#mentions of drugs and scars and other dark stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowerwrites06 · 7 months

Text

neon smoke — knj

NEON SMOKE | Kim Namjoon | Oneshot | Requested by Anon.

Original Request: Hiii! I have been a fan of yours since break my mind's eye ❤️ Can I request for Namjoon x female reader. I loooove reading angst so make it as much angsty you want for a deranged woman like me :) I am not sure about the exact idea but you can make it either mafia au or e2l. Thank you ❤️ Plot: Namjoon carries out a dangerous love affair. Pairing: Drug Dealer!Namjoon x Mafia Princess!OC (Name: Minnie) Genre: Mafia Type: Oneshot Rating: 18+ Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: violence (guns, blood & gore), minor character death, mentions of drugs, organised crime, sexual content (rough, anal, choking, unprotected, fingering). Author’s Note: not quite the deranged level imo but I hope you enjoyed this! I've posted this while dead tired and sleep drunk atm, it's been a hell of a week so let me know if there are any major posting issues in the fic I've missed. Other than that, thank you for reading!

Requests are open until Oct 1st! Send yours ideas in!

The den closed when midnight swelled. A dingy green painted the rooms and any pungent smell that was ignored during the day fumed thickly in Namjoon’s nose. He found the silence haunting without the workers in the underground or the runners scuttering across the plastic carpet floors. Except there was a peace to it and the familiarity that the silence won’t last too long.

He heard Minnie’s footsteps echo through the door before she knocked four times. Kwan, his right hand man, usually ate dinner during this time and Namjoon made sure it was that way. Except he thought it was some girl Namjoon took an interest to and not the sister of Don Leon, his own boss.

Minnie opened the door when Namjoon responded. He saw the shine of her black heels before she appeared into the room. She wore a pretty red silk dress, delicate pearls around her neck, dark hair thick and curled with a black coat over her shoulders. Her lips, red like blood, smiled as she closed the door behind her. “I saw you hired a new girl. She almost kicked me out.”

Iseul was Namjoon’s new runner. Namjoon forgot to mention that he had a visitor every night, but he wasn’t too afraid of Minnie handling her own.

“Did she recognise you?” Namjoon asked.

“Clearly not, she was very protective of you.” Minnie smirked, stepping closer and leaning herself at the edge of his desk. She shrugged off her coat at the heat of the room compared to the night outside. The red dress had pinstripe sleeves, one of them shyly trailing off her shoulder before she fixed it.

“I didn’t get the chance to explain it to her,” Namjoon said, keeping his eyes on the computer as he had been for hours. Entering data and ensuring every sell was called for. “Your brother has been working us hard.”

“He wants to impress the buyers in China.” Minnie shrugged. “I told him rushing it was going to be a detriment but you know him.”

Namjoon hummed. “At least he’s not asking us to cut the pure stuff.” That was usually when problems began and he had enough scars to know they were never pretty results.

Minnie stayed silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s done impulsive things before.”

As soon as Minnie and Leon’s father passed away, Leon made it his mission to overproduce his supplies so he could get more American and Chinese allies. Except all that forced scheduling made it difficult to keep strong ties with the Japanese and Korean allies. If Leon kept going this way, they would risk war with their age-old allies. Yet Minnie knew all this. Namjoon heard their fights before and Leon’s stubbornness that needed to be crushed for days before it showed cracks.

Namjoon rested back on the chair, as it squeaked in response. “So more runners and dealers.”

“Pretty ones.” Minnie gave a teasing smirk.

Despite the risk that came with seeing Minnie, Namjoon found strange comfort in it. At first, guilt choked him after laying with her, slick with sweat and the smell of sex around them in the hotel room. But then it became habitual and only a few months later, Namjoon looked forward to her visits even if it didn’t always end the same.

“Do you have a problem with Iseul?” Namjoon asked, mainly as a jest to keep her smiling.

Minnie lifted her shoulders, moving off the table and stepping towards Namjoon. Her thigh gently brushed against the back of his fingers. “No. No problem.” She snuck onto his lap, long nails tracing the side of his neck. “Just checking.”

His hand traced up her thigh, grazing just softly on her skin so it raised gooseflesh. “I mean she is pretty now that you’ve mentioned it.” A smirk curled at his lips.

Minnie pouted. “Then I suppose you don’t need me to warm your lap.” She tried to lift off him but his grip tightened, nails digging through her clothes until she gasped lightly.

“Keep that ass right here,” Namjoon said, nose brushing against her jawline.

Minnie giggled, tracing one of her nails down his neck and chest as he felt a tingle down his spine.

Namjoon bit into the skin of her neck until she let out a small whimper. The tip of his nose trailed up to her chin before she took her bottom lip between his teeth. Sinking in until it hurt before letting go, watching how it turned crimson.

A whimper left her lips, eyes blown out in lust as her face twisted to something that no one would ever see outside this door.

Minnie chuckled, cupping his cheek and kissing him. Her lips hot and raw from his bite as her hips swayed, feeling him harden under her thighs. “Excited all of a sudden?” she asked.

“You were late today,” Namjoon said, tracing his fingers up the length of her spine until she shivered.

Minnie hummed as she straddled him. Her warm core perfectly placed atop his taut cock. Arms wrapped around his shoulders while his hands instinctively cupped her ass, squeezing and pushing her to grind against him. “You missed me?” It was a whisper, sweet and teasing.

Namjoon didn’t notice but his lips stretched into smile, full of affection and perhaps a terrifying pinch of worship. He hooked her panties to the side, taking a sneaky touch between her cheeks and feeling something cold with the shape of a gem. “Seems you were more prepared than me.” He held onto the buttplug, gently moving it as she moaned into his mouth.

“You know you like it,” she said.

“I do.” Namjoon brushed his fingers through her thick curls, the soft scent of roses enticing to move closer and consume himself with it. He lifted to his feet, carrying her with him as she let out a small giggle.

Namjoon lay her down on the chair and pushed it to recline. Minnie spread her legs, hanging them over the arms so she give him the best view. A hungry smile graced her features as she watched his fingers rub over her throbbing clit. He pushed his middle finger into her slick entrance, making her feel full.

Minnie threw her head back, relishing in the gentle waves of pleasure. Her thick curls bunched beautifully at her shoulders as the thin straps of her dress hugged her arm.

His fingers glistened as he spread her arousal all over her cunt. Namjoon’s other hand gripped her neck, squeezing just enough to make her breath hitch. He pushed two fingers into her, pistoning mercilessly into her.

Minnie let out a choked scream as the edges of her climax closed in.

Namjoon loosened his grip on her neck so she let out a deep, heaving breath. Minnie held onto her thighs, watching him maintain his aggressive pace. Her vision blurred as her entire body melted into the pleasure he gave her, nothing but whimpered sounds leaving her lips.

Namjoon pulled his fingers out with a light squelch, rubbing her clit again with his thumb.

Minnie lifted her legs to her chest. Namjoon pulled out the buttplug, keeping his fingers inside her to keep her stretched as he put it away. He pushed into her entrance, tight and maddening. Minnie let out a whimper, smiling as he buried himself entirely.

He pushed his fingers inside her cunt, making her feel full and her mind cleared of nothing else but the pleasure that surged through her.

“Touch yourself, princess,” Namjoon spoke in a slight growl.

Minnie did as he asked and rubbed her clit, her wall clenching at the jolt of ecstasy from her sensitivity.

Namjoon pressed his forehead against hers, her legs over his shoulders. “Feel good?”

Minnie whimpered in response, trying to make words but it only came out in unintelligible sounds.

Namjoon chuckled breathlessly, pounding into her ass, moving the chair so it pressed against a wall. He grew relentless as his orgasm rushed to the edge. Hearing her reciprocate so deliciously to every one of his movements sent stars in his eyes. Heat rushed to his tip and his entire body, legs jerking and jolting as he filled his seed into her.

The chair creaked under the pressure, melding with the sounds of Minnie’s whimper and the scream under her breath. A laugh passed her lips as Namjoon caught his breath. “I should be late more often.” She grinned.

Two days had passed with a better mood. The days still filled with endless schedule clutter but at the very least he was able to get a handle on it without a headache. Minnie had to visit every second or third day instead of the usual which put a slight downer on his mood but during the visits she did come in, she made up for the lack of time.

