your cat seems to explore deeper into Satan’s room. You’re clicking your tongue to try and draw him back to you, but it’s a lost cause.

Satan pulls something out of his pocket and starts shaking it. You hear a faint, interested chirp deep within the room.

“Why do you have cat treats?” you blurt out curiously, noticing the slight pink blush creeping across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“There are strays that come to the gardens sometimes,” he explains like it’s absolutely normal. “I give them treats when they visit.” He nearly mentions that he’s been hoping to meet your cat one day too but decides against it.

You nearly sag against the doorframe with relief when your cat comes prancing towards you, eyes focused on the bag dangling from Satan’s fingers. You both watch your cat pounce on the treats he shakes out onto the floor. You lean down and stroke his fur, glad to see he hasn’t gotten himself hurt somehow - you don’t know if books are the only things Satan hoards in his room.

“You can pet him if you like,” you offer, noticing the way Satan’s watching you and your pet like he’s not sure what to do next. He crouches beside you, and you both take turns running your fingers through the cat’s soft fur.

“He’s bigger than I thought he would be,” Satan says quietly. “Siamese?”

“Tonkinese,” you correct him. “He’s friendly and likes to talk, but I didn’t want him to bother anyone else. I’ve been trying to keep him in my room.” You’re surprised with how gentle Satan is being, petting him softly and keeping his voice low to avoid spooking him. You tell Satan your cat’s name, and he repeats it with a small smile.

The spell between you is broken when Satan stands up. You pick up your cat to keep him from darting back into Satan’s room, but he seems content to accept the small head scritches Satan offers before he backs away.

“I’ll text you later to see if I have anything in my library that might suit your reading preferences,” Satan says. He looks at you, then at your cat, and he looks away. “I don’t mind if you want to bring him again. It might be easier than trying to keep him locked up.”

You bid him goodnight and head back to your room, quietly scolding your cat who's certainly going to be on the hunt for more treats now that he’s had a taste of freedom. You don’t notice that Satan watches you until you turn the corner and disappear from view.

Over the next couple weeks, you and Satan fall into a sort of pattern. You visit him in his room - to borrow a book, or to read, or to enjoy his quiet company - with your cat in tow. He gives your cat treats and cuddles while you learn to navigate the tall stacks of books in his room, asking questions about the different Devildom authors he seems to like and offering human world recommendations of your own.

You find a part-time job near RAD to help cover the expenses of bringing your pet to the Devildom. Lucifer already provides you with a monthly stipend, but you want to make sure you can afford both your necessities on your own if necessary. You’re trying not to be a burden, and Lucifer has no issues with you choosing to work; he secretly admires your determination to be self-sufficient. He hopes your good behaviour makes an impression on his troublesome siblings.

You and Satan still find time to spend together despite your busy schedule. He offers to meet you when your shift is over so you don’t have to walk home alone. Sometimes he goes to your room and plays with your cat, sneaking him treats to tide him over until you can give him his dinner upon your return. Satan helps you make purchases using Levi’s Akuzon account which gives you a nice discount, and he helps carry any of the packages that arrive for you that are too bulky or heavy for you to carry on your own.

It surprises everyone else in the House of Lamentation that you and Satan are becoming fast friends. They assumed his unpredictable anger and no-nonsense attitude would scare you off. You’ve seen his temper flare since you arrived, but it’s normally directed towards one of his brothers which makes you feel a bit relieved. Even in his temperamental moods, he makes an effort not to shut you out or turn you away. It’s not a conscious realization, and he wouldn’t admit it to a soul if it were, but your presence relaxes him. Your quiet brand of kindness and consideration for his feelings is a rarity in the Devildom, and he seeks you out when he feels himself slipping back into bouts of fury and violence.

When you grow closer to his siblings, Satan watches from the sidelines like an outsider. His brothers are chaos and trouble, prone to dragging you into their messes. He tells himself that it makes sense you’re getting closer with them too, since you all live together - they should look out for your well-being as much as he does. That sort of connection is bound to lead to friendships, and while your pacts with Mammon and Levi are a surprise to him at first, he understands in theory why they’re beneficial to you.

If he seems a bit harsher with his older brothers after, it’s just a coincidence.

The obvious drawback to your growing collection of demon friends is that his brothers seek you out more often. They’ve forgotten their previous complaints about your cat as they coo over him when he follows you in the hallways. They’ve even said they don’t mind if you feed him in the dining room like he’s part of the family. Sometimes one of the brothers will show up at your door with a surprise for you: some new feather toy for the cat to play with, or a container of dried Devildom herbs that is similar to catnip you buy in the human world.

When you knock on Satan’s door in the evenings, he knows you’re avoiding your room for a reason. His brothers can be selfish at times, and it can be difficult to relax when they’re hovering in your room or the nearby kitchen, constantly seeking your attention and using your cat as an excuse to intrude on your privacy. Sometimes you grab a random book and plunk down in his armchair to read. Other times you join him on his bed, your cat laying across both your laps while you lean lightly against him.

The pacts with you have changed his brothers. Sometimes he thinks about being in a pact with you too - but he dismisses the notion as nothing more than jealousy, something his brother Levi might sulk about. He is absolutely not sulking. He pretends this tug-of-war with his brothers for your friendship doesn’t bother him and for a time, he convinces himself that’s true.

Bottling up his emotions never worked well for Satan in the past, so it shouldn’t surprise him when the annoyance simmering within him boils to a rage.

While you’re at work after school one evening, he browses Akuzon for some new books and some imported human world movies to buy. Eventually he ends up browsing the pet section, because of course he does. He adds a bag of cat food to the cart and decides he’ll forget to ask you to repay him later.

He checks the new arrivals page and a cat tree catches his attention. Your cat’s on his way to being a senior, and Satan’s noticed the way he struggles with jumping on and off some of the furniture in the house. The cat tree has steps he can climb, and wide, tall perches so he can stretch out easily. Satan sees a pet ramp that he adds to the cart too - that might help your cat get on and off your bed more easily. He adds an extra ramp to the cart for his own room - just in case.

Satan approaches your door with his tablet in hand. He would’ve already purchased the cat tree for you (like he intends to), but he wants to make sure there’s enough space for it in your room. He knows you should be home by now; Lucifer was staying late at RAD and offered to walk you home tonight.

Satan pauses outside your room but the excitement drains from him when he hears familiar voices within. He knocks on the door before letting himself inside. You’re sitting at your desk with your homework spread out in front of you. Mammon is teasing your cat with a laser pointer while Asmo films on his DDD and giggles at the way your cat sprints around the room, pouncing on the red dot to no avail.

For someone who complained so much about not wanting a cat before, Asmo doesn’t seem to care that his black leggings are covered in fur.

Mammon laughs and runs the laser across the floor and up Satan’s leg. Your cat pauses at his feet and when he recognizes who the leg belongs to, he chirps and rubs against his leg instead.

The cat’s affection isn’t enough to soften the bitter anger swirling in the pit of his stomach. He spins on his heel and marches away, slamming your door behind him. He hears you call to him, but he keeps walking until he’s back in his room, surrounded by his favourite books and comfortable silence.

He doesn’t know why, but in that moment he despises all of it.

He throws his tablet aside, hearing it hit the wall before it drops to the floor. He slouches on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hair in fistfuls and trying to calm himself down before he destroys everything in arm’s reach.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but eventually he hears your footsteps pause outside his door. You knock quietly and he hopes you’ll just go away. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. But you persist, and then a soft mew trills outside the door too, and he realizes you’re not going to leave until he gives you what you want.

He opens the door and blinks at the steaming cup in your hands, your worried eyes gazing at him hopefully. Your cat is walking between both your legs, oblivious to the tension.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you say. You’re not even sure what you’re apologizing for, but something in his pained expression as he stormed from your room earlier has bothered you since.

Satan tells you he doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t even know what it is. All he knows is that he’s not prepared to try and untangle the complicated feelings that make him feel like he’s walking a very thin line over a dark chasm. The tiniest push could set him off, make him fall - and he’s scared about what that might mean for him. And for you.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I thought you might like something warm to help you feel better.” You hold the cup out for him to take, and he recognizes the familiar scent of coffee. He’s never seen you drink coffee in the Devildom, usually preferring tea that Barbatos or the angels offer you at RAD or Purgatory Hall.

He accepts the gesture for what it is - a peace offering, a temporary truce while he sorts out whatever’s going on in his head - and he takes a sip. Your pleased smile falls from your face when he chokes on the drink, and he coughs into the sleeve of his shirt.

Your eyes are panicked and you try to take the cup back from him. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. Is it too hot?”

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “No, it’s fine. It’s just awfully –” he stops himself, his surprise turning into realization. “You used hell coffee beans to make this?”

You shrug, turning away. You still seem embarrassed by his reaction, assuming you made the drink wrong. “You like to drink it when we’re reading together,” you explain, biting your lip nervously. “If you don’t want it, I can take it back and get you something else.”

He gives you the most reassuring smile he can manage despite his turbulent mood. “No, you’re right. It is my favourite. And you made it well. Thank you.”

You take a few steps back. “Well, I should probably finish my homework. I kicked the others out of my room for the night. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You start to walk away, cat at your heel, but turn over your shoulder to look at him one more time. “I don’t have to work tomorrow night. We can hang out after dinner if you want?”

You beam at him happily when he nods, and Satan watches you walk away with a bit more bounce to your step. He shuts the door and chuckles quietly while he stares into the cup you gave him. He’s certain you’re not aware of hell coffee’s other properties, the reason why the cup you made specially for him is more bitter than anything he’s ever tasted.

He sits in his chair, sipping from his cup with a smile on his face, and lets the warmth of your brewed affection soothe him.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

#obey me satan #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me satan x reader #satan x reader #obey me fluff #omswd fluff #satan fluff #obey me satan x mc #satan x mc #obey me satan x you #satan x you #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

769 notes · View notes

dollfaceksj · 1 year ago

Note

please i need to know what happens next in toapp

hang on tight!

ignore any errors . don’t say anything or ur cloverphobic. i was not in the right headspace when i wrote this and im still not kncjdnxks

warnings: :)

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #12

masterlist

<- previous ; next ->

you walk up to the table and yoongi instantly turns to you, pulling the chair out next to you to help you sit down

you quietly thank him and sit down

you start eating, talking, enjoying everyone’s presence

you notice the food is rapidly disappearing so you make a quick sandwich for jungkook

just??

just because

NOT FOR ANYTHING WEIRD!!

he just!

helped u at night

made u feel warm

and gave u his pillow while u were sleeping :(

so you just

wanna make sure he has some food :(

are you becoming … soft ? on JUNGKOOK?

no ur not! it’s just human decency

“how’d you sleep?” yoongi asks, reaching out to play with the shell of your ear

you smile at his touch. “i slept well. you?”

“okay. hoseok punched me in the mouth 3 times in his sleep.”

you laugh and reach out to rub his swollen bottom lip with your thumb. “it’s okay, your lips look softer now.”

a small smirk creeps on his lips. “you wanna test that theory out?”

you press your lips together and your thighs.

you shrug your shoulders. “will i get anything if my theory is correct?”

he thinks about your question for a moment. “i’m not sure. is there something on your mind right now?”

ugh he’s so smooth

you roll your eyes, slapping his knee under the table

jungkook joins later and doesn’t really look at anyone as he sits down across from you

he looks around the table and notices the food is actually gone

you reach for the sandwich on your plate and hand it to him without a word

he glances at the sandwich in your hand

and then glances at you

he slowly reaches for the sandwich and quietly thanks you

he eats it in silence while everyone is still chatting

cue mouse eating alone meme

hours have passed

everyone’s playing pictionary with each other

jungkook is just sitting in the back on his phone

it’s weird

well he’s always been quiet in group activities

but now he’s not playing along at all

isabella and hyunjoo are sitting next to him and he’s only really chatting with them

lol

not like u care though

just as you’re laughing at the competition of pictionary in front of you

you suddenly get tugged to the side by tae

he pulls you to the side, away from the others

you frown and cross your arms. “what’s up?”

he looks to the side to make sure no one’s listening

???

“what’s up with you and jungkook?”

he asks it with so much annoyance in his voice

heart drops to your ass

what

WHAT

oh shit?

nothing happened between you and jungkook yet!!

wait

yet?

LMAOOOO

nothing WILL happen between you and jk.

believe that.

“what are you talking about?” you ask, feigning innocence

he sighs in exasperation, trying to find his words. “i know y’all are not the best of friends but i’m sensing some tension. are you still mad about the fact he said that he doesn’t like you?”

you blink at him

wait

wait a second

he thinks there’s a problem between you and jungkook

he’s not suspecting the opposite

okay

you can do this

you shrug your shoulders. “i just don’t like him, tae.”

he tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes at you, staring at you with his intense eyes. “so, why did you accept sleeping in a tent with him?”

shit shit

think this through

you drop your arms. “because i’m not a little bitch, taehyung. i’m not going to ruin the trip for everyone else.”

“well, you’re going in that direction. you think i didn’t notice that little never have i ever game between you two?”

you swallow in distress. fuck

were you that obvious?

he shakes his head at your lack of response. “get your shit together, y/n.”

you rub your forehead. “sorry.”

he sighs, he never likes having to call you out but you clearly needed to hear it

taehyung leaves you by yourself

well

he’s right

let’s try building a friendly relationship with jungkook!

you help seokjin and joon with preparing the food for tonight

you’ve kinda been ignoring jungkook in hopes no one else will catch onto the games between you two before you can tell him in private to stop w the games and act friendly with each other

because tae is suspecting something

during pictionary you were just teaming with yoongi

flirting with him

being touchy

now you’re spending time with the others

hoping that you’re not the reason for ruining it for everyone

so you’re going out of your way to interact with everyone

you’re laughing and having a good time

you taste seokjin’s food and hum in delight. “that’s so fire,” you moan

he smiles and puffs his chest out proudly

“oh, you wanna taste too?” seokjin says to someone behind you

you look behind you

:)))

jungkook is walking up to the 3 of you rn

seokjin hands you the spoon holding the broth so you can give it to jungkook since you’re closer

you blink as you take it and turn back to face him, holding the spoon up to him

instead of taking the spoon

grabs your wrist

and leans down

directing the spoon to his mouth

and sucking the broth off of it whilst holding eye contact with you

you gulp and you can swear you hear your heart beating in your throat

he drops your hand and nods. “that’s really good, hyung.”

seokjin beams at the compliment

but not for long when seokjin has to redirect his attention to namjoon

namjoon + knife = danger

suddenly jungkook leans into your ear and whispers, “come to the tent at 8pm. then i’ll know you’re done with this childish game and ready to hear me out.”

hear him out?

about WHAT?

did tae already speak to him too?

he doesn’t give you a chance to ask when he suddenly ditches you to head toward his tent

you check the time

it’s 7.30pm…….

be normal!!! don’t go

don’t go

okay!

so are you gonna tell the audience

why you’ve been standing in front of the tent since 8:06pm?????

minutes pass

and you’re still not entering

8.06pm…

8.09pm….

at 8.10pm, the tent unzips and you watch as jungkook crawls out

he stops and looks up at you as you stare down at him

well

he’s seen you now? just go

hear him out

he slowly backs into the tent and you don’t really think about it when you follow him further into the tent

you zip up the tent and watch as he backs up and sits straight up, legs stretched out as he leans back on his hands

you sit on your knees as far away from him as possible, waiting for him to say anything but he won’t

it’s quiet

too quiet

your eyes drop to his lap

and you catch the slight tremor in his leg

you finally break the silence. “why are you bouncing your leg?”

he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “because i’m nervous.”

your brows pinch together. “why are you nervous?”

why?

what is he thinking about?

should you be nervous too?

he sighs and rubs his face with one hand before placing it back and leaning on it again. “because there’s a pretty girl in my tent and none of my antics or tricks work on her.”

uhh

wow :)

okay

we’re good

WE’RE GOOD.

well

maybe…

maybe it’s best to just finally be honest?

sigh

just be honest

you shake your head. “but they do work.”

his head snaps up at you. “what do you mean?”

you awkwardly shrug your shoulders. “remember the time when i came to your apartment for the speaker? when you almost kissed me?”

he frowns but nods his head nonetheless.

