#it’s just complete hollowness and numbness / emptiness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 2 months

Text

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this.

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling.

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren.

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair.

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes.

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to.

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death.

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action.

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull.

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly.

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way. Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher.

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers.

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm.

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is.

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep.

- With courage - he says - and grandiose.

Like a true Matador would.

***

Your bull stands completely still.

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful.

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move.

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps.

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place.

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs.

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode.

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn.

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you.

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner.

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would.

Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears.

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall.

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face.

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him.

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet.

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat.

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room.

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window.

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger.

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again.

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more.

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words.

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron.

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him.

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move.

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns.

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife.

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip.

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently.

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps.

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family.

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions.

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain.

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger.

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him.

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper.

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand.

This is your arena. This is your bull.

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap.

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago.

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you.

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk.

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics.

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust.

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready.

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress.

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time.

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave.

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations.

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes.

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters.

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy.

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha-

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body.

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost.

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over.

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face.

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso.

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily.

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end.

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest.

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness.

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again.

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you.

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently.

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love.

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it.

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need?

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

559 notes · View notes

deepouterspacecandy · 29 days

Text

I'll Find You in the Next

Oh, we've got some angsty drabbles today and it hurts my heart strings. But I can never leave it that way. There will always be a happy ending for Abby if I get any say in it. 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes.

When Abby writes about that day, her faded, leather-bound journal settled on her iron thigh, it’s the faint sweetness of damp earth she remembers first. The way her boots sank into the muddy ground, as if nature itself was begging her not to go.

She recalls your chilly nose pressed against her neck, your gentle, rain-kissed hands unzipping her jacket to wrap your arms around her in an embrace you both knew prying eyes couldn’t steal.

The memory of those soft fingertips climbing the notches of her spine in hungry whispers, how seamlessly you fit against her body as she bound her sprawling hand against your lower back to pull you closer.

It’s an ache in her gut, the sensation of your lips as they trembled against the delicate curve of her ear, your words a lonesome spider weaving an intricate web woven deep into the chambers of her heart.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” you asked. “This is the last time I’ll get to hold you like this.”

Abby’s own voice sounded foreign to her, squeezing past the hot daggers in her throat. She held you so tight it extracted every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. She leaned back just enough to trace the contours of your face with her blurry eyes.

“Don’t say shit like that, okay? I’m right here,” she said. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“Anderson—shake it and let’s go!” a gruff voice bellowed from inside the Humvee. “We’re losing daylight!”

“You’re still my girl, yeah?” Abby whispered.

“I’m still your girl,” you said.

There was a hollowness and distance in your voice she’d never heard before. Her tone wobbled with panic as tears threatened to rival the downpour and drown her.

“Say it again,” she ordered, her grip on you unyielding. “I need you to say it again, okay? Don’t send me off wondering if I’ve got someone to come home to.”

The truck came alive with a sinister growl, a powerful rumble that echoed through the stillness of the morning air.

“Baby, please,” Abby begged.

Your body convulsed with sobs, causing your shoulders to shake. Desperate to hold herself together, Abby pressed her forehead against your cheek and longed for the comfort of your fingers tangled in her hair, just like they always did when she nestled into you.

When your hands completely withdrew from her, she nearly buckled to the ground.

“May your survival be long,” you said.

With a forceful tug, Abby clutched your belt loops and closed the distance.

“Stop,” she uttered with a disjointed huff. “Look at me, okay? Don’t do this. I promise I’m coming back for you.”

“Come on, Abby. He’s not going to let that happen,” you said.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” she chuckled humorlessly. “You think I'd let him come between us?”

You kissed her so hard sparks danced behind her eyelids. Her lips, icy and numb, melted into your warmth. In her arms, you were weightless, your whimpers harmonizing with the pink caress of dawn that teased the surface of her skin through the treetops. Tears mingled with the wetness of your tongue; a slick, salty tang that stripped Abby bare.

She’d taste you forever if you’d let her.

Against her jaw, you spoke, your cries muffled and fractured.

“I love you, Abigail. Please be okay out there," you said.

“Fuck,” she muttered, loathed to break away from you. It felt like goodbye.

With a swift pivot, you left her, forcing her to watch you walk away, twigs snapping under your footsteps. The heavy burden of sadness split her down the middle.

It took her years to gather the courage to confess her feelings for you. There was a void in her life, a dull emptiness, until you entered the picture.

“Six months will go by in a flash,” Manny said, his hand dropping to her shoulder in reassurance. The collective sorrow of her squad washed over her as their hearts ached in solidarity. “You will get through this.”

“She’ll never forgive me,” Abby sniffed.

You tried to convince her that Isaac’s actions were driven by a desire to separate you both, but she refused to believe his intentions were so cruel. Time and again, Abby demonstrated her unwavering loyalty as a soldier, willingly sacrificing her life to carry out Isaac’s whims. This was an important mission that sought to enhance the lives of everyone in the community, including you.

Surely, after everything was over, he would allow her the safety and tenderness of your affection.

Two weeks after she had left, Abby finally got her hands on a radio to stay in touch with you. She’d gone to drastic lengths to acquire it, willing to do whatever it took. Discovering that you had packed your bags and deserted the WLF, she felt an unparalleled agony that seemed to seep into her very bones.

She has been on a constant quest to find you ever since.

With a hushed thud, Abby closes her journal, revealing a weathered photograph of you, a treasured keepsake from days gone by—one thousand and ninety-five, to be exact.

Three long years since she last held your beautiful face between her palms.

With the pen spinning effortlessly between her fingers, she imagines palm trees swaying in the breeze. Perhaps you made your way to California, lured by the promise of endless sunny days.

The walkie talkie crackles at her hip, filling the room with static. Absentmindedly, she tucks the pen behind her ear and listens.

“Yo, Anderson, there's someone at the gate asking for you.”

The pressure of a brewing headache intensifies behind her eyes, prompting her to pinch the bridge of her nose in a feeble effort to ward it off.

The responsibility of managing a military base has proven to be a demanding task, leaving her in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Juggling the search for you and the responsibility of keeping the ship running smoothly, she hasn't had a good night's sleep in a long time.

“Who?” she asks, completely resistant to leaving her bed. “Light a fire under Manny’s ass. He can handle it.”

"Uh, Boss, that's not gonna happen.”

The moment Abby catches wind of a familiar voice reprimanding her squad mate in the background, an explosion of adrenaline courses through her body like a supernova.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian #abby anderson

125 notes · View notes

allthewhumpygoodness · 4 months

Text

For a whump blog, I post a surprisingly small amount of captivity whump. However, I have had An Idea:

A whumpee who's been captured for a while now and only just found, and their captor is known for using the most brutal of mental and physical interrogation techniques. When the whumpee's friends first find out where they're being held, they're told whumpee...might not be the same when they get a hold of them. That whumper might have broken them beyond repair.

They go in expecting the worst. They're prepared for whumpee not to recognize them, to have to hold them still while they writhe in fear from their own friends. They're prepared for someone feral and deranged, biting and scratching and nearly incapable of human speech. They're prepared for whumpee to be completely delirious. They're prepared for someone whose loyalties have been forcibly shifted, for an empty husk of a person.

What they're not prepared for is finding the whumpee curled up in the corner of their cell, eyes recognizing their friends but hollow, numb and haunted. They aren't prepared for whumpee to reach out a pair of stick-thin arms and cling to caretaker, leaning their full weight against them.

"Caretaker?" they say, their voice feeble yet very clear. "Can you take me home now? I'm so tired...please just take me home..."

And they don't resist when caretaker lifts their emaciated form, and carries them home.

#whump #whump prompt #unhinged about rescued characters who are just. numb.#not surprised or emotional whatsoever #just exhausted. and like. oh you're here. can i come with you?#and then when they get back the whumpee just sleeps for hours on end #hardly talking

307 notes · View notes

princessfbi · 1 month

Note

Cuddling with caretaker in a warm shower/bath + buddie

Buck shuddered against him, making the water ripple around them in tiny waves against the porcelain of the tub. The smallest of whimpers croaked past dry swollen lips and Eddie shushed the noise as it puffed against the hollow skin of his throat.

“I know, baby,” he said, dipping the washcloth into the water before squeezing it at the base of Buck’s shoulders so the water would cascade down his spine.

Eddie had tried to talk Buck into letting him stay out on the side so he could have the complete space of the tub for his long limbs to curl into. But one choked plea and a pair of red rimmed, exhausted blue eyes had had Eddie stripping off his clothes and joining him. Buck had barely let Eddie get situated before he turned on his front and curled into Eddie’s chest, shivering from the fever induced chill that had been wrecking his system for over forty-eight hours.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Buck so sick. Worry had prickled under his skin and latched on with nettles so he couldn’t shake it off, practically drawing blood the longer and longer Buck’s fever raged on.

At least he wasn’t heaving though. Not that Eddie thought he could. Buck had barely been able to stand let alone work up the bile and empty air and the very few sips of water he’d managed to get down.

His stomach, however, hadn’t seemed to get the picture.

Every chance Buck drifted off to sleep had been interrupted with a whine and a curl of his body. He’d thought the hot bath would help. Or, if anything, would allow Buck’s body to unclench so he wasn’t in so much pain!

It had worked for a while. Eddie’s butt had gone numb and the water lukewarm that he’d had to add some more hot water by stretching up to the turn the faucet with his toe. But Buck had relaxed against his chest and hid his too cold nose against the base of Eddie’s throat. Eddie had kept up his ministrations, trickling water down his back and sweeping his hands so he could give him just a little bit of warmth; so he could take the pain away for just a little bit longer. Eventually, Buck had drifted and if he hadn’t been asleep then he’d at least gotten close. Eddie would’ve happily stayed there for ever.

Buck twitched against him and Eddie braced himself for the worst of it. His arm was half way out of the tub to grab the trash can he’d pulled over before they got in. Eddie locked down the panic in his throat that wanted to claw its way to his heart with all the racing thoughts in his head.

No. No please. He can’t keep doing this. He needs these fluids. He’s already suffered enough. Please. Please. Please!

He’d promised Buck no hospital but that creeping realization that the very real possibility that he may have to break that promise very soon was getting closer and closer each second Buck didn’t get better.

Buck pressed his face into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, stiffening like he was frozen in time, and Eddie waited.

There wasn’t much else he could do. Not without IVs and people with more medical knowledge than he had under his belt.

But then Buck sighed and he sagged further into Eddie’s as the water shifted around them.

Eddie pressed a kiss against Buck’s head and dunked the washcloth back into the water.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said as he curled an arm around Buck and squeezed out the water over Buck’s spine. Buck whimpered again as he burrowed impossibly close and settled deeper into Eddie’s hold. “It’s okay.”

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #my fic writing #Buddie fic #writing talk #prompt game #royal decree #hatamighijyab

143 notes · View notes

deathbecomesthem · 2 months

Text

Crawling to the Finish | Part 3 | 7K

Eddie Munson x Fem!Disabled!Reader

*This is a completed series that is queued and will be released on the dates below. This Masterlist will be updated with each part that is released.

+18 ONLY | MDNI

Warnings: There will be lots of descriptions of medical stuff. The reader is physically disabled due to an undefined accident. Major bone trauma. Lots of talk about pain. Blood donation, scars, and fainting in this part. There is SMUT in this part. (Boobs, oral sex, and other back of the van stuff you might expect.)

Summary: You see the surgeon and spiral. Maybe Eddie can help.

A/N: The physical disability described in this series are my own. The experiences are very close to what my own. Be kind.

---

“OK, Honey, if you could just twist your hips – here let me help you –“ the radiologist is twisting your hips in a way that immediately starts the ache. Your teeth are clenching at the pain. “Just hold that for a minute,” her purple scrubs are making a swishing sound as she steps behind the barrier, “Deep breath in, and hold it.”

Your expanded lungs burn along with the vibrating ache coming from hips and radiating up your waist and down your leg. These moments are torture - when you can’t get yourself into a position that alleviates the pain. It feels so personal, as if the radiologist is out to make the experience as painful as possible while moving around you with unhurried mundanity.

“Just four more positions and we’ll get you in to see Dr. Greene.” You withhold an angry scoff. Just 4 more, maybe we should see how you like it, you stupid bitch.

You say nothing, you do as your told, letting the rage simmer inside. You know you’ll find an outlet for it later.

The appointment goes exactly how you knew it would. Dr. Greene barely looks at your x rays, and tells you he’s ready to schedule a total hip replacement as soon as possible. Because your hip is well and truly fucked, and it needs to be burned with all of the other medical waste that comes out of the hospital.

The most surprising part of your trip to the surgeon is how fast they want to get you in for surgery. 2 weeks. It will barely be enough time to get the insurance preapproval in place. It’s an indication that things are as bad as they feel. Because sometimes you feel pathetic. You look in the mirror and see your dark circles, hollowed cheeks, blood drained face and think you should be able to handle this better. No one else in your life has to live like this, why are you so broken?

Broken. Broken. Broken. Empty. Tired. Angry. The building frustration is beginning to simmer inside, and you know it’s going to be roiling in no time, as your mom starts audibly listing everything that needs to happen in the next few weeks to be ready for the cutting through layers of skin and fat, and sawing away at your femur.

“… We have to make sure the school is on board with keeping you on track for graduation.” You’ve been trying to tune her out, avoid a stupid argument, “Do you think you can talk to your teachers about getting together absent work for you?”

“Uh-huh” Your mom’s rusty old Civic is bumping it’s way on to the Hawkins’ exit ramp, but your mind is gone to another place. It’s already laying in a hospital bed holding onto a morphine pump, feeling dizzy and nauseous. It’s in physical therapy, biting your lip so hard with anger that you taste blood. It’s in the operating room with the smell of latex taking over every sense as you breath in the “happy gas” that makes you feel detached from your body. You can’t think about school. Not now.

You pass Hawkins High on your way back to your little house, and your mom gives your hand a squeeze. You’re too numb to care about the intrusion of personal space. You can feel yourself pulling away, building up the walls you know you’ll need to protect yourself from everyone around you for the next month. It’s too hard. Disappointment on top of the pain is too much. Distance. Distance. Distance.

---

“Sweetie, Eddie’s on the phone for you.” The clock reads 3:30, and you knew when the phone rang who it would be.

“Tell him I’m asleep.” You don’t wait for her to answer, you roll your back to her and cling to your Pillow Pet, closing your eyes to the world. You imagine being wrapped up in Eddie’s arms right now while he combs his fingers through your hair and whispers that “it’s ok, you’re ok” and you feel hot tears stinging your eyes. No, you don’t want him here for this part. It’s too dark for him here.

You sleep on through, the weight of the upcoming days too much for you. You let it push you deep into the recliner and dream about – what was it? A tornado you think, tearing through the house and scattering the pieces of your life all over the front yard. You get caught in it, and you can feel the force of the thing tearing at your body, pulling you apart limb by limb. The sound of your own scream wakes you up. You find yourself whole, but your leg is throbbing with pain. You had slept too long, so you change your position, moving cautiously. The clock reads 7, and you just want to sleep through the next two weeks, let it be over.

---

You eat lasagna wordlessly while your mom fills the silence. This is how it goes. She can’t bear the quiet. The guilt and annoyance you feel are always present, just eating away at you.

“I called your father to let him know about your surgery. He and Sun are going to be with me at the hospital.” Your father had left your mother a few years ago to be with one of his co-workers. For the most part, they kept you out of it, but you couldn’t be nice to his new wife. Since you turned 18, you’d stopped seeing him altogether.

“They don’t need to be there.” Your tone makes you cringe inwardly, but it’s impossible for you to not cop an attitude about this.

“Well, I want them there, and they want to be there. He’s your dad.” She tries so hard to make the situation ok for everyone. You’ve never seen her speak an angry word about them, even though she’s heard you say some truly awful things about them.

“Whatever. Fine. I’ll be too drugged up to notice anyway.” Your mind flashes to snippets of past post recovery scenes that never fully come into focus for you.

“Dr. Greene says you’ll only be in the hospital for 2 nights, isn’t that great? You’ll up and moving right away. I can’t believe it.” She’s been wholly unable to withhold her desperate hope for a positive result.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” No false hope for you.

“You’ve got to have a positive attitude about this. There’s absolutely no reason for you to think this will go badly.” She was right, of course, but you can’t live with that kind of disappointment anymore.

So, you sit quietly and eat while she details pre-op appointments, including a blood donation. Tomorrow morning, you would be late for school, making the drive out to the Red Cross clinic. Should you call Eddie and tell him? Yes, but you’re not going to. “I’m sleeping in my bed tonight. If Eddie calls, tell him I’m asleep.” Your mom just shakes her head and sighs.