It was only a month later where things rot.

The doors burst open to Kwan in the darkest hour of the night. His clothes soaked in blood as he shuffled to safety. Eyes hooded as he tried to open his mouth to say something but only stumbled.

“What happened?” Namjoon asked.

Kwan let out a shaky sigh, holding onto his shoulder to keep himself up. “Korean gang members. They were sent to ambush the warehouses.”

Namjoon called for Seokjin in as he lifted Kwan onto the table, helping him lay down as his blood left a trail from the entrance to his own feet.

Kwan kept heaving, groaning as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Do you know why?” He asked in a gentle tone, not wanting to pressure him but he needed to know. His den or warehouses were never attacked. Not since Leon started yanking at his strings.

Kwan groaned again in response as Seokjin walked into the front entrance. Without a word, he laid his out tools and began taking pieces of the bullet out of his wound.

“They didn’t get their full supply. Leon. . .” Kwan kept speaking but it only ended in a cough, blood at the edge of his lips. “Sorry, boss.”

“Give him time to breathe, Joon,” Seokjin said. His brows were far too scrunched for Namjoon’s comfort.

The bleeding wasn’t stopping and Namjoon could practically hear the heartbeat resounding in the room.

Namjoon touched Kwan’s shoulder. Part of him wanted to speak more, in the hope that Kwan would come up with a joke or something to reassure him that he was going to be fine. But he knew this wasn’t that kind of business. “Alright. Get him better.”

Iseul stood at the archway leading up to the private rooms, tears filling her eyes as she watched Kwan get patched up.

Namjoon patted her arm. “He’ll be okay.” He said to her but mostly to himself.

Fate didn’t give them that kind of luck, however.

Namjoon and Iseul sat near the kitchens, silently at first but Iseul’s shaking fingers and body legs got her to speak.

“That woman probably attracted them to us,” Iseul said with poison lacing her voice. “She’s too close to Leon and they must’ve known she’s coming to us.” Her reddened eyes kept a gaze on the floor.

Namjoon rested back on his chair, the chair squeaking back as he watched one of the den members clean up the floors. “This was bound to happen. Leon was snagging his connections too much.”

“But they came to us,” Iseul said. “We don’t get into the spotlight. We’re not even the biggest den. It’s her. I’m telling you, it’s her.” She built a wall over her words, ensuring that Namjoon didn’t push through and try to convince her.

Before Namjoon could respond, Seokjin stood with a solemn expression before walking towards them, stammering. “There was a bullet shard that pierced his heart.” His throat bobbed up and down.

Iseul’s breathing grew ragged as they both watched Kwan’s still body. Sobs left her body as she rushed to Kwan.

“This can’t go on, Namjoon,” Seokjin said in a lower voice. Namjoon wasn’t sure whether he meant the affair with Minnie or the situation with Leon but knowing Seokjin, he knew he meant both. “We thought having Minnie was going to keep us safe and our business going. Now this.”

It sounded wrong the way he spoke those words. Namjoon knew he only pursued Minnie for reasons aside from the den. The fact that they were safe this whole time was just a coincidence. But he never predicted that it would now cause more harm than good. Namjoon’s breath turned ragged.

Seokjin was right. This has to end.

Minnie came to his room today after four days of not speaking to him. No smile on her face. “I heard about an ambush.” Her tone was so soft and loving. “Was your den involved?”

Namjoon had been drinking to calm himself down but it didn’t seem to help. It probably made it worse. “Yeah, it was involved. Kwan’s dead.”

Minnie walked to him and touched his shoulder. It was so warm and genuine but part of him was still determined. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve tried to send contact to Leon but he’s not answering,” he said. “Where have you been for the last few days?” Namjoon looked up at her, eyes burning from how tipsy he had become.

“Leon kept inviting me to his meetings,” Minnie explained. “He’s trying to marry the daughter of a Chinese Don.”

Frustration nipped at him. While his dens were suffering, Leon was off to marry a foreign ally with no care. “His own local allies are turning against him.” His words turned sharp and cutting.

Minnie stammered, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’m trying to talk to him.”

He pulled his hand away, standing up to his feet. “Well, you’re not fucking trying hard enough, are you?” Namjoon seethed, his heart aching as Minnie stepped back.

“What Leon’s doing is stupid but these things take time.” Minnie shook her head.

“So you’ll wait until innocent people die before you start actually doing things?” Namjoon walked over to her, towering over her. “You’re no better than your fucking brother.”

Minnie’s expression hardened, not stepping back anymore. “When you work in a place like this, death is a risk you’re taking. Don’t place the blame on me.”

“The blame is on you because you should’ve kept us safe,” Namjoon said. “You come waltzing in here, I expect you to ensure we’re not at risk for attack. Otherwise, don’t fucking come back here.” He wanted her to be angry. He wanted her to cry and scratch at him for only wanting this affair for his own benefit.

Minnie’s face quickly turned to steel, posture straightening as she intertwined her fingers together. “I’ll inform Leon about the casualties and see what he can do for changes,” she said. “You want me to relay anything else?”

Namjoon swallowed the lump in his throat. “No.”

Minnie hummed. “Alright.” She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving a suffocating ache in Namjoon’s chest.

A month had passed. No attacks. Iseul had convinced herself that it was Minnie’s fault but Seokjin calmly explained that there was something else going on since all the Korean gangsters were staying quiet. When it was this much silence in the underground, a big event was about to happen.

As much as Namjoon hated it, Seokjin was right. News came a month and a half later on a piece of paper, handwritten.

Helmina Cordon and Jung Hoseok are engaged to marry on the 27th of November. No weaponry or negotiations permitted in the reception.

Namjoon’s body burned, fingers squeezing the delicate paper as if perhaps he was just dreaming. He was thankful that only Seokjin was in the room so he let his hands shake before curling his fingers into fists.

“With the Min family connected to the Jung family, the Korean gangs aren’t going to touch us,” Seokjin said, trying to make some light out a situation that suffocated Namjoon. “This is good. We wanted this. Jung Hoseok is a precise drug lord, him with Minnie’s organisation and influence will help us get back on track.”

“Right,” Namjoon said, partially focusing on his words.

Seokjin took a breath to say something but sighed in slight defeat. He patted his shoulder and left him to his cluttered lonesome.

This had to happen. What did Namjoon even expect? That Minnie was going to be with him forever with no consequences whatsoever? Of course, she had been holding back marriage proposals. That was the quickest, simplest way to solve most alliance problems. All Namjoon had to do was take it for granted, as if their relationship was immune. When in reality, it was hanging on the balance of how much Minnie trusted him and how much he trusted her.

Now it was gone. And he was cordially invited to watch it all rip away from him.

Seokjin accompanied Namjoon to the wedding reception. The ceremony had been private to the two families but the reception was open to whoever was significant enough in the underworld. Despite Iseul’s assumptions, Namjoon’s den had some traction with Cordon family especially with Minnie’s connection to them.

Namjoon pushed that thought down quickly, not wanting to be reminded of how much of his success was also attributed to her.

They entered the event hall, glittering chandeliers reflecting against the freshly polished marble floors. Tables scattered all throughout covered in white linen and a pianist spread delicate notes through the halls.

He didn’t want to but his eyes did look for her in the front tables. And much to his own misery, he saw Minnie.

She wore a pretty white silk dress, transparent lace gloves, her hair curled beautifully and her lips painted in deep red. While Don Leon sat on the right, ordering another round of drinks. He had the same thick curly hair, cut to his ear and a small build but silvery and convivial demeanour. A man on Minnie’s left was whispering in her ear, making her smile. Jung Hoseok, clad in a deep blue suit and a dahlia in his breast pocket.

Namjoon hated that he could tell Minnie’s smile was calculated and not real. He hoped and prayed that she looked genuinely happy but this was a business transaction. And she smiled just like it was business so they looked the part.

“Just say hello, stay at your table and pass the time,” Seokjin said as if reading his subconscious instincts to walk right up to her and tell her to stop.

As they padded closer to the main table, Seokjin gave a brief bow to Leon and Namjoon followed a minute later.