“i would have let you.”

wow

u actually just admitted that

he blinks at you like he doesn’t believe you

“there are a lot of times where i would go with the flow but you just,” you say as you shake your head. “why do you never just.. do it?”

he shrugs his shoulders. “i don’t know.”

this space is so … raw and vulnerable right now

it’s best to just talk about everything

you ask, “is it because of taehyung and namjoon?”

he shrugs his shoulders for the nth time. “probably. i feel like i just don’t want to be the one that makes the first move and disobey them, you know?”

hmm

is that why he always stopped before it got too far?

you bite your lip for a moment. “so what if i make the first move?”

he shrugs his shoulders. “how about you come find out?”

well

that’s it

every bone in your body

every thought in your head

that makes you act rationally

leaves your body in that specific moment

you don’t waste any time as you crawl over to him

you watch as he suddenly sits up, big eyes watching you

you throw one leg over his thighs, hands on his shoulders to support yourself

he keeps his hands respectfully besides his body as you climb onto him, looking up at you in anticipation

you slowly sink down on his lap, straddling his thighs as you cup his face

jungkook stares at you with big eyes, lips slightly parted

if you were crazy

you’d say you could hear his heart beating out of control

it could also be your own heart

but without any hesitation

you press your lips to his

oh fuck

his lips are so

damn soft

his hands automatically move on their own, gripping your waist tightly as he allows you to taste him

fuck

his hands on your body

feel otherwordly

you pull his face even closer, tilting your head to kiss him deeper

you poke his lips with your tongue and he wastes no time allowing you into his mouth

you lick into his mouth, tasting the minty toothpaste he brushed his teeth with after the late lunch he had

you need more

you move your hands down to his and push them further down, making him grip your hips

he smiles into the kiss, wasting no time as his fingers drape over your hips

his lips chase yours as if he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingertips

you wrap your arms around his neck to fully close the gap between the two of you, your chests firmly pressed together

you slowly start rolling your hips into his, making yourself moan and him hiss

fuck you need to stop

before you do something dumb

he abruptly pulls away whilst shaking his head

what

oh no

his big black eyes stare up at you

“you’re playing a dangerous game.”

well

he’s been playing games with you all this time?

a smirk tugs on the corners of your lips. “what? getting cold feet because you can’t handle a little friction?”

he raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your provocative words

he doesn’t like that

suddenly in one swift move, he flips you over

a yelp leaves your mouth when you’re being pushed back

you’re suddenly on your back against the floor of the tent

and jungkook has wedged his hips in between your thighs

oh fuck

you’re trapped under his body

and unfortunately

you don’t wanna be anywhere else

he reconnects your lips and gently grinds into you, making you quietly moan into his mouth

holy shit

your entire body feels like it’s on fucking fire

pathetic whimpers and pornographic moans leave your lips as he rolls his hips against your pelvis, the thin fabric of your leggings making it feel like he’s grinding directly into your sex

his tongue dives into your mouth, sensually rubbing against yours whilst he grinds his sex into yours

his tongue continues to explore your mouth, the cold of his liprings rubbing against your lips sends electricity right up your spine

he disconnects your lips and starts kissing down your neck, tongue tracing your collarbones

his hips continue to roll into yours at a perfect pace

he’s so fucking good at this

oh fuck this feels good

no wonder. he’s literally a fuckboy

everything feels that much more intense because you shouldn’t be doing this

shouldn’t be doing this

wait

why shouldn’t you be doing this?

wait

what if

someone were to come right now???

what if tae or yoongi suddenly stand in front of the tent!!! ask you to come out !! see you with messed up hair !!! swollen lips !!!! jungkooks red cheeks !!!!

panic

“wait, wait, wait, stop,” you say, pushing your hands against jungkook’s shoulders

he pulls away and worriedly looks down at you, his hips also coming to a halt

it’s clear he thinks he did something wrong

“i-i want to keep going but what if someone comes right now? looking for us?” you ask, breathlessly

he blinks a couple of times, clearly thinking about what you just brought to his attention. “then we’re fucked.”

DAMMIT

you’d hoped he could dismiss that thought so you could keep going

but now you’re worried

calm down

and think

just

think

to be continued

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iwriteofdelrey · 6 days ago

Note

Alrighty, new asker here! The name’s Lunarstar, but you can call me Lunar.😊

I see you wanted more requests. If you have time, perhaps either a wholesome Transformers Earthspark Megatron with human reader who had a rough day at school (you can decide either high school or college) due to bullying, or TFE Prowl and a very observant human reader. I can see Prowl being impressed by the reader’s observation and wanting to mentor the reader into becoming an effective detective.

Don’t feel obligated to do these. Life comes first!👍

this is amazing, Lunar! <3 I love doing these for you guys.

gn! reader, stress, bullying, all that angsty, kinda wholesome at the end, the reader being paranoid, irritated, and kind of a dick (sorry) , Not edited.

Earthspark! Megatron with a human reader who had a rough day at school and who's also picked on.

Megs :

You thought bullying stopped at middle school, and people would have grown out of it. At least the bullying you saw in movies.

You were bullied by a group of boys. The worst. They were seniors, you were a sophomore. A little lower-classman they could pick on indirectly. this really wasn't your normal, "give me your lunch money," kind of situation.

You have so much to worry about, especially in high school. Junior year is right around the corner, life seemed to have high expectations of you, you were associated with the Autobots, being on missions, and all other responsibilities... It all seemed a bit much at times. Your little bullying situation didn't make it any better.

The boys that picked on you would give you a hard time.

They'd purposely take your seat, or have the complete audacity to comment on you without even acknowledging you. They'd be like "Pfft, yeah, they're hella weird," or like "Have you seen that bitch, "Y/N, or whatever the fuck their name is?" even though you'd be right there, sitting behind them.

They'd have no decency. They'd fucking lean on your desk or put no space in between them and yourself. It was annoying, but of course, you wouldn't say anything. If you were to say something, what would you even say?

You would let them walk all over you. A force was telling you not to, but you did it anyway. You gave them answers, and help, you'd even help them cheat. They'd lean back and whisper what they had wanted. Every single time you felt a certain lump in your throat. It was like you were obligated to.

It was getting to a point. A point where it was annoying, but you knew you couldn't say shit about it.

You were scared. you'd thought you'd never feel this feeling. especially in the modern day.

It made it even worse that when you'd answer questions, you were so afraid, even more afraid that you'd get it wrong and they'd start laughing at you.

They would all turn back and raise their eyebrows as if they were expecting you to get it wrong.

You had wondered sometimes. If it was like a thing all football players had done. It's like they put on this facade of a nice guy and then pick on you indirectly.

You couldn't even talk to Robby or Morgan about this. They weren't even in high school yet. You would mention it around Dorothy or Alex. You were hesitant. It was like you had thought that it was going to be a burden on them. It's a shame. That's your aunt and uncle. Another side of you could see the possibilities of what they might say. You thought they may shrug it off as them picking on you because they might like you. Yeah.. that was definitely a middle school thing.

Eventually, you find yourself delaying when you get to class. As it may help the little situation and you could pick another seat. Another part of you also did this due to your rising anxiety about them. You'd hide in the bathroom, and when you'd come back, they would stare even more.

Yes, it got to a point where you'd sometimes skip that class. You wouldn't even go to lunch anymore. The teacher was concerned for you. maybe... or maybe she just wanted you out of her classroom because that was her only break. On rare occasions, if you did go to the lunch room, you'd sit in your own corner, away from everyone else. Airpods/headphones in.

When you would be picked up by your aunt, she'd ask you how your school day was. you'd sigh and shrug it off, saying it was good. She knows damn well that's a lie.

"Y/N..."

"I'm serious, it was fine..." You raised your voice a little.

she looked at you raised an eyebrow, and sighed.

you had arrived at the base and threw your bag on the ground, sitting near it as you scrolled through your phone.

"Y/N, what happened at school today?"

it was a silver bot. No other than Megs himself. Oh boy were you in for something.

"If this is about raising my voice at Aunt Dot, I'm sorry--"

he cut you off immediately.

"No, I'm serious, Y/N. Tell me what happened. She did tell me you were upset. Have been upset for quite some time, and she wanted me to raise the question of what's going on in school. So spill."

You sighed. there's that feeling again. Your fingers felt tingly. You look up at him with furrowed and upset eyebrows.

"There are these boys at school. They kinda pick on me... its nothing though," bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

"Yeah, right... I'm telling your aunt so she can handle this accordingly."

"No, please, Megatron, please don't. They're division one..If the school does eventually do something, they're going to hate me and pick on me even more--"

"That's even more of a reason for me to do so,"

yeah, megs is the dad of the year y'all.

the school does find out, and sooner or later your classes get switched. different buildings AND different levels. They're stuck in traditional while you're in honors, haha jokes on them bitches- lol

you'd never say it, but you are pretty thankful he did do something.

I had to think about this one a lot. I loved the challenge! Bring on some more Transformers requests guys! Much love,

King.

#transformers #megatron x reader #sfw interaction only #megatron #teen reader

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furiousgoldfish · 2 years ago

Text

When you’re raised in an abusive family, it doesn’t feel like you’re a victim of something, not while it’s happening. Instead, you feel like you’re not doing a good enough job dealing with what’s presented to you as ‘normal’. It feels like you’re overly sensitive and need to learn how to be more tough, like you’re whiny and spoiled and deserve to feel bad about yourself. Like ‘tough love’ and constant criticism, threats and put downs is what is needed to fix you, like only thing that can make you better is more pain and more hatred.

Abusive parents work very hard so you wouldn’t be able to recognize abuse; they will make sure you believe that what they’re giving you is love. They’ll even make you feel like they believe it’s love, like they are so sure they’re helping you with all of the hatred and neglect and violence, like they’re worried about you when they’re forbidding you any privacy, freedom or skills, like they’re simply not able to do any better, when they make you suicidal.

And they don’t stop there; they convince you that everyone else has it worse, that you’re ‘lucky’ to have them, that other children are beaten worse, starved out, abandoned, homeless. They tell you horror stories about how you’d be dying on the street without them, how grateful you need to be. They threaten you with how bad you’d have it in an orphanage or a home. They give you anecdotes of children being treated worse, in order to terrify you.

So you don’t know that you have it bad. You don’t know that you have human rights that far precede being fed and sheltered. You look around convinced, that everyone’s home life as as bad as yours, they’re just somehow taking it better. They’re somehow still grinning and acting normal and keeping it together, they’re less anxious, less scared, less inclined to sink into darkness. You don’t know how they do it, and you feel inferior, stuck, left behind. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why can’t you just be like everyone else, and deal with ‘normal home life’ as well as they do. Why can’t you talk to your parents like you love them, like everyone else does. How is everyone else so much better at being tough, brave, enduring, strong, and hopeful.

And abusive parents will dismiss your every thought and feeling that recognizes the reality of what you’re living in. It doesn’t matter if you’re having anxiety and trauma symptoms so bad you’re barely able to function, they’ll call it whining. It doesn’t matter if you secretly self harm only to ease the amount of inner pain and shame you’re feeling, they’ll call it ‘attention seeking’. It can be panic attacks, eating disorders, ocd, dissociative disorders, flashbacks, nightmares, fight-or-flight reactions, it will all be dismissed as you being ‘dramatic’, ‘playing the victim’ or ‘making a drama for nothing’. You could be close to death and your abusive parents would dismiss it as your own fault.

Because nothing is more important to them than covering up their abuse and making you feel insane for trying to point it out. Nothing stops them in forcing their own hateful perspective on a child they abused. There is no compassion or decency to acknowledge that they hurt you, you could be dying and they would accuse you of doing it on purpose to spite them. There is no place in their hearts for you. There is nothing they couldn’t spin to depict you as a spoiled, selfish, vengeful monster, in order to spin the reality of what happened in their own favour.

They’re waging a war against a child they had out of their own volition, and were responsible to take care of. They declare the war on your sanity the second they hurt you and tell you that it’s fine, that you’re okay, that you need to shut up so nobody else can hear and get ‘the wrong idea’. They taught you that abuse is love from the start, and seeing the consequences of abuse on you, they double down and insist it’s still love, it’s still normal, it’s still good, it’s just you who is the problem. They didn’t do anything wrong. You who is taking ‘love’ the wrong way. You who doesn’t understand that they’re ‘human’ and ‘did their best’. As if they acknowledged you as a human being even once during your entire life.

Much of your childhood consisted of your parents lying to you in order to avoid you realizing you’re being abused. It makes you spend decades thinking that you’re crazy, delusional, oversensitive, imagining things, acting whiny or dramatic for no good reason, experiencing symptoms for no reason, no events that caused it, all while being completely alone in your pain, unable to ask for support, because ‘nothing bad happened’. It can bring shame to your every feeling, make you feel like you’re not allowed to even experience your own feelings. It makes you doubt your memories, your senses, your own instincts, because you’re shamed and punished for believing yourself, for imagining that you were right to express any of it.

That’s why it’s so hard to get out of it. It’s hard to even dare to believe yourself, with how high the stakes are for you parents, and by extension, for your own life. You’re not dumb or gullible for struggling to acknowledge this, nobody wants to believe this could be going on in their life. Nobody wants to see their parents as villains, if there’s any other option available. And nobody wants to believe their parents capable of this level of cruelty. Nobody wants to know that they were raised by people who felt nothing while psychologically torturing a child.

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damn-stark · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 23 You’re an Angel, I’m a dog

Chapter 23 of Sugar

A/N- WAIT WAIT— “I’ll never be a son.” And “I’ll never be his favorite son.” Fits Choso and mc to a tea especially in this chapter!!!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, spoilers, NFSW? Not really though it’s light, talks of miscarriage, SLOW BURN, heavy pining, long chapter

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Takes place during- Chapters 145 & 146, and the beginning portion of 203 & 207, of the Manga

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

This is Tengen? This tall pale thing?

You always imagined they’d be more majestic looking considering how old they are and the responsibility they hold, but they look more like a pale four-eyed alien.

“Aren’t you gonna say hello to me Tengen?” Yuki remarks after she was left out of his sudden greeting.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met Yuki Tsukumo.” They finally address her and they sound annoyed. “Why did you close off the tombs of the Star Corridor? I was afraid you might be in alignment with Kenjaku. After all, I cannot see into the human heart.”

Kenjaku? Who the hell is Kenjaku?

“Kenjaku?” You probe and slide your hands off Choso’s arms now that your fear has subsided.

“The sorcerer who was Noritoshi Kamo and is now inhabiting the body of Suguru Geto,” Tengen shares.