He calls one more time that evening, and you can hear your mom whispering something to him over the line. You can’t find it in yourself to care. You imagine it’s something along the lines of, “sorry my daughter is a raging bitch, but we all have to live with it.” You hope she tells him you’ll be out in the morning so he doesn’t worry, but make no effort to makes sure she does.

Your stubbornness is unexplainable, even to yourself. You see the self-destructiveness in your behavior. You know you’re being unkind. You’re unreasonable. You want nothing more than to rest in the comfort of the people that you care about. You can’t. You’re too raw and the compassion chafes.

If he’s still around in a month and doesn’t hate you, assuming you’re not dead or irrevocably damaged from a failed procedure, you’ll make it up to him. You’ll make it up to everyone. They just need to let you be until then.

---

It goes poorly at the Red Cross. If there’s anything you’ve learned about your body over the years of disability is that it’s unpredictable and makes even the most simple things challenging. You’re borderline anemic, which ignites a thought in the back of your mind - it explains your irritability. Whether it’s a good decision or not, the phlebotomist has the go ahead from your surgeon to collect as much blood as possible anyway. It ends up being less than a half of a pint, and all you can do is hope it’s either not needed or enough if you do end up needing a transfusion.

When you get to school, you’re on the edge, and ready to absolutely lose it at the first provocation. Your mom had offered to take you home for the day, but in your stubbornness you refused.

“I thought that my education was the highest priority. Can’t possibly miss whatever wisdom Mr. Willis has to impart about Federalism today.” You’re being a bitch; you should go home. You’d eaten your cookies and drank your juice as directed. You wanted to go home, but for some reason, you wanted to needle at her more. Even if it ended up hurting you.

“Hey!” Your mom has had it with you, she’s stressed. She’s going through it with you, and she’s your only punching bag. “You need to get right, Girlie. I don’t care what you have to do, but this attitude isn’t helping anything. Knock it off with the angsty teenage bullshit for a second.”

You take a beat before responding, deciding whether to bite back or back down. This could turn into a full-blown screaming match if you wanted that, but you’re so tired. “Whatever. I’m fine. I’ll go to school.”

You both relent, tossing water on the fire rather than adding fuel. You can go to school, but she won’t let you drive. She asked if Eddie could drive you home. She has an appointment later. You bite back what you want to say, which is that you’d rather just walk home. You just tell her that, “sure, no problem. I’ll ask Eddie to take me home even though it would just be easier if I could drive myself.” Your mom practically growls at you in response.

---

Sometimes, punishing yourself felt right. That’s what you’re doing right now. Letting yourself be tortured by Mr. Willis rather than taking a break. Your life is full of breaks. Maybe it’s just the vague nausea from giving blood, but Mr. Willis’ classroom is extra rank today. You’re feeling lightheaded, and you will the feeling away. Most of the time your teachers remind you to leave your classes early, but Mr. Willis never does, and today you forget. Your brain is fogged over, and the harsh ringing of the bell jolts you in your seat.

You brought your crutches, you’ll use them as a walking aid through the school. The thought of free walking or relying on a cane until your surgery is exhausting, so you don’t think about it. You use the tools you have. You’re throwing your bag over your shoulders when you realize that Eddie didn’t come to help you. You shake your confused head, because why would he come to help if he didn’t even know you were back at school yet. You feel yourself slumping a little more than was normal, and the cacophony in the hallway is making your head spin. You feel a whooshing moving between your ears and know what’s about to happen, but there are too many people around for you to get low to the ground. You reach out to grab any arm close to you as your vision fades to black, back pushed against the lockers to avoid knocking your head on the hard linoleum when you hit the ground.

“…the nurse. She’ll be ok, just needs something to eat.” A familiar voice is bringing you back, but your eyelids are still heavy. You can feel cold sweat on your brow, and a deep sense of shame for something. You open your eyes and see a shaggy headed boy. His face comes into focus, and you know it’s Mike Wheeler, and he looks like he might piss himself. You force your arm up to wave so he knows you’re and doesn’t go running off to call for an ambulance or anything. The person speaking is Dustin, and he’s clearly trying to calm Mike down.

“See, she’s ok.” Dustin’s face comes into focus. He’s concerned, but not freaking out. He puts his hand on your arm where the bandage from giving blood is. “She must have given blood or something. Y/n, when was the last time you ate anything?”

“They gave me cookies.” You choke it out, but speaking has the effect of rousing you further, and you suddenly realize you just passed out in the hallway between classes. Oh good, more weirdo behavior from the cripple. “Oh, shit, who saw?”

The boys exchange a look, which tells you everything, and you decide to let it go. “Whatever, help me up. Let’s go eat lunch.” You’re reaching out for them to help you up. You’re wobbly, and lightheaded, but determined. “Don’t look at me like that, I just need to eat. Help me to the table and get me some food.”

They do as you ask, despite the fact that they clearly think you should be heading to the nurse’s station before heading back to your own home. If you leave now, your body wins, and you’re not letting it happen. You’ll see Eddie at lunch, and he’ll help you for the rest of the day. Even if you don’t deserve it.

---

The boys have their arms around you, Mike is carrying your crutches, Dustin your bookbag. Eddie sees the three of you approaching and jumps out of his chair at the end of the cafeteria table and bounds over to you. His face is low to look into your eyes. “I’m ok, Eddie. Help me to the table.” Eddie takes over, shooing the boys away to get your lunch.

“What happened?” You’re trying to ignore the stares and whispers from the tables you pass on the way to the Hellfire table. Half of the school must have seen you hit the ground and not even stopped to make sure you were ok.

“I got a little woozy. Gave blood this morning. Just need to eat.” Eddie eases you into a chair, and sits next to you, face still close trying to get a read on you. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

Eddie lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, “Uh, sure. What is it?” He reaches up to push your hair back from your face, and wipes some of the sweat from your forehead. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you let me take you to the nurse?”

You choose to ignore the question and give Eddie one of your own as Dustin sets a can of coke in front of you while Mike sneaks a tray of mystery loaf and *thank god* mashed potatoes. “Can you take me home after school? My mom wouldn’t let me drive because I gave blood earlier.” You see Eddie’s face slack in relief because at least there was a reason you face looked so wan.

“Of course, Ilene, I live to serve.” You pick up your fork with a shaking hand, and get to work on the food in front of you. Filling your stomach with anything that will help clear the fog and bring life back to your body. The coke does its job, that sugary goodness immediately perks up your mind.

“Hey, uh, I want to talk to you later too, if that’s ok?” You owe him that, at least.

His face is cautious, but he gives you a nod. Now that he’s sure you’re not going to keel over at the table, he resumes his lunch while keeping a hand firmly pressed on your knee. You allow it, for now at least.

---

It’s back to the old routine for the rest of the day, no chance of being caught up in the full hallways with Eddie as your guide. Even with your standoffishness, he’s still cracking jokes that only make himself laugh. He still gives your back a reassuring rub while you wait for your classes to start. He still gives you his cute little smile, the one that makes you feel warm all over. Being with him like this is enough to feel yourself being pulled out from the darkness, ever so gently.

When the last bell rings and you find yourself secured in the passenger seat of Eddie’s rust bucket van, you ask him “Hey, Ed, can we go somewhere for a little while and talk?” His brows scrunch together a bit, but he gives you a little smile and nods. When he turns the ignition, his radio blares to life, and you couldn’t be happier for the noise to fill your heavy brain. You close your eyes, the sound of Ozzy’s voice lulling you to sleep while Eddie tears through the parking lot.

When you feel the van roll to a stop, you peek through your cracked eyelids to see the sun reflecting prettily off of the surface of water. A hand is on your knee again, and you let your own drop down to cover it. Eddie.

“It’s pretty, Ed.” You’re eyes are still gazing out over the water while your mind is waking back up again. “Wanna sit outside?”

Eddie gives your knee a little pat and says, “I’ve got some blankets and a pillow in the back. Let me set up a little spot for you.”

“You’re so good to me, thanks Ed.” The sadness in your voice is unmissable, but Eddie doesn’t comment. He jumps out of the van, and you hear him rustle around for a few minutes, cursing under his breath. You’re smiling to yourself at the boy. You drag your heave body from its slouched position, a little bit painfully, and open the door to make your way back to witness whatever is happening behind your back.

“Wait, I’ll help you!” He’s calling to you when he hears the passenger door close shut. The commotion is even louder now, the sounds of cans and bags being tossed around.

You’re laughing hard enough to let out a loud snort, “Relax, bud, I think I can take a couple of steps on my own.” Truthfully, you’re dragging your leg behind you like the dead thing that it is, but it’s only a couple of steps.

It’s what you expect, Eddie is knee deep in fast food wrappers and soda cans, he’s just shoving them into a corner of the back of the van. But – there’s also a couple of blankets and pillows he’s laid out, so you climb your way up while he crouches with his arms out to help you in. “You find yourself sleeping in the back of your van a lot?”

“Uh, well, sometimes I sneak a nap in.” He gives a little sheepish shrug, and you know it’s probably a good spot for getting high. “So, what’s going on with you? You gonna talk to me or ignore me some more?”

You’ve got yourself position so that your back is pressed against the side of the van, and one of the pillows is resting under your knee to give your hip a break. “I’m getting my hip replaced in two weeks.” You get straight to the point. “I had to give blood this morning in case I end up needing a blood transfusion.”

“Holy shit, that’s good, right?” He’s sitting next to you now, knee knocking into yours. “Good as new.” He drops his head to rest on your shoulder and puts his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him.

“Yeah, good as new.” It’s a hope you whisper into the air of the van, and you find that you’re choking on a sob. It’s come out of nowhere. “Sorry.” You try to get the sadness out of your voice, and Eddie still nuzzles into you, not saying anything. “Maybe it’s better if we just go back to the way things were until after it’s over.”

The hand that he had at your side, rubbing comforting circles freezes for a beat, and you feel a heave exhale of breath at your neck. He doesn’t pull himself away from you, instead he squeezes you a little tighter and asks, “Why?”

You had expected him to be upset or surprised, but he’s neither of those things. He’s quiet and still letting his thumb brush against your side while he waits for your answer. He wants to know why, and you simply do not have the strength to lie or soften the truth for him in this moment.

“Because it’s going to be ugly, and I don’t want you to see it. And, I get mean, and I don’t want to lash out at you.” You think you’re done, but Eddie’s silence tells you he’s waiting to hear more. His nose is nuzzling into the crook of your neck in encouragement and it sends a warm zing through you. You can’t deny him. “I can’t handle the thought of you seeing all of that and deciding it’s too much for you. I’ve lost enough already.”

You think about Hannah, your best friend for years, who finally stopped visiting after your last surgery. She had, like all of your other friends, gotten tired of hearing your excuses for not being able to do the typical teenager shit. You never blamed any of them, but the pain of that kind of rejection on top of the already brutal physical pain is too much to go through again. And your ex. You had loved him so much it consumed you. You gave him everything you had, he had seen every piece of you, and threw it away. You couldn’t see Eddie doing that, but you never thought Drew would either, until he had.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a while, he just holds you impossibly tighter and let’s the words sit between the two of you. You think that’s fine, because no matter what happens from here, you’ve told him the truth, and he’s listened. That’s more than most would do for a girl that is so broken she can’t even walk around the mall with her friends. You feel held by him, and more importantly, seen by him.

When Eddie finally decides to respond to you, it’s unhurried. His tone is calm, his voice steady and words thoughtful. His hands continue their work on your lower back drawing aimless patterns with his calloused fingers on the exposed skin. His mouth lets out a breath, like a gust of wind blowing through your hair. With his free hand, he taps your forehead, an indication that he wants you to look at him. What your eyes meet are his pretty chestnut ones, full of affection.

“I’m going to be honest with you because you’ve been honest with me, ok?” Your stomach sinks, but you nod your head anyway. He’s right, he heard what you had to say, you need to do the same for him. “The thought of seeing you in the hospital and in pain…” His eyes close as if imagining the sight and shakes his head a little to rid himself of the thought, “does not thrill me.”

You start to tense up at his words. He said he’d be honest, and he is, but maybe this is going to be more than you want to hear. You’re holding your breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie still letting his hands wander on your skin. His attempts at grounding you are starting to fail, and you think he must know it, but he still takes his time.

“Don’t get lost, stay with me, I’m not done.” You exhale the breath you were holding onto and try to relax and trust him. He’s given you no reason to not trust him. “Why would I want to see someone I care about so much in that position? No, it scares the absolute shit out of me if I’m being honest.” His eyes are wide, head tilted to the side, and you know it’s true. He’s got real fear written all over his face, and for some reason you find that very reassuring.

He pulls you into his chest, letting you bury your face into him, and he’s dramatically rocking you back and forth without moving your hips. “But I know you don’t want to be there either. I’m sorry, Ilene, I really am, but it’s not something I think I can do.” The leather of his jacket is creaking with the effort of holding you to him, less comforting now, more like he’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Because when you get better, I’m gonna want to tickle the absolute shit out of you to hear you laugh until you scream.”

“Eddie, no!” You’re squirming under his grip, strong yet still somehow not painful. “Don’t you dare!” His hand is on the skin of your side, and you think he’s going to do it. He’s going to tickle you until you’re thrashing under him. You can see the evil look in his eye, even with your face still squished against his chest.

“Oh, Ilene, I wouldn’t dare do it now. Just know, I’m waiting for my chance.” He loosens his arms enough for you to wiggle and see his pretty face. You don’t know how he did it, but he changed the mood between the two of you so fast. And you think you don’t mind it. Because he’s true, and kind, and the most beautiful person you’ve met.

“My only concession is that if you really don’t want me at the hospital, I won’t go.” He looks serious, like he’s making sure you understand what he’s telling you. He has a finger pointed at your face, brow stern, and eyes narrowed, “but, only if you don’t want me there. If it’s because you want to spare me, don’t.”

You’re giggling subsides and you let out a little contented sigh. The strange loose feeling in your hip has never fully been relieved, and you start to feel some discomfort with the hard metal of the van bed underneath. You feel like you could come apart at any moment, just pieces of you falling away. You long to feel whole. Being with Eddie is the closest you come to feeling like a real person. A whole person. A person that has something to live for. You hate the thought of those feelings being because of a boy, but fuck if you can control how you feel.

“Fine. But I swear to god, if you decide you don’t like me after you see make a nurse cry, I will murder you as soon as I get my feet back under me.” He throws his head back in a laugh, but you grab his chin with your small hand and make him look at you, “Does it look like I’m joking, pretty boy?”

His eyes sparkle at you, his smile’s gone, and he looks like he has something to say. No, not say – his mouth is on yours in an instant. The way he moves you is fluid and fast. You go from sitting beside him to laying under him without even realizing it. You’re occupied with his mouth, his lips opening with your own, tongues moving together. Any pain you felt was gone, because all you could feel was a burning inside your gut for Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“You think I would leave you, just because things are gonna get a little hard.” His mouth has travelled to your neck, and he’s breathing into your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” You’re completely pliant under his touch, and you feel yourself pulsing with desire.

You have no answer for him, your breath hitching with every pass of his lips on your neck. He finds the soft skin of the lobe of your ear and sucks it into his mouth. It’s pornographic, the sound that escapes your mouth. You were no virgin, but Eddie has you feeling like you’ve never been touched before in your life.

While his mouth works along your neck and ear, you find your hands threaded through his curls, fisting and pulling at his hair. The moaning response he gives has you whimper back. You want him. You want him now.

“Eddie, please. You can touch me.” It’s all the permission he needs, his hand moves from your waist and travels under your shirt to cup your breast. His thumb running across a nipple, separated by the thin cotton bra you’re wearing. This is the moment you realize you’re both wearing far too many clothes. You pull you sweater over your head and unhook your bra with ease, setting it on the floor of the van beside the two of you. Eddie is just watching you with amazement until you pull on his shirt, snapping him out of the trance he was in.

“I wanna feel you.” Your voice is a little desperate, and you’re willing your hips to stay still. The urge to rock them a little, seeking anything Eddie is willing to give to you, is intense. A hand tests the waters with your bare breast, a firm full grasp with a thumb skating across your pebbled nipple. His lips are pursed in a line, and he huffs out a puff of air through his nose.

His voice is thick, and it cracks when he finally opens his mouth to speak to you, still staring at your nakedness presented to him. “I – fuck. I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” His eyes are wild when he looks up to meet your own. You know you must look impossibly needy for him, your skin is on fire from his touch. “Seriously, are you trying to kill me?"

"You won’t hurt me, Ed. I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise.” You’re begging, and it has an effect on him. He closes his eyes, probably trying to regain his composure without looking at the half-naked woman lying in front of him. You take the opportunity to sit up and yank on his jacket. He obliges, eyes still closed, letting you take off his vest and jacket, and then his t shirt.

“Eddie, we don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.” You can tell he’s doing battle with himself inside his mind, and you don’t want that. You want anything that happens between the two of you to be right, and it won’t be if he’s second guessing himself the whole time. If he’s terrified of what he could do to your body. There’s a deep sense of disappointment about that, anger – not at Eddie – but at your own body for betraying you yet again.