“It’s good to see you again, Kim,” Leon said, that same silvery tone. This has been his fault. If Leon had just kept the schedules reasonable then none of this would’ve happened. Yet it was Minnie who Namjoon put the blame upon and it was Minnie who took it. “I was hoping this occasion might lift your spirits a little.”

His chest squeezed but he lowered his head again. “I appreciate it, sir.” Namjoon’s eyes flickered to Minnie who kept a neutral expression on her face. He forced a small smile and gave a bow. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Minnie smiled, still not a hint of joy in her eyes that merely glimmered from the chandelier light. “Thank you.”

Seokjin patted his back as they walked back to their table and Namjoon was ready to drown into a bottle.

Minnie needed to excuse herself. She tried to count the minutes before Namjoon walked away. Struggled past an hour or two of smiling until her cheeks screamed for her to stop lying so much. Eventually after the third hour, Minnie rushed off to the powder room. It was a large expanse with floor to wall mirrors, crushed velvet chairs with the colour of violet and the same pretty white marble floors that led up to the actual restrooms.

She stayed near the mirrors, staring at herself. Minnie had flowed along the path this past month, hoping her numbness would turn to resilience as she agreed to this economic marriage. But today, seeing Namjoon’s face melted her and it made her face the gruelling reality of what she was about to do permanently.

Minnie didn’t have to wait long to ruminate when Namjoon stumbled straight into the powder room. “This is the women’s room.”

Namjoon parted his lips in confusion before closing it. “No one else here, it’s fine.” He rested against the edge of the counter, next to her. He left enough moments of silence to make her uncomfortable.

To make her think and regret what she was doing which only made her angry. “What do you want?”

“How long has this been going on?” he slurred.

“We had a meeting two weeks ago.” Minnie kept her gaze in the mirror. “Having this alliance will help us gain trust with the Korean syndicates. Leon still gets to do what he wants with the foreign allies while I handle the locals.”

Namjoon hummed, not facing her either. “It’s a good deal.”

“It is.”

“Don’t take it,” he said and the entire room turned cold.

Minnie paused in her actions, her body freezing under the sudden request. Both in a yearning satisfaction of hearing Namjoon sound desperate but the anger of how filmy he considered their relationship. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” Namjoon shook his head.

Minnie sighed in frustration, trying to walk past him but Namjoon grabbed her arm. “Stop.”

“We’ll figure out a different way to deal with the Korean syndicates,” Namjoon said, leaning forward, his nose brushed against hers. The scent of whiskey hot in his breath.

“The alliance is already made.” Minnie tightened herself like steel, looking at the end of the room instead of him. “It’ll make things worse if I back down.”

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Desperation seeped in his tone. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? I’m sorry I ever implied that.” Namjoon rubbed both her arms, making her feel so comforted and loved yet so much more angry.

“It is my fault.” Her teeth gritted. “I took advantage of what I could do.”

“You were with me because we both wanted to.” Namjoon held her chin, soft and affectionate. “Both of us.”

Minnie’s chin quivered as the chills of the room melted into her chest, tears burning in her eyes. “Don’t do that now.” No more steel cut through her voice. Even if she desperately wanted to. “Please.”

Namjoon rested his forehead against hers. “You mean a lot to me.”

The whisper sent her into a frenzy. “Please.”

Namjoon pulled her chin closer, kissing her. Tongue pushed through her teeth as he pressed her against the edge of the counter.

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks as she felt the warm, sweet kiss on her lips. Every inch of Minnie wanted to keep going, to let him take her here. Even as Namjoon kissed down her neck, hot and wet, Minnie only relished in it.

Then sense kicked in.

She was engaged now.

“Stop, stop.” She pushed him off and Namjoon did as she asked, though brows furrowed and breath heavy. Minnie leaned against the counter, trying to catch her own breath. “Don’t do that. Not now, not anymore.”

Namjoon stammered, sighing in frustration as he roughly raked his fingers through his hair. “I said a stupid thing, are you really gonna upend your whole life just to spite me?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes. You think I wasn’t taking a risk being with you?” Minnie asked.

“I know you were, I was just angry.”

Just angry. The alliances and things she had paused were crushed by Namjoon because of a burst of anger. It sounded pathetic yet that was the reality. Which was why Minnie had to keep that distance and let the thread between them tighten. “Well, this is not the fucking business for word slips. Your word is my trust in you.” Minnie poked at his chest. “Your word slips, I make changes.”

Namjoon let out a shaky sigh, his eyes now glossed. A rare sight which nearly broke Minnie for a brief, weak moment. “Then run with me.”

Minnie grimaced. “What?”

“Run with me. Leon isn’t going to give you the chair and you’ll be stuck being that douchebag’s little wife.” Namjoon gestured outside. “Just run with me.”

She shook her head in disbelief. Minnie knew he was drunk and angry but a part of her felt a painful ring of truth. Was this how Namjoon viewed her this whole time? Perhaps in this course of making a business transaction, she was making a good decision in distancing from Namjoon. “You really have no faith or respect in me, do you?” she asked.

Namjoon’s chest rose and fell. “That’s not what I meant, Minnie, please.”

“No. I’m done making things work for you,” Minnie said, a look of disgust on her face. “Run on your own.” She turned on her heel and walked back into the arms of her future husband.

The thread between them snapped.

masterlist

#namjoon #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts smut #bts angst #bts mafia au #namjoon mafia au #bts #namjoon x oc #bts x oc

39 notes · View notes

lady-phasma · 11 days

Text

Happiness at the end of the world

Chapter 2 of ?

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; this is really different than anything I have ever shared on Tumblr before - it's fluffy and has lots of feelings and quite a few warnings; Smut, Kinda Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD, mentions of past SA, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, p in v sex, ultra-Light Dom/sub

Summary a/n: I'm terrible at these, it's just more fluffy smutty stuff like chapter 1. No beta. 3.6k words.

They lay in the fading light, drowsy, him on his stomach, her on her side. Kristina had tucked an arm under her head and was tracing lazy circles and swirls on his back with her other hand. His breathing was slow and relaxed. She watched his back rise and fall with each breath. Sometimes the shiny scars caught the light. She was brave and occasionally traced one, outlined it, caressed it. But mostly she stayed away from them. She wanted him to feel her adoration not feel like a freak show for someone to stare at. She understood that feeling too well.

Their friendship had graduated quickly as a lot of things seemed to do in this new world. There wasn’t time to get to know people the way one used to. There had been a couple of nights of safety and beer with him. One night of utter drunkenness with some others in Alexandria. Mostly there had been stolen moments of respite between runs and work details and fear. She had told him a lot of things about her past and intuited a lot about his.

Daryl stirred and turned his head to face her. She smiled down at him. She felt so relaxed with him. Possibly she had never lain naked without even a sheet with anyone in her life. She was honestly amazed at how comfortable they both were.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” he asked somewhat sleepily.

“Lots,” she replied. “Too much to say right now. Also thinkin’ about how perfect your ass is.” She drug her fingertips down to the hollow of his lower back but not quite to his ass. She watched a shiver run through him. Well it is perfect, she thought.

“Sure,” he replied. She could almost hear him roll his eyes. He brushed his knuckles over one of her nipples. He shifted to lay on his side and kissed her nipple, her breast, her shoulder, gently he kissed her lips. He let his lips linger and breathed her in. Then he rolled and stretched like a giant cat, arching his back and groaning. They weren’t young anymore and they would hurt tomorrow. The muscles they had used today were different than the ones they used when killing walkers. When he laid back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, she rested a hand on his stomach just below his chest. He was so tough, so taught. After all this time she was still soft in places, smooth, round. He apparently had no body fat, just exquisite muscle.

She liked touching him. She couldn’t get enough of him. But it nearly broke her heart to really see that his chest was as covered with scars as his back. New ones over older, faded ones. Dark, deep scars alongside barely visible ones. He was a tough motherfucker for sure. Not all of these were from something horrible and scary but how many were? She had so many questions. Which were made since the world ended? Which from before? How many from The Sanctuary? All horribly invasive questions that she would never ask, only wait for him to drop crumbs of information.