“That name suggests compassion and salvation. Gimme a break,” Yuki snaps.

“Master Tengen, why do you look like that?” Itadori suddenly interrupts, making your eyes widen with bewilderment.

“Itadori,” you scold.

“What?” He asks you over his shoulder as if that question isn’t obviously rude to ask someone.

“You can’t ask someone that,” you whisper sharply. “Even if they are centuries old. You can’t ask that.”

“I was just curious.”

“I may be immortal,” Tengen cuts in, making both Itadori and you look forward, but that was a mistake considering they tug on a creepy-looking smile. “But I'm not immune to aging. After 500 years, you’d look like this too.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust and mentally groan.

You’d rather die than look like that.

“Eleven years ago, after failing to merge with a Star Plasma Vessel.”

“Riko Amanai,” you cut in bitterly, making all eyes fall on you, including all four of Tengen’s—“considering she died trying to get to you, why don’t you have the decency to actually say her name.”

Tengen looks into your eyes, and no matter how intimidating they actually look, you don’t falter, you challenge them and stand by your ground.

“Riko Amanai,” they give in. “After I failed to merge with her my aging accelerated and my self-awareness as an individual diminished. The very world became myself.”

“And that’s why your “voice” doesn’t proliferate,” Yuki adds before Fushiguro raises his hand and politely interjects.

“Excuse me, but…”

“We came to ask about Kenjaku’s objectives,” Okkotsu continues for Fushiguro. “And how to open the prison realm. Will you tell us what you know?”

Your face drops the annoyed hardened expression and paints on a hopeful one as you wait for a solution to your brother's predicament.

“I wish I could simply say yes,” Tengen crushes your hopes. “But there is one condition. Yuta Okkotsu, Yuki Tsukumo, Y/N Gojo…”

Huh?

“…and the Death Painting Womb. Three of you must remain here to serve as my guards.”

You roll your eyes and press your hands on your hips as your annoyance returns.

For someone so mighty they still surely sound human.

And why do they need guards?

“Guards? Aren’t you immortal?” Okkotsu steals the words out of your mind.

“Are you worried about the seal?” Maki chimes in.

“No fair!” Yuki whines. “You haven’t even told us why or for how long we’d have to do it!”

“So then shall I speak of Kenjaku?” Tengen ignores Yuki and everyone else. “His objective is to force the evolution of all human beings throughout the land of Japan.

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, he yapped on about that,” you interject. “We want to know exactly what he intends. Why didn’t he use your barrier that time and turn everyone in Japan into sorcerers via Idle transfiguration?”

“He lacks the cursed energy to do that,” Tengen says. “Cursed energy that has been refined through Uzumaki cannot return to the sorcerer...”

Well, you knew that because of Suguru. You just thought Kenjaku would be different considering he’s old and he has the technique to jump into others’ bodies.

“…triggering an evolution in each individual with a cursed technique is incredibly inefficient. The method of evolution that Kenjaku has chosen is the merging of humankind and me.”

Is that…even possible?

“Is that even possible?” Itadori voices your same concern but in a much louder way.

“Isn’t that impossible for anyone but a Star Plasma vessel?” Fushiguro mutters his question.

“Yes,” Tengen nods. “The way I was before, but now that I have evolved for the past 11 years it would not be impossible for me to merge with someone other than a Star Plasma Vessel.”

Then they should have probably tried to protect Amanai more.

“But you’re only one person right?” Choso asks. “How could you merge with multiple people?”

“I am not what you see before you at the moment,” Tengen explains, making your eyebrows knot with confusion. “My evolved soul exists all around us. As I said, my self is now the world itself. A human who merges with me transforms into something greater than a sorcerer, as a new being that is both there and not there. I posses barrier techniques so I am able to maintain this form and self-control even after evolving. However,” they input. “If humankind evolves, and even if only one person rages out of control the world will end.”

You swallow thickly out of discomfort and shift your stance.

“Why?” Yuki inquiries.

“There would be no boundaries between individuals,” Tengen says. “So evil would spread instantaneously. The impurity of a hundred million people would flood the world. What just happened to Tokyo would happen to the entire world.”

“Why would Kenjaku do that?” You ask for the curious group.

Tengen shrugs stiffly. “I do not know. As I said, I cannot read the human heart.”

Hm.

“So why don’t you just refuse to merge?” Maki asks something that should be simple to solve. Tengen wouldn't be needing guards if it was that simple.

“That is the problem,” Tengen proves you right. “Now that I have evolved I am more cursed spirit than human being. That makes me a target for cursed spirit manipulation.”

You gasp in disbelief and your world then falls silent, and all you can think about is if Miguel was right.

“Considering Kenjaku’s ability as a sorcerer he might be able to seize me the moment we encounter each other,” Tengen continues. “That is why my main body is rejecting everything at the tombs of the star corridor.”

Was it your fault? All this? All because you couldn’t even look at his body after he died?

“And the reason you want guards, right?” Okkotsu asks, making Tengen nod in agreement.

“Yes. Kenjaku is the second-most powerful barrier user after me. I don’t know when he will undo the seal of the tombs.”

Tengen surely fails to answer a lot of questions.

“Why now?” You step forward to ask with growing concern. “Kenjaku prevented a merging with a Star Plasma Vessel and forced your evolution, and wants to consume and control you through cursed manipulation.”

“Apparently he was also involved with Sukuna,” Yuki bounces in. “So he’s been a sorcerer for at least 1,000 years, so why now?”

“I,” Tengen points at their chest. “The Star Plasma Vessel, and the Six Eyes, are all connected by fate.”

You blink and slowly your confusion is replaced by disbelief while realization slowly seeps through.

“In the past, Kenjaku has twice lost to sorcerers of the Six Eyes. The second time, he took no chances and killed the Star Plasma Vessel and Six Eyes less than one month after they were born. Nonetheless, on the day of merging, the Six Eyes and Star Plasma Vessel appeared.”

“Which is why he sealed my brother away, I assume,” you interject with your thoughts.

“Yes, after that Kenjaku switched to sealing instead of eradicating the Six Eyes and began searching for the Prison Realm,” Tengen shares nonchalantly. “Because two bearers of the Six Eyes cannot appear at the same time.”

Hm. Well, thank the stars for that.

“But then the unexpected happened 11 years ago when Toji Zen’in intervened. He was physically gifted through heavenly restriction and on top of that he was an anomaly who had escaped from cursed energy.”

You try not to but you steal a glance at the son of Toji Zen’in, whom doesn’t know thanks to your brother's lack of sharing. It explains his lack of reaction now too because of it.

It sucks! You need him to know already!

“As a human being who had escaped fate through the power of restriction, he destroyed our destinies,” Tengen goes on. “Then came along a boy with cursed manipulation.”

You drop your eyes and frown sadly at the ground.

“Suddenly all the pieces had come together except for the prison realm. Then even that fell into his hands six years ago.”

Almost like fate. Cruel fate.

“So why is the Culling Games happening?” Fushiguro asks, a bit distressed.

“It is like breaking the body prior to merging,” Tengen tells all of you. “It is not impossible to merge with someone other than a star plasma vessel but is highly unlikely and would be incomplete at present. The Culling Games uses the players’ cursed energy and the boundaries binding barriers in a ritual for conveying the human beings of the country to the other side. Through that custom, he will begin the merging with me. However, in order to perform such ritual, Kenjaku has undertaken certain binding vows.”

You know your answer to Tengen’s previous request now. It’s costly for you because you don’t want to be stuck and play a waiting game, but with Okkotsu here, now you can focus on getting Satoru out. So you drown out what they have to say about the Culling Games. If you have to somehow participate in them then you’ll ask for the rules and conditions then.

All that truly matters about them is that the games will continue until every player is dead or until they all refuse to play and die, and that killing Kenjaku won’t stop the games; so that plan is diminished.

You only bring your attention back when Tengen cuts Itadori off to get the answer out of who will stay

“I will stay,” Yuki, Choso, and you volunteer at the same time, making you happy that you don’t have to be stuck with Okkotsu, and that you’ll spend more time with Choso….and Yuki!

You shouldn’t be so enthusiastic, you have your protests after all, but your heart can’t help but jump.

“Yuji, you absolutely need Okkotsu’s or this woman’s cooperation,” Choso interjects seriously so Itadori can understand his brotherly concern. “Especially if Noritoshi Kamo—if Kenjaku comes for Tengen. Ending his life means salvation for my little brothers.”

“And rest for Suguru’s body,” you input your decision, gaining the attention of the room. “So I’ll stay here to help kill Kenjaku, and get the answer on how to get Satoru out.”

“And I’m not done talking to Tengen,” Yuki shares her reasoning for staying. “Is that all right, Okkotsu?”

Okkotsu nods and his eyes almost gleam with relief and joy. “Yeah! I don’t want to leave the others.”

You focus your eyes on Okkotsu and squint slightly before you interject in a menacing voice. “Okkotsu, you help Itadori, understand? Keep the promise you made to my brother.”

Okkotsu eyes quickly find you and his relief and excitement are quick to fall and be replaced by discomfort and nerves.

“Y-yes ma'am,” he quickly assures you, causing you to scoff and then look away to avoid looking at him more than you have to.

“Thank you,” Tengen once again speaks as they begin to reach in a black portal. “This…” they trail off and pull out a dull-looking box with a stitch on one side. “…is necessary for freeing Satoru Gojo.”

You perk up and slowly fill with hope and relief.

“It is the back of the Prison Realm.”

You blink and shift your gaze back to Tengen. “Back?” You question.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Yuki muses.

“You mean like a back gate?” Itadori is finally the first to understand something instead of being the first one to probe.

“Yes, that is right,” Tengen agrees as he keeps the back gate in their large hand. “Before Kenjaku found it, the prison realm was outside my barrier. I believe it was overseas. By sealing this rear gate, I was hiding the existence of the “front”, but it was no use. Satoru Gojo Is also sealed inside the rear gate.”

“Then if we open it can we—”

“No,” Tengen breaks Itadori’s hopes. “The authority to open the gate rests with Kenjaku as the bearer of the “front”.”

Which gives you more reason to stay!

“Breaking it open requires either the inverted spear of Heaven that nullifies cursed techniques or the black rope that disrupts and cancels cursed technique effects.”

The back rope? Miguel’s destroyed black rope?

“But Satoru Gojo sealed the inverted spear of heaven overseas 11 years ago…or destroyed it! Why’d you do that Gojo!” Itadori exclaims and Fushiguro follows to do the same.

“And last year Satoru Gojo got rid of all the black rope! Why’d that guy do that?!”

Okkotsu laughs nervously and you bring your hand up to bite the tip of your manicured nail since you can’t smoke inside.

“Miguel went to Africa in search of more black rope,” you share with the group. “But he found none…isn’t that right, Okkotsu?”

Okkotsu nods. “Yes, it was a fruitless effort.”

You groan and snap your gaze to Tengen. “But there is a way? Right?”

“Yes,” Tengen lets you sigh with relief. “Among the players participating in the Culling Games is a sorcerer from a thousand years ago who calls herself Angel. Her cursed technique can extinguish any cursed energy.”

“She can extinguish cursed techniques?” Fushiguro questions.

“Yes,” Tengen reinstates. “The Angel’s cursed technique can open the “back” of the prison realm.”

“Do you know where she is?” You ask.

“The colony in the east side of Tokyo,” Tengen surprises you by saying, it seems they tend to not know a lot of important answers. “The game barriers reject me, so I don’t have any more information,” he finishes as he puts the back gate back in their portal, leaving Satoru out of arm's reach.

Yeah, you can’t get him out without the sorcerer and her technique, but you were comforted by the fact that he was close, that you could see a part of his prison, but he’s gone again. And so your worry regrows.

Choso seems to notice your disappointment and very gently pats your shoulder.

His gesture surprises you considering you’re the only one who’s given physical touch, but you welcome his comforting touch and thank him with a small but sweet smile as Tengen starts to give more information on the Culling Games. Something you probably won’t participate in because you’ll be here, so you hardly listen.

You know that if you enter a certain colony you’ll be added as a player, players get points by killing other players, and if that player's points remain the same then they could lose their technique. That's all you really gather as your mind goes back to Suguru and your impossible choice.

Guilt begins to bloom where there wasn’t any, while Miguel’s words echo in your mind.

“And you were supposed to cremate Geto’s body,”

If you had picked his body off the ground before you left, all this could have been avoided. All these problems and these outcomes would have not existed if you had given him a proper funeral. But you got swept up in your emotions and left him there.

He would’ve taken your body, Miguel was right about that too, but you couldn’t do the same. Now this is all your fault…your parents…were right…you are a weak link.

“Y/N, Yuki, and Choso will remain here to guard Master Tengen,” Maki snaps your attention back to the room. “I will return to the Zen’in clan and collect cursed tools. Soon after Satoru Gojo was sealed the Kamo and Zen’in clans cleaned out Jujutsu High's cursed warehouse. But Megumi is now the Zen’in clan's leader.”

“What?!” Itadori exclaims.

“I’ll explain later,” Fushiguro mutters to his friend.

“Thanks to that, it’s possible to search the Zen’in warehouse at length, but first, Master Tengen?”

You look between the two completely lost on what’s going on.

“Understood,” Tengen interjects. “Juzo Kumiya’s workshop right?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with Itadori?” You ask Choso as the kids discuss their plans. “Yuki and I can handle your father.”

Choso looks over at you at his side and responds. “I have to be the one to kill my father for what he’s done to my brothers. It's the only way they can be at peace. You,” he redirects. “Your people don’t need you? You’ve been gone from home for a while. And your daughter, will she be okay?”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as you hear his concern. “Yes, my people will be fine, I trust the people that are in charge, and Satori will be fine where she is,” you let him know. “We’ll just have to miss each other for a bit longer, but this is for the greater or good.” You sigh deeply.

“Hm, she’ll understand,” he tries to assure you.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I hope.” You swallow thickly.

“Yeah, you guys go to Kinji as planned,” you hear Maki direct at Fushiguro, making you drift your attention back to the group of kids.

“Kinji?” Itadori asks for a person he could’ve met but didn’t because he was in his room the entire day.

“Kinji Hakari, a suspended third year,” Okkotsu lets Itadori know.

“Anyway we’re short-handed,” Maki adds. “So we got to rope in whoever we can.”

“Is that guy tough?” Itadori returns to the conversation about Hakari even after Maki tried to end it.

“Well,” you give your opinion. “He’s moody.”

Itadori slowly churns his head and looks at you with wide curious eyes. “You know him too?” He asks.

Choso and you share a teasing look, and then you nod. “Yes, he went to the house on the first. Not that you would know...”

“You were locked in your room,” Choso finishes your sentence.

Itadori narrows his gaze and looks between Choso and you as if trying to figure out what the two of you are getting at with your in-sync conversation.

“When he’s worked up, he’s stronger than I am.” Okkotsu shares, but he’s quickly turned down by Maki’s sly comment.

“That’s not true.”

You’d tell Itadori and Fushiguro to tell Hakari and Kirara that you sent them, even if you didn’t, but that advice wouldn’t be much help. So you just keep that to yourself and instead share something else that can help. “Hakari and Kirara are in an abandoned multistory parking lot in the Tochigi prefecture. He’s making money by becoming a bookmaker for gambling matches.”

“Gambling matches?” Itadori cuts in confused.