He snakes himself down so that his arm is wrapped under you, skin against skin. He’s so soft, it makes you wonder if he uses lotion. You trace the outline of a tattoo over his heart, a scary looking demon. His fingers are running along your collarbone, his head tucked into your neck.

“I’m sorry.” His soft words break your heart a little at the sadness in his tone. “I ruined this.” His hand drops as if he’s resigned, and you giggle a little.

“Ed, why are you being so dramatic right now? You’ve got me with my tits out in the back of your van.” The noise he makes in response is a mix of a laugh and a groan, but it has the desired effect. He brings his face out of hiding, his cheeks are burning, but he meets your gaze with a small smile.

“You’re really pretty, Ed.” You push his curls out of his face to see him better, and he meets your mouth in a kiss. Soft but with need, your tongues mingle while enjoying the feeling of your hands wandering across his soft skin.

It’s all kissing and light touching, fingers wandering bare skin. You have him tell you the stories of his tattoos. You love how animated he is when he tells you how he designed them himself, and from where he drew his inspiration. You can tell that he occasionally forgets that you’re laying there topless when his eyes make eye contact with your breasts. He looks surprised every time, and it makes you laugh every time.

And then, he sees it. You register his shock when he notices the angry red scar peeking up from the waist of your jeans. His hand goes to touch it, and you instinctively recoil.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t expect to see a scar there.” You reach for your bra and shirt, hastily dressing yourself, suddenly reminded of how cold the air in the van feels. “Hey, uh, shit never mind, that’s stupid.” Eddie’s reaching for his own shirt shaking his head.

“What?” He’s got your curiosity piqued. You need to know what’s going on in his head.

“I feel like such an asshole, say no if you want.” You nod for him to continue, he’s got that adorable wide-eyed look on his face with his question, “Can I see it?”

“Oh! You want to see my scars?” You wrinkle your nose a little. You’re not ashamed of them, never have been. You wear them with pride, the story of your life etched on your skin permanently. Not unlike a tattoo, only you had no choice in the pattern and placement. “Yeah, you can see them.”

Without a second thought, you’re turning your body to lay on your side and unbuttoning your jeans. He helps you when he sees you struggle to push them down while in that awkward position. You’re facing away from him, hip facing up so he can see both scars.

“This might have been a mistake.” You can hear him shuffling behind you, quite obviously adjusting his pants. You can’t help but giggle a little at him. “You’re so fucking hot. I’m a fucking moron. I take it back, I’m ready to figure this out right now.”

“Eddie, stop, file it away for later, or whatever. My ass is freezing.” He sighs and you can see him out of the corner of your eye with his hands in the air, not knowing what to do with them. “For crying out loud, you can touch me. Just be very gentle. I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to.”

You brace yourself, not wanting to have any kind of reaction when his fingers finally touch your skin. You want him to explore at his own pace, you want him to know that his touch is welcome and wanted. His hand is more than gentle, you can barely feel him, the fine hairs of your outer thigh whispering at the sensation. When he’s sure you’re not going to recoil from his touch again, he allows his fingers to run along the long scar that runs down the outside of your leg, not touching the angry red skin, running along the side of it. You know you can still see the individual stitch marks there. His touch reaches a part of your leg that feels strange, a large nerve on that part of your leg was accidentally cut during your last surgery.

“You have two scars?” He’s not really asking, because it’s obvious that you do. The second scar runs from above your pelvis and down at an angle towards the band of your underwear. It dips down to a place he can’t fully see, stopping right at the spot where your pubic hair begins. You wait and let him decide what he wants to do, prepared to let him lower your underwear to get a complete view of the path the scalpel traveled. You’ve got yourself so worked up over the thought of him dipping below your panties, you’re completely unprepared for what he does next. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on staying calm, when you feel hot breath on you. His mouth meets the end of your long scar in a gentle kiss, and you can’t control the gasp that erupts from your mouth.

“I’m sorry, is this ok?” You can feel his words against your skin, and you feel your breathing quicken with excitement. It’s so intense, being seen in this way. So intimate having him this close.

“Yes, it’s ok.” You feel yourself twitching, completely unable to control the movement. You realize what the feeling is, and almost groan. You’re so turned on, you feel like you’re going to explode from just feeling his breath on you. Eddie hums to himself a little, letting his mouth travel back along line scarred on your flesh while his hand gently pulls back on the waist band of your underwear to peak down and see the rest of the smaller scar. He’s so close to your heat, there’s no way he can’t smell your arousal, but he continues to gently brush his lips against you.

“Eddie, I – mmm – you have to stop. I’m sorry.” You can’t hide the neediness in your voice, it’s embarrassing, but you can’t let him keep this up any longer if he’s not willing to give you relief.

“Oh, pretty girl, you smell so sweet, and your skin is so soft.” His nose is nuzzling below your belly button, “Will you let me taste you?” Your body is shaking with anticipation, so close to the edge and he hasn’t even touched you at your center.

You manage to squeak out a “please” and that’s good enough for him. He’s got on your back, pants pulled off in that smooth way he has. Quick and fluid movements while supporting you and keeping you in a comfortable position. He wastes no time, sneaking your underwear down past your knees.

“Show me where to put my hands.” He’s so quiet, you barely hear him. You place on hand on your good hip to keep you stable, the other under you lower back to avoid any painful pressure on your broken side. His mouth descends on your mound, and he noses around the coarse hair breathing you in.

It takes no time at all, his tongue works on your swollen and sensitive button. He lets out quiet needy moans as he licks at you. A guttural groan rips through you, so low you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice. And then he sucks, and then it’s over. He’s got his lips sealed tightly around your bud. You’ve been sitting on the edge, he has you so worked up from his gentle exploration of your scars. Your high rips through you in a flash, so fast. His mouth has barely been on you for more than a couple of seconds. You can’t even be embarrassed when you can hear the effect your waves of pleasure are having on Eddie. He is beside himself, groaning and holding your hips still. You notice he’s rocking his hips against the floor of the van, and it sends a new wave of pleasure through you.

When you come back down to earth, you find Eddie breathing heavily, his head resting on your thigh. You run your hand in his hair, and he hums a little. “Uh, I gotta tell you something, please don’t laugh.” His voice is croaky and shy.

“What’s the matter, Ed?” You already know, but you ask anyway.

“I came in my pants.” His mouth is muffled in your skin. You’re still running your fingers in his hair, and you rumble out a low laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, it’s knowing.

“Oh, Baby, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel any pain. Fuck, that was good.” You grip his hair gently, giving it a little affection tug. He groans a little and works his way up to you after he pulls your underwear and pants back up over your hips. He gives the small line of scar peaking out from the waist of your jeans one final kiss.

You both work to get yourself together, Eddie brushes at the front of his pants and shakes his head. It’s a lost cause, he needs to change. He’s helping you out of the back of the van, it’s slow, joints stiff from being laid out on the hard surface for so long. You don’t care. The afterglow of your orgasm is still radiating through your body. You think about what the next few weeks will hold, and you know. This is when you know – Eddie will be there for you.

When he helps you up to sit in the passenger seat before taking you back to your house, you place your hands to hold his face. His perfect face, still flushed from earlier, his kind eyes sparkle at you. He has a lopsided grin on his face, he’s still feeling goofy from his own high.

“Hey, Ed.” You stare at each other for a minute. He goes to pull away, and you shake your head a little before pulling him into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and you feel your core beat in response.

“You can visit me in the hospital if you want.”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x disabled!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #disability in fanfiction

86 notes · View notes

and-stir-the-stars · 9 months

Text

Elizabeth dies and William doesn't know how to cope with the loss of a child, HIS child, so he keeps her room untouched like it's a shrine to her life, like a slice of time in which she was still alive forever preserved.

He coldly demeans Mike and Ev whenever he catches them in her room, grieving her. William doesn't want to act like Liz is dead, yet he simultaneously berates them for not being able to let Liz go. Sometimes he'll notice that some of Liz's toys or clothes or ribbons are gone, and he'll stalk into the boys' rooms with a scowl, rip the item back, scold them for touching Liz's things, and return the item to the lifeless shrine.

Mike catches on. Evan does not. Mike stops going into Liz's room. Evan does not. Mike gets pissed at Evan for making William mad enough to take his anger out on the both of them. Mike harasses and torments Evan as retribution for him constantly making William's anger (and therefore William’s abuse) harder to deal with, as well as for constantly reminding Mike that Liz is dead when he runs off to grieve their sister.

Then Evan dies.

William tries giving Evan's room the same treatment as Liz's.

But Mike can't stay out of Evan's room. He keeps finding himself in Evan’s room, curled up in Evan’s sheets, hugging Evan’s toys, looking at Evan’s favorite shirts and sweaters. And Mike finally lets himself go inti Liz's room and does the same with her things, too.

William tries locking Evan's and Liz's bedroom doors shut.

Mike sneaks around and finds the keys and goes inside the rooms when he thinks William won't notice.

William does.

William gets angrier and angrier.

One day, Mike comes home from school and finds that William completely emptied out Liz and Evan’s rooms. All of their stuff is completely gone and disposed of, as surely as if neither of his siblings ever existed.

Michael rages. Michael cries. Michael grieves. But mostly, Michael just feels hopeless and lost and... empty. Hollow. Numb.

Then Michael goes into his own room, and finds that William emptied Mike's room, too. Just like his siblings' rooms, there isn't any clothes or a dresser or posters or matress or bed frame. Michael’s room is just as empty as his dead siblings'.

Michael is just as dead as they are.

That night, Michael sleeps on the cold hard ground, no blanket or pillow or pajamas, just the clothes he wore to school that day, curled up in a corner.

William doesn't buy Michael any clothes or bedding or furniture to replace what he threw away. Anything that Mike puts in his room, Mike has to buy or find for himself.

And every so often, William will come into Mike’s room and throw everything away again and leave Mike with nothing.

When he first came home and found his siblings' rooms empty, Mike would dumpster dive around town, desperate to find any of his siblings' things that Will threw away.

He did find a couple of things scattered in dumpsters where Will threw them away. It was after William found some of these things in Mike's barren room that he first threw away what little furniture and clothes Mike managed to scrounge up. Mike thinks maybe he deserved it. Maybe he brought this on himself.

Maybe it's all his fault.

#tw child abuse #michael afton #fnaf #william afton #the afton family #the afton kids

213 notes · View notes

merakiui · 9 months

Note

OH MY GODS MERA, FATUI LYNEY. PLEASE EXPAND PLEASE OH GODS OH GODS OH GODS.

FOAMING ST THE MOUTH WHERE DID U GET THI S IDEA???

(spoilers for act one of the Fontaine Archon quest)

AAAAAAAAAA SO I RECENTLY FINISHED ACT ONE AND IT'S REVEALED THAT LYNEY AND LYNETTE ARE WITH THE HOUSE OF HEARTH (a Fatui organization overseen by Arlecchino, who everyone calls Father; this also gives me so many ideas about a Promised Neverland au hehe, but I digress). Lyney admits to the Traveler after the trial is over that he is indeed a Fatuus and that he's with the House of Hearth, but that he and Lynette only wish to help save the people of Fontaine from the prophecy, which (according to him) is also Arlecchino's goal. She saved the twins from an abusive noble when they were both young and thus offered shelter and protection to the twins because they both had similar plans.

So, after hearing this information, naturally I had to think about what he might be like if he was more than just a Fatuus but a powerful Harbinger. >:) omg can you imagine how easily he would be able to hide such a scary, secret identity? And you'd completely underestimate his strength, too swept up in his theatrics to even question things. You fail to see the soldiers who lurk in the shadows, watching over you and Lyney, ready to strike should you prove to be a threat to the Lord Harbinger. Lyney seems so harmless, albeit a little silver-tongued, but he appears to be just a kind magician dedicated to his craft.

You have no idea this same magician holds so much power in the palm of his hand, commanding troops and having a seat amongst the rest of the Tsaritsa's Harbingers. Lyney doesn't take any twisted enjoyment in frightening you. Rather, he loves you and wants to show you all of the pretty, pleasant sides of the world, even if the concept of love is abstract and foreign to him; and he isn't one who truly understands romance in all of its capacity. But the love (infatuation) he feels for you is so special. You can't blame him when he frets over you and your safety. You can never be too careful! He's just looking out for you; ignore those undercover Fatui agents who seem to linger near and around your house and other places you frequent.

Lyney isn't hollow, though. He's smart and calculating, but he isn't a monster devoid of emptiness. He only goes as far as he must, never pushing it unless he absolutely needs to, but when you've witnessed so much misery and bloodshed over the years, whether directly or indirectly, you'll become numb to the horrors. He promises you won't be hurt so long as you just listen to him. Please let him explain. He never intended to deceive you! This was just...an unfortunate happening. Really, he'd rather you remain blissfully ignorant to who he is outside of the sparkling title of magician.

But it's all right. He'll fix this. After all, he's a renowned magician who can make anything and, by that extension, anyone disappear. Only, unlike on the stage, you won't be reappearing. And it isn't magic that keeps your disappearance sealed shut, but you can pretend it is when you wake in his home, pampered and waited on. Lyney only wants what's best for you. But sometimes even the sweetest romances are tinged with a little difficulty and angst. This he understands well enough.

#genshin chit chat #yandere lyney

177 notes · View notes

ephemeral--dreams · 10 months

Text

With someone who is emotionally numb - Gojo, Geto

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Gojo

There's something off, about you. Not cold, exactly, just... Empty. Not a single speck of light or emotion swirling in those eyes.

Hiding feelings was one thing, but it was almost as if you lacked them entirely. Perhaps you were simply that good of an actor.

Whatever the case, it's intimidating to others. It doesn't matter how many lives you have saved or how you have never once said a bad word to anyone. That near inhuman lack of expressiveness drives everyone away. Except for one person.

He certainly makes a nuisance of himself.

Gojo makes it a habit to poke and prod at you, follow you around, be a general annoyance. All in an attempt to get you to react in an interesting way.

He doesn't have much luck, of course. Still, he's stubborn. He'll break through that shell of yours one day, he's certain of it. So he tells himself.

Arguably he's the one that ends up getting more frustrated than you, when you're the only one he can't provoke at all.

It's two years after your first meeting before he ever gets to see anything but that blank expression. The mission had been fairly simple - they'd even sent you out alone, something he'd call them out on much later. The curse could force a person into reliving their worst memories over and over. It shouldn't have been an issue for someone like *you,* right?

Wrong. By the time anyone realizes you haven't come back, by the time he makes it over to where you'd been sent -

Suddenly he wishes you really were incapable of feeling like everyone said you were behind your back. That would be better than having to see you crying, entirely shattered apart in a way he had never once expected.

It's a shocking enough sight to distract him for a moment. Not enough of a distraction to keep him from destroying the curse with an amount of force that isn't quite necessary.

You're practically inconsolable. The curse had really done a number on you. He isn't quite sure how to deal with you like this. When you're this shaken, he finds he feels shaken.

"Hey," he says carefully, "It's alright now. Let me take you back, okay? You're hurt."

"...Okay," he's never heard your voice sound so small. If this is what it's like when you're emotional, maybe it's for the best that you're usually not. He's not sure his heart could take it.

Of course, he accompanies you back to jujutsu tech, and Shoko shoos him away while she treats you, and everything is normal again.

If there's something lighter in your eyes when you look at him, something softer in the way you treat him, after that, only he needs to know why.

Geto

He's the only one who picks up on it. You're good, he'll give you that - the way you put on such a good act, smile so brightly, only to go completely blank the moment you turn away. Like a mirror that only reflects what is in front of it.

Geto reasons that he doesn't really need to understand why you are the way you are, not so long as you remain loyal to him. There are a limited number of sorcerers willing to follow his cause, after all. He cannot get hung up on your mysteries.

That doesn't stop him from being intrigued. Can he be blamed?

He keeps an unnecessarily close eye on you. If nothing else, observing you is a fun pastime. It's like his own little secret, being the only one who realizes the disconnect between the acts you put on and what you're like when you think no one is looking.

Though watching from afar gets boring. He makes excuses to spend more time around you - who's going to dare question him about it? - carefully prying at that polite mask you wear. He wonders how long it'll take to crack in front of him. He wonders if even that hollow expression is merely another layer on top of something deeper. Who knows how much there is to peel away?

You're not stupid or naive. You realize his game eventually, and when you do, it's as simple as that. When you're alone in his presence, the facade drops. There's something fascinating seeing it up close, the way your smile falls and eyes go dull. Having conversations with someone so distant is a new experience.

"People all have a specific sort of behavior they want from others," you tell him, once, "it's easier to reflect that for them. It keeps the peace."

"And what do you believe I want?"

"I'm not sure, yet."