“What’s this from?” he asked and she jumped a little. Almost as if he had read her mind he touched one of her scars. It tickled when he did. It wasn’t large but it was noticeable. It sat low on her belly just to the right of center. It had a smaller, less obvious sister on the left.

“Oh,” she rolled half onto her back but didn’t pull away from his caressing fingertips. “Before everything, I had a partial hysterectomy.” She laughed a little. “I didn’t want kids and I had a condition that couldn’t be cured so they took out most of my lady bits. They left one ovary and my cervix. Because of my age I guess, pretty young.”

His eyes were wide but not judgmental. A little concerned perhaps so she explained.

“Endometriosis. A big word that means a lot of pain and bullshit but isn’t usually life threatening. Fortunately for us I made this decision ages ago and that’s why I didn’t freak when you didn’t wear a condom,” she smirked and winked at him.

“So ya can’t ever…?” he trailed off.

“Nope, no baby making equipment in there,” she grinned. She stroked his arm from wrist to shoulder, still trying to touch every inch of his skin. “It was definitely a perk after the world went to shit, no periods either.”

His hand rested on her lower belly, almost spanning the width of her. He felt like a giant sometimes even though she wasn’t particularly short and he wasn’t abnormally tall. She liked the illusion. She sighed, enjoying the weight of his hand, the ease of being with him. She felt his fingers tracing her scar again, finding the other of the pair, following the jagged lines of her stretch marks. Walkers were a great weight loss plan, she hadn’t always had this small body. And she had never let anyone touch those much less felt like she could almost enjoy it, especially with his rough hands. But it did still make her twinge with that familiar insecurity, just a little, and she felt herself accidentally recoil. Without missing a beat Daryl grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of him, kissing her roughly. He held her for a moment, her laying on him, his hands on her ass, her head on his chest.

Her mind raced with all the things she wanted to do, say, ask, and then her stomach growled. She held her breath hoping it had been her imagination until he started laughing. It was contagious. He laid her on the bed, still laughing a bit while she giggled and covered her face with her hands.

“Hungry, huh?” he goaded.

She nodded and answered with a muffled uhuh behind her hands, more giggles. He stood up, grabbed some presumably filthy jeans from the floor, and yanked them on. She couldn’t help watching him, jeans sitting low on his hips, as he walked to the kitchenette.

He came back to the bed and plopped down. He brought what was beginning to be the norm for every meal: part of a loaf of homemade bread, some fruit, some meat jerky that was mostly just salt and probably venison. He sat, legs crossed, barefoot, hair a mess, no shirt, and looked as happy as a little kid with a new toy. He might not smell like he was still in the woods but he ate his food like he still was. This thought made her giggle and he looked up at her with a side-eye that sent her into snorts of laughter. She yanked the sheet over her lap as she sat up to eat before he inhaled everything.

“Chew often, Dixon?” she teased while trying not to inhale a bite of bread.

“I’ll teach ya to laugh at me,” he growled as he crammed the last of his bread in his mouth. She squealed and he pinned her down. Food crushed between them, flew off the bed. He continued chewing loudly and comically while kissing her sides, her stomach, her neck, and chest. His unshaven face tickled her even more. She raked her hands through his hair and laughed harder than she had in years. Her stomach and sides ached with laughter. He finally swallowed the last of his bread and took a deep breath, flopping onto his back with dramatic flair and a huge exhale.

Still struggling to catch her breath Kristina laid her head on his chest. They both stared at the ceiling, small giggles bubbling out of her occasionally. She felt around above her head until she found his arm and she hugged it across her breasts. He maneuvered the sheet down from her chest so there was nothing between their skin and cupped one breast.

Dog had padded into the room to investigate the commotion. He looked at Daryl with accusation.

“Ah shit,” Daryl groaned as he stood up. “Imma take ‘em out.” Before he stepped off the mattress he placed a kiss on her forehead.

She heard them when they came back in: some yipping and a lots of whosagoodboy. Daryl kicked off his boots before sitting on the bed.

“You got one of those nasty rolled cigarettes handy?” she asked.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he went into the living room and came back with a small leather pouch. Like so many guys she had known in high school and college were able to do with weed he balanced the components on his lap. Pinch, roll, lick, voila. He handed her the nearly-perfect cigarette and started working on his own. She scooted up so she was leaning with her back against the wall. Still naked, still relishing being comfortable naked. He lit his cigarette and held the flame out to hers then clicked the lighter shut. He was fastidious in a lot of his actions but not his housekeeping, he dropped the pouch on the floor and sat on the bed facing her. Cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth he reached down and snagged an empty bottle off the floor for their ashtray.

She adored the way he sat cross legged and grinned at the thought that he hadn’t put his underwear on, grinned that she could take his jeans off and have him again if she wanted. She tapped her ashes into the bottle and picked some tobacco off her lips.

“Damn this shit is rank, Dixon,” she exhaled a cloud of the stale smoke. “But thank you for sharing.”

He grunted toward her, ashed, and took another long drag on his smoke. “It is but it’s all we got. Nobody’s tryin’ to grow anything ya can’t eat.” They smoked mostly in silence.

Kristina put her cigarette out. She stood up to go pee, wobbling a bit on her weak legs. She wasn’t going to take the sheet with her but wasn’t quite ready to walk naked in front of him. She looked down and spotted one of his button down shirts in the floor. She leaned over, holding the wall for balance. He was finishing his cigarette and watching her. She dropped the sheet, slipped the shirt on, and started to button it.

“Where ya goin’?” he mumbled.

“Gotta pee,” she flashed an almost embarrassed smile at him.

“Unh-uh,” he wasn’t smiling. “Take that off.” He tipped his head toward her, indicating the shirt. She groaned in her head, it couldn’t have been that easy. She slowly shrugged the shirt off her shoulders. She hadn’t had time to button it so when she shrugged it started to fall, catching only on her breasts and now-hard nipples. She tugged at the hem and it fell away completely. She was too aware of her breasts while she was standing, how different they looked from when she was laying down. Ugh she thought again because literally every body part she had she now wanted to hide. Wanted him to stop looking at her. He didn’t stop.

“Better,” he said. He jerked his head toward the bathroom and took a long drag on his cigarette. His sign that she was free to go but to do so she had to be naked. She wanted to die. Shrivel up and disappear. But she set her jaw and carefully stepped off the mattress. She was conscious of every imperfection and movement, feeling things she realized she hadn’t felt since before. She wasn’t angry with him exactly, not thrilled but not angry. She felt cracks in her armor. But she put one foot in front of the other and made her way to the bathroom, in reality only a dozen steps or so but in her excruciating thoughts it felt like miles.

He never took his eyes off her after he put out his cigarette. He shifted, adjusted for the increasing erection he was getting, his pants becoming uncomfortable. She didn’t close the door all the way and he listened to everything. Something about her allowing him to hear this excited him. He tugged at his jeans and tried to be still when she came back into the bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of her. She walked toward him carrying the lantern from the bathroom. He hadn’t even noticed that it was almost dark now. It cast an unusual shadow, lighting her from the side where the lantern hung from her hand. Her full hips, the slight slope of her belly meeting the curve above her naked pussy, he couldn’t look at anything but her.

She sat the lantern next to the bed. Before she could get back on the mattress his hands caught her hips and centered her in front of him. He was sitting so low that his eyes were almost level with her pussy and she blushed, hard. Her hands flenched to cover herself and he stopped them. Even in the dim light he could see her blush move down her face and neck and flood her chest. He looked up at her leaning in closer and closer. She was mortified but incredibly grateful that she had kept up shaving at every opportunity. She was pretty sure the end of the world had ushered in the revival of the huge bush but she couldn’t stand it. Somehow shaving her pussy completely felt like armor, powerful, and all signs pointed to Daryl Dixon liking it.