You nod with a proud smirk tugging on your lips. “Fights between sorcerers.”

Itadori’s eyebrows only furrow deeper. “What? That’s crazy. How do you know?”

“I’m his and Kirara's mentor. And when it comes to the fights I helped them finance the club.”

“Hm, so you’re like the Godmother?” He says without need for explanation which makes you excited.

“Yes!”

Itadori’s jaw drops and he leans over. “Do you fight?”

You grin and show off. “I’m their jackpot, honey.”

You don’t fight often, you’ve only fought a couple of times, but when you do fight you use your family name so there's always an anticipating crowd and a lot of money.

“The spectators are…” Fushiguro trails off for you to finish.

“Basically non-sorcerers.”

Both he and Itadori look at you shocked.

“Doesn’t that severely infringe upon the Jujutsu rules article 8, which is to keep confidentiality?”

You scoff and quip, “so what?”

Fushiguro and Maki both look at you with annoyance and they both mutter, “she’s just like her brother.”

Ew.

You scrunch your nose in disgust at their comparison, but you don’t say anything, you just give Fushiguro and Itadori one warning. “Among the participants of the gambling matches are some curse users, so be careful.”

Itadori is quick to nod and assure you. “Got it!”

You smile at him and Fushiguro and say your goodbye. “Take care of each other, hm?”

Fushiguro spares you a glance and gives you a stiff nod before he turns to leave with the other two, whilst Itadori gives you a thumbs up and follows the others out.

Albeit he then turns and calls out, “Choso!”

You look at said man with excitement for him, and he rightfully looks surprised by the call of his name from his little brother, but he’s quick to interject sweetly and with a charming grin. “Don’t die, okay?”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Itadori says before he throws Choso a wave, causing the nonchalant man to cover his face with his hand right away and sniffle?

Is he crying?

You give him all your attention and confirm your suspicion right away when you see his shoulders shake, and a tear slip past his large palm.

Yuki sees the same thing but she looks confused, whereas you can’t help but smile in admiration.

“Are you crying?” Yuki probes.

Choso waves her off, and you giggle and pat his shoulder to share your pride for the development with his brother.

“Oh, you could die happy now couldn't you, Cho?” You tease him as you lean your head over his shoulder.

He sniffles. “Just about.”

You chuckle and give his shoulder a squeeze.

At the feeling of your touch, he pulls his hand off his face and looks back at you with a watery gaze. “Can you believe it?”

You flash him a grin and nod. “I saw it. I’m sorry I couldn’t take a picture or a video. But there’ll be more times.”

“You think so?” He shares his doubts.

You nod. “I know it.”

His lips tug on a small smile and he nods in comprehension as he feels comforted by your reassurance.

Silence fills the room after that and welcomes an awkward tension. Not between Choso and you, or Yuki, Choso, and you, but between the three of you and Tengen.

“So,” Yuki rolls out. “Now what?”

“Where are we going to stay?” You ask as you look around at the white nothingness. “And what are we going to eat?”

Tengen sighs as if they're already over Yuki and you. “I have everything you need here,” they mutter.

“Hm. Okay.”

Well, this should be an interesting time…

——

*A FEW YEARS BACK*

“Oh, oh,” you exclaim and snap your eyes open to sit up—or try, you really strain yourself to sit up. “What about Cursed manipulation?” You muse softly.

Suguru slowly blinks his eyes open and sighs before he lolls his head to the side to look at you through the darkness of your room. “No,” he gently turns you down.

You pout and press your hand on his toned bare chest to lean closer. “Why not? That way you won’t feel so lonely with your technique. That way you can teach our child about your technique,” you argue your point.

A touched smile tugs on his lips and his eyes fill with love. “Baby,” Suguru coos. “I don’t want our child to share that burden. Having me carry that technique with me is enough. You know that.”

You drop your eyes on the beauty mark on his chest and gently trace it with your finger. “I know,” you whisper. “But I know how much you dislike your technique, and maybe a part of it is because no one understands. Having our girl have your technique will give you someone to bond with, a reason for your technique not to be such a pest.” You try to make him see the bright side you’re trying to let in.

But all Suguru sees is a more threatening darkness, and he doesn’t want his child to be cast with such an isolating and draining burden.

“What about,” Suguru rolls out as he slides his big and soft hand over your smaller one. “If she has your technique? Your technique is fun. A lot easier.”

You laugh softly and rid of all the lurking shadows Suguru saw crawling in his corner with a simple look in your eyes.

“It would be fun,” you go along with him as he pulls your hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“Come here,” he reels you in so you can lay down on your side and rest your head on his chest so he can gently massage your head.

“If our baby girl has my technique she will be pursued by your family, you know that,” he adds a warning you’ve been trying to forget for your sake.

You swallow thickly and murmur, “Satoru wouldn’t let that happen.”

Or you hope so.

“Yeah,” Suguru doesn’t hesitate to agree, but he still continues with doubt laced in his voice. “But you know they’d find a way. My technique is the only reason they let us date when we were in high school.”

You manage a tender smile and nuzzle your head in his chest, but quickly find your position uncomfortable due to the baby growing inside you, so you flip to your back and wrap Suguru’s strong arm around your neck.

“So,” you change the subject so you don’t spiral in your anxiety that tends to poison you when you think of your parents taking your child. “Have you picked a name yet?”

Suguru leans his head on yours, letting you feel his throat vibrate on your head as he hums. “What about Satori?” He shares. “It means enlightenment.”

Just like Satoru’s name.

——

*NOW*

“And you were supposed to cremate Geto’s body,”

Those words keep ringing in your head like a bad and out-of-tune echo

You had made peace with the choice you made that day. You made his funeral with nobody to mourn and you were okay praying to his portrait in his shrine, but now your past plagues you and you can’t stop the guilt from consuming you.

All this death, this chaos is happening because of that one choice you didn’t make.

All the distress everyone’s living through is because of you?

“Y/N?”

You slowly twist your head towards the door and see an upside-down Yuki stopping under the doorframe.

“Are you done talking with Tengen or are you still glowering?” You remark teasingly.

Yuki scoffs and breaks away from her spot. Yet before she can join you on the bed, you quickly interject.

“Turn off the light. My head hurts.”

“Too much wine?” She quips with a snicker as she does as you ask before she moseys on over to jump on the bed.

“Yeah,” you groan and cover your eyes with your arm. “I was doing some work and was chugging that wine…”

“And now you have your head hanging off the bed,” Yuki finishes for you in a scolding voice. “I wonder why your head hurts.”

You slap your hand on your stomach and lose your gaze on the blue hue painted on your ceiling by the fake bright night sky Tengen made for all of you. Which is kind of neat and nice….you have to admit.

“You know,” you add as you get lost in thought. “It feels weird staying here. I mean we’re not above ground on school grounds, but we’re still here, and it’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Yuki muses. “Takes you back doesn’t it?”

“Hm—Oop I'm getting lightheaded now,” you mumble and throw your upper body up to drag yourself forward on the bed and then throw yourself down when you’re at Yuki’s side.

“I mean to have a cute guy fawning over you with their dreamy brown eyes is so weird,” she says in a mocking way you instantly recognize and try not to give into, but you can’t help it. You drag your eyes to your side and see she’s already passing you a teasing look.

“Har-har,” you feign a laugh and mistakenly prove her right, so she continues to push.

“Oh you could die happy couldn't you, Cho?” She changes her voice as she bats her eyelashes. “Now I’m going to bat my pretty white Gojo lashes at you, and speak in my very fancy voice which seeps with my lust for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and shoot her a pointed glare. “I don’t talk like that,” you remark and avert your gaze.

“You do,” she yells. “You talk in a very old money, old movie star kind of way, which if someone wouldn't know you, they’d think you’re snobby, but I guess he likes that because he drools over you with whatever comes out of your mouth.”

Your heart swoons and begins to dance all giddily, causing a smile to start tugging on your lips, but one you try to fight back.

“It’s not even like that,” you mutter in a very shaky way because of how bad you are at hiding the excitement that she is making you feel. “Shut up,” you blurt and flip around to give her your back. “I’m 28 now, I don’t giggle,” you grumble.

“Oh,” Yuki snorts. “You giggled.”

You don’t comment and watch the stars twinkling in the distance with a smile winning its territory on your face.

“Do you,” you quietly give in to your feelings, this once, out of excitement. “Think it’s obvious?”

“Not to him.”

You nod softly and welcome more silence as you let your heart gush over Choso and this conversation.

However, then Yuki's impression of you crosses your mind and you can’t help but burst out laughing. And as if in tune with your thoughts Yuki joins, and you both just laugh your asses off until you’re both out of breath.

When you collect yourselves you don’t continue to laugh however, your smile falls and you lock your feelings away, forbidding your heart from them.

It’s cruel, but it’s for the best. It’s for his sake. And no matter how much your heart weeps and begs for you to show it some sympathy, you won’t give in, you can’t give him more thought, or else you will fall and you’ll give into a happiness you don’t deserve to feel.

You prove that to yourself now, in the silence that fills the room once again, while your mind sinks back in your guilt.

Guilt you need to express before you’re overwhelmed. “Yuki…do you think…all that’s happening is my fault?”

Yuki shifts and her big brown eyes bore in the back of your head. “What do you mean?” She questions.

You let out a deep breath and turn around to face her with a watery gaze full of pain and guilt. “All that’s happening,” you clarify. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I couldn’t burn his body when he died…” You trail off and feel your bottom lip tremble. “…he was my husband, I should've taken him with me and burned his body, but I left him there and Kenjaku got him because of it.”

Yuki looks into your eyes for a moment longer before she sighs and begins to share her thoughts. “You should’ve burned his body, that’s true…”

You gasp and feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

“But,” she adds. “It wasn’t your fault. None of what’s happening is your fault. You should’ve burned his body because he was your partner, you should’ve given his body a resting place, but he was also the man you loved, y/n, losing him was hard. I understand why you couldn’t do it, but what happened because of that is not your fault. Kenjaku was probably already creeping around him, waiting for the right moment, it all would’ve happened eventually.”

Her answer doesn’t assure you, it doesn’t take away the agony you feel now.

“But—”

“No,” she cuts you off. “What ifs don’t exist. What happened, happened, but you are not to blame, do you understand?” She presses with a threatening narrowed glare. “This is not your guilt to carry. And you know damn well your brother and Suguru would never want you to beat yourself over it.”

Tears roll down your cheeks and you answer with a soft nod.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists as if she could see your reluctance to let your guilt go. “It’s not your fault, y/n.”

Her words strike against the guilt and work to stop it from spreading, but in order to get rid of it indefinitely you’ll just need time.

“Okay,” your voice quivers.

Yuki offers you a sweet smile and grabs your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze that makes you smile faintly in return.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Her smile turns to a smug grin. “Of course. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

You reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, letting the silence settle, and for a comfort to finally set in your heart.

Not only that but at least now you can sleep too without having to be attacked by all your thoughts, thanks to her. You really owe her a lot.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT. CHOSO P.O.V*

A knock raps on the door, pulling him from his slumber and putting him on instant alert. When he drifts his eyes to check the clock, the bright numbers read 2:06 am, so whoever it was must come with urgency.

Thus, he gets out of bed and walks over to open the door, and see that it’s you in your night attire.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He immediately asks with concern.

You assure him with a quiet response so as to not wake up Tsukumo. “Yeah, yeah, I just…” you trail off and glance at the ground. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Choso’s heart skips a beat and his mind completely falls blank at the sound of the vulnerability you were letting him see.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” you quickly add as he stays with his mouth ajar. “I can go.”

“No,” he quickly finds it in him to snap out of his stupor. “Come in.”

A relieved smile grows on your lips and when you walk inside he sees your shoulders lose the tension they held, meaning you felt comfortable being in his presence, which makes him happy to see. He doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable when you’re around him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a more sweeter and apologetic tone. “I know it’s late.”

Choso shakes his head and quickly assures you. “No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

You peer back and flash him a content smile before you turn and walk back toward the bed with a faint smirk. “Your hairs down,” you point out. “I like it. It looks nice.”

Once again his heart skips a beat in its rhythm, but this time a fluttering grows in his stomach that makes his face grow hot. Which is embarrassing to him, and it always happens when he’s with you.

“Thank you,” he mutters as he holds your gaze that lights his room in a way the fake night sky never did.

“Are you sure you're okay?” He makes sure to ask again.

You sit on the edge of his bed and nod. “Yes,” you smile. “I’m fine, Cho.”

The sound of that short nickname coming out of your lips sends shivers down his spine he never knew he could feel by the simplicity of a nickname.

“Okay then,” he says and glances at the bed and then at you. “You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the ground.”

You laugh softly and drag yourself back to one side and pat the other. “Come lay with me, we’ve spent enough time together already for it to be weird.”

His face grows hotter and his heart instead begins to pound in his chest.

In all the times you’ve spent alone you're always sitting across from each other, on a couch, or at a small distance side by side, you’ve never shared a bed. He almost wants to say no out of respect for you, but he doesn’t want to wound your feelings. Plus you did say you wanted company, so he slowly approaches the bed and climbs back on his side.

“If you're not comfortable then don’t listen to me,” you let him know so he doesn’t feel forced. “Please.”

Choso turns his head and meets your red-orange eyes mixed with worry, so he assures you right away. “I don’t mind. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You share a soft laugh and he can’t help but let his lips tug to a faint smile.

“Choso,” you whisper now in such a soft and vulnerable way once again.

“Hm?”

You let out a deep sigh and first roll to your side before you continue. “Will you help me? Keep me safe…please.”

You didn’t even need to ask, he already put himself in charge of that the moment he recognized you that night in Shibuya, but hearing you ask him this now just has a way to make the feelings he already has for you, intensify. He can’t even put into words how content he feels, and what other feelings are racing through his veins.

It’s like you set him on fire.

“Always,” he assures you right away.

Your lips tug to one of those sweet smiles he likes to admire on you, and suddenly, again, just like other times before, his eyes—no his whole being feels magnetized to your lips.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he reinforces his statement.

“You promise?” You ask for reassurance as you, yourself can’t raise your eyes off his lips.

“I do.”

Instead of smiling this time, you lean in and he gives into the force attracting him to you and parts his lips to give into his desire.

Yet, before he can know the feeling of your plush lips on his, everythings gone in a flash and his eyes snap open to see an empty room, and his hard member bulging through the blankets. Again.

It seems that he always feels a pressure within him that lit his veins with wildfire whenever he thought of your lips, your soft skin under his fingertips, your body under him or over him, your perfectly sculpted face so close to him that he could feel your breaths unfurl over his lips, and or whenever he dreamed of you…like now.

And his dreams always varied. Sometimes they were sweet like the one now, but other times he dreamed of you in ways he figured out shouldn't be had by friends and always woke up with the same throbbing pressure that ached for you because of it.

At first, he didn’t know what it was he felt, his body just set on fire, making his blood rush, and causing his member to rise and grow hard to the point it throbbed when you appeared in his mind. It wasn't until he was being nosy one time and found his answer in some pages in a book he peeked in after he saw you keep smiling at it as if it held some juicy secret.

He just wanted to know what was so interesting and why you read it so much in your free time. He won’t do it again, he knows that for sure.

Now, as to how he cooled himself down? He waited sometimes for it to pass, or he went to go get some water and fresh air, hoping not to run into you.

Like he will do now because recently waiting hasn’t helped, all he feels is the need to relieve himself to the thought of you. So he gets up and leaves his room and hopes you’re not out there.