It's a couple of months after that interaction that he catches you smiling in the middle of one of your little talks. Whatever he was saying suddenly stutters to a halt, uncharacteristically. Geto can't even recall what he might have said to provoke such a reaction, only that it's there.

The best part is that it's entirely involuntary on your part. He's seen your fake smiles enough to know the difference between that and this. It's even more obvious in the way you don't realize what has happened until he pauses just a moment too long.

As you try to figure out what to say, he beats you to it, leaning in closer conspiratorially. "I prefer this, you know. Your real smile is prettier."

And then he's walking off again. As he does so, he finds himself thinking that he quite likes being the only one to ever see all these sides of you.

#Closes my eyes #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

174 notes · View notes

maliciousblog · 19 days

Text

Muse (Seonghwa)

Artist

He was surrounded by people singing his praise.

That fell deaf onto his.

He couldn't care less. The money , the fame and the glamour it all lost its appeal to him.

What once filled him with joy now replaced by disdain.

His passion for art had fizzled out.

He felt hollow inside and his work was a mirror his painting to him had lost their charm.

People fawned over them nonetheless but that didn't matter to him...

He felt nothing anymore just a state of numbness.

The showcase had been a success he sold all his paintings and the gallery curator cut him a hefty check not that he needed it but it does help finance his lifestyle.

He laid down in bed staring at the ceiling wide awake once again like many nights before.

He had become an insomniac the bags under his eyes a deep shade of purplish blue.

His cheeks hollowed and his smooth skin pale almost porcelain like.

Giving his the appearance of a doll straight out of a Tim Burton movie.

The air around was cool.

Maybe a walk might help ease him a little.

Roaming the streets as the wind brushed through his hair he looked like a wandering ghost in search of peace.

Deciding on visiting his usual coffee spot

The bell to the door rang as he stepped in.

He saw your head peak out up the counter greeting him with a warm smile.

The warmth he craved so desperately.

His usual barista quit and you had become a welcome replacement.

He froze entranced by you it was like he was struck all at once.

Reborn as vitality began to corse through his veins.

You had given him a new life.

People would call it love at first sight but this was something much darker much more dangerous.

As he walked towards you he took in every single detail of your face as if to imprint a permanent picture of you in his mind you were beautiful no doubt but there was just something about you that drew him in something that sparked a deep seated obsession in him.

His eyes were firmly fixed on you studying your every movement.

You could feel his eyes on you.

It made you uncomfortable.

As you rushed to make his order trying to avoid his predatory gaze.

He just stood there for a while straing right at you.

The hair on the back of your neck raised in alarm.

As he drunk in your every detail.

It was well passed midnight and you were alone managing the cafe as only a handful of customers would show up at this time.

You tried best to avoid eye contact his eyes were lifeless and cold. His pupils were dialated making his eyes appear like empty dark holes.

Surrounded by the purplish bruse like patches under his eyes.

His skin appearing translucent as the lights above danced on his cheek bones making the fine web of veins under his eyes visible.

His was almost corpse like. His stillness made your skin crawl.

He gave you a smile his lips curling upwards as he turn away and left.

Leaving his drink on the counter.

He increased his pace as he neared his apartment.

His manic state only worsened.

It was like a thread has finally snapped in him turning him into an unhinged madman.

Painting after painting he creates reassembling you in different ways.

He was locked in his studio for weeks.

The only time he ever stopped was when his manager forced himself in to clear out his studio of the completed painting.

No suprise to him they sold in an instant once they were listed. He didn't see any sign of him stoping either.

Soon enough just the image in his mind wasn't enough for reference.

He sent his manager to stalk you taking pictures of you at work but they too soon weren't enough.

It was like he was an starved beast.

His appetite was insatiable and growing.

The pictures from work weren't enough from work he had people follow you around to your home to anywhere you went he had eyes on you.

Anything he wanted his people delivered to him as he kept their pockets filled with the cash off the paintings that sold like hot commodities on the market.

To call you his muse would be an understatement.

As one would predict pictures no longer satisfied his hunger anymore.

He needs to feel you he need to be surrounded by you.

For now he settled for your personal items like your favourite pair of pajamas or the botte of expensive face cream you only used on special occasions or the lipgloss you always carried around in the bottom of your purse.

But nothing could come to close to the real thing now could it.

He was past all reason he had gone made in pursuit of creating his masterpiece and you were the last piece of the puzzle.

He had to have you in the flesh he couldn't wait any longer.

He couldn't just let anyone come get you.

No ..... No .... No you were far to precious to be touched just by anyone.

He had to take you himself he couldn't let anyone else touch you get their grimy hands on you.

It would taint your perfection.

So he waited patiently for the perfect opportunity he knew that it was selfish of him to steal you away but his obsession outweighed any shred of reason he had left in him.

He would consider letting you go but you just looked so beautiful tied to a chair the ropes cutting into your skin the more you struggled turning the tender skin under them a delicious shade of red which he tried to colour match as close as he could as he tried to capture your likeness onto his canvas.

That day your fate was sealed as he added the final touches to his portrait of you.

You were never going to make it out of his studio

His own personal life sized mannequin.

Your only job was to sit still and look pretty for him if not well he would add a few permanent marks to your skin to remind you of your place.

#dark #dark fic #kpop #yandere #yandere fic #yandere kpop #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #horror #ateez fanfic #yandere seonghwa #seonghwa #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #yandere ateez #seonghwa x reader

40 notes · View notes

marinawolf · 1 month

Text

Please Come Back (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

Lena Luthor villain arc with tragedy. Sad, angsty. Kinda painful tbh. (Trying out something new- I'm sorry.)

tw: death

As Lena stood frozen in her office, Lex's revelation echoed through her mind like a relentless scream.

"Kara Danvers is Supergirl."

The anger that surged within Lena was more than just a fiery blaze; it was a consuming inferno, tearing through her with a ferocity she had never known. It was a primal, gut-wrenching rage that threatened to consume her from the inside out. How could Kara, the person Lena had trusted above all others, the one she had poured her heart and soul into, deceive her so completely? Every memory they shared, every whispered secret, every stolen glance and lingering touch now felt like shards of glass slicing into Lena's heart.

Betrayal twisted like a knife in Lena's gut, a relentless, gnawing ache that refused to be ignored. She had let Kara in, allowed herself to believe in their connection, their bond, only to have it all ripped away in an instant.

Lena's fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug deep into her palms, drawing blood that went unnoticed.

And beneath the anger, beneath the seething fury that threatened to consume her whole, lay something even more agonizing: the crushing weight of her own foolishness.

She allowed herself to fall in love with Kara.

Lena had fallen for Kara, fallen so deeply and so irrevocably that it sometimes felt like she was drowning. She had trusted Kara with everything she had, given her heart without reservation, only to be repaid with deceit and betrayal.

Kara had played her for a fool, spinning her web of lies with practiced ease while Lena foolishly danced to her tune. And now, as the truth lay bare before her, Lena felt a cold, numbing emptiness settle over her. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but Lena refused to let them fall. She would not give Kara the satisfaction of her tears, of witnessing the devastation she had wrought.

In that moment, Lena felt as though she had been hollowed out, stripped bare of everything she once held dear.

Kara Danvers had torn her apart. She had shattered Lena's heart into a million irreparable pieces, and there was no going back.

Did Kara not trust her? Did she see Lena as nothing more than a Luthor, tainted by the sins of her family name?

Was that what Kara thought her to be? A villain, unworthy of trust or redemption? If that's how Kara saw her, then perhaps it was time Lena embraced that role fully. She had tried to rise above the shadow of her family's legacy, to prove herself worthy of Kara's faith and, someday, her love. But if Kara couldn't see past the Luthor name, then perhaps Lena should stop pretending to be anything other than what she was: a Luthor, tainted by blood and betrayal.

The bitterness of the realization tasted like poison on Lena's tongue. She had loved Kara, secretly, fiercely, with a devotion that bordered on obsession. And now, as she stood on the precipice of darkness, Lena's heartbreak threatened to consume her whole.

Every word, every touch, every stolen glance between them replayed in Lena's mind like a cruel mockery of what could never be. She had allowed herself to dream of a future with Kara, to imagine a life where they could be together. But those dreams lay shattered at Lena's feet.

What a fool.

If Kara saw her as a villain, then a villain she would be.

The soft click of the door opening drew Lena's attention to Kara breezing into her office. Lena's heart leapt at the sight, as it always did.

Dressed in a button-up shirt, her glasses hiding those piercing blue eyes, Kara brought with her the bashfulness and innocence that once brightened Lena's day. But now, every glance at Kara was a stab to her heart. She knew that beneath that facade lay a web of lies, woven with expert precision by Kara herself. How could Lena have been so blind, so foolish to trust someone who had manipulated her with such ease? How could she have missed the signs? How could she have failed to see the truth that was staring her right in the face?

But Lena knew the answer. It was because she wanted to believe in Kara. She had allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security, to fall in love, only to be betrayed in the cruelest of ways. And now, as Kara stood before her, Lena couldn't help but feel a pang of anger at the realization of how thoroughly she had been played.

Kara held a takeout bag in her hands, a small smile playing at her lips as she met Lena's gaze. She looked so beautiful it almost hurt, and Lena couldn't help but feel a pang of longing deep within her chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what could have been, if she hadn't learned the truth. They would settle on the couch in Lena's office, laughing and talking while eating the grossly unhealthy takeout that Kara would have surely brought. Lena would have been happy. Content.

But those thoughts were nothing more than a cruel fantasy. She couldn't allow herself to forget the lies, the deceit that had woven its way through every moment of their relationship. Kara was a liar, and Lena couldn't bear to look at her now without feeling like a fool.

This wasn't the Kara she thought she knew. This wasn't the friend she had trusted with her deepest secrets. This wasn't the woman she had stupidly fallen in love with. This was a stranger, wearing Kara's face like a mask, hiding the true extent of her deception behind a facade of innocence and charm. Lena wanted to applaud Kara's charade.

Now, there would be no lunch, no laughter, no friendship between them. Not when it had all been built on a foundation of lies. She couldn't keep up the pretense any longer.

"Supergirl," Lena's voice cut through the air like a blade, her tone sharp and cold. She watched as Kara's smile faltered

"Supergirl? Where?" Kara's attempt to deflect, to keep up the lie was almost laughable.

"Please. Stop lying to me," Lena whispered.

Panic flashed across Kara's face, her eyes wide with fear, and Lena felt a fleeting satisfaction.

"You've been lying to me since day one, Kara. You shattered every defense I ever had, and it was all a lie. Even after I confided in you about how everyone I ever cared about betrayed me, you still did this. Was it amusing? To play games with a Luthor? Because evidently, I'm not deserving of your honesty, of your trust."

As Kara reached out, her hand trembling, Lena recoiled. Oh how she once craved that touch.

"Lena, please. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" Lena's voice cracked with anguish, her eyes clouded with unshed tears. "That in your eyes, I'm just another villain to be manipulated? I understand, Kara. I've been nothing more than a fool to you."

"God, Lena. No. You mean everything to me." Kara's voice shook with emotion, and Lena wondered how much of it was an act. "At first, I wanted to protect you from that part of my life. And then, we got closer, so close, and I just didn't know how to tell you without destroying everything. I didn't want to lose you."

Lena refused to listen to Kara's excuses, refused to allow herself to be manipulated any longer.

"Stop this charade, Kara. You've been lying to me, mocking our friendship, even after I shared my deepest wounds with you. I never imagined you would betray me too."

As Kara stepped toward her, tears streaming down her face, Lena's heart hardened with resentment. Were her tears merely another performance in Kara's elaborate deception?

"Don't," Lena's voice trembled. "This friendship, us, it's over. You don't trust me. I'm just a Luthor, right? An evil, calculating Luthor. So be it."

Kara's tears fell like rain, but Lena remained unmoved by their false sincerity. "Lena, please. I'm so sorry. I never meant--"

"No, Kara. Just go. Please. I can't do this. I can't bear to look at you," Lena's voice trembled with the effort to hold back her tears as Kara turned and left, leaving Lena alone.

And finally, Lena allowed herself to cry.

---

two months later

Lena's footsteps echoed through the fortress, her heart pounding in her chest. She had one mission—to steal Myriad. It was a crucial component of Project Non Nocere, her collaboration with her brother, and she couldn't afford to fail. Despite the dangers of working with Lex, his vision made sense to her. At least he didn't deceive her, unlike others.

The promises of peace and control that Lex offered beckoned to Lena. The belief that humanity's flaws, their inclination toward deceit and manipulation, were at the root of all conflict made sense to Lena. In her eyes, people lied, schemed, and betrayed each other, perpetuating a cycle of suffering. She and Lex were in agreement on this fundamental truth. And she knew how to stop it.

As Lena approached her objective, she steeled herself for the confrontation she knew would come. Supergirl would undoubtedly arrive to stop her, but Lena was prepared. She had a plan to neutralize her adversary. And that is what Supergirl had become- her adversary.

When Kara finally appeared, confusion and hurt etched upon her face, Lena's resolve wavered for an instant but those eyes also fueled the fire of Lena's determination, pushing her to carry out her mission.

With trembling hands, Lena activated the trap she had meticulously prepared. The mechanism sprang to life, encasing Kara in a prison of kryptonite. Lena winced at the sight of Kara weakened, the pain of her actions a dagger in her soul. But she knew she had to see this through, for the greater good—or so she told herself. It still pained her to see Kara weakened, to be the cause of her suffering, but she knew it was necessary.

"Lena, why are you doing this?" Kara's voice, weakened by the kryptonite's effects, pierced through the air.

"Because I'm a villain, remember?"

A part of Lena wanted to rush to Kara's side, to gather her into her arms, but she steeled herself.

Another part of her wanted to leave Kara in that trap, as Lex had advised her to do- but she couldn't do that either. Despite everything, despite the betrayal, she couldn't bring herself to truly inflict harm upon Kara. So Lena deactivated the trap, allowing Supergirl to collapse to the floor, weakened but alive as she left the fortress.

Some time later, at the Mount Norquay Bunker

Lena stood next to Lex, poised to set their nefarious plan into motion when the DEO burst through the doors, led by Supergirl. Lena's heart leapt at the sight, despite everything. She couldn't stop her heart from reacting to Kara, no matter how hard she tried.

Lex's expression twisted in disbelief as he laid eyes on the seemingly invincible Supergirl. His shock quickly morphed into rage, his eyes blazing with fury as he directed his anger towards Lena.

"You couldn't even take care of her, sister?" Lex's voice dripped with scorn, his disappointment palpable.

"I couldn't do it," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.

Before Lena could comprehend what was happening, Lex seized a kryptonite weapon, aiming it directly at her. Shock surged through Lena as she realized she was being used as a shield against Supergirl.

A cold chill swept through the bunker as Lex issued his chilling ultimatum. "Take another step, Supergirl, and I'll kill her," he threatened, his voice dripping with malice.

Supergirl froze, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender, her eyes pleading with Lex to release Lena. "Let her go, Lex. It's all over," she implored, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Lex's resolve remained unyielding. "It's not over until I say it is," he declared, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Lena closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable, accepting her fate. She deserved this. But when she opened them, she was met with a sight that shattered her to the core.

Kara had intercepted the bullet meant for Lena, her body absorbing the deadly impact of the kryptonite. Time seemed to stand still as Kara collapsed to the ground, her chest pierced by the lethal projectile.

A strangled cry tore from Lena's throat as she watched Kara fall. She stumbled forward, reaching out to Kara as the DEO agents moved swiftly to apprehend Lex, their actions a blur of motion in the chaos.

Lex's laughter echoed through the bunker, a twisted symphony of triumph and madness. "Well, at least you weakened her, sister," he taunted Lena, his words like poison on her ears.

Lena's mind reeled as she knelt beside Kara's prone form, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch her. "What have I done?" she whispered, her voice choked with anguish and regret.

Tears streamed down Lena's cheeks as she cradled Kara's head in her lap, "I'm so sorry, Kara. I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her words a desperate plea for forgiveness.

Kara's hand weakly reached for Lena's face, her touch fading as her strength waned. "Lena," she whispered softly, her voice barely a whisper.

As Kara lay in Lena's arms, the light slowly fading from her eyes, Lena felt a surge of overwhelming guilt wash over her. She watched helplessly as the vibrant spark that had always defined Kara dimmed, replaced by the haunting shadow of death.

In that moment, as Kara's life slipped away before her very eyes, she realized with painful clarity how horribly she had treated Kara, how she had allowed her anger and bitterness to cloud her judgment, to blind her to the truth.

With aching regret, Lena wished she could turn back time, go back to that pivotal moment when Kara had offered her an apology, and accept it with open arms. She wished she could undo all the pain and betrayal, erase the choices that had led to this. Throughout everything, she had never once considered that she could lost Kara like this.