“Damn,” he sighed as he closed the distance and kissed her just above her clit. Kristina felt her head swim, thought she might pass out, and he had her wrists. She couldn’t hold onto him for balance but she also realized he would never let her fall. Her vision blurred but she forced herself to focus on his searching eyes. He was looking up at her. Disheveled hair, scruffy beard, heavy-lidded eyes, and he was kissing. Just kissing but she was shaking all over. And then it wasn’t just kissing.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, exhaling a hum against her. His tongue was slow and gentle. He had never done this before. The porn his brother used to watch didn’t make it feel like this. That stuff made everything look… gross. But none of this was, would be. This felt completely natural. She tasted wonderful, salty and a little bitter but he thought part of that was from their sex earlier, that if he did this first it would be nothing but salt and sweet and whatever this other amazing taste/smell was. He wanted to go slowly, not just for her but because this really did seem natural. He could feel her tremble while he held her. That he wasn’t entirely sure was natural but he was still learning to pay attention to her queues.

He paused and listened, looking up at her. Her breathing was shallow and not at all like how it had been before. This was more like gasping. He stood up and cupped her face in his hands.

“What did I do?” he asked softly, gently.

She shook her head in hands. “Nothing, not you. I need to sit for a moment.”

She sat down on the mattress and had the silliest thought Well fuck, that escalated quickly. She knew what to do but not how to communicate with him in this moment. Especially in a way that wouldn’t wound him, push him away, or make him doubt his instincts, his perfect instincts.

He didn’t reach to comfort her or hold her or touch her at all. He wasn’t afraid or anxious. He was confused and his brow knitted together expressing that but otherwise he was a rock, solid, reliable, there. So she took a deep breath and struggled to find things on her list: 5 green things or something similar. She did reach out for his hand while she scanned the room, sure she looked like a wild animal but not able to care. He held her hand or, more accurately, let his hand be squeezed. He used his other hand to pull the sheet over her. He thought she would want that. She finally mumbled the last brown thing of 5 because goddamn if Daryl didn’t have the most monochromatic life ever with only brown, grey, or black to choose from. This made her smile. She was coming back to herself, grounding. He noticed the smile and moved a little closer to her.

“Hey,” he whispered, searching her face for some clue as to what he needed to do. “Hey. Ya okay?”

“Um, yeah, I will be, I just need…” she mumbled. “Water maybe?” So of course he got her some. She gulped it and breathed and leaned back against the wall.

“Hi,” she opened her eyes and looked at him. “So I can explain that or we can pretend it didn’t happen and talk about it later but I have to tell you either way: not your fault.” She reached for his hand again. He took hers and gently, soothing, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“Ya can tell me anythin,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Imma good listener,” he teased her and they both smiled.

“Well, if you were anyone else, Daryl,” she said, “I probably wouldn’t but you are truly the coolest cat, no judgment, and ya have this fundamental understanding that life hands out shit nonstop.” She smiled to soften her words but he looked down at their hands anyway. God now she wanted him closer, pressed against her, wanted that small, safe feeling.

“Do me a kindness, Dixon?” she asked. “Come over here?” He nodded, let her hand go, and sat beside her, back against the wall. She was working up the words, the ways to speak around things, to communicate pretty awful shit without saying it. Plus she didn’t want to talk about it all night or have it tarnish everything they had done before. It was helping that he was next to her, gave her some stability as she stumbled forward with this pseudo-confession.

“So ya know how I told you I had seen shit too, like before, and we talked about some of it, or mostly I talked and you grunted?” she began, throwing him a smile to emphasize the teasing. He wasn’t having it and reached out and took her hand in both of his and just rested them in his lap.

“Well when I was young, younger than I want to say, but it’s important so I have to,” she watched Daryl’s jaw clench. “When I was four years old a man did things… I’m not comfortable talking about. You know what PTSD is?” She continued when he shrugged, yeah/kinda/maybe. “Well it’s a bunch of words that mean ‘something bad happened that fucked you up for a long damn time.’ Most people know it ‘cause soldiers get it from combat. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Means that a trauma was bad enough, wrong enough, that our brains can’t deal with it. Shit, I figure now everyone has it and it’s just the human condition but before it was a diagnosis. Anyway, short version, some people who have this get flashbacks, like the thing is happening again right then and there. Like those Vietnam Vets in movies who hear a helicopter and dive under a table. That shit’s not made up. That is fact. And it fucking sucks.” Her voice broke on the last two words and what she feared would happen, did. She started to cry silently.

God fucking dammit I didn’t want to do this, she yelled in her head. But perfect Dixon only waited and rubbed her hand. She sniffled and gulped some air. She wanted to get this done.

“One of the things he did to me I can see and hear and feel when the flashback comes and unfortunately it’s what you started to do. So I kinda go into survival mode, well my brain does, and I don’t get a choice.” She looked at him, tried to read something in his face this time and was startled to see his eyes were wet. He wasn’t going to cry but she knew then that he had them. She had suspected, as any good psychologist would, that he had PTSD from childhood trauma of some sort but she wasn’t positive his manifested with flashbacks. Now she was. Her protective instincts kicked in and she reached toward him, every intention to ease his pain but he intercepted her. He pressed her back against his chest and she curled her legs up next to his, not quite in his lap. He put both his arms around her and she let her head drop back onto his chest. She closed her eyes.

“So that was not anything you did. And hey, check this out,” she turned a little awkwardly to make sure he was listening. Satisfied she put her head back. “I want you to do it. I mean I really, really do. I want Daryl’s mouth and only his mouth on my cunt.” She felt his hips shift a little when she said the last word. “I just need to work up to it or have some notice. It’s perfectly normal and even wonderful that you want to do that. I just can’t do it without some mental preparation. Maybe you know things like that in your life, ya kind hafta get your mind right first? So yeah, too heavy for you?”

He took a deep breath and cautiously said “Heavy, sure, but I got ya.” He sighed and tightened his arms around her.

“So does that mean you still wanna go down on me? Try again soon?”

“Fuck yeah,” he replied, the gravelly words vibrating through his chest into her. “Hell yeah I do. Ya make me wanna do a lot.”

“Good, that’s the best answer a woman could hope for.”

Chapter 3

#daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion smut #cw sa mention #tw sa mention #cw ptsd #daryl x oc #daryl dixon x ofc #twd fanfiction #demisexual daryl

17 notes · View notes

staytheword · 2 years

Text

angels and devils

angels and devils — prologue of the smell of roses [ → part one ] [ series masterlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented.

• lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy.

• word count: 4.9k (4091)

• warnings: mentions of all sorts of illegality; money laundering, drugs and weapons dealing. corruption and blackmail. a lot of drinking (often excessive). a lot of swearing and insulting. drug consumption (weed only). anger management problems. mental health issues (people are not quite sane). mentions of scars. mention of violence (stabbing). mention of pyromania.

It feels like the ground is opening up under your feet, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole. Once your father is gone, the Rose Garden will be yours.

That’s what you’ve wanted your whole life. For it to be yours, entirely, completely. Not to share it with someone else. Especially not them.

• taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr (send me an ask or write a comment if you want to be added!)

It’s a rainy day in the small town of Temperance.

The clouds are dense and dark, hovering over your head like omens. You don’t mind rain, not at all – in fact, you love those types of days when the air has a bitter feel to it, when the cold slides into your bones and the streets glisten. They are rare around here, where summer lingers all year around, where it’s always warm and heavy.

Although you especially like rain because it often means those fucking bikers are not out there all day with their rattling engines and arrogant smirks. They drive around like they own the place – and they do.

Everything in Temperance belongs to them.

The Vices Motorcycle Club.

You often wonder if they chose the town on purpose. If the Vices, decades ago, opened a map and chose it specifically for its name just to turn it into a joke. You don’t think so – from what you heard, many of the original members grew up here. Their children, too, and they run the club now. But still.

It’s almost too fucking ironic.

There is absolutely no temperance in this town. Who would expect moderation or discretion from a biker gang? From what you know, they deal in dirty money, weapons, drugs, and probably a shit ton of other illegal stuff. You don’t really care to know the details – you just make sure to stay away from them.

Most of your life, you’ve been able to. When you were little, your father made sure to keep you away from them, although you went to school with their children and so, grew up with them. It’s not the same when you’re five and playing in the sandbox.

In high school, if one of them told you I’ll tell my father, you just raised your middle finger.

You’re a Temperance girl. You’ve never left town, except for a few months of traveling once. It’s where you want to be. Running the shop is all you want to do with your life. You love the town. You know every street, every coffee place. Despite housing a motorcycle club, it’s a lovely place to live.