——

*YOU*

The night is cold, especially because you’re underground.

But that’s what you get for being here as some bodyguard to an enlarged four-eyed thumb.

You just want to go back to your house and finally sleep in your own bed! You miss it all terribly.

And you miss having a warm body sleeping next to you. Sometimes you’d sleep at the furthest edge to avoid the contact, but in the back of your head, you always knew there was someone there to comfort you. Now all there is a cold and empty spot.

Maybe…no, that can’t be possible. You’re too much of a horrible monster to deserve anything good. He’s too good and his heart is too pure. You’ll just corrupt him.

But—no! No.

“Ugh,” you groan and flip around to groan some more into your pillow and keep your face buried.

Maybe this way his handsome nonchalant face and his precious eyes will leave your mind alone.

Nevertheless, the door of your room suddenly opens and when you turn to face the entrance there walks in the man you were trying to stop thinking about.

“Choso,” you call out in confusion.

He usually knocks and waits for you to open the door, or for you to invite him before walking in, this time he just barged in completely out of breath.

“Y/N,” he speaks in a deep silky voice that makes goosebumps grow on your arms.

“Choso, what’s wrong?” You ask as he keeps looking at you with his eyes darker than usual.

However, he doesn’t answer you, he just walks to you and stops when he’s at the edge of the bed, making you grow more confused, but also causing your heart to start racing out of what you can only describe as excitement over his proximity and boldness.

“I want to be with you.” Choso breaks his mysterious mask and takes no time to climb over you on the bed. “Always.”

You swallow thickly and let your eyes flicker between his eyes and his pink lips that radiate his warmth and tempt you to close the gap.

“I want you to be mine,” he murmurs against your lips, making your heart burst, sending your blood to race through your veins and catch your body on fire.

“Choso,” you whisper and keep your eyes on his lips, refusing to lose sight of them, as if you were some addict seeking their next high.

“Will you let me?” He asks as he grazes his lips on yours, making you gasp and feel a growing need in your core that begins to weep for him.

“Yes,” you give in so easily and see him smile before he presses himself closer to let you feel his hard member against your throbbing core.

“You’re so…beautiful,” he muses and finally gives in to your temptation by pressing a kiss on your lips.

Albeit you can’t describe the feeling of his lips. It’s like nothing pressed against you. But instead of questioning it, you fuel your need and wrap your arms around his neck to smash his lips against yours again.

“Y/N,” he groans against your lips.

You listen to your heart and deepen the kiss, feeling his hips roll against you.

“Choso,” you moan in his mouth.

He utters your name and pulls back, but presses a hand on your cheek to not lose contact. He parts his lips again to say more but suddenly you can't hear him, and everything around him and you slowly goes to black until suddenly you’re yanked back into a void that blinds you for a second before you suddenly open your eyes and see the ceiling.

There’s no Choso and no warmth, just the ceiling, and an empty bed, meaning it was a damn dream!

A sex dream no less that just leaves your heart lonely and disappointed, and your panties wet whilst your pussy throbbed over nothing.

Great. Great!

You should’ve not even accepted the mission! Choso is everywhere now that you don’t want to think about him or his pink and inviting lips you want to taste. His pretty sunkissed brown eyes you can get lost in. The veins on his hands you want to see when he grabs onto your thighs, his defined shoulders you want to cling onto, and his beautifully sculpted abs you want to press kisses on…

Maybe…

Just maybe you can just think about him until you satisfy your need with your fingers…

No! No! What are you thinking?!

Why? Why now?

You can’t think of him like that! You can’t just let your body ache for him, you told yourself you wouldn't, so sorry to your heart, but no!

And if you stay on your bed you will fall into temptation, so you get out and march out of your room.

Alas, when you walk out you let out a sharp gasp when you run into Choso!

“Sorry,” he immediately throws out as he steps back and turns away from you. “I-I didn't mean to scare you.”

You clutch onto your heart for a different reason and quickly assure him. “No, it’s okay. It’s fine,” you murmur and make the mistake of meeting his gaze, but you can’t hold it so you yank your eyes away because of the dirty thoughts you just had of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks and that only works to reignite your desire.

“Yeah.” You nod and bring your eyes back to his gaze, and realize that he never looked away. He keeps looking with a deep intensity that you can’t look away from now and works to restart the pulse in your core.

“I just need…water,” you lie, making his jaw go slightly ajar.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Me too.”

Great…

“Now I won’t be alone,” you play it off and lead the way to the kitchen in a loud silence in which all you can do is dart your eyes from his hands, the hall, his lips, ahead, his baggy shirt hiding his defined torso, and the approaching kitchen.

When you’re going to reach for a cup he beats you to it and reaches for two, causing you to watch how the veins form on his hands as he grasps onto the cups.

Before he can hand your cup though, to avoid letting him catch you staring, you walk over and take the water jar out of the fridge to pour some into the cups he puts on the counter for you. Once you fill his cup you pick it up and hand it to him, realizing when your eyes land on him that he’s been watching you.

“You know,” you fill the silence and turn away from him to lean back on the counter. “We might as well be drinking air, considering earlier today we walked into a white canvas, and moments after that a house appeared out of thin air.”

Choso shares a small laugh, making your smile widen.

“Well,” he says. “At least we'll go insane together.”

You chuckle with him and then say, “yeah, lucky us,” before you trail off softly and bring your cup to your lips to drink, missing the way Choso couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

When you bring your cup down you look over at him and he looks away and drinks. “Your hair’s down, it looks nice,” you tell him, making him gulp, and for his eyes to widen.

You think it's just him getting flustered so you don’t probe and instead continue and let your heart lead the way. “You know when we fought I saw you kind of lacked in hand-to-hand combat. I could help you if you want.”

Choso lowers his cup and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to burden you,” he doesn’t try to turn you down, he just doesn’t want to bother you.

“I don’t mind,” you quickly assure him. “I think it’ll be fun actually.”

Your eyes find each other and he unfurls a deep breath before he lets himself give in. “All right. Thank you.”

You walk to the sink and dump the water from your cup because it’s not water you needed, you needed air to keep your mind off him, but well…

“Good, we start at 8 am,” you let him know and leave the cup to turn on your heels. “Don’t be late.”

“Well,” he says lightheartedly. “There’s nowhere else to go, so. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

You laugh just like he wanted.

“Good night, Cho,” you tell him for a second time tonight.

He watches you walk away and speaks softly as if out of breath, “Goodnight y/n,”

You offer him one last smile over your shoulder before you leave the room.

Instead of returning to your bedroom though, you end up outside to finally catch some fresh air and lose your gaze on the beautiful wave of colors that rocked over the ground as if they were ocean waves, and slowly feel all your concerns and desires slip away like they would when you admire the lake by your house, or the oceans you like to travel to.

Even if you’re stuck underground, in a place that can weaken you, you don’t feel distressed, you feel…bliss in the peaceful silence.

And that is something you haven’t felt since October 31st. So you relish in it while you can before you’re faced with more disaster.

You could actually sleep out here, but in the back of your head, you do worry that something will come out of the walls, or from the surface and drag you to some depths of hell or something so you just sit back and watch the aurora borealis accompany the starry sky.

For a while longer at least because then you hear something creak behind you and you have to look out of fear it’s some kind of demon.

Luckily though it’s just your tempting desire that plagues your mind often; Choso.

“Are you spying on me?” You tease him with a playful glare.

“I,” he stammers as his cheeks grow pink. “No. I saw someone out here. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t unwanted company.”

You ease the teasing glare and offer him an assuring look. “I was just messing with you,” you let him know. “Now.” You pat the spot beside you. “Why don’t you forget we said goodnight to each other and sit with me.”

Choso steps away from the back door and shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Pft,” you brush him off with a flick of your wrist. “It’s our thing you know? Us being up late and keeping each other company. I’ve grown to really look forward to it, so come if you want I don't mind.”

You should mind. You really definitely should.

“Well,” Choso breathes out and hides his reddening cheeks by looking at the ground. “Only if it’s alright with you.”

“It is,” you reassure him.

Choso’s eyes flicker to you and he sees that you hold no ill will so he takes you up on your offer.

“You know,” you muse when he takes his seat. “That the brightest star, The North Star, is right there,” you share and point to the bright speck on the sky just above your heads. “And if you find it you’ll always find home.”

Choso’s gaze lingers on your smug little smile before he follows your finger to the biggest star in the sky.

“Or at least,” you scoff. “That’s all that stuck from what Kira told me.” You laugh softly. “They told me about all these cosmos and nothing really stuck, but that. So if you’re ever lost just find the star.”

Choso blinks and mutters, “what if I’m lost in the day?”

You snort and look at him with amusement. “Then you’re shit out of luck.”

Choso laughs and you laugh with him for a long moment before you clap and interject excitedly. “OR OR, you can always tell yourself this, Never,” you point ahead. “Eat.” You point east. “Soggy.” You point south. “Waffles.” You lastly point West and grin over the fact you remember that catchy phrase.

However, Choso doesn’t understand so he just looks at you with his thick eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“North, East, South, and West,” you clarify. “Belinda taught me.”

Choso nods in comprehension and nods slowly, but you can still see from his slightly scrunched-up nose that he’s still confused.

And you are too.

“But I guess it wouldn't make sense if you don’t know where North is…so,”

“We’re both lost?” He finishes for you as he meets your gaze with his lips picked up into a faint smile.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “We’re both lost, so it’s a good thing we have our mobile devices,” you mock him, and he catches that right away and shoots you a pointed look that only lasts for a second before he turns his head away as he can’t help but smile.

“No, but really, home is not far from here. Home is surrounded by trees to keep the community kind of hidden, it’s big for obvious reasons,” you say with a smile. “And, I actually thought of a perfect home for you and your brothers to stay at.”

Choso’s eyes snap to you admiring the colors in the sky turning from blue to red, and his jaw slightly drops. As if this is the first time he’s heard of this plan you told him hundreds of times already.

“It’s just above the lake, so close to me but not too close either,” you continue to say, letting him watch how the red hue consumes your face in such a majestic way—“it’s the house surrounded by the most trees so you get more privacy. And it’s not big enough to fit all of you, but you can build onto it. I think that’d be fun.” You look away from the sky and immediately find his softened gaze. “Don’t you think?”

Choso blinks repeatedly to break from the trance you casted on him, and shakes his head. “We’ll be fine,” he tries not to concern you, but you argue back right away.

“No, you’ll need your own space. You all will. Trust me,” you laugh dryly. “I know, because one, brothers date your best friends and break up with them, causing said friend to drop you because you remind them of your brother and they can’t handle that,” you ramble about your own past instead of actually advising him. “Two, they steal your hair products and always forget to buy you more after they finished them. They tease you until you cry and play cruel pranks in front of their friends to act cool. And lastly, they buy your child a pony without asking you first.”

Choso scoffs in a judgy way and queries the same without shame. “Your brother does that?”

You roll your head forward to watch the red hue become fiercer in color, and sigh deeply. “Yes. But you can’t blame him, we’re barely a year apart, so our dynamic shows that,” you defend your brother.

“Our parents got excited after they had their boy,” you share. “So they chose to try for another in hopes it would be another strapping boy, but I came out, cockless and became their headache.” You snicker.

There was so much Choso wanted to say to contradict you and comfort you after you just brushed off your parents disdain since he knows that feeling of saying you don’t care but deep inside it hurts. Yet he can’t form the words to say it the way he wanted, the way you would’ve comforted him, he instead tries to relate to you so you could know that there are similarities between the two of you.

“Sometimes I don’t think it matters what gender you are. I turned out to be a man along with the rest of my brothers, and Kenjaku didn’t care, he still left us like trash.”

Your heart sinks and your smile turns to a frown.

“Parents are like that if you don’t fit their perfect ideals,” he mutters.

You lay back on the grass and keep your eyes on the stars behind the red hue while your mind sadly agrees with what he said.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “They are, aren’t they? Do you…” you hesitate and let out a deep breath to let out some of that tightness in your chest that had begun to grab ahold of you. “Ever think what it would be like if you were ideal in their eyes? I think I would be less afraid, and I wouldn't have pushed myself so much.”

Choso stays quiet as he tries to come up with something he’s often thought about in his time in the void.

“I…would’ve been out 150 years ago,” he says softly but in a voice laced with spite and anger. “And I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now. I honed my technique because he left us.”

You look at aurora borealis slowly shifting to yellow above your heads and whisper, “I’m sorry.” Causing him to lay back to show his confusion better—“I must sound ungrateful and bratty compared to what you went through. That was real pain. I’m sorry.”

Choso’s eyes narrow to express his remorse before he interjects in the best way he can. “No, you don’t. Not to me.”

Tears fill your eyes and you can’t help but share a soft smile as you finally feel understood. Suguru tried to relate to you saying his parents never understood him and that they became distant, but that was just a teenage phase for him, he never really understood you. Not in the way Choso can.

It’s why it makes indulging into this dark topic a lot easier.

“Can I ask how it felt being stuck there?” You bring up timidly hoping it doesn’t upset him.

Choso lets out a deep breath through his nose and narrows his gaze on the sky, looking almost like he wanted to damn the sky because of the past that flashed through his mind.

“I’m so—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off before you can finish your apology, and clears his throat. “It was…dark. Like when you close your eyes and see nothing but pitch darkness. I felt my brothers, their presence, but I was still alone because we couldn’t talk, or exist, we just felt each other nearby. And the years for me didn’t pass quickly like it would for them, I felt every year pass by,” his voice quivers, and you see tears rush down his cheeks, making that ache you had already begun to feel only hurt deeper for him.

Even if you can’t know his pain, you still feel for him, especially as you see him cry.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you murmur and wipe away the tears that broke out of your eyes to scoot closer to him and grab his hand, going unaware of his shiver the moment your warm hand touched his cold one.

“You’re here now though,” you try to comfort him. “You’re out, under the sky and with a beating heart, working every day to give your brothers peace.”

More tears run down his cheeks and you’re tempted to wipe them away, but that might be too intimate for you trying to avoid developing your feelings, so you just let your heart yearn and let him wipe away his own tears.

“Thank you, y/n,” he whispers in a sweet way that makes your heart start to race. “You’re sweet. You always have been to me. Thank you for that.”

“You deserve it, Cho.”

The corner of his lips twitch to a timid smile, and you hold each other's gaze for a lingering moment as all your hearts do is yell to give in to what you both so desperately want.

Alas, you both don’t listen to your yearning. You let go of his hand, and look back at the sky while you slowly grow somber as you grow the confidence to share something personal now that you’re being vulnerable with each other.

“Can I share something with you that only my best friend Kento knew?” You ask first.

Without hesitation, he answers. “Of course.”

You let out a shaky sigh and clasp your hands together over your chest to fiddle with your nails. “Last year a month before Suguru died, we found out we were expecting,” your voice grows softer and shakier as you fight your tears. “And then he died and…the baby went with him.

No matter how hard you hold back from crying, tears cloud your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

“No one knew,” you add. “It was too soon to tell anyone, so we kept it a secret we would have shared later on. It never happened of course…” you trail off.

“I’m so sorry,” Choso says right away.

You wipe away your tears and meet his worried gaze. “It’s okay, I've made my peace with it,” you say.