This was Kara, her Kara, the woman she loved more than anything in this world, and now she was losing her because of her own actions. How could she have let it come to this? How could she have been so blind, so stupidly angry?

It was as if Lena was finally snapping out of a trance, one fueled by anger and resentment, and now, faced with the devastating reality of Kara's imminent death, none of it meant anything. All she wanted was Kara back, safe and sound in her arms.

Through tear-streaked eyes, Lena leaned down and whispered those three words she had never dared to speak aloud before. "I love you," she confessed, her voice choked with emotion, her heart breaking with each syllable, "Please, please come back to me. I'm sorry."

But as Kara's life slipped away, Lena felt the crushing weight of her own guilt bear down upon her. She wished she could trade places with Kara, to undo the irreversible damage she had caused.

In that moment, as Kara drew her final breath, Lena wished she could die too, to escape the unbearable agony of her own making, to be reunited with the woman she had loved and lost.

She had nothing to live for anymore. And it was her own fault.

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #kara x lena #kara zor el #kara danvers x lena luthor #fanfic #archive of our own #lena and kara #evil lena #lena luthor x kara danvers #supergirl cw #supercorp fic #angsty supercorp #supercorp angst

41 notes · View notes

ashleyh713fanfics · 3 months

Text

Dazai X Odasaku!Sister Ch10

Chapter 10: "Maybe With You, This Could Be Home"

Summary: A power struggle between the fifteen year old boy and the demon that lays within him. Which is the truth, and which is a fabrication?

Warning: pm! fifteen year old dazai, dazai self destructing, Odasaku death mentions, dazai torturing himself and everyone around him, manipulative behavior from both sides, mori mentions and grooming themes, underage drinking, talks of suicide. I gave Oda's sister a name but you can imagine it as y/n.

(This is chapter ten of my fanfic "Timeless" which is now on A03. It carries on from the three part intro I posted a couple days ago. I'll link it below to fully understand the story. Oda's death has been moved up to when Dazai is fifteen for plot purposes. Asagao's ability is to stop time for up to six seconds.)

Three Part Intro Here: (just cause the first chapter is so long)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A03 Version Here:

Word count: 8k total

One Year Ago

Sitting across their usual spots at Bar Lupin, Ango and Oda waited patiently for their other friend to join them only for the glasses-wearing informant to break the silence first. “I still don’t know what to make of that boy..”

Odasaku only raised an eye though, his fingers reaching around the golden colored alcohol in front of him without a care in the world. “Who, Dazai?”

Nodding once, Ango frowned. “Yeah, that kid is like an enigma. I can’t ever understand what he’s thinking. What about you, Odasaku? Do you understand him?”

The red haired man paused then, his head lifting up the ceiling in order to think about his question. He had known Dazai for a couple years now, ever since he had shown up in front of his doorstep covered in blood.

He could still picture it like it was yesterday, the events that brought him here. “Well, I don’t think anyone could ever truly understand him, but I have a couple ideas..”

Leaning forward in interest, Ango coaxed. “Please share..”

And for a moment, Odasaku’s mind traveled back to a certain red haired girl that he had known maybe just as well as the boy. Perhaps that is how he could come to these conclusions, because he was drawing experience from somewhere else.

Pushing his head down to stare back at his liquor, Oda spoke honestly. “He's sharp witted with a mind like a steel trap..”

Stopping himself then, the man pushed his lips in silent thought. Yes, that was common knowledge, something even he was sure Dazai knew already. He was a port mafia executive after all, the youngest in the history of the organization.

But there was something else, something that not even the boy probably realized. Something that he tried to hide, and yet would always be buried deep underneath.

“And he's just a child━a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we're seeing.”

------

Present

Hours.

Dazai spent hours with his victims, his fingers sticky with blood as he finally threw the descared knife on the ground of the unmoving and unrecognizable man. He had done what Mori had requested, what he was designed to do with his own horrible monstrous hands.

He had slashed his knife through every single pathetic whining baby that Mori had brought in front of him and made them talk one by one until there was no more.

All the information was received, and now there was nothing left but to stare blankly at the dead body in order for the heart crushing disappointment and guilt to quietly suffocate him with each breath.

He didn’t feel like a man or boy. He didn’t feel any sense of humanity anymore, that fleeting feeling back in Mori’s office now completely and utterly dissipated. Now there was only the demon, the monster that laid beneath it all.

Numb, empty, a hollow shell that’s all he was.

He vaguely heard the sound of footsteps only to feel his boss’ hands grace his shoulders from behind, eyeing the work with satisfaction. “I knew you could do it. Good job, Dazai.”

The boy didn’t respond though, his body unmoving at Mori’s fingers clawed deepered into his jacket with ease. “Oda was a fool to treat you like a child. In fact, it was wrong to assume you could ever be one. You have been and will always be so much more than that.”

His tone was cruel and mocking, like he was proving some kind of sick point and Dazai knew that’s why he did this. The boss was proving to the executive that he was right all along, that he didn’t deserve the term “child” not when it held the connotation of innocence and naivety.

That he could pretend, he could wish for himself to be a fifteen year old boy but in reality that would never be the case. Odasaku’s gentle manner towards him was a lie, that's what Mori wanted to get across.

And he had, he really did, because looking down at the mutilated body and bloodied clothes stuck to his skin, Dazai didn’t feel like anything else but a monster, a demon prodigy and an inhuman machine.

He had desecrated his best friend's final wish, he had mocked Odasaku’s sister’s kind words, he had disappointed and betrayed both of them in the worst way possible. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he change?

Death was the only thing that he deserved now. He deserved to be wiped from this earth completely without a single trace. But even a sweet release seemed unworthy from his grasp now.

Feeling the hands fall from his shoulders, Mori then took a step back before allowing his puppet to be swallowed by the darkness completely. “Now, have a wonderful night. Dazai. You’ve earned it.”

The next few minutes were a blur, the brown haired mafioso robotically moving to the nearby sink in order to run the scalding hot water on his skin to rid of the blood before slowly undoing his bandages around his arms in order to clutch the metal sides with silent despair.

He couldn't even bring himself to look into the mirror, already knowing what he was going to find. A disappointment, a traitor and a lifeless corpse staring back at him. No, he didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to come to terms with such a sight.

Silently re-wrapping the hideous sight with a new batch of gauze, Dazai then stepped back with a sigh. And though the blood was physically gone, he could still feel it. Coating his skin, corrupting his mind like some sort of punishment.

He couldn’t just simply erase what he had done here today.

The world wasn’t ever that kind.

Muscle memory then seemed to bring him back to the familiar apartment buildings he seemed to always slump back to, the demon’s steps slow and silent as he passed by hoards of faces he couldn’t care enough to recognize or acknowledge.

And as the elevator sounded, Dazai knew what he’d find when he stepped into his sad, pathetic and suffocating apartment.

It was the same as always. He knew that he would probably drink himself to sleep, or some sort of equivalent of that while sitting inside his dark isolated space without a single sound.

Always wallowing, always drowning. Nothing more and nothing less.

Pushing open the door to the entryway, Dazai’s blank and clouded body then reached for the black jacket on his body in order to throw the object onto the floor without a single care and fully step inside the place.

And then he was alone, standing in solitude like he always was.

Yet that’s when his foot couldn’t help but tap against something on the floor in front of him, the mafioso stopping for the first time since arriving only to register a small sleeping body curled up into herself.

The move caused her to stir though, groaning before her drunken and sleepy coated expression lazily gazed up at the boy in order for her to yawn through her words. “Oh, you’re back. Sorry, I don’t know how I got here. Guess I got a little sleepy while waiting for you. But look, I’m here as promised!”

Dazai then watched as the red haired girl then scrambled to her knees in order for her lips to curve upwards in adoration for his very presence. “Welcome home, Osamu.”

At the sound of her voice, the boy felt the numb constraint on his body dissipate.

Oh.

That’s right. He wasn’t alone. Oda’s sister was here. He had left her here and she had promised to welcome him back. What a foolish and stupid little thing, and yet she had honored it even so. She had even gone as far as to sleep in front of his door like this so she wouldn’t miss him. What an idiot.

He then watched as she pushed herself back to her feet, stumbling a bit in the process in shaky unreliably before beaming happily. “Oh! Now that you’re here, I gotta show you my surprise! Come on, take a look!”

Reaching forward in order to grab onto his hand, Asa then felt herself freeze before she made contact in order to reel back with an apologetic smile, almost like she had forgotten about his fear of touch in her excitement.

She recovered quickly though, simply skipping away from him in order for the boy to look down at his hand and close it in response. She was always so considerate of him, even while drunk.

Yet, the second Dazai stepped closer into his apartment, the boy couldn’t help but freeze at the sight before him. Gone were the blank and empty walls, replaced by the warm glow of string lights, the sight almost like tiny little fireflies as he couldn’t help but move even closer.

The tables in front of him were filled with various candies and unhealthy junk food, covering the entire surface along with a giant blanket fort in the center of the room, the sheets revealing dozens of pillows and cute stuffed animals inside.

Pushing herself back in front of his vision, Asa then clapped her hands together. “Ta da! It’s a sleepover! I’ve heard about these things from people at my school and I’ve always wanted to try it! Look, there are snacks and pillows and we can even watch movies or tell scary stories!”

Dazai couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief at what she was suggesting though. “You’re inviting a port mafia executive to a sleepover?”

She only laughed at his negative response though, already hurrying over to the small opening just a couple feet away. “Yeah! I mean, why not? We are still kids, you know. Gotta enjoy this stuff before we become boring old grown ups. Now, come on! There is plenty of room in here!”

Kids.

There was that word again. It was like the universe was mocking him with it, taunting him with a term he could never attach himself to. Tonight had proved that.

How dare she, didn’t she know what he did? Didn’t she know about the phantom blood that was coating his hands even now? What a ridiculous statement she had just uttered.

And looking at this display, the warm and welcoming aura was literally the exact opposite of the cold and dark port mafia basement that he had drowned in for the last mind-numbing hours. He didn’t know how to take it, this sudden whiplash and change.

So much so, Dazai felt his unstable mind start to falter, his fingers twitching in response before falling back into the old habits that were familiar and safe. He needed to, he needed to show Asagao that he couldn’t have what she was suggesting.

He didn’t need it. He was far too tainted for it.

Reaching his hands forward, Dazai’s fingers then roughly wrapped against Asa’s wrist before purposely swiping her drunken feet underneath her, the girl falling back onto the waiting pillows only for the boy to appear above her just like with any other whore that wandered into his place.

Asagao’s eyes couldn’t help but widen at the gesture, now finding the bandaged captive holding her down by her wrists, the distance barely breathable between the two.

The executive then smirked deviously in order to twist the tips of his fingers around the longest strand of hair he could find. Anything to corrupt this seemingly innocent construct she had built. “Oh sweetheart, I’d much rather continue where we left off in that elevator.”

Leaning forward, Dazai’s cruel gaze then locked with her confused little eyes before forcing his knee into the space between her legs, pulling them just slightly apart in a tease as he pressed himself deeper into her.

And though he had no plans to actually go through with anything, he needed to get it through her thick head how wrong she was for saying that stupid little phrase. “I mean, you didn’t seriously think that this is what I meant by you spending the night? Oh how innocent you are, darling. So defenseless against a man like me. I guess I have to show you what I mean firsthand. Hmm?”

Then to prove his point, Dazai shifted his head to the left in order to teasingly blow a breath of hot air into her ear before his tongue just barely grazed the side as he felt her chest constrict in surprise at the motion. “Calling the demon prodigy a kid, how wrong you are. Well, tell me. Does this feel like something a kid would do?”

That was it, now she would see that he couldn’t fit in that innocent box she had foolishly built. Just a little more to get his point across, then she would learn her mistake.

As if on cue, he then heard the girl in question whisper, the sound just barely audible, like she was desperate for something. “Osu..”

And because of their position, Dazai assumed it was because of his touch, the boy’s head pulling away cockily in order to look back at her with a small tease. “What is it, love?”

Yet that’s when the two locked eyes as Asagao’s anxious hands moved against his handmade chains, almost like she wanted to touch him. “Did something happen?”

Then all at once, Dazai felt his carefully crafted exterior start to crack ever so slightly. She sensed his distress? No, it couldn’t be. He had hid it so well in his womanizing ways. There was no way she knew about the disgusting thoughts of self hatred inside his head.

Forcing himself to remain calm, the boy then gave her a signature smirk before purposely pushing his hands even tighter around her wrists in order to slam her back into the floor. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just excited to play with my favorite girl.”

And yet, Asagao didn't take the bait, her lips twisting together in conflict before sadly replying. “It’s just...it seems like you're forcing something..”

Forcing something? No, of course not. What could he be forcing? This is who he was. He was just trying to prove to her that he wasn’t a child. He was trying to show her how much of an adult he actually was by seducing her. That’s what he did for everyone else.

For a kid, growing up in the mafia meant no restrictions. It meant killing and drinking and sex and following the lead of everyone else in the organization.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t old enough for any of it. That didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except forcing himself into the adult box that everyone else around him conformed to easily.

And Dazai did it all. He brought woman back and fucked them just because it was what he thought he had to do. He learned how to seduce and flirt in order to get information for the mafia. He did everything like it was a textbook list in order to seem more grown up and mature and fit into the mold.

It wasn’t about what or desire.

It was a necessity, a skill to use in order to pretend to be a man.

No, he was a man .

He had to be. Since he couldn’t be a child that was the only option.

Feeding her another one of his rehearsed lines, Dazai tried to brush off the accusation. “Well, I can be quite forceful…”

Asa only frowned though, her voice just as sharp as before. “You know that’s not what I mean. How am I wrong? I thought we were both the same age..”

Laughing back at her ridiculously naive statement, he shook his head. Just because they were both fifteen didn’t mean they had the same luxuries and freedoms. “We may be the same age but we are worlds apart, love.”

Asa raised an eye in reply. “How so?”

And at that, Dazai felt his eyes close in that same suffocating shame that he had felt back in the port mafia’s basement. She was so stupid, if only she knew the things he did tonight, if only she saw the way he utterly disregarded Odasaku’s plea for change.

Then she would know why he had to force this right now, why he had to hold onto the routine that he had always fallen back on. Because if he broke out of that now, the boy knew he would break down completely.

Because of that, Dazai decided to be cruel, to unveil his entire evil heart to her in hopes that it would finally get her to understand why he needed to keep that mask on. “Would a kid skin something alive tonight? Would they watch the life leave their eyes, break all their bones and dismember each of their limbs until they were hardly recognizable? I don’t think so.”

He could still feel it, the blood on his fingers, the screaming shouts of his victims to stop and the sound of them choking on their own death over and over again. Whatever imagine she had conjured up in her mind about him was not reality.

And for a moment, he watched that happen, Asa’s eyes widening in shock at his gruesome and horrifying explanation before Dazai forcibly let up on her wrists so that she could run away or slap him for the betrayal.

But even so, it seemed the girl was frozen to the spot, her body and arms unmoving as Dazai cruelly finished above her. “Perhaps you should think twice before you call the demon prodigy something so innocent like a child..”

It was just as Mori had said. Anyone would be foolish to correlate those words together about him. He didn’t deserve that kind of title. He never did.

Yet, that's when Asagao spoke, her voice small and curious. “Why can’t it be both?”

And for the first time at night, Dazai was clueless by her words, his head turning in pure intrigue. That’s not at all what he thought she’d say. “Huh?”

Pausing for a moment, Asagao then thought about her words before blinking her eyes in pure unruly innocence for the situation before her. “You say it like it can only be one or the other, but why can’t you be both the demon prodigy and a kid?”

At that, Dazai felt himself scoff in absurdity

Both? What an idiotic way of thinking. Someone couldn't be a devil and yet an angel, they couldn’t be black and then white. That was impossible. Didn’t she know that those two terms were polar opposites, like fire and water?

Shaking his head, Dazai then leaned back into her body, his fingers latching onto her cheeks in order to pull her closer with a glare. “Don’t be stupid. There is no way those two things can exist in the same universe. They contradict themselves, they are..”

Asagao only smiled though, her words far too honest for him to handle. “You. Both of them. I’ve seen it firsthand. Your goofy/teasing smirks, your carefully thought out scripts, the way your face lights up when you see a letter from my brother, the way you manipulate and take control of every single situation. They are a contradiction yet they are all you, Osamu, and I’ve never seen anything wrong with that.”

And that was something Asa believed wholeheartedly. She had read about this boy for years after all, she knew everything about him and now that she had actually spent time with him, Asagao knew that Dazai wasn’t a simple man.

Yes, he was cruel and controlling with little to no boundaries but there were moments, brief cracks in his exterior that showed another side to him, a softer one. And whether he realized it or not those tiny fractures had shown her glimpses of who he really was.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly with all the masks he wore but pretty quickly Asagao had realized that her claim about Dazai when they first met was no longer valid. She had read him wrong this entire time.