But it’s getting out of hand lately.

The Vices are everywhere.

They own half of the businesses, have their fingers inside all of the others’ pockets. They’re friends with the mayor. They have a deal with the police. You can’t go anywhere without seeing a trace of them, either by spying a leather vest or hearing one of their names. Your favorite pub, Rossi’s, even has a drink dedicated to them. Gluttony, of course.

Every bar, every warehouse, every street corner, it’s theirs.

Except your father’s shop.

The Rose Garden is your pride. It was opened by your maternal grandparents, passed down to your mother and father, and it will be yours when the time comes. It’s your favorite place in the world, filled to the brim with the smell of flowers. You grew up in this shop – you even took your first steps in it. It’s a part of you who are, and you’d never let anyone touch it. Especially not the Vices.

You’re so proud of your father for refusing to deal with them. What would a biker club want with a flower shop, anyway?

Not that they never asked – they came around a few years ago to ask for friendship. You were away, so you didn’t witness the conversation they had with your father, but he told you he had politely declined. Then again, the Vices had just started to extend their influence in town and many people were still resisting.

It has never been this bad. According to what your father told you, the original members had created the club for the sake of allyship, had provided protection, and used to run a few shady deals. But then their sons took over, and it changed. They had ambition. They wanted power.

They wanted revenge.

You don’t know the full story. Nobody does. All you know is that the original members dropped one by one. They had accidents. People were dying.

You’ll give the current Vices members that – nobody dies anymore. The town is safe. Under their control, but safe.

Still, you hate how they have seeped into every seam, inescapable, their names on everyone’s lips, their stupid logo everywhere you look.

A devil with angel wings.

According to your recent round-up, the Vices owned everyone, and your father was the only one left. Because of that, you knew it was a matter of time before they would come for a visit. You and your father never talked about it, but you just figured he would say no again. The Rose Garden is yours. It will never be theirs.

Over your fucking dead body.

The rain passes early in the morning, leading to a cloudy sky. You need to buy a few supplies for a special order, so you head to the hardware store. The place is quiet at this time of day, Seungmin giving you a nod from behind the counter. The store is his and his father’s – just like in your family. It’s not unusual for Temperance, but you and Seungmin have especially bonded. His parents are good friends with your father, so you spent a lot of time together during dinners playing video games.

Just like you, Seungmin is exactly where he wants to be. If you grew up around flowers, he did around tools, the smell of paint and the sound of chainsaws. Neither of you have ever wanted anything else.

You know the store like the back of your hand, so you head directly to the alley you need, crossing paths with a guy with broad shoulders and a baseball cap covering his orange hair. You’d know that signature leather cut anywhere. Vice. His name is Chris, and he dates a sweet girl with eyes like honey. What she sees in him, you’re not sure – he scares you.

You give him a dirty look – he just raises an eyebrow at you, not looking fazed in the slightest. A tattoo covers almost the entirety of his neck, chains and barbed wire enhancing a thin white scar instead of hiding it. He goes to the counter to pay, and Seungmin makes sure to stay calm and polite.

He doesn’t like them either – but his father had no choice but to get the Vices on his payroll. Bikers did not need flowers – but they needed tools. Seungmin is more careful than you. Not that he’s scared, but he’s worried about his mom. She is terrified, so Seungmin makes sure she never has to deal with them directly – which results in him working almost every day so she doesn’t have to. It makes your blood boil.

The sound of the bike engine starting outside irritates you, and you watch the Vice drive away under the drizzle with obvious disgust on your face.

“You’ll only get yourself into trouble, you know,” Seungmin tells you when you go back to the counter, placing your stuff on it.

You scoff. “What are they going to do, kill me?” Seungmin gives you a glare, and you falter slightly. “Come on. Even they wouldn’t get away with that.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them, that’s all,” he sighs, scanning your things. He grabs the pencil that he always keeps behind his ear to take note of something, and you wonder if he’s right.

Murder. Would they go that far?

You shudder when you realize you have no idea.

“I’m going to be careful, Min,” you say. “I just hate the way they prance around town like they own it.”

“But they do,” he underlines with a joyless smile. “Tab?”

You nod. It had become a nuisance for you to pay every time you come for the slightest thing, so you and Seungmin had agreed to put a tab in place, which you paid every month.

“But they’re so…. They’re so…”

“Y/N,” he tells you softly. “I know. I’m just saying. Be careful. The town is big enough for us to stay under their radar, but still.”

There is clear worry in his voice, and you give him a soft smile. “I promise.”

When you come out of the hardware store, after talking with Seungmin for a few minutes, the clouds have dispersed. No more rain, it seems – which bothers you a little. It’s only a short walk back to the flower shop, and you turn around your conversation with your friend in your head. You try to remember if you’ve ever heard anything about the Vices doing something truly horrible, but all you can think is dealing drugs and all sorts of things on the black market.

For some odd reason it bothers you, as if it would give you a really good excuse to profoundly hate them. They’re killers sounded like a pretty good one. But all you can think of is the sound of their bikes annoy the shit out of me and they make money selling guns – which is already pretty fucking awful. But you’re not sure they really use them, although a few months ago there was a rumor their leader had once stabbed someone repeatedly. That person probably didn’t deserve it, you convince yourself. Their leader looks like a real psycho after all.

Lee Minho. His face is all smugness and he looks at everyone like they’re cockroaches. Something in his eyes, in the way they move, rubs you the wrong way – like you’d say the wrong thing at the wrong time and he’d absolutely snap. Not that you’ve ever spent a lot of time in the same room as him – you’re pretty sure he doesn’t know you exist, which suits you – but it is a small town.

You close your eyes, trying to think about anything else, and just when you think you’ve succeeded, those fucking engines invade the air around you and pollute it. Your eyes search for the bikes, and you realize they are leaving parking spots. The flower shop’s. Your heart drops at the bottom of your stomach, and because of the shock you can only stare at them drive away. Once the sound fades, you break into a run despite your trembling legs.

Dad, you keep thinking. Please be fine.

Please, please, be fine.

When you enter the shop, breathless, you find your father in the workshop, sitting at his bench. He has removed his glasses, his face in his hands. He looks fine, but you can’t calm down.

“Dad!” you cry out, running to him. “Are you okay?”

He lifts his head. His eyes are dark, and you try to recognize the look on his face.

“Did they hurt you?” you ask, your voice shaking.

He shakes his head and then it hits you – shame. Disappointment. Resignation. “I’m fine, sprout.”

“What did they want with you?” you say, your eyes wide in fear, although you already know the answer.

Your father stands up slowly and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. His smile is one you hate to see. “I’m sorry, sprout. I’ve run out of times to say no,” he states.

“Dad, no.”

But he nods. “It’s time.”

“I fucking hate their fucking guts, Hyun.”

That night you stop by Rossi’s, the local pub and your favorite place to indulge in a drink or two. You don’t usually go on Monday nights because you work early the next day and there are always Vices around, but you feel like an exception had to be made.

The tall blond behind the bar chuckles at you. “Okay, Y/N. Maybe I should take that drink back.”

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, taking your glass in your hands to pull it close to your chest, away from his grasp. You squint your eyes at him.

“Just messing with you,” he says with a sigh. “But seriously, keep it down.”

He gives a nod towards the back of the bar, where a few Vices are sitting.

There’s three of them occupying a booth, another two playing pool.

Neck tattoo guy is there, his girlfriend – sorry, his old lady – curled around him.

You’ve learned, against your will, that there’s a hierarchy in a motorcycle club.

There’s the leader, the president.

The vice president.

Sergeant-at-arms, which is Chris.

The secretary, an older guy from the previous generation.

There are the regular members, the full patches, and then, the prospects. There’s one at Rossi’s tonight, his cut’s patch reading Prospect in big letters. His smile is wide, his laugh cheeky, and it clashes with his leather pants and ripped long-sleeved shirt. Felix. You know him a little, as he’s only a year younger than you. He transferred to Temperance Middle School when his family bought the local supermarket. He was always a little bit of a pyromaniac so it’s not really that much of a surprise he joined the Vices – but you wonder what precipitated him to do so recently.

Another one is sitting quietly, seemingly deep into his own thoughts. Him you know better. His name is Jisung and you were always in the same classes in school.