Choso’s hand twitches out of a need to cup your hand the way you comforted him, but you kept your hand on your chest and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by reaching over your chest, so all he offered you was assuring words even if his face expressed pity and agony because of the pain he saw in your eyes. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You could say otherwise, you could bring up multiple pieces of evidence, but you don’t want to argue so you answer with silence.

“But why,” Choso interjects, catching your attention. “Why did you share something personal with me? Me out of all people, I’m—”

“My friend,” you cut him off before he can talk bad about himself. “And I shared this with you because I find it easy talking with you. Because you’re someone I can confide in.”

Choso swallows thickly and leaves a longer silence than he intended because of his disbelief over your words which only heightens his burn for you.

“Is that okay?” You check in.

He blinks and nods softly. “Yes. It is. I find it easy talking with you too.”

You can’t help but smile and reach over to grab his hand. “Promise me something, Choso.”

Said man is left speechless so he nods.

You then proceed to fold his arm over his chest to press his hand on his heart.

“You have a good heart,” you tell him something you know he doubts. “Promise me you’ll never lose it. Hard times will come, but you’re strong, keep your heart. Promise me.”

Choso’s bottom lip trembles and his eyes glisten, only letting a couple of tears fall before he nods even if he's still hesitant to believe your kind words that have never changed.

“Good,” you whisper and let his hand go to rest yours back on your chest.

You did such a terrible job at keeping him out of your mind. You suck.

“We have to get up early today,” Choso reminds you after a few minutes of peaceful silence.

“Yeah,” you make no attempts to leave, and neither does he. “We’ll pay for it in the afternoon.”

“Hm.”

——

*LATER THAT MORNING*

His fists are too tightly clenched and he has his feet too dug in the ground. He’s too tensed up.

Which isn’t strange to see, when he uses his cursed technique he’s always fighting fiercely. But when he’s fighting hand to hand he needs to loosen his body up more to move swiftly when the need calls or else he’ll be an easy opponent. Like now.

Instead of advising him right away though, you charge forward. When you get close you spring forward and throw your knee at his face, but he manages to barely swerve and causes you to land with your back to him.

You quickly spin around and in that moment catch him trying to swing his leg at your head, but you manage to trap his leg on your shoulder and throw your leg forward to kick his crotch, causing him to grunt and pull his leg off to stumble back.

You don’t wait for him to get better, you lunge forward and kick him to the ground before you drop down and straddle his waist to swing your arm over his face. But stop just before you can actually hit him.

“Dead,” you exclaim with a proud smirk. “Again.”

“Tsk,” he complains.

You get off him and grab his arm right away to help him back to his feet and finally share your advice. “You need to loosen up. You're too tense.”

Choso reaches for your elbow, but doesn’t make contact, he lets his hand hover under your elbow as he listens.

“You’re an easier target that way,” you continue. “You make yourself harder to move.”

“Sorry,” he says as if he was in trouble.

“Don’t apologize, it’s training,” you assure him and let his arm go to pat his shoulder and walk back to your spot to continue. “Let’s go another time and then we can take a break so you can watch Yuki and me next.”

He sighs with disappointment at his failure, so you rebuttal.

“Cho,” you press and turn to face him across the circle. “It's okay, you'll get better, that’s why we’re training.”

Choso rolls his shoulders back and lifts his fists, whilst you bend your knees a bit and clench your fists.

“Lighter on the feet,” you remind him before you run at him and hop again to bring down the strongest part of your arm on him, your elbow.

However, Choso crosses his arms and blocks the impact, making you smirk and pull your other arm back to throw him a left hook that he blocks again.

“Good,” you compliment, and then use your knee to jab his stomach and push him away from you.

This time though he doesn’t give in to the dull pain. He counters by coming at you by swinging his arm, making you dodge, just like he wanted, and quickly follows up by overwhelming you and throwing his other fist, and actually managing to nick you on the jaw before you could dodge.

“Good,” you mutter with a menacing chuckle before you shoot him a pointed glare.

Choso mirrors your glare and gets ready for your attack. Albeit instead of meeting him with a blow, you actually wrap your arms around his waist and then swing your foot back to smack your heel on his face.

Choso groans from the pain in his nose, and you try to swing around him to hug him from behind, but he wraps his arm around your neck to keep you in a headlock.

You try to squirm away, but he squeezes tighter, making you groan and dig your nails in his skin.

Choso doesn’t react to that though, instead, he brings his knee up to your stomach twice. But, he doesn’t demonstrate a finishing move, so you swing your legs around his waist and rock up with all your weight, resulting in you on the ground and him on top of you in a very uncomfortable position only because of the way his arm is still clung around your neck.

Not like it mattered to your racing heart and your need for him though; a heat still unfurls within you. While he falters.

Yet neither of you give into your desires, you ignore them and use your strength to roll back on the ground and throw him over you.

The both of you then quickly get up to face each other again, deciding not to waste a second and charging at each other.

The moment you’re close you swing your left fist, but he claps his hand together and throws his arms up to block your attempt.

“Nice,” you say between pants and get a smirk from him.

Nonetheless, you proceed to shift to the side to smack your hand on the back of his neck and push him down before you wrap your arm around his throat and throw your knee up.

Choso however, manages to block you and smacks his hands on your hips to swing you around as he turns so you can let go.

And you do but you then show off how flexible you can be after years of training, and wrap your legs around him with your back still pressed against his chest, and flip you both to the ground.

“Nice, that was quick thinking,” he compliments you between his own heavy breaths.

You snicker and don’t let get him off easy, you throw a jab over his face and swing over him to throw another hit, but he snaps his head to the side and makes your fist slam into the ground.

“Damn,” you hiss in pain and get off him to stay on your knees. “Damn.” You complain again and shake your hand.

Choso pays you no mercy, which is good, he shouldn’t because this is training and the second complaint was fake in hopes he’d worry. So you’re proud that he swings his leg. But since you were faking it the second time, you throw your upper body back to dodge and plant your hands on the ground behind your head to swiftly hurl yourself back to your feet using just the strength in your arms.

Now instead of giving Choso time to counter, or even attempt to move, you swing your leg. Choso catches your action and puts his hands out and claps them together out of instinct to use his technique, leaving you with the great opportunity to kick his face and send him to his knees the moment of impact, just out of the pure strength behind your swing.

And just to finish this round you walk around him and point your fist at his face. “And that’s dead.”

You drop your arm and offer him your hand.

Choso meets your gaze with no ill feeling and takes your offer, letting you pull him to his feet.

“Did that hurt?” You worry about him now that the session is over. “I’m sorry, Choso.”

Said man holds his cheek and covers how red it’s getting. “It’s nothing that won’t heal. You were great, y/n.”

You give your gratitude with a sweet smile before you grab his wrist and yank it down to pull him over to the bench. “You won’t heal right away like I can due to my RCT, which means it stings. Trust me I know. So let’s just put some ice on it.”

Choso parts his lips to argue since he will heal, but he can’t turn you down so he lets you sit him down, and just watches you wrap a towel around cubes of ice before you very gently press the cool towel against his cheek.

“Those were some nice moves,” you fill the silence so you can avoid getting lost on his handsome face and his pink lips just inches away from yours. “I like how you grabbed my hips and swung me around. That was quick thinking.”

Choso sits up straight and huffs. “On that last move, before you hit me, I pointed my hands out—”

“I saw that!” You exclaim and jump out of excitement. “You were totally going for a piercing blood!”

Choso chuckles softly. “I was an idiot. I could’ve dodged.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah especially because I kind of fumbled my footing there.”

“Really?” He asks and raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t see.”

“No.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Because you were going to shoot piercing blood.”

Choso snorts and snickers, making your heart skip a beat, and your smile to turn to a beaming grin.

“I…I did see a difference when I changed my stance and lifted some weight off my feet,” Choso let you know.

“Really?” You probe curiously. “You liked it? I know some people prefer the additional weight. It makes their swings harder.”

“Well, if I add the weight when I hit instead, I find it smoother,” he says and you nod.

“Yeah, I do that too, that way I can move fast without being too tense, but making my impacts harder when I use that weight with my swings instead,” you share.

“Hm.” He hums.

You laugh softly down at the bench. “I was trying to trick you after I smacked my fist in the ground,” you let him know.

Choso’s eyebrows quirk up and he shoots you a puzzled look.

“I faked that second damn to try and distract,” you explain.

“I knew that,” he now claims, making you chuckle and roll your eyes.

“You didn't know shit!” You argue and playfully push him away.

A teasing smile tugs on his lips and he just continues to say a bunch of shit out of the high of the moment you’re both stuck in. “I knew not to check on you.”

You shake your head as you laugh, and he furrows his eyebrows and brings up a question. “Does that usually work?”

You shrug. “Sometimes, depends on who I’m fighting. But it’s not to check on me, more so my opponent let their guard down because they think I got weaker.”

“Hm. Well, it’s smart then,” he tells you softly.

You mutter, “thanks,” sweetly, and then your phone suddenly starts to ring, so pull away and grab your phone from your sweater draped over the bench.

When you check who it is you smile when you see that it’s Belinda.

“I’ll go,” Choso tries to be respectful and give you space, but you grab his wrist to assure him it’s okay before you answer the phone.

“Hello?” You greet in a sing-song voice as all you see is a wood ceiling. “Who am I talking to?”

A few seconds of silence pass before you hear your daughter's sweet voice. “Mommy!”

You grin. “Chipmunk,” you greet. “What are you doing? Why am I looking at a ceiling?”

“Oh, right,” she mumbles before she picks up the phone and finally shows her face to the camera. “Hi,” she greets again with a wave this time.

“Hi,” you don’t fail to return. “What are you doing?”

Satori flashes you a grin and points the camera at some long strings of dough. “I’m making pasta noodles,” she reveals. “Belinda's mom said that it’s important I know because I’m a girl.”

Of course, that lady would say that. Tsk.

“Oh,” you feign a laugh. “That’s…cool. You having fun?”

“What are you doing?” She cuts you off and stares hard at her screen to try and figure out the answer to her question.

“I’m training,” you let her know, making her pull back and smile again. “Actually,” you add with a growing grin. “I’m here with my friend, Choso.”

You proceed to shift so you can show him off to your daughter.

“Choso this is Satori,” you introduce him to the most important person in your life. “Satori this is Choso.”

Choso glances at you nervously as if trying to make sure it’s okay before he looks at the camera and offers your daughter a small smile. “Hello,” he greets nervously.

Satori's dark eyes narrow as she studies his face for a moment before her face eases and she smiles sweetly. “Hello,” she manages to greet without shying away since she’s behind a screen. “Uh, my mommy talks about you a lot.”

Your eyes widen and you quickly turn away. “Satori,” you quietly scold her.

“What?” She asks without understanding why you’re acting the way you are. “You and daddy always said to tell the truth. I did.”

You sigh deeply knowing you can’t say anything about it now so you just bite your tongue and wait to correct her tomorrow.

“Anyway,” you change the subject. “Satori how was your trip to—”

“Oh, Mom I have to go, I'll call you before bedtime, bye.” And just like that she ends the call and leaves you hanging.

“Well,” you clear your throat and don’t touch on what she blurted to him. “You met my daughter,” you say and shift to face Choso and press the ice back on his cheek that isn't as red as it was moments ago, but it still is swollen.

“She looks like him doesn't she?” You ask.

Choso swallows thickly and drifts his gaze away to nod before he looks back at you with a timid but soft look. “She has your smile though,” he says.

You’re caught off guard and feel your breath hitch softly before you show your flustered smile to the bench. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hm.”

You let out a small breath and then look back at him. “Does it hurt less?” You ask with concern.

Choso nods. “Yes, thank you. You’re sweet even though I will heal, I told you.”

“Pft,” you blow out. “Then heal right now.” You urge him to prove you wrong.

Choso narrows his gaze. “Well, it’s not how it works.” He argues.

You scoff and smirk. “Well until then I’ll worry if I want to.”

Choso’s chest rises and you know what he’s going to respond with so you beat him to it.

“Hm.”

Choso shoots you a pointed look, making you snicker as you hold his gaze.

And since he wasn’t really upset, he can’t hold back from sharing a soft smile while he gets lost in your eyes, building the tension that had already made itself a home between the two of you and urged you to just break it with an act of a kiss, or a confession.

But neither of you do, you just torture yourselves and sit in silence where only the two of you existed before suddenly Yuki’s excited shout breaks you away. “Who's ready?!”

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Sorry I’m late,” you make your presence known as you slide the door open to the parlor room where you’re supposed to brainstorm a battle plan.

“We haven’t started…” Yuki trails off to scoff, making you pick your eyes off the ground to watch her stuffing her face with crackers. “You’re wearing a kimono?” She says teasingly.

You flick your wrist. “Don’t make a big deal,” you brush her off and sit beside her and across from Choso.

“I hardly see you wearing them,” Yuki ignores you as she props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand to lean towards you. “What’s the occasion?” She asks with a smirk.

You shoot her a pointed gaze knowing this was only about one man. “I wear kimonos often, they’re comfortable, especially when I’m on my period, like now.” you don’t give in to her taunting. “Do you wear them?” You raise a brow.

“Sometimes,” she shrugs you off.

“Well,” Choso interjects, stealing your attention away from your mentor and notice that a soft blush painted his cheeks. “I think you look very nice, Y/N.”

You can’t help but smile as you smooth out the red robe that didn’t hang tightly around your body, it fit comfortably since you were just staying indoors today.

“Thank you, Choso,” you redirect softly.

Said man swallows thickly and offers you a soft nod as you continue to hold his gaze until you feel Yuki nudge your knee.

You pinch her back under the table, making her snicker before she pinches back a bit too hard.

“Ow,” you whine and smack her hand. “Some master you are.”

Yuki chuckles and takes a sip from her tea, whilst Choso just ignores your and Yuki’s doings, and instead directs his question to you. “Would you like some tea, y/n?”

You perk up and nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

Choso grabs your empty cup and gets up to walk to the kettle, causing Yuki to mock him speechlessly.

“Mature,” you mouth and just ignore her as you fold your arms over the table to rest your head on your arms. “You know I was supposed to go to a gala today,” you murmur sadly. “I was going to wear a beautiful and expensive gown, and get all dolled up.”

“Oh, really?” Yuki probes. “Were you going with anyone?”

You smile. “Nanami to introduce him to a model slash sorcerer friend, and Shoko to get her out of work for a while. And Satoru had invited himself along, so he was going to go too.”

“Ah the media would've eaten you and your brother up,” Yuki points out. “I can read the headlines now, the ever so mysterious model, y/n, finally showing off a bit of her life tonight at blah, blah gala.”

You snicker. “Yeah, and he would’ve gotten carried away.” You can’t help but share with a bit of actual sadness that you couldn't actually see this day through like it was planned. It would've been so much fun.

“Here,” Choso interjects as he falls beside you to hand you your tea.

“Oh, thank you, Cho.” You thank him while you reach for your cup, and accidently brush your fingers over his as you take it from his grasp.

Choso offers you a nod before he retakes his seat at the same time the door opens and Tengen finally walks in.

“About time,” Yuki remarks as she sits up and folds her arms over her chest.

“Sorry, there’s much to do,” they excuse themselves while they take their seat. “Since I am late, why don’t we save casual mingling for later.”

You scoff and bring the hot cup to your lips. “We weren’t going to mingle with you,” you say bluntly and take a careful drink, realizing at that moment that the hot tea that seeped into your taste buds is prepared exactly as you like it. It’s exactly how you prepare it…

Did Choso know this from just watching you prepare your tea during those nine days?