She called him open and real but that wasn’t true at all. No, from the three weeks they had spent together she had learned that the boy was fabrication, a professional shapeshifter in the most impressive form.

He could be so many things at the flip of a hat, going into so many roles that fit his desire. He could be a brutal port mafia executive, a cruel controlling conman and yet a gentle and sensual lover.

But none of those were actually the real Dazai Osamu, not really.

They were just fragments, pieces of him sure, but he had never allowed himself to paint an entire picture.

Perhaps he didn’t know how to, perhaps he had acted and pretended so much that he didn’t know his true self anymore.

But as selfish as it was, Asagao wanted to find him. She wanted to uncover the mystery that was Dazai Osamu and admire him for who he actually was.

Even if it turned out to be a sad, scared little boy that had built up walls to keep himself safe.

It didn’t matter, she would cherish him even so. She wanted to, simply because her big brother had done the same. Brother, did you know the real him? Did you figure out who he was underneath it all? I’ll never know, but if you did..I want the same..

Feeling his hold loosen on her jaw, Asa then continued her explanation, her gaze catching on the self made blanket roof above the two of them before softening. “Just because you grew up in the mafia doesn’t mean you still can’t be a kid. You can still allow that part of yourself to come out, you know. I mean, I get not wanting to show it at work cause you gotta put up a front but don’t think it’s all bad..”

She then turned back at him with admiration, recalling the goofy and child-ish reactions he had given her throughout these past few weeks.

And although she knew that wasn't completely genuine, she wanted him to know how much happiness the fragment had brought her. “Because when I get to see it, I love it every time...”

Dazai couldn’t believe what he was hearing though.

Love? She loved his pathetic weak side? She loved that he was a contradiction of fire and water? What was she saying, of course being a kid was bad. He couldn’t allow such a thing.

Seriously, why couldn’t she just be normal, why couldn’t she just hate him and be stupid like everyone else. Why did she have to read him to his very soul every single time? He hated it, he hated how he could never hide with her.

Of course there was something wrong with it. He was an amalgamation of broken parts, forced to be shoved together with the flimsiest glue in the universe.

But the way she was speaking, the way she looked at him with so much admiration and passion, he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist and turn with mixed emotions.

Whatever he did, it really didn’t bother her, did it? He could really just murder, torture and explain the darkest parts of himself and still she wouldn’t ever bat a single eye. He knew she wouldn’t.

Now did that make her insane or just way to accepting? That was still up for debate.

But either way, Dazai felt his lips twist upwards into a disbelieving chuckle, his arms growing numb in order to turn and collapse next to the stupid girl with a sigh.

He gave up. Her thinking had stumped him again. “Idiot...you’re a real idiot, Asagao.”

She didn’t seem to mind though, the sound causing her to smile as well, in order for the tense atmosphere to disappear. “Believe it or not I’ve been told that before.”

Dazai only nodded though, not surprised at all. “Oh, I believe it.”

The air was quiet then, coating the two with silence only for Asa to speak first, happy to change the subject.“So, what else did you do tonight? You know, besides the torture.”

She said it so comfortably, like she was talking about the weather and Dazai wondered if she had seen and/or done the same kind of thing when she was a hellhound. That would explain her unbothered air to everything.

Pushing his bandaged arm up in the air, Dazai sighed. “Not much, had a boring talk with Mori and then played around with my dog a bit..”

At his sentence, Asagao felt herself perk up, her eyes practically giddy at the memory of the ginger haired boy that she had encountered just hours ago. “I met him tonight, your dog.”

Then all at once, Dazai felt his entire body turn on his side in disbelief. Hold on, did she just hear that right? She had met Chuuya?

Well, that was unexpected. “What, really?”

Nodding, he then saw as the girl beamed back, pointing an excited finger towards her nose with a goofy smile that filled up her entire face. “Yeah, it was great! He hit me in the face!”

Although that’s when she watched Dazai’s eyes lower into a more dangerous expression, as he felt his throat tick with anger. What did she mean he hit her in the face ?

Just what was that stupid dog doing? Hurting his precious little darling, that guy had a death wish for sure, and not the fun kind.

Reaching his hands up, the boy then placed them on either side of her cheeks before inspecting every inch of her skin. “He hit you..?”

Although that’s when Asa quickly perked up and finished the sentence. Ah, that sounded bad, didn’t it? Sorry, Chuuya. “Oh I mean, accidentally of course! And then he helped me stop my nosebleed.”

The explanation was better, but not by much, the boy softening just slightly when he realized that there were no marks on her face. Chuuya was lucky there wasn’t any too, or else he knew he’d have to have a word with him about it. A very violent word.

Allowing her skin freedom, Dazai’s hand then reeled back before shaking his head with a scoff, still not okay with how things played out. “That idiot, he never looks where he’s going..”

Asagao couldn’t disagree with that though, knowing that Chuuya was distracted when his hand accidentally connected with her face. It was both their faults really, but she was sure Dazai didn’t want to hear that.

So instead, the girl allowed another quiet to overtake them in order for her to recall the kind ginger haired boy that had taken care of her. He was so sweet, cleaning up that blood for her. She kinda wanted to meet him again, to talk to him some more like Dazai did all the time.

Taking in an anxious breath, Asa then began to play with the ends of her skirt in order to turn towards the bandaged boy with a hopeful whisper. “Hey Osu, do you think he’d wanna be friends with me?”

Dazai only twisted his lips in disgust for the idea though, his opinion very known. “Why would you ever want to be friends with that slug?”

Asa only shrugged her shoulders though, recalling the conversation the two had shared in the bathroom's waiting area. “I don’t know, I just figured that if he could handle you then maybe he could handle me.”

It was something that crossed her mind ever since Chuuya had mentioned Dazai’s name. And it was no secret that her and Osu’s mindsets were rather similar in style. Perhaps in some way, she hoped that she had finally found someone that wouldn’t run away for once.

Wishful thinking, she knew, but it was worth a shot to ask.

The mafioso only scoffed though, his feelings not mutual on the subject. “You don’t need to befriend that idiot. His stupid will rub off on you, and you already have enough of that as it is.”

And yes, a part of his answer was because Chuuya was in the mafia which meant another dangerous tie to Mori but that wasn’t completely the reason why Dazai had shut the idea down.

It was insecurity, it was anxiety that the ginger was a much better man than him, and if Asa knew that then she would abandon him for Chuuya without a second thought. Anyone with a brain would do that. He was normal, and Dazai was not.

Sighing heavily, Asa then frowned at the disapproval. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just know I’m a lot to handle and most people can’t really understand it. I just thought that maybe since he already knows what you’re like then there was a chance that..”

The rest of her sentence disappeared due to nerves, and yet her mind finished it even so. Maybe there was a chance I could finally have a friend, that someone could tolerate me enough to finally stick around.

Dazai’s lips couldn’t help but pout at that though, his fears of being abandoned and left behind showing in a jealous and bitter whine. “And what am I, Asa-chan? I understand your twisted little mind better than anyone, especially better than that stupid yapping dog. Trust me, you don’t need him.”

At that, Asagao felt herself smile under her breath. Did he really think she would forget about him? Osamu was and would always be the most important person to her. Even more than a friend, he was her lifeline.

Not wanting him to feel left out, Asa then turned on her side to meet him, her soft gentle gaze meeting his anxious one. “That’s true, you’re plenty enough for me.”

And with that, Dazai’s shoulders began to relax ever so slowly, his breathing retreating back to normal before looking up at the blanketed sky above them. This looked like a lot of work, it seemed to take hours at least.

He could even picture her drunken little stumbles as she carefully crafted each aspected of her little surprise. What a silly little thing she was, doing all of this. He didn’t deserve it.

Feeling his voice come out far more uncertain than he had planned, the bandaged boy whispered apprehensively. “Did you really put all of this together..?”

The rest of the phrase was lost in the air but it was obvious even so.

..for me?

Did she seriously put all of this planning and hard work together just for a pathetic little boy like him? He had never had that before, he had never been surprised with good intentions. He had never had anyone think about him or care about him in this kind of way.

Asa only nodded her head though, like the answer was obvious. “Of course, I wanted to make you happy, like you do for me. So, did it work? Are you happy? Did I make your home a little more fun?”

Happy?

What did that feel like, to be happy? And was that what he was feeling now? He wasn’t sure, but Dazai did feel a strange tumble inside his chest, the feeling so warm that it was almost too nauseating to process.

It was a foreign sensation, one that the boy couldn’t understand in the slightest. How was one supposed to react to that question? He didn’t know.

But what he did know was how utterly wrong she was with that little sentence of hers. She kept calling this place a home, and he knew that wasn’t accurate at all.

Forcing the warmth from his chest, Dazai then narrowed his eyes in order to focus on correcting her absurd sentence. “This place has never been my home. It’s just a building with rooms, that’s all.”

Asagao wasn’t surprised by that though. She had gotten that much from her very first inspection. A home wasn’t supposed to be that sad and lonely after all. That’s why she did all of this in the first place, so he would feel better about coming back here.

And because he had shown her a bit of vulnerability, she wanted to do the same, even if it was hard to talk about. “I get that. Oda’s place doesn’t really feel like home either. So I can understand how you feel, coming back to somewhere that doesn’t feel right, like you're a stranger in your own house..”

Someone else’s place, someone else’s bed, it never did feel right for her to be there, especially since she never knew the previous owner. Maybe if she knew Oda then the walls wouldn’t be as mocking but that wasn’t a luxury she was given.

Dazai remained silent at that, almost like he had wordlessly agreed with her as Asagao closed her eyes in simple thought. Tomorrow their little “freebie” would be done and they would go back to the strangers they were before.

And although it was far past what they had decided, Asagao didn’t want that.

She didn’t want them to go back to being strangers, not after she had gotten a taste of who he was. That lonely, sad and suffocating feeling, she never wanted to go back to that again now that she had found someone that had understood her.

Just a little bit more, that’s all she needed. That’s all she wanted from him. Perhaps it was impossible, but she would never know unless she tried.

And using her drunk confidence, the girl did just that. “Osamu..I..uhh..”

Stopping her failing tongue, Asagao then took a heavy breath before pouring out her feelings. “I know the specifics of our deal are already made and everything but these last two days have been really nice. I’ve never had this before, and I wanted to thank you for it. For giving me Bar Lupin, for showing me that photo, for bringing my brother back to life, and for allowing me to be myself without judgment. It means a lot to me..really..”

It was something she would never forget, the kindness he had shown her tonight. She somehow felt closer than she had ever been before to her big brother and it was all because of him.

Pausing for a moment, Asa then squeezed her eyes shut with anxiety before shoving the words out before she could change her mind. “And I just...I want you to know that if there is a day that you don’t want to come back here, then you can come to me..”

Oh god, she said it. She really said it. Hold on, that sounded creepy, didn’t it? She didn’t want him to think she was creepy. Quickly Asagao, explain yourself before he laughs at you.

Pushing her hands up, Asa then stuttered through her embarrassed pink cheeks, the room suddenly feeling way too warm “I-I don’t mean that in a weird way or anything. I know you’re still gonna come over for the letters but that doesn’t have to be the only reason we have to see each other if you want to. You could always just stay the night and leave right after or hang around the place, or even sit in complete silence if you just need to be near someone. I don’t mind, really.”

Finally taking a much needed breath, she then forced her mouth closed before a small smile crossed her lips. She did it, she had taken a step forward and pushed herself out of her comfort zone.

Speaking mostly to herself, the girl then finished wistfully imagining a perfect world where her dreams could be. “In fact, I’d actually really like it if you did that. Because then, maybe with you, that place could be home.”

And maybe it could, maybe with Osamu there, Oda’s apartment could feel like home, like she could belong there. She had seen small glimpses of it when he came over for her brother’s letters. Perhaps the house could be that lively all the time. She hoped it could.

A heavy silence then appeared between the two, causing Asagao’s head to turn towards Osu only for her eyes to widen at the sight before her.

Because for some reason, the scary port mafia executive, the demon prodigy, looked like the embodiment of a ghost, his skin sickly pale and unmoving as his eyes stared into what seemed like absolutely nothing at all. It was almost like the boy had ceased to function completely, his mind unable to process the offer that Asa had given him.

All at once, Asagao leaned forward in concern, her voice laced with anxiety and fear in order to try and snap him back out of whatever state she had put him in.

Oh no, what had she done? Did she offend him? “...Osamu?”

Yet, before she could process it, Dazai’s fingers had quickly found the edges of the blanket she was laying on and lifted them up in order for her entire body to flop around like fish as the boy beamed happily. “Alright, time for bed!”

Gasping out a squeak in surprise, she then felt her entire body start to get constricted by the blankets in order for Osu to comically roll her up until just her head and wiggling feet were showing. “Whaaa, wait Samu, what are you doing?!”

He only laughed though, picking up the poor wrapped girl before throwing her over his shoulder in order to move over to his bedroom with an over the top air. “I’m making an Asa-chan burrito so that way you can’t escape!”

Asagao then felt her entire body plop onto his bed in order for her to whine in disappointment. “But what about our sleepover? I worked so hard.”

Dazai only placed a finger to her nose though, stopping her self pity party with a teasing smirk. “But isn’t sleeping also a part of a sleepover?”

Nodding apprehensively, Asa frowned. “I guess..”

Reeling back in finality, the boy then clapped his hands goofily before already walking away, almost like he needed to leave this conversation sooner rather than later. “That settles it! Now come on, my drunk princess needs her beauty sleep or else she’s gonna regret it in the morning.”

But as she watched him go, Asa couldn’t help but call back in concern. “What about you, where are you going to sleep?”

She had taken up the entire bed after all, and Asagao didn’t want Dazai to have to sleep on the sofa or something uncomfortable like that. Hell, if she wasn’t tied up like the giant sushi then she would’ve offered to move.

Although that’s when Dazai paused, his overconfidence dropping for a millisecond in order to glance back at the girl with a more genuine, less happy smile. “Aww, don’t you worry, darling. I’m naturally beautiful. It would be impossible to lose my good looks.”

Then before she could argue, he was gone, leaving Asagao to slump against the pillows with a heavy sigh of defeat. He didn't answer her question, now and back under the fort. But what did that mean?

And why did he look so sad when he turned back to her?

------

Carefully closing the door to his bedroom, Dazai waited until he heard the soft click of confirmation before his happy go lucky and cheery exterior dropped away into nothing, leaving only a placid and sunken expression.

He had run away.

One push from Asagao and he had retreated into himself so quickly, it was almost like second nature. Her request to get closer to him, to have him rely on her past their original agreement, just what was she thinking?

Of course, he wanted that.

He wanted to have somewhere he could call a home, he so desperately wanted something to stop the crippling loneliness that he felt whenever he returned back to these sad and hollow walls and floors. He wanted it so badly that it physically hurt him to even think about it.

To have a family, to have a friend, to have something to hold onto when life abused him and kicked him down over and over again. He so desperately wanted someone to hear his cries and reach out their hand so that he could collapse safely and never leave again.

But, Dazai knew that he couldn’t, because he had already done so before.

And it had ruined him.

He had let his walls down around Odasaku, and for a split second, the boy thought that he could have those things too, but then they were taken from him. Just like that, in a blink of an eye, they were gone, leaving him in the dark once more.

What was the point of it all, why did he even do that? Why did he try? It’s not like it mattered in the end, if anything it made everything worse. Because now that he had gotten a taste of companionship, it was like a drug, never leaving him alone.

And Asagao was the worst kind of drug of all.

One that he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in, to addict himself so heavily like before. No, he had learned his lesson, he wouldn’t get his hopes up and destroy himself a second time.

Because it never changed anything, and Dazai knew in his sick little twisted brain that the moment he crumbled and closed their distance, she would be taken away from him as well.

No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lose someone like that again.

That’s why it was better to never know what that warmth was, what that path felt like. Yes, it was better to never know then to find out and have it ripped away in the end.

Moving over to the large window by his living room, Dazai then leaned against the cool glass, allowing it to chill his entire soul.

It would be easier to just let her go completely, to cut ties with Oda’s sister before he was tempted with more.

But just the very thought caused his entire body to tense in response for even thinking about such a thing. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her go, not when she was close to his dear friend, not when she had brought him so many wonderful things.

Even Dazai knew he wasn't that kind. He was far too selfish to give her that kind of mercy, to completely lose her in his life.

And though it was dangerous, though he realized he was walking an extremely thin line over a cavern-like pit, he couldn’t help still balance on it.

Standing still from the distance they had but never taking a step forward, that was the fate the boy that resisted himself to, and he was determined to keep it.

It didn’t matter if that result left him alone, it didn’t matter if twisted his heart and shoved his invisible needs down, it didn’t matter if that result left him screaming in the dark like he had always been, this was the only path for him now.

And he would walk it, simply because he had to.