He has blue hair covering his eyes and he never blinks.

The rest you’ve seen around. None are the leader, though.

The president.

What a pretentious title.

You glare at them. “They’re not listening to me,” you spit. “Like they care about us insects.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, but he does not insist. He knows you need your venting session, and he always obliges.

This is your favorite bar. You love the red booths, the wooden tables and counters, the music, and you love the drinks – enough to forgive it’s slowly becoming a major landmark for Vices. Once you felt so bitter you ordered a Gluttony just so you could spit in it, go outside, and throw it on the pavement.

You had been quite drunk that night.

“Hyunnie,” you moan, your head falling in your hands. “They can’t take the Rose Garden. My father worked his whole life for that shop. So did my grandfather. So do I. It’s like, my legacy.”

Hyunjin gives you an understanding smile. “You don’t have a choice, Y/N. They’re not the kind of people you can keep saying no to. Besides, they’re really not that bad…”

You scoff, gulping a big sip of your drink, but Hyunjin is not laughing. And when he’s serious, he’s serious.

Hyunjin is yet another person you’ve known for long. Too long, maybe. With Seungmin, he’s the only one you missed when you were away.

You used to have the biggest crush on Hyunjin in high school and you really wanted him to be your first – your first everything – until the day, at a party, where he said you were like his little sister. That turned you off real fast.

He’s still one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Legs for days, eyes like dark oceans, the softest looking hair. You like to watch him work, his long fingers holding up bottles and making glasses dance. Before, when you were really drunk, you liked to flirt with him just to know how it felt, and sometimes he indulged you.

But Hyunjin has a girlfriend now. Damn lucky bastard.

She’s told you once over drinks that he’s a fucking delight in bed.

You nearly threw your vodka in her face out of jealousy but instead suggested you both smoke a joint so she can tell you everything – and she did.

You’ll remember that conversation for the rest of your life.

But aside from being a literal demi-god walking amongst mortals, Hyunjin is also your friend, and your favorite barman.

“I’m serious,” Hyunjin states. “They’re not going to take over your business. You’ll barely see them. They just take some money. In exchange, you get protection.”

“Against what?” you frown.

“You think a biker club doesn’t have enemies? It’s like, the whole concept.”

You pout. “I don’t want protection.”

“They’re not going to post a bodyguard in front of your door,” Hyunjin says, rolling his eyes. “They’re just going to make sure nobody bothers you.”

“What if they bother me?”

“Fuck’s sake, Y/N…”

Hyunjin rubs his temples and you sigh.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” he states. “Just don’t be stupid.”

You pull a face at him. This is the second time today you’ve heard something like that. Be careful, Seungmin told you. Don’t be stupid, Hyunjin says. If you were really petty you’d do the exact opposite just to get back at them.

You’re not that petty, but you’re not far.

You glance at the Vices in the back. They’re laughing and drinking in their stupid leather vests. Despite yourself you rack your brain trying to think of a way to get back at them. To bother them for once, see how they like it. But there is not really any way it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, so you let it go.

For now.

You’re too preoccupied to really act out, anyway. Your father told you the Vices would be back in a few days to collect the first payment and confirm the arrangement. You intend to be there for every open hour and never leave your father’s side – you hold on to the possibility his decision can be reversed. If you can’t convince him, you’ll convince them. Or you’ll try.

It feels like the ground is opening up under your feet, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole. Once your father is gone, the Rose Garden will be yours.

That’s what you’ve wanted your whole life. For it to be yours, entirely, completely. Not to share it with someone else. Especially not them.

Near the end of your third drink, your head starts to spin, and you decide to head home. Fortunately, you live close to the bar, and walking will only take you a few minutes.

Outside, the sky has entirely cleared from clouds and you gaze at the deep blue. You decide to linger a little for a smoke – and that might be the only advantage you can find for the Vices to rule over your town. Not only is weed extremely easy to find, you can also smoke it freely. Even the police indulges, your friend assured you. But then again, you know Jeongin, and it’s no offence to him, but he isn’t really an example to follow on any aspect of life. How and why he became a cop, you have no clue. Not that he’s stupid or anything – he just has no authority whatsoever, is completely reckless and you’ve never seen him obey a single rule.

You light up the joint, inhaling slowly, letting the daze settle in your body. This will calm you down – and it will help you sleep, too. Otherwise, you’re pretty sure you’d lay all night with eyes wide open, plotting extorsion, kidnapping and murder.

“Can I get a hit?”

You blink a little hazily and stare at the guy talking to you. Jisung is not smiling and you can barely see his eyes behind the strands of his dark blue hair. He doesn’t look like someone who’s just asked you to share your joint – it’s more like he’s threatening you. If it weren’t for his cute, puffy cheeks, he’d be downright scary.

The light in his eyes.

Something’s not right in there.

But then again, he’s wearing a Vice cut, and Jisung has always been a little weird. He disappeared for a few years and reappeared sporting leather. If he was in jail or in a psych ward is still a mystery. For all you know, he went through both.

“Don’t you have your own?” you tell him.

“I forgot it,” he says with a shrug. He doesn’t blink. He never does.

“Too bad, then.” You snap back, taking a hit in front of him.

You’re playing with fire and you know it – and you don’t care. Jisung chuckles.

“Y/N,” he says. “You’re being a bit rude.”

“Jesus,” you sigh in annoyance. “Here, take it and go away.”

You hand him the joint, and he takes the hit with the ease of a guy who does this often. Clearly, it’s a habit he hasn’t let go of - you skipped class together a number of times in high school to smoke bad weed - but you don’t judge him, because neither have you.

“Thanks,” he says afterwards.

He puts his hands in his pockets and stands next to you.

“You want a drink?”

“I was heading home,” you say.

He moves suddenly, and his face is so close to yours you have to bite down a scream. Jisung has those eyes – and you don’t understand how a person can be so calm and restless at the same time. He’s from the same mold as his leader, that’s for sure. If there’s one that could’ve committed murder before, you think to yourself, it’s Jisung.

“You know,” he whispers, leaning towards you. You step back, your back against the wall, and Jisung’s hand comes to rest next to your head. He stares at you. He still doesn’t blink. “You should really watch what you say.”

For a second, you feel a hint of fear crawling up your veins.

Jisung smiles widely at you. “We hear everything. Even insects.”

He backs away from you and starts to walk away – but not before he barks out a laugh. You stare at him, terrified, confused, and maybe a little amused.

“It’s your day off, sprout. Just go home.”

You shake your head as you continue clipping the stems of a bouquet of daisies. “No. I’m staying here.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you glare at him. “I’m not going home, Dad. No fucking way.”

He sighs deeply, shaking his head. As he walks back to the store front, you hear him whisper something about language. You just smirk, trying to focus on work. A few days have passed, and you know it’s only a matter of time before the Vices visit the shop. It’s probably even a matter of hours.

Still, you lose track of time as you always do – you’re rearranging the display near the window when the doorbell tinkles. You turn, expecting a client, but your words of welcome die in your mouth before they reach your lips.

He enters first.

Lee Minho.

He’s all in black. Shirt, jeans, boots.

They contrast with his neatly cut silver hair.

He has a scar on his face. It slits the tip of his right eyebrow and runs down close to his eye. It still looks fresh.

His patch reads President.

You would laugh, if only you could utter a single sound. Because Minho might be the president of the Vices, whom you hate, he emanates more charisma than ten guys put together. Something about him just makes you shut up.

He’s accompanied by two people. One is Jisung, who immediately goes to smell the flowers. The other, you’re not sure what his name is. He’s not from Temperance. You just know he’s Minho’s right hand – the vice president. You’ve only heard people calling him Vice – the Vice of Vices.

The guy is all muscles. He stares around him with wary eyes, and he looks like he’s always ready to jump at someone’s throat.

You’ve heard he has slight anger management issues, which only makes you want to poke at them to see how far you can go.

In high school, people called you Trouble.

Some still do.

“Good afternoon,” Minho states, leaning against the counter.

Your dad is standing behind it, visibly nervous and defensive, but he still smiles politely. “Good afternoon.”