“Gojo,” Tengen speaks in such a booming and yet elegant voice. “I know what Cursed manipulation consists of, but some of your peers aren’t aware, why don’t you share what you know since you lived with Suguru Geto.”

You swallow your drink and put the cup down. “Well,” you sigh. “There’s no limit to how many cursed spirits he can hold, but last year in the fight people call The Night Parade, he unleashed a majority of his curses. Meaning,” you add hopefully. “Kenjaku shouldn’t have many, I mean Suguru spent his lifetime collecting them, so it’s doubtful Kenjaku could’ve restored Suguru’s stock in a year.”

“What about the religious facilities?” Yuki asks. “He got curses from the non-sorcerers that worshiped him.”

You drop your gaze to your cup and shake your head. “No, I closed them all down, there was no need for them after he died.”

“Then why does Kenjaku still dress like a monk?” Choso spats.

You look at him across from you and bounce off him. “That’s what I'd like to know. I mean sure before he revealed himself it was to keep up appearances, but now? Who knows.”

“Kenjaku is tactical,” Tengen interjects and ignores the conversation between Choso and you. “He’ll find a way to work with the curses he gathered and what he had left.”

“Then let me go first,” Choso cuts in, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion, while your stomach knots together out of worry.

“You’ll die if you do,” you blurt without thinking.

Choso doesn’t notice the concern laced in your voice or the perplexity behind your eyes. “Then would you and Tsukumo fight against Noritoshi Kamo, three against one with me?”

You and Yuki share a look, but rather than expressing nonchalance like her, you share your growing concern.

“I’d be in the way right?” Choso continues to share. “So I’ll go first, draw out his cursed spirits, and get him to reveal information. If I can get him to open his domain…”

Then he’ll die. Does he not want to see that? Does his life mean so little to him?

“Then Kenjaku will have difficulty using cursed techniques,” Yuki adds in for him. “That’s when Y/N and I strike.”

“Exactly,” Choso agrees.

“I’ll say it again then,” Yuki repeats. “You’ll die.”

Choso doesn't look bothered or upset by the warning, he’s fucking nonchalant and it starts to upset you. You can’t even try to fight it for the restriction you put against yourself. The concern you felt twisting your insides, developed into anger that seeped through your veins and slowly spread out.

“I don’t care as long as we kill him,” Choso argues nonchalantly, making that anger pulse and pump faster throughout your body—“For me, my brothers, and the sake of my mother's curse, which makes up half of me and my brothers. For Yuji’s future as well.”

That anger now makes your heart pound and your jaw clench.

How dare he bring up his brother's future if he doesn’t even plan to be in it? Does he not want to stay with him, spend time with him, and fight for his survival? Why does he want to throw his life away like it meant nothing? Like it doesn’t matter?

You should be asking yourself why it upset you so much. With him gone at least your desire will fizzle out and you’ll stop thinking about him and a future you lost sight of when Suguru died. But your anger reached your mind, and clouded your reasoning, judgment, and critical thinking altogether.

All there is is pulsing anger mixing with your concern, so you can’t keep your mouth shut anymore, you interject to express emotions. “So what? You’re just going to leave Itadori here? Alone? Without you? After you just found each other.”

Choso blinks and slowly sits up, whilst his face shows his perplexity over your emotions.

“Y/N,” Yuki tries to stop you.

“No,” you spat and pierce a glare into Choso. “Why should I sit here and listen to him planning to kill himself? There’s other ways. I can help you, you don’t have to throw your life away.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ve lost so many people I care about,” you cut Yuki off with your voice shaking with anger and…fear. That’s what you felt too. That’s what you recognize coursing through you too.

“All in a span of a year,” you continue, leaving poor Choso just more confused and baffled—“why should I let someone else I care about die?”

“Because,” Yuki argues, but you keep looking deeply into Choso’s eyes. “It comes with our lifestyle. You know that more than anyone. Sure, you had a privileged upbringing, but you also grew up in this world, it comes with sacrifices. If you don’t like that then you can leave, I told you that already. Do you want to leave?”

You hold Choso’s gaze for a moment longer, and he parts his lips and looks at you with just soft disbelief now. It seems he wants to add something, but you drop your eyes and don’t let him interject. “No, Master,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yuki sighs. “Now you two listen to our plan.”

You tighten your grip around your cup and pierce your glare in the light brown tea as Yuki shares a plan she came up with Tengen. You have no protests, you’re okay with what she planned for you to do, so you never interject, nor does Choso. He just chimes in after she’s done explaining.

“Hmm, dismantling the domain huh?”

“You come after that,” Yuki clarifies.

“No, I should go first,” Choso insists, making you roll your eyes but stay quiet now.

“Domains are powerful but burnt-out cursed techniques afterward,” Choso continues. “So there’s a risk that your cursed techniques will be hard to use after a while. I know you and Tengen want to exploit that, but he won’t open his domain if he expects me to leap in. Even if beats me once it’ll convince him that the fight is only against you, Tsukumo, and y/n.”

“Alright fine,” Yuki finally gives in. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you mumble and take a sip of tea.

“And Y/N can’t use her fire-snake technique,” Choso protests. “Noritoshi has the advantage of knowing her every move thanks to who he’s inhabiting, he’ll see it coming and kill her.”

You almost choke on your tea, but you manage to navigate down the right pipe before you finally break your silence. “He’ll try to kill me either way because of it, I won’t be safe regardless.”

“Then let me help you,” he volunteers without hesitation. “I’ll fight what he tries to throw at you.”

The words you were going to share right away get stuck in your throat as you breathe in sharply. And that anger you held for him is forgotten for a moment as you’re now shocked.

“No,” Yuki argues for you, snapping you out of your stupor. “We stick to our plan. Y/N can handle herself. You can help when it’s your time to come out if you want to so badly.”

“Right.” You clear your throat and let your anger rush back. “I have my supreme art technique that I never showed Suguru. Trapping Noritoshi in my domain won’t work, he’ll probably overpower me, so I’ll use my supreme art technique to tire him out for Yuki.”

Choso narrows his eyes and probes with concern laced in his voice. “And you’ll have enough energy to fight after?”

You nod as you swirl the tea in your cup. “Yes, I will,” you assure him. “I’ll be okay.”

Choso looks unsure about your reassurance out of concern, but he also trusts you and believes in you, so he doesn’t argue.

“Great!” Yuki exclaims. “So we all know what we’re going to do? No protests?”

Yes, one, Choso’s willingness to sacrifice his life. It still pisses you off and makes you want to cry and fight him, but you’ve been told off already. And he doesn’t seem to want to listen, so you bite your tongue and let the plan be. Even if your heart…begins to ache.

A/N- If you think about Choso and mc have not spent a day apart since Shibuya

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest

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wolveria · 4 months ago

Text

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #004

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-035 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Dubious consent, mind sex, tentacle sex, vaginal sex, 035 being 035

AO3

You gasped in a breath and automatically reached for your face. You patted down your forehead, your cheeks, even your nose and mouth. All you felt was sweat-slicked skin, too warm, but you ran hot after waking up.

Normal. Everything was normal. There was no reason to believe otherwise, because nothing ever changed no matter how long they kept you in this room.

Or rather, how long the Site Director kept you in this room. There was really only one man responsible, but you could blame the whole damn Foundation if you liked.

Your daily routine was a simple one: drink water out of the sink, relieve yourself, stretch, eat breakfast, exercise within the limited space, shower, get dressed, and most important of all, ignore the bastard in the center of the room until it was time to take him out.

Until instructed, you refused to look at the pedestal that seemed to mock you no matter where you stood or what angle you viewed it, should you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander.

You could only drag on the morning ritual for so long before they started making demands through the intercom, but at least you had a few moments to yourself before you had to share the privacy of your innermost thoughts with someone who didn’t know the definition of decency, respect, or anything that didn’t directly involve his entertainment.

Instructions were given, and you approached the pedestal and lifted the glass. The porcelain theater mask stared up at you as it always did, greeting you in a wide, jovial smile. It had no teeth, but you imagined them under the surface, bared and eager to sink into exposed flesh.

It was fortunate you were immune to his bites. If anything, you were the muzzle.

As you slipped on the mask, all of the influence it exerted on its environment, seen in the way it leaked black ooze, and unseen in how it eventually enslaved anyone in close proximity, came to an immediate stop.

SCP-035 was now an inert piece of theater costume.

Well, at least to anyone who wasn’t you.

Morning sunshine, he purred from inside your head. Took you long enough. You’re almost thirty seconds late.

“How would you know,” you muttered. You could respond to him completely in your own head, but you hated doing that. Made everything feel more intrusive than it already was, which was a lot, and at least this way you felt a degree less crazy. And having half of the conversation out loud put a barrier of separation between you and showed 035 that he was not welcome in your head.

You would be surprised the things I know.

When you didn’t take the bait, he continued on anyway, because his own voice was reason enough to keep talking.

Take, for example, your little friend with the long hair. Kaiju? Kirby?

“Kenneth.”

Half the time he falls asleep during the overnight observation detail. Richard got a mark on his record for trying to order whale jizz from 294. And Lucy from Pathology Section 3 and Phebe from Comm Sector in Light Containment? They’re definitely fucking.

You blinked—not because interdepartmental sex was going on, or that another idiot had tried to request cum out of the anomalous vending machine, or that Kenneth was once again napping on his shift, but… because of the fact 035 bothered to pay attention.

After a few seconds of thinking, which wasn’t easy when someone sat in your brain trying to metaphorically look over your shoulder to see what you were thinking, you said, “You’re bored.”

No shit.

You slowly paced the length of the cell, looking down at the progress your feet made without truly seeing them.

“I mean, you’re really bored,” you pressed. “And it’s getting to you.”

035 said nothing. That wasn’t a good sign, the bastard always had something to say.

Finally, in a flat tone, he said, There’s only so much petty human drama I can watch. Only so many small, dull lives I can overhear before I feel the incredible urge to crush you all like the pathetic microbes you are. And then, maybe, after I’m done ripping out spinal columns and crushing all that wasted grey matter into paste, I can finally get some fucking silence where I don’t have to listen to every stupid thought that escapes every minuscule brain in this shit-parade!

You waited until he seemed done with his tantrum.

“That bad, huh?”

You sensed the mental equivalent of a sigh.

It’s like a radio receiver that’s tuned into every station and blaring all the channels at once. All 2,518 of them. And they only play shitty music on repeat.

You’d known 035 could tune into people’s thoughts, but you didn’t know he couldn’t control it. That did sound kind of bad.

It is.

“What did I say?” you growled.

Sorry, sweetheart. Old habits.

You rolled your eyes but let it pass. You tried to hold conversations verbally, but sometimes a thought slipped through, and 035 was supposed to ignore errant thoughts and respond only to spoken words.

Funnily enough, most of the time he did follow the agreement. It proved more than anything how bored he was, that he would continue this arrangement and not piss you off too badly, because wearing 035 was the only time he got to connect with senses to experience the world.

Even if it was only from the inside of a concrete cell, that seemed to mean something to him. And ever since you had been accidentally locked in with SCP-049 and the Site Director discovered you had some kind of immunity to SCPs, your life had been one nightmare after another. Test after test, SCP after SCP, and Leahy had settled on permanent residency for you and 035.

Leahy had said it was a containment measure for the mask, not a punishment for you, but it was starting to feel like punishment for you both. Because while 035 had his powers suppressed when you wore him, including no longer having to hear the thoughts of everyone in Site-20, it apparently made it harder for him to ignore them at night when you slept and didn’t wear the mask.

That was the one request Leahy had agreed to. You didn’t want to sleep with the mask on, and the Site Director didn’t seem keen on 035 having access to your body while you were unconscious.

But that was the one allowance you were given. You couldn’t leave the room, or have any visitors, and the only change in routine was when the researchers gave you new questions to ask 035. Whether or not he would answer them seemed to depend on how funny he could make his answer.

You laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, blowing out a long breath. Without you wearing the mask, ooze would be dripping from his eyes and mouth. He seemed agitated enough that there could have even been a few tentacles sprouting around the room too. They hadn’t made an appearance yet at Site-20, but you’d seen the footage of the Site-19 breach. 035 could turn a room into an inhospitable alien landscape in under an hour.

What if you asked about the TV again? he mused, and you could practically see the finger stroking his chin.

“They won’t go for it.”

I can’t mind-control a fucking TV.

“You think this is easy for me?” you asked sharply, cutting through his bullshit. “That I don’t get bored too?”

You tried to rest your arm over your face, then stopped when you bumped into the mask. Sighing, you folded your hands over your stomach and closed your eyes, but that just made 035’s presence in your head larger, almost tangible, so you opened them again and glared up at the concrete ceiling.

I know you do, darling.

Oh, he was trying for soft and sweet today. That was always entertaining, right up until he remembered it wouldn’t work and his wry sarcasm mocked you for something trivial and petty. That was almost a routine too.

Whatever. He could suck it up and deal with the boredom. It wasn’t as if either if you could change it anyway.

A new round of tests left you hollow and aching, and when you were returned to 035’s cell, you were surprised to find the mask had begun to leak black ooze from its eyes and mouth.

You went straight to the bed, ready to curl up for a nap, but the intercom ordered you to put on the mask. It must have still been the day cycle then, and you begrudgingly lifted the glass. You’d already tested what would happen if you disobeyed orders, and the last time you’d refused to wear the mask, the floor had been electrified and shocked you straight through your thin socks.

So, you wouldn’t be doing that again. As soon as you touched the mask, the black ooze vanished as if evaporated away. Wearily, you placed the ceramic piece against your face, and once it stuck, you laid down on your meager bed and shut your eyes.

“Don’t,” you muttered, sensing 035 nudging at your thoughts.

You’ve been gone for two days, love. Can’t blame me for being worried.

Had it been so long? That explained the ooze.

Oh, yes, I wept for your return, but the cruel jailors wouldn’t return you to me.

You stayed quiet and stared blankly at the wall.

Not even going to engage me in witty banter?

“No.”

All you could see was a young girl, kept alone in isolation, crying when you were eventually ordered to leave. You couldn’t even promise her you’d come back.

You know, it’s only the two of us, so it’s quite rude to—

“Fuck off.”

035 went silent, and he stayed that way. You couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually listened to you, and you savored it, eyes fixed on the wall as you let the hollowness eat at you in a way 035’s secretions never could.

After the second round of tests, you stumbled into 035’s chamber, catching yourself on the pedestal as your knees wobbled. Your neck ached, the bandage around it old, soft linen. You guessed it had come from 049’s bag, as you’d woken up on his autopsy table, your last memory of SCP-173 staring at the corner before you’d been forced to lower a blinded helmet over your head.

049’s soft gaze was a surprise, and his concern followed you as he was forced into the inner chamber, security taking you away, back to 035’s cell. Whatever 173 had done to you, it was bad enough the Site Director had ordered 049 to medically treat you.

You hadn’t even had time to thank him before they’d dragged you away, and you felt sick, your eyes shut tight against the images. It wasn’t only 173 that haunted you. 106’s leering grin and the hunger in his eyes lingered on your flesh, and all you wanted to do was take a shower.

But 035’s mask was leaking worse than last time, and after being ordered through the intercom again, you placed the mask on your face and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

The first tremble was mild, but it was followed by another, and another, until you were a shaking mess, biting the blanket so you wouldn’t whimper.