Taking out his phone from his pocket, Dazai then pushed a very familiar button before he heard the singular ring inside his ear.

And then, after two little sounds, Ango’s voice picked up, just as panicked and anxious as he expected it to be. “Dazai? What is it?”

The mafioso only hummed though, his fingers trailing the glass in front of him. “Oh nothing, I just thought you’d be interested to know that I found our little lost princess.”

Almost immediately, the voice jumped up, the tone growing louder. “Wait, you did? Where is she? Tell me the address and I’ll come over right now..”

Although that’s when Dazai cut him off completely, a suppressed laugh inside his throat. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. You see, Ango. I’ve taken quite a liking to her. I think I’m gonna keep her.”

And from the other side of the phone, Ango felt his face drop. No, this was the worst result he couldn’t ever have imagined. “K-Keep? Dazai, you know you can’t do that. It’s too dangerous. What if Mori..”

Yet that’s when Dazai responded, his voice serious. “He won’t.”

Catching the agent completely off guard, Ango couldn’t help but twist his eyes in confusion. Where was that cruel teasing air he had been using? It had disappeared completely. “What?”

The bandaged boy only narrowed his eyes though, clutching the phone between his fingers before allowing his voice to ring with soft honesty. “Mori won’t find out about her. Odasaku wouldn’t have wanted that, so he won’t.”

And for a moment, Ango felt himself freeze. Was he saying that he was going to protect Asagao, that he was going to keep her safe from Mori and the port mafia? No, it couldn’t be. Dazai wasn’t that kind of man, well at least that’s what he thought.

It was surprising to say the least, suggesting such an out of character thing for him. Was it because of Odasaku, was that why he was going out of his comfort zone? Ango wasn’t completely sure but from his tone of voice it didn't seem like he was lying.

But with Dazai, he could never really tell.

Because of that, the man was still apprehensive. This was such a precious thing they were talking about, this was their friend's dear little sister. He couldn’t let up on such a thing. “I don’t know, I just don’t think that she should..”

Yet that’s when the boy cut him off again, a sharp threatening edge to his voice. “Ango, if you continue then you’ll be my enemy. You know what that means, right?”

And for the first time since their conversation, Ango felt his eyes widen.

Because he knew exactly what that meant, he knew the death sentence that was implied by being labeled the misfortune of the enemy of port mafia executive Dazai Osamu.

But could it really be true? Dazai was threatening war with the government just to keep her? He wanted to risk that much? Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps Asa did mean more to the boy than just a simple plaything.

Could it really be, had the brutal mafia executive finally grown a heart?

He couldn’t really tell for sure but the lethal threat was enough to make Ango close his eyes in unsaid defeat. If Dazai was really that serious about defending her then he knew he couldn’t argue.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let up if that changed. “You better keep your word, Dazai. If anything happens to her, just know Odasaku would never forgive you, and neither will I…”

And just like that, the line went dead, causing Dazai to drop the phone to his side in silent confirmation.

Ango didn’t need to worry about that. He would protect her, from Mori, from the world, but mostly from the most dangerous threat of all.

Himself.

---

(It's been a month since I've started this fic! Thank you so much for all your support and love on my first bsd story!)

I call this chapter "let Dazai be a kid" because in most fanfics I've read a lot of authors focus on either the "fifteen year old boy" aspect of Dazai or a "brutal executive" side of him and although none of them are wrong, in my mind I think he's really a mix of both. The line that Odasaku uses to describe him in the novels really inspired this chapter in order to show both sides of the complex boy. We see this in the expectations and the box that he tries to put himself into to seem more adult (the drinking, the pressure of seduction) but in reality it comes across from of a child playing dress up than the truth.

43 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

Text

The Shielded Heart - Part Two

Part one Part three Warnings: Smut, angst. Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Aemond is yours and you are his, but what happens when you're both forced to choose between duty and true love?

“I do not love you. I do not love you. I do not love you.”

Aemond’s words echoed on repeat in your head, as you folded the pillow over your head. A feeble attempt to drown the words out, as your body curled in on itself in an effort to soften the impact of the racking sobs that plagued your body. You’d never known emotional pain could create such an extreme physical response. You were in agony both literally and figuratively.

Sleep had not come for you that night. Upon fleeing from Aemond’s harsh rebuttal you’d thrown yourself onto your bed, muffling your cries with the bedclothes.

Across the Red Keep, Aemond had faired no better. He’d considered taking Vhagar and leaving King’s Landing. He couldn’t stand the idea that you were crying in the same vicinity as him and there was nothing he could do to comfort you; he was the cause of your upset. He’d changed his mind upon realising he couldn’t remember the last time he’d flown on dragonback without you. The thought of mounting Vhagar and not being able to hug you tightly to his chest or bury his nose in your hair as he whispered sweet nothings to you in High Valyrian made him feel hollow. He sat heavily in the armchair beside the now burned out fireplace, clutching the needlepoint you’d made for him all those years ago. Everything was going to feel empty without you. He hadn’t noticed he was crying until wet droplets began to spatter upon the embroidery he held in his hands.

“Time to wake up!” your handmaiden chirruped, as she swept into your bedchambers.

Of course you hadn’t slept, so there was no waking up. You simply laid flat on your back, staring up at the canopy. You’d cried yourself out hours ago and had since just been laying there, eyes raw, completely numb to everything around you.

The handmaiden moved to the side of the bed, gently touching your arm. “We must get you ready. Today is an important day! You’re to meet your betrothed, you must be excited…goodness, my lady, you look positively awful. Are you well?!” Her excited babbling morphed to shocked concern as you continued to lay there.

There was a niggle of dread in your gut at the mention of “your betrothed”. Had you not been emotionally spent you would have told the maid to leave you, there’d be no betrothal today, you’d sooner feed yourself to Vhagar. Instead you groaned, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. “Fine” you muttered darkly.

“Gods”, you thought, “Today is going be fucking awful.”

After you’d been scrubbed raw in the bath, cinched into a gown that felt much too tight and had your hair intricately braided into a style that pulled painfully at your scalp, you were guided to the courtyard. Your father and the Targaryen/Hightower family already stood gathered to greet the impending arrival of the Lannisters.

Aemond’s eye darted to meet yours as you passed and you were quick to look away. The sight of him sent renewed waves of pain rippling through your chest and the beginnings of fresh tears prickled threateningly around your eyeballs. Better not to look at him lest you fall apart.

Aemond inhaled sharply at your quick dismissal of him, casting his gaze down sadly to focus on the floor. He wasn’t expecting you to run into his arms, but the lack of familiarity between the two of you made him ache.

The jab of an elbow in his side brought his attention to his older brother, Aegon. “Nevermind, brother”, he muttered with a smirk, “Plenty more whores where she came from.”

“Shut up”, Aemond glowered, his nostrils flared angrily as he reached for the pommel of his dagger.

“Behave. Both of you.” Alicent hissed, immediately halting Aemond’s grab for his weapon, as Aegon stood up straighter, the smile disappearing from his face.

You took your place beside your father in the semi circular formation your respective houses had created. It felt like you were playing witness to your own execution. The sense of impending doom made your limbs feel heavier. Surely this had to be a dream? Nothing this dreadful could ever possibly be reality.

“I trust you’ve regained your senses, dear daughter?” your father smiled.

“Hmmm.” You replied curtly.

He ignored your dismissive tone, smiling fondly down at you. “You look beautiful.”

“A trussed up sow awaiting trade at the farmer’s market” you muttered.

You father blinked rapidly, sniffing and turning his attention elsewhere. It was painfully apparent he would hear none of your objections.

From your position you were stood directly opposite Aemond, the both of you bringing up the end of each side of the horseshoe shape the welcoming party had gathered into.

He took the opportunity to study you discreetly. You’d look absolutely stunning, were it not for the sullen look on your face. He longed to kiss your sadness away, and unwind the braids from your hair. That was how he preferred you; when you hair was wild and spread out like a halo around your head, your doe eyes blown wide with lust and your lips parted and kiss swollen as you lay beneath him. He’d never see you like that again though. Instead that view would be someone else’s. He winced at the thought.

The Lannister banners of gold appeared, heralding the arrival of Jason and his travelling party. As he rode into the courtyard you were instantly struck by the aura of smugness that radiated from him. Objectively, he was handsome, but in your mind no one could compare to Aemond and you found yourself recoiling from his rounded features, so used to the sharpness of your former lover’s.

Once he’d dismounted from his horse and the necessary pleasantries and introductions were made, Jason turned his attentions to you and your father.

“My lord, you honour me by offering your daughter’s hand in marriage. She is truly more beautiful than I had imagined.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes as your father stepped forward, clapping Jason on the back.

“Your betrothal is truly a blessing on all of our houses”, the older man said warmly.

“My lady”, Jason smiled, stepping closer to you, “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

He was much too close to you for Aemond’s liking. He clenched his fists, muttering “pompous arse” under his breath.

This earned a tittering laugh from Aegon and, in turn, a reproachful stare from Alicent.

“Aegon!” she scolded as quietly as she could, “You are king, behave like it.”

“But Aemond…”

“Enough!”

Aegon huffed, straightening his crown and shrugging off Helaena’s sympathetic pat to his arm.

“Lord Lannister, we are so pleased to have you with us”, Alicent said, turning her attention back to the Red Keep’s guests, “We’ll be holding a dinner tonight in your honour. For now we’ll let you get settled in so that you may begin your courtship in haste.”

“I’ll be in my chambers”, you snapped to no one in particular, before turning on your heel and walking back inside.

Aemond couldn’t help but stare after you, as the crowd broke off, the formal greeting coming to its end. Once more he found himself longing to chase after you. To take you in his arms, take you away from all of this on the back of Vhagar.

His mother’s comforting grip on his forearm brought him back to the present reality. “For the good of the family” she reminded him as she looked up at him with eyes full of love and kindness.

“Mmmm” he mumbled, pulling away and heading towards the training yard. He desperately needed to let off some steam.

Despite an hour’s worth of sparring with Ser Criston Cole, Aemond’s mind never strayed far from thoughts of you. It made his reactions slow, his strikes sloppy and the knight was able to disarm him almost half a dozen times.

Aemond grunted in frustration, throwing his sword towards the ground.

“Perhaps we ought to take a break?” Criston suggested.

About to agree, the sudden approach of Jason distracted Aemond’s attention. He was quick to retrieve his sword, regarding the Lannister with careful suspicion.

“Prince Aemond, Ser Criston”, he greeted, “I wondered if you’d care to spar? I had hoped to spend some time with my betrothed, but it would appear she is otherwise engaged.”

Aemond felt pure, unadulterated rage flood through his veins at Jason’s mention of you. His grip tightened upon his sword. “Certainly”, he agreed, no trace of warmth in his voice.

Jason was quick to retreat against Aemond’s forceful swings, the dragon was certainly getting the better of the lion in this fight.

“Iksā nākostōbā! skorkydoso kessa ao mīsagon aōha ābrazȳrys?!” Aemond snarled, knocking Jason off of his feet with a well-aimed strike. You are weak! How will you protect your wife?!

As Jason lay prone on the ground, Aemond stared down at him, his eye wide, he panted heavily, sword pointed directly at the Lannister’s throat. “Issa tolī sȳz syt ao! issa ñuhon! ñuhon!” She is too good for you! She is mine! Mine!

Realising that Aemond had no plans to stop, Criston intervened, pulling Aemond from a bewildered looking Jason. “Enough! Think of what your mother would say!”

Aemond forcefully shrugged Criston from him, storming back towards the Keep without another word.

“Apologies, Lord Lannister”, Criston said, helping the man to his feet, “Blood of the dragon flows hot in that one.”

After a day of sulking in your chambers and refusing to see anyone, you’d finally been forced out for dinner at the insistence of your father.

Your food sat untouched on the plate in front of you as you watched Jason’s behaviour at the table, the faintest trace of disgust impossible to disguise on your features.

His hand lingered too long at the small of the back of the serving girl each time she moved to refill his goblet. He was keeping pace with Aegon for cups of wine drank and you were sure you’d overheard him whisper for the girl to attend to him in his chambers once the meal was over.

Jason’s salacious behaviour had not escaped the notice of Aemond either. He glared daggers at the golden haired Lion the entire evening, however, he was too far in his cups to notice.

“A toast!” your father announced, cutting through the tense and awkward atmosphere, “To the happy couple!”

Everyone at the table raised their goblets, with the exception of you and Aemond. Nobody seemed to realise, or if they had they chose not to say anything.

As the sounds of idle chatter resumed, Aegon slyly lifted his goblet in a half toast he knew his mother wouldn’t notice but Aemond would. “A toast”, he whispered, “To Aemond’s sloppy seconds.”

Aemond banged his fist on the table, the room falling silent as all eyes fell upon him. He rose from his seat and for a moment he considered lunging for his older brother and smacking the disrespect from his mouth, until his eye scanned the room taking in the shocked look on your face and the disappointment on his mother’s.

“I’m going to bed”, he said simply, making a swift exit from the dining hall.

“An excellent idea”, Alicent said, trying to restore calm to the room, “Might I suggest we all retire for the evening? It has been a long day and I’m sure Jason is tired from his travels.”

You had no idea when the idea had planted itself in your head, but it had started as a seed and grown over the course of the evening. You were determined to see it through to fruition.

After retiring to your chambers, you’d anxiously paced waiting for the Keep to go quiet. When you were certain everyone would be asleep, you donned your long hooded cloak and crept out through the hidden passageway that Aemond had shown you when you were children.

Descending the stone steps of the Red Keep, you had one destination in mind; Flea Bottom.

Your feet carried you quickly, your heart aflutter as you made your way along the dark and narrow pathway down the hill.

A hand to your mouth stifled your scream as you were spun around and pushed back against a wall.

Your terror widened eyes instantly relaxed upon looking up into Aemond’s face.

You pushed his hand from your mouth, irritated. “What are you doing?!”

“I could ask you the same thing”, he said coolly, “Where are you creeping off to?”

“You may not love me”, you swallowed thickly, trying to keep the emotion from your voice, “But I am not marrying that Lannister prick.”

Aemond’s heart twinged at the first part of your admission. “Avy jorrāelan olvie hen mirros”, he whispered. I love you most of anything.

“In the common tongue, please!” you said exasperatedly, moving from the wall and continuing on your way down the hill.

He sighed. “I said, so what do you intend to do?”

“I’m only of any value as a bargaining tool as long as I still have my virtue. I intend to give it away.”

Tag list (this is a side blog, so I cannot reply to requests for tags, I will simply edit the fic to add you, so that I remember to tag you in the next part): @munsonswrld @100layersofdaddyissues @bellameshipper @crazylokonugget @mddieeunson @crispmarshmallow @afro-hispwriter @padfooteyes @kiribrima @letmeloveyouuuu @malfoytargaryen @zephyg-06 @julczimozart @helloitsshitzulover @schniiipsel @1800-fight-me @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

636 notes · View notes

tai-janai · 2 months

Text

yaay all the reunite monsters + design analysis :3

cw funky body horror, some dark themes, a bit of eye contact, blood

The Wire: Now has a grasp on everything, and doesn't have to bother with having only one mouth. One can keep on chanting forever, isn't that so nice and easy ^^. He is also grounded and quite stubborn, and is intimidating enough on his own, he did want to be kind of scary. Only one eye because why would he need to focus on more than one at a time ?

The Temp: Still, empty,and emotionless, completely numb. the knife is a part of him, but is only used for self harm. the only part of him that shows any emotion is the wings of tears, which are turned into something useful, and obscures the rest of his face.

The Pit: Like before, the rootedness is unmovable stubbornness. He has repeatedly torn himself apart and haphazardly sewn himself back together with his own sinew. within him there is a firey glow, but all he knows is to try and try again.

The Flora: so cute little guy :3 but also demonic with horns and goat legs. his cloak hides his true intentions, and his big eyes not only analyze but make him seem endearing and approachable. dragonfly wings because he is little fairy heehee

The Now: Dusty motherfucker, seemingly soulless as his only spot of life is the shimmering ribbons he's draped across himself. he's tried every thing and done it in every body. no point in being too extreme with the changes at this point, he just wants to be comfortable. Conty has never been able to exist on his own, so he has his extensions, which are the dust devils.

The Tip: oouughhh religious imagery.... Serpentine, like the tempter of the forbidden fruit. haloed, like an angel that knows What Comes Next. there are more chains but theyre annoying to draw so this is it. completely incalculable. he takes up Everything, so that he Knows everything.

The Sea: a wooden marionette, puppeteered by the basement chain, completely free of agency. As long as he doesn't have to do anything himself, he is happy. wooden, meaning once alive. hollow, meaning empty.

The Bell: the first step of a statue is wax. was once a brilliant figure, but melted to be molded and shaped for You. there is a bony skull beneath the cloak of flowers, hidden away so that you will love him. he offers his heart despite him believing that you have hurt him. his flowers fall every moment he fears you. he melts every moment the trust between you is broken.

The Thing: kitty :3. long and silent; claws and paws are too loud. only eat that which keeps you alive; nothing more. Two eyes for looking, being predator and prey. A third that never blinks, to always be aware. a shining blade attached to a tail; a tool and a weapon. watching his back.

The Scale: Shattered pieces of metal-glass, made to kill but not survive. a heart within sight, only behind a thin sheet of the material. A glass canon. destructive to others as much as itself.

Omnia Praeter Mortem: Everything but death. (If You had chosen to Reunite) (The Boys aint too happy about it. but it's okay, they will be.)

#stp #slay the princess #stp reunite #monster design #i like monsters :3

40 notes · View notes

youphoriaot7 · 8 months

Text

He's gone.

First Felps. Then Cellbit. Then Pac himself. Then Mike. Even Richas wasn't safe. And now...Forever.

Forever, who was still recovering just as much as he was; likely more. Forever, who already had so much on his plate as the president. Forever, who had to keep interacting with that bear as if he was okay, as if he didn't want to rip its head off every time they talked. (Pac at least had the freedom to hide, if he so wished. The president received no such luxury.)

His head reels, mind nearly fracturing into a million pieces at the information. Putting the tape on feels like deja vu of an experience he's never had, and yet the situation is all-too-familiar: another family member missing.

Watching the video, it's as if his head is underwater. The quiet chatter behind him fades completely away, Forever's soft and dejected voice fully catching his ear. The words wrap around his mind, sinking in the way water soaks through a sponge. (Slowly.)

"Pac?" Tubbo's call brings him back, and he blinks for the first time in minutes, trying to pull himself out of his stupor. "What did he say?"

"...sorry," he finally replies, voice gruff as he reaches for the pause button on the tape. He translates the important bits, but his mind just feels...hollow. Empty.

Gone. The word keeps rotating, looping in his mind just as much as the tape sitting in front of them.

The others discuss the situation and what to do next, but Pac isn't listening. He can't. What even is there to do? What's the point of saving people when the Federation will just take another? Why bother fighting when they come back ten times as strong?

A gentle hand on his shoulder makes him nearly jump out of his skin, and his face flushes as he turns to see Fit at his side. "You alright?" Fit murmurs under his breath, eyes still trained on the two men in front of them. (Giving Pac his privacy. Pac appreciates it more than he will ever know.)

"No," he responds truthfully, voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. He manages to shake off the numbness in his limbs for just long enough to shake his head. "I'm not."

Fit doesn't say a word in response; simply squeezes Pac's shoulder tighter. Before either of them can move, Tubbo turns to them both, eyes darting momentarily to Fit's hand before he speaks.

"Pac, we're gonna investigate the dungeon I last saw Forever in," he says, voice decidedly too calm and even for the current events. Forever is gone. Why is no one panicking? "You coming?"

...oh, he wants an answer.

"Um...yeah, Tubbo, I'll be there in a sec," he replies softly, nodding even as he glances back towards the screen. "I just...I want to listen to this one more time, you know?" He offers a much of a smile as he can muster, which isn't much. "Make sure I didn't miss anything."

"Of course." Fit speaks before anyone else can, nodding. "We'll wait for you."

Tubbo shrugs and he and Pierre turn, chattering their whole way out of the base. Fit removes his hand from Pac's shoulder—damn, it was warmer than he'd realized—glancing at Pac as he moves forward. "You want me to stay? Or...?"

"You don't have to." He gives Fit a half-shrug, avoiding his eyes as he turns the tape back on and rewinds. "It's in Portuguese, anyway."

"I didn't ask if I had to." Fit steps directly into his line of sight, forcing him to meet his gaze. "I asked if you wanted me to."

To Pac, the distinction is negligible: either way, he's still inconveniencing Fit. But clearly, the decision means something to the other man, so he sighs, trying to cobble together a response.

"Whatever you want," is still all he can end up with, turning up the sound of the tape as it begins to play once more. From then on, his attention is lost, focused solely on the message playing on the screen.

He's failed. Again. Forever is gone. Again. His family keeps going missing. He's losing them all. And it won't stop. Everything keeps falling apart.

There's a sudden presence close to his shoulder—Fit crouches down on the steps next to him, eyes trained on the screen. "Then you won't mind if I stay," he whispers, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

...perhaps...not everything.

The video loops again. Then again, then again, and again, and again. It's on the fifth loop that Pac can finally feel his emotions turning back on, waking up from whatever horrible limbo they'd been stuck in. He leans into Fit's shoulder—even closer than he'd thought it would be—and just cries. His tears wet the leather armor beneath him and his wails echo off the walls of the small office, but Fit doesn't say a word—just wraps an arm around Pac's shoulders, pulling him closer.

At least something is still here.

#qsmp #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp pac #qsmp fic #qsmp fit #qsmp fitmc #qsmp drabble #fitpac #i needed fit to stay behind. i had to fix it #my eyes are literally sliding shut writing this so please ignore any typos i will fix them tomorrow #just enjoy your h/c <3

142 notes · View notes

squirmhoney · 1 year

Text

Dependency Issues - Part Six

A/N: Reader in this a crying emotional wreck just to warn you but it will make sense in the next part. Sorry for the angst of this part though. Also songs to listen to I feel like Lana Del Rey Ride for this chapter. Warnings: Dark. Non Con. Dub Con. Incest. Manipulation. Coercive behaviour (at times) Full on smut. Dependency Issues. (like reader has some serious issues when it comes to Aegon) Unhealthy relationship. Mean and aggressive Aegon. Angst ( A lot in this chapter). 18+ Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Rhaeneyra mother and non specified father) Word Count: 2.4K

Master list Part Five Part Seven

The consuming feeling Aegon was giving you as he pushed you to what might of been your fourth orgasm of the night, was nauseating. And not in a good way either.

With his hand lost between your thigh, Aegon shoved his cum back into your walls. You clamped your thighs around his arm while your hand tried to push him away. You were so overstimulated at this point, wet eyes pleading for him to stop but he wasn't listening.

"Aegon I-I can't-" your words were choked up in your throat laced in with a string of moans and whimpers that only seemed to make him more eager. "Stop."

"I know you have one more in you," Aegon purred in your ear, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He hummed when your fingers clenched around him and your hand clung to his shoulder instead of pushing him away. "Come on pretty girl."

"Please, Aegon," you begged in-between sobs.

"You want me to make you cum?" Aegon grinned, brushing your hair out of your face. He wiped the sweat from your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there.

It made you sick how soft he could be while he violated your body so much. It made it even worse how the voice repeated in your head, let him have this, let him love you in his own sick way.

"No," you shook your head, biting down on your lip.

This made him angrier, his fingers pounding into you as he hovered his face over yours.

"Tell me you love me," he demanded, his fingers wrapping around your chin. "Open your eyes and tell me you promise you won't ever leave me."

Your eyes opened, staring back at the man you loved. His glassy eyes and clenched jaw as he looked back at you with an intensity that you struggled to understand.

"Tell me." His grip tightened and you started to wish for the soft side of him again.

"I love you," you cried, grinding your teeth down as you hiccuped on your moans. "I promise I won't ever leave you."

Then it hit you, your walls fluttering around him as liquid gushed around his fingers. It was as painful as it was pleasurable, making you feel completely numb after.

"I'll stop now," Aegon whispered, slowly pulling his hand from your thighs. "I promise."

Your breathing was ragged, eyes closing as you tried to relax. You didn't want to fall asleep, a part of you genuinely scared of what Aegon might do when you're asleep. It's not like he hadn't done things to you before and right now you were too upset to brush them off and allow him to take advantage of you to feed his carnal desires.

"Hey," his voice was gentle as was his touch. He cupped the side of your face, thumb tracing the skin of your cheek. "Let me clean you up."

His hand wiped between your thighs and you flinched when he travelled further up, feeling sore and tender there. But he hushed you, pressing pecks over your face in some sort of reassuring way.

"I'm here," he told you, pulling you both under the covers. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you onto his chest. "You're okay now."

You couldn't explain why you did what you did, you couldn't really understand it yourself. But you crawled up, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you sobbed.

"I'm here, baby," he kept saying, hand rubbing your back as you clung to him. "I love you."

Hollow was the only way you could truly describe how you felt.

Aegon had left before you had a chance to wake up, leaving the bed empty and cold. For a moment you could of thought that he had never been there, but the ache between your legs and the bruises that littered your skin were a cruel reminder of what had taken place last night.

You felt glad he was gone, relieved even knowing that without him you had the time to think. But you were still on edge not knowing when he could end up coming back.

As you sat in the shower, knees to your chest, you cried for what felt like the hundredth time. You could feel how sore your throat was and how dry your mouth felt from it all.

Then out of no where you felt it, a cramping feeling in your stomach as twisted your body around throwing up in the tub. It lasted a few minutes and stopped you from crying as crawled out of the bathroom.

It must of been long over due, probably just you're conflicting feelings eating away at you and making you sick. Yes, that's it.

You blocked all thoughts out of your mind as you stripped your bed, throwing all the sheets into the wash and pressing some clean ones on. You opened your windows, put a candle on and tried busy yourself with other things.

But the picture across your room was staring at you, catching you off guard. And you couldn't help yourself as you took it between both hands, stomach clenching at the sight of it. The way Aegon stared at you with awe, his arm wrapped around you as you were laughing at something he said.

It made you angry, your body shaking as you let out a huge scream. You threw it across your room, the glass and frame shattering against your wall. And you thought you'd feel some sort of relief seeing the picture on the floor, but you didn't.

No, you instead felt terror as you rushed towards it. Your hands pushing the glass aside as you uncovered the picture to check it was okay, that you hadn't ruined it. It was fine, the picture was fine but you weren't. You were crying again, hands bleeding from the glass and you felt yourself collapse in on yourself.

After getting back from her trip, your mother finally gave you your phone back. There was no apology there from her but rather a sad knowing look as she handed it you.

And the first thing you did was arrange to meet your friends, which surprised you. But it was nice, refreshing even being out of the house and away from all your family. You told your friends your grandad died and that it took a real toll on you. A half lie but it made easier to explain why you hadn't seen them in so long, why you had practically gone off the radar.

While your mood started gradually getting better, you still felt the terrible wait of loneliness weighing down on you with each day you hadn't seen Aegon.

Then the day for the wake came and your anxiety had been travelling through your body as you tried to get through the day.

"You okay?" Jace asked as you stepped into the back seat of the car. "You look kind of pale, Y/N."

"I'm fine, honestly," you told him, giving him a small smile.

But in all honesty, you had been throwing up all morning and your stomach felt terrible like you could do it all again. You couldn't even stomach seeing Aegon right now, even with the amount of time you had been given, it really wasn't enough.

You didn't want to scare anyone, hiding your general unease as you rested your head near the open window. The fresh breeze helped with the sick feeling but your stomach still felt bloated and tense. You'd just hope you feel better once you saw him but you could never predict your feelings when it came to Aegon.

By the time you arrived at the house the wake was already in full swing. Jace immediately ran over to Baela and Rhaena when he saw them while Luke stayed behind with you, offering his arm for you to take. You gave him a small smile, looping your arm in his as you approached the house.

Greetings were long and you felt you were being passed through the house as you tried to talk to everyone. You eventually felt yourself able to catch a break once you reached Alicent, seeing her standing in the corner of the garden.

She was surrounded by people but that didn't stop her from leaving them as she noticed you approaching. Her arms embraced you as if you were her own, gently brushing your hair as you wrapped your arms around her neck.

"I'm honestly so sorry," you told her, not really sure what you were apologising for. "For everything."

She pulled away from you slowly, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear. Her voice was sweet and sincere as she spoke, "It's okay."

Her words really touched a certain spot in you, ways slightly tearing up at it.

"I'm sorry too." Her eyes drifted, hand rubbing the small of your back.

Your gaze followed her's, landing on a group across the garden. Helaena was stood there with another girl you barely recognised. Long golden hair and sharp cheekbones, she was the face of beauty. Her arms were open engulfing a familiar man that made your heart stop and your stomach churn.

"You look different," Alicent drew your attention away, hand cupping the side of your face. "A certain glow about you." She raised her eyebrows as if asking you a question, one that you clearly didn't understand.

Your eyes wondered again, stealing a glance at Aegon still wrapped up with someone else. A sharp pain tugged in your chest, making it feel tight and constricting. But it was your stomach that was the worst, stirring unexpectedly at the sight.

"I think I might be sick," that's all you could manage, face suddenly feeling suddenly flushed as you made your way back inside.

You didn't really see who you stumbled into on your way inside, mumbling apologises under your breath as you made your way out of the crowd. Eventually you reached the upstairs toilet, only to find it blocked full of people. You were quick to exit, rushing to the only toilet you knew would be free as you heaved yourself over the bowl.

Within moments a hand pulled your hair out of your face while another pressed against your back, rubbing it soothingly. You knew who it was but as mad as you were, you were unable to brush them off.

When his hand brushed over your shoulder, you hit it away, throwing him a glare.

"I'm just trying to help," Aegon said, looking taken a back by your anger.

But your anger didn't end there as you hit him again and again and again... until his hands caught your wrists pinning them down to your side.

"What is with you?" He asked, eyebrow furrowing.

"Are you seriously that confused?" You tore your hands from his grip, shuffling away from him.

"Yeah, I am."

"Let's talk about a few weeks ago."

His face fell in knowing, rolling his head back.

"And now here you are with some other woman."

"What are you on about?"

"Don't make me feel stupid. Because I'm not stupid, Aegon."

He huffed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

You wanted to understand him at one point, seeing as he was the only person that you had ever been truly vulnerable with. But you were at a breaking point, feeling betrayed in the most horrendous way possible.

"She's Helaena's friend," Aegon stated, eyes softening at you. "Nothing more. I saw you looking over so I played it up a bit. I just wanted-"

"You enjoy hurting me," your words came out chocked, tears brimming your eyes. "What is wrong with you?"

"I don't enjoy hurting you. Don't say that."

"So the other week when you pushed me on my bed and tied me up so you could take advantage of me, that wasn't you hurting me?" You questioned, wiping at your cheeks roughly.

You were a mess and not your usual self either, something had really taken a hold of you and you didn't like it. You couldn't explain the overwhelming emotions you were feeling but all you knew is you wanted to slap at Aegon as much as you wanted him to hold you. While you had normally felt these conflicting feelings, you had never felt them like this before.

"Are you fucking her?"

Aegon's eyes widened, completely shocked by your question.

And if you were honest so we're you. This wasn't you and both of you knew it, you had never acted like this.

"I'd never do that to you," he told you, voice cracking slightly. "I saw her today probably ten minutes before you showed up and that was it."

You felt embarrassed, tears staining your puffy cheeks as you let them run down your face.

When Aegon reached out to touch you again, you pushed him away and crawled into yourself.

"Talk to me," Aegon whispered.

"I can't do this anymore," you replied, shaking your head. "I'm a constant wreck at the moment and this isn't me."

"But don't you see that it's because we aren't together," Aegon was so sure about this and you could see from the look in his eye he wasn't willing to back down from this fight.

"You need to let me go," you sobbed.

"I can't do that. You know I can't."

“I want my keys back,” you said, getting up from the toilet. You stormed out of the door and into his room, searching around the place. “I need my keys, Aegon.”

“Let’s just talk about this,” Aegon pleaded, following you around his room.

You knew where they would be, going into his bed side table where the framed picture of you still sat. They sat behind them, easy for him to find.

“Y/N, please.”

You turned around only to find him caging you into a corner.

“Don’t do this.”

“What do you want from me?” You asked, throwing your hands up. “I feel like I’m going crazy. I-” you were struggling to speak, throat caught with all the words you wanted to say.

“I love you and you love me. Isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, biting down to try and regain some control of your tears. “No, it isn’t enough. Not when you make me feel like this.”

“But is it me making you feel like this?” Tears brimmed those violet eyes, making you feel dizzy. “Or is it the fact of not being with me.”

You were truly speechless, hand falling over your mouth as you tried to think of what to say.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he told you, stepping closer to you. “This time I’m making it clear that I don’t want you to leave. So don’t leave.”

“I can’t think clearly when I’m around you,” was all you could say.

Because it was only truth you knew.

There was a knock on the door, tearing your eyes away from Aegon. The voice that followed it had you instantly up, ready to leave the room.

"Y/N, are you in here?" Jace asked, voice sounding urgent.

You ran to the door and Aegon let you.

"Jace," you let out, pulling the door open.

Once you saw him, you practically threw yourself on your younger brother and jumped into his arms.

"Take me home," you let out in shaky breaths, body trembling as you held onto him. "I need to go home."

I will do a 10 person tag list for this if people want it so reply to this and ask to be tagged.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen imagine #Aegon ii fic #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

220 notes · View notes