Shhhh.

You automatically balked against the presence in your head, but 035 didn’t barge in with his intruding presence as he usually did. He was being careful, almost gentle, and if you’d been in a better frame of mind you would have told him to fuck off again.

Instead, when something warmed your cheek, like a caressing hand, you closed your eyes and relented. It felt… surprisingly good.

That’s it, 035 crooned softly. You have nothing to fear now.

But you did. The staircase that led downward with no end. The crying man who wasn’t really a man. 173 with its incurable hatred, and 106 with his more calculating version of the same wish to tear you apart.

The staircase can’t move, Skinny doesn’t want to hurt you, and the other two assholes can’t. Although, it looks like Peanut gave it the old college try.

“Who?”

You’re safe here, he reaffirmed, ignoring you. Another sensation joined the warmth on your cheek—a ripple down your spine, like someone was petting a hand down your back.

You thought about shaking it off, you didn’t know how 035 was touching you like this, and it should freak you out. But it felt nice, and if he tried anything weird, you could always take off the mask. That would be the worst kind of punishment for him, being cut off from all physical sensation, so you knew he would behave.

Safe as houses, he added, his voice low and smooth. You’d been so accustomed to his over-the-top showmanship that it was strange to hear him talk like this. Almost normal.

Safe as houses. You’d never really understood that phrase.

Me neither. Houses can have termites, black mold, or explode to a natural gas leak that has already killed the entire family—

“You’re not helping,” you said out loud, and you could practically feel 035’s smugness.

You’re not shaking anymore.

It was true.

Bastard.

The third experiment—which hadn’t been a test at all but a failed execution order—left you nauseous and bleary-eyed. You thought your blurred vision was deceiving you, but as you drew closer, you realized your eyes weren’t playing tricks.

Thick black viscous liquid trailed down the pedestal to the floor, worse than any other time you’d left, and you hadn’t been gone more than a few hours.

The light was dim, indicating the night cycle, but you didn’t wait for the intercom instruction. By the advanced state of decay leaking from the mask, you figured they would break the routine of giving you a nighttime respite

That was fine. Right now, you didn’t want to be alone, even if your only company was a sarcastic disembodied voice that couldn’t take anything seriously.

Just as before, as soon as you touched the mask the ooze vanished from its polished, white surface, but the oily substance dripping down the pedestal stained its surface. They would have to send D-Class in tomorrow in biohazard suits to clean up the mess, but that wasn’t your problem.

035’s presence filled your mind, and though you would never admit it, it was better than being alone. You curled up on the bed over the covers, shivering and too hot at the same time.

Mmm, 035 hummed in your head. I always suspected they’d kept 682 alive. He’s very hard to kill.

“So I’ve heard,” you said dryly, your voice muffled by the sheets. You shuddered, and by the intensity of it you knew there would be more following. You couldn’t get it out of your head, seeing the reptile anomaly being ripped apart and stretched inside-out again and again.

He was still there, right now, endearing torture that would destroy anyone after a few seconds. Maybe you should have tried. Maybe killing him would have been the merciful thing—

None of that.

Just as before, you sensed the warmth layering over your skin, soothing an ache you didn’t understand.

“035…”

You’re wound too tight. You’re gonna snap one of these days, and trust me, that’s going to suck for both of us.

You frowned. What did that mean?

Just… let me try something. If you hate it, you can dash me against the wall and step on me.

“You’d like that.”

He laughed. It reverberated through you in a funny, tingling sensation.

Come on, he said, warmth in his voice that actually felt genuine. What’s the worst that can happen?

A shit ton, for starters.

“You’re not taking over my body.”

Nah. You’ll have full control.

The warm ripple moved up your back again, and you closed your eyes as you tried not to shiver.

Just more of that. A simple massage, that’s all. I promise.

You didn’t respond, shifting onto your back to stare at the ceiling. This was a bad idea.

That’s how you know it’ll be good.

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

035 let the silence stretch between you, and okay, maybe he had a point about being so fucking stressed you were probably going to maul the next person you laid eyes on.

“Fine,” you said in a quiet huff. “But stop when I say. And don’t get weird.”

Yes, sir. Right away, sir.

You rolled your eyes but then closed them, resting the back of your wrist at the top of your head since you couldn’t touch your face. You imagined 035 would start gradually, like any normal fucking person would when giving a massage, and that was your first mistake.

Heat flooded through your body in a wave, like a dozen vague hands were caressing your skin under your clothes, and you nearly kicked the blanket off the bed.

You hissed through your teeth, “S-slow down!” trying to keep it at a whisper so you wouldn’t draw attention from the other side of the observation glass.

They’re not paying attention, 035 said, amusement laced in his words. Was that too much for you, sweetheart?

You glared up at the ceiling. He would get your point.

He sighed, and the intense feeling floated away, replaced by something more pinpointed and focused. It was scattered at first, and then solidified into what felt like a hand on your arm. You had to looked down to make sure someone wasn’t actually touching you, but you were still physically alone in the room.

“It feels… real,” you said doubtfully.

It is, he agreed. In a way. The only reason you feel anything by touch is due to synapses in your brain. I’m simply plucking away at them. I used to be quite the harpsichord player. It’s no different than that, if one knows what they’re doing.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered under your breath. It was getting harder to pay attention when a second “hand” joined the first, both of them rubbing up and down your arms. You didn’t think playing an instrument could possibly be the same as playing with someone’s brain, and you really shouldn’t be letting him do this, but…

But…

Relax, he purred. This won’t work otherwise.

You blew out a breath and let your eyes close again. It did feel really good, and he was keeping his hands—for lack of a better word—in the safe zones.

But it didn’t feel entirely safe the way the hands wrapped around your throat, and you tensed, but his touch remained gentle. He kneaded the nape of your neck, and you melted like warm butter, tilting back your head as if he needed a better angle.

Something… changed. Like a switch being flipped. You’d thought it felt real before, but it paled in comparison as a weight settled over you, a warm body pressing you into the thin mattress. His hands traveled upward to cup your face, not letting you move as his mouth covered yours.

You froze, afraid for a moment that someone else was there, had slipped into the room when you weren’t paying attention, but you could breathe through the kiss. No one was actually there, it was only him.

Before you could panic, 035 broke the kiss, but he didn’t let you go or move off of you.

Don’t open your eyes, he whispered across your thoughts. Don’t break the illusion.

You sensed what he wasn’t saying. Once in a while, emotions would bleed through the barrier, much more easily from your side than his. But sometimes, when he was feeling particularly strong about something, you caught a glimpse of it. Normally what you felt from him was rage at being imprisoned, but this wasn’t that, and the force of it hit you like a storm.

Aching, yearning, desire always denied, it slammed into you and through you, leaving you bare and open.

This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t reject it.

Warmth settled over and around you, leaving you surrounded by sensation on all sides. It was good, really good, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more of that sensation, enough to drown out the fear and loneliness and isolation. You wanted to feel safe.

You’re safe with me, he said, reading your thoughts as fast as you could think them. No one will touch you again.

You could almost believe it. Wanted to believe it. But he had no more control over the tests than you did.

Let me worry about that, he purred, the words caressing over your mind. You really should yell at him for continually reading your thoughts, but you were preoccupied by the unseen pressure of hands on your hips.

Your clothes weren’t really a barrier, but you still wanted them off. Slipping under the covers, you yanked down your leggings and underwear, and hiked up your gown so it bunched around your waist.

035 didn’t need another invitation; pressure delved between your legs, focused and intense, and you grit your teeth to keep from making a noise. So many sensations at once, too many to parse, like there were fingers plying you apart and a mouth latched over your clit, while something else prodded at your entrance.

It was too much but you still spread your legs wide, fisting the sheets for something to hold onto.

That’s it, sweetheart, the honeyed voice whispered in your ear. Surrender to me…

Even while being fingered and eaten out and about to be fucked by something that felt like a cock, you held onto your mental defenses. He could have your body, but he couldn’t have you. 035 wasn’t like most of the other SCPs, most of which were rendered powerless at your touch.

035 was bridled when you wore him, but he wasn’t powerless, even now. He was different from the rest, and you suspected out of all of the anomalies in the facility, he was the most dangerous. Whatever he was, he wasn’t just an SCP—no matter how much he pretended he was only a sentient mask.

Your thoughts were wandering again, and you sensed his amusement at trying to keep him out even while you groaned softly at the back of your throat. You were dripping into the bedspread, so wet you could hear it as he played with you, keeping you just at the edge and not allowing you to spill over.

“035…”

That’s not my name.

You trembled as he dragged his “tongue” along your clit, the prodding pressure at your entrance unbearably teasing.

“I don’t… know your name,” you choked out.

Do you want to?

No. Maybe. You didn’t know—

You trembled as he delivered a cruel flick to your clit, and then you groaned in frustration as he pulled away almost entirely. The pressure of fingers spreading your labia kept you suspended in trembling anticipation, but the sensations on your clit and entrance were gone. So was the comforting weight on your body.

You broke out into a sweat, grinding your teeth so you wouldn’t beg him to continue, but it didn’t matter if you stayed silent with how you were broadcasting desperation in every thought.

“Fine,” you gasped aloud. “Tell me your name.”

Anything to get that feeling back, for him to stop teasing you and finish what he started, but you sensed him hovering just out of reach—you could almost see the amused smile behind the mask.

Even though your eyes were already closed, you squeezed them shut.

Please?

Your silent plea reverberated back at you with a sense of satisfaction, along with a wave of desire that was poorly disguised. At least you weren’t the only one whose emotions kept leaking through the mental barriers.

The weight on your body returned, and heat warmed the side of your face as 035 whispered in your ear.

Dýo.

Something massive pushed against your entrance, and then breached it with a determined thrust. You opened your mouth to cry out, but 035 gripped your jaw and forced it closed as you twitched against his hold. And he was holding you down, trapped against the bed as he slid further inside, stretching you open until you thought you’d go crazy.

You tried to close your legs on reflex, but your ankles were pressed firmly to the mattress, along with your wrists, by something flexible and strong. And when they touched your skin, there wasn’t just pressure, there was texture and real heat.

Panic shot through you like a jolt, and you opened your eyes, twisting your head down to look at yourself. The covers blocked your view, but you could see the shape of flexible appendages holding you down. 035 shouldn’t be able to summon them while you were wearing him, and they only appeared during advanced stages of decay.

Shhh, he hushed you in what might have been a genuine attempt to comfort except for the mockery on the edges. I said you were safe. I wouldn’t lie about that.

You opened your mouth to shout in warning to whoever was in the observation room, but a scarlet tentacle shot out from under the covers and delved between your lips, forcing its way past your teeth, too far as you choked on it.

Another tentacle slithered up your cheek and over your eyes, forcing your head back down onto the pillow and smothering you in darkness. Claustrophobic terror surged inside you as you struggled not to gag.

The tentacle in your mouth slid out immediately and you gasped for breath, tears springing in the corners of your eyes.

I didn’t want to do that. He sounded oddly irritated; how funny your roles had been reversed. But you make every damn thing so difficult, Reid.

The heavy pressure inside you began to retract, and you immediately regretted the loss and reached out, wanting to be filled again, the emptiness making everything worse.

A deep, primordial growl echoed in your mind before he thrust back inside, pressure digging into your hips as if he actually held you there. And he didn’t stop, his rhythm picking up until you were being repeatedly fucked into the mattress, or at least it felt that way even if your body didn’t move an inch.

Your eyes rolled into your head, the ecstatic sensations pulsing through you so deep you feared you might be torn apart. The tentacle that had been in your mouth now grasped you lightly around the throat, and you arched your spine, silently begging for more.

More tentacles slithered up the bed and over your skin, around your legs and stomach and arms, even across your chest to tease your nipples with the deftness of a very flexible tongue.

And then a tentacle thicker than the others slid up your thigh, pushed between your legs, and forced its way inside, its smooth surface joining 035’s thrusts along your walls, fucking you bodily as well as mentally.

035 stopped talking a while ago, but you felt him entrenched just as deeply in your thoughts, wrapped around you so completely that it was an orgasmic sensation all on its own. You were glad you hadn’t known what this was like, otherwise you might have begged for it at the start.

You sensed his need, urging you to come apart, to give yourself to him. A tiny shred of resistance remained as you tried to hold on to your self, your identity.

The tentacle pulsed and squirmed inside you, phantom teeth nipped at your throat, and you shattered, breaking apart into a million tiny shards as you silently cried his true name in a litany of pleasure and surrender. It wasn’t intentional, but it was inevitable. All you wanted was for the bliss to continue, to never end, and 035’s presence wrapped and twisted around you until you couldn’t tell the difference between your thoughts and his. All that remained was sparking heat and ecstatic sensation.

The orgasm dragged on, tugging you past your limits as you twitched with overstimulation, and the pleasure you sensed wasn’t just yours. 035 also felt sluggish and heavy, as if your climax had hit him just as hard.

The tentacles gradually retreated as did the pressure splitting you open, and you whined at the absence. You were drenched in your own slick, and you really should get up to clean yourself, but you didn’t have an ounce of energy left.

Something coiled around you, but when you blinked your eyes open, there was nothing there. 035 had wrapped around your mind like a satisfied cat—or a constricting snake.

I’ll take care of everything, he lulled with his low whispers. Sleep.

Sleep sounded like a great idea, and also a terrible one. You really should take off the mask, but instead, you closed your eyes and basked in 035’s presence. Normally intrusive and cloying, his closeness was oddly comforting. Secure.

You couldn’t trust him, not ever, but as you closed your eyes, you allowed yourself to open up to him. Just a little.

Alarms blared from a great distance, slowly becoming louder and louder until they ricocheted in your skull. Your eyes blinked open, or… were already open, and you winced at the flashing emergency lights over your head.

You were holding something heavy in one hand, and when you looked down, the blank, lifeless gaze of a guard stared back at you.

Dropping the body, you shuddered backwards, confused and panicked. You were in a corridor somewhere, Light Containment by the looks of it. You wanted to shut your eyes, not against the pulsing lights but at the bodies strewn across the tile like broken toys.

Only then did you realize you weren’t seeing the whole picture—literally, your vision partially obscured as if you were looking through something. Your hands tried to touch your face, but smooth porcelain blocked your fingers.

“035,” you whispered, horror strangling your words. “What did you do?”

Your hands jerked away from your face, clumsy and uncoordinated, and you instinctually fought against it. But the presence looming in your mind was too large, and he quickly wrested back control, his movements smooth as he used your body to pick up a guard’s rifle at your feet.

He cradled the weapon in one hand, using the other to pull a level 4 security keycard from the fallen guard. He glanced at the card before twirling it between his-your fingers and pocketed it into the lap coat you were apparently wearing.

A grin spread across your face, so wide and obscene it made your cheeks ache. You fought against his hold, but his tether within your body was too strong.

035 attempted to soothe you, like someone petting an agitated animal, and you wished you could bite. His amusement was patronizing and unnecessary; you both knew you couldn’t break free. You had surrendered to him, let your guard down, and he’d finally gotten what he desired.

“I think the question is…” He spoke using your mouth, your voice layered with another underneath, silky and sinister. “What are we doing?”

His grin spread wide.

“Whatever the hell we want.”

#scp 035 x reader #scp 035 #scp 035 fanfiction #scp foundation #the anomaly archives #wolveria writes

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