Minho smacks his lips together. “Well, you know why we’re here, right? Let’s not waste anyone’s time.”

You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed you. Jisung has, because he comes to stand next to you calmly, as if to put himself between you and Minho if you were to jump at his throat. The Vice is staring at you from across the store, his arms crossed on his chest. You glance at him, spying tattoos on his hands that clearly continue under his sleeves. His fingers are covered, too, with ink and silver rings.

There is nothing in his eyes.

Just darkness.

“Right –” your dad stutters, and it takes everything from you not to say something. “Of course. Just – give me a second.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at him, visibly waiting. Your father’s hands are trembling as he opens the drawer under the cashier to take an envelope. Your hands are tightened into fists. You desperately want to say something, to stop this from happening, but you have no idea how. It’s like you’re stunned, and you hate yourself for it.

Minho takes the envelope, opens it, and takes out the pile of bills. You gulp. He licks his finger and starts to count, taking his time. You alternate between glaring at him and entering staring contests with the Vice.

“Let’s go over it one more time, huh?” Minho says when he’s done, tapping the bills on the counter before putting them in his inside pocket. “Just so we’re clear.”

As he spreads out the terms of the arrangement, you feel a warmth spread to your cheeks, anger rising in your throat. You’re squeezing your fists so hard they go numb. You have to do something. You have to say something.

Minho is in the middle of explaining something when the words escape your mouth, loud and full of rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The shop goes silent. Minho blinks, and slowly turns to you. You don’t falter because you’re looking at your father.

“Dad, you’re not seriously going to do this, are you? There is nothing in this for you. You’re just giving them money, it’s not an arrangement, it’s fucking blackmail!”

“Y/N…” your father sighs.

“No!” you cry out. “No way am I letting you do this. You promised.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Your father’s voice is so full of despair, so full of shame, your anger bursts into flames. You see red, you see black – and you turn to Minho, pointing your finger at his chest. “This is your fault,” you sneer at him. “You think you’re on top of the fucking world, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you in mild surprise and disinterest – and you’re too enraged to notice if he’s amused or getting angry, too. You don’t even care.

“I fucking hate your guts, you arrogant, corrupted, despisable bastard,” you spit at Minho.

Next to you, Jisung lets out a snort, but Minho barely reacts. He keeps staring at you – so does his Vice. They are not saying anything, and it makes you even more angry.

Be careful, Seungmin told you.

“You think you can treat people this way, and just get away with it? Maybe the others will let you, but I won’t.”

Don’t be stupid, Hyunjin said.

Fuck it.

You hold your head high, keeping your eyes in Minho’s. Finally, he blinks.

“Who are you?” he simply states.

Your father’s face has gone white. “I’m sorry. It’s my daughter, she’s…”

“Don’t you dare say I don’t know what I’m saying,” you growl at your father. “I know exactly what I’m saying, I don’t care who he is. He can’t take advantage of people like this. You fucking asshole.”

Minho does not flinch. “Your daughter, you say,” he calmly states. He’s talking to your father but still looking at you. Now that your anger has settled a little – it feels insanely good to let it all out – you can see his eyes are shining. Brightly.

He’s amused, and you just want to rip out his throat.

“What’s your name?” he finally asks you.

You scoff. “What’s it to you?”

“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he says, taking a step towards you. The shop is not very big, and he’s not that close, but his energy still tramples yours.

You tighten your jaw. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, try again, buddy. I’m not going to play your little game.”

He chuckles. “A game? I didn’t know we were playing.”

You blink at him, feeling a fuse break in your brain. It’s your turn to take a step towards him. “What’s so fucking funny –”

You stop, because the second you move, so do Jisung and the Vice. The first takes your arm, the second seemingly ready to throw you on your ass.

You’re too busy staring at Minho, though. The room is silent and tense. He’s eyeing you up and down, a smug smile on his lips, and you do the same, except your face is tense with anger. After a few seconds, he lets out another chuckle.

“I’ll come back at a later time to finish our conversation, sir,” he says, addressing your father. “It seems like you have a few things to discuss with your daughter.”

You hold up his stare – you’d rather die than let him think he’s winning this – but he quickly turns away and walks out of the shop in a couple of steps. The Vice follows him, his face still stern, as if nothing happened. Jisung is the last to leave – not without grabbing a single flower from a bouquet, blue like his hair, and twirling it between his fingers as he leaves.

The door closes behind them. You’re too busy trying to calm down your anger to see him straddle their bikes and drive away. After a while, you hear your father sigh.

“What the hell did you just do, sprout?”

Hey everyone ♡ Since the response to the announcement was positive, I thought I’d give a little preview, and then I thought, why not a whole prologue? The parts are long enough for me to divide them a little. TT I hope you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or reblog if you can, it really helps ♡ I can’t wait to publish more of this story I’ve been having so much fun writing it! Thank you again, take care ♡

247 notes · View notes

hopefull-mindset · 3 months

Note

Hello this is my main for @/dazai-on-my-mind I was going through your abuse post (have yet to finish it so forgive me if you've discussed this already) what are your theories for what lies under Dazai's bandages? The main fan theories that I've seen so far is that they're either covering self inflicted injuries or Mori experimented on Dazai at times during his Port Mafia days but again coming from your abuse post this theory seems highly unlikely. So I was wondering if you had any thoughts about that.

Hello! Sorry this took a bit. I saw your other ask, so I'll try to get to that. It's absolutely fine you haven't finished it. I'm personally surprised at how long it is myself. I actually haven't talked about what is under Dazai’s bandages, so sure! I also have some brief thoughts on the bandages itself.

(Edit: that was not brief, it turns out I had a lot of thoughts)

It's an average topic with this fandom, so I don't know how much I can add really!

We do know he has scars from what Oda said in Dark Era:

And we also get this tidbit from Harukawa talking about designing Dazai:

The special thing about this series was that apart from the settings from Asagiri, the characters probably should have certain aspects of the authors they were based on, but I tried to draw them based on the character settings first when doing up the initial drafts. […] For Dazai, I wrapped him up in bandages because of his suicide mania, and took note with other items.

—Harukawa35, Behind The Scenes of The Character Design!

Of course, the intent behind what the bandages are and what is behind them can change over time when they get to know their own characters better! They look like they're implying two different things, but I'd argue it's the exact same thing, even if they come from different places.

Out of all the assumptions, what's under there is probably scars he gained while throwing his life away in the face of danger, even when he doesn't need to. It's no different than the average suicide attempt by him. I wonder if he has a scar from the Old Boss’s scythe, that'd be sick. This is what sounds most likely to me, but I’ll entertain other ideas for the sake of it being too short of a note to end on.

You can obviously tell I don’t dig the idea of Mori committing medical malpractice. Not only is that an insane idea to come by, how does he even benefit from that thought process? The only type of stuff happening is Mori forcing him to take his vaccinations and taking drugs Dazai got from his medicine cabinet out of his young hands. I also think people think this way because of what he said about Mori telling him the shots won't hurt in The Day I Picked Up Dazai Side A.

A doctor is telling a child his shots won't hurt… ??? Sounds pretty normal.

I know people won't like it when I say this, but that was typical teenage Dazai childishness. He does genuinely not like pain of course, so it could be that he's overexaggerating because that's what it felt like to him haha. That scene is meant to be comedic, so this sentiment shouldn't be that serious in context. It's not like this is idk Black Butler.

I remember in Side B that Dazai says pain is what reminds you that you're alive. Maybe that's why he doesn't like it, even if he was a torture specialist. To understand death, you have to understand what it is to be alive because life is both of those things. Dazai prefers the state of being dead rather than the process, but also thinks the attempt is easier than actually committing. Dear god, your commitment issues don't need to go this far.

As for self-harm, it's pretty 50/50 with enough arguments on both sides to make a case. Dazai doesn’t like pain, but people don't usually do it because they like the feeling of the pain itself. They could do it to punish themselves, the feeling of it afterward, etc. I think Dazai putting himself in those situations like I mentioned earlier counts enough as self-harm (you can even count his implicit drinking habits too if you'd like), but this specifically on what I know you mean just depends on whether you think Dazai would do so.

I can't imagine it from Dazai, but if people think so, there's nothing stopping them from it. There's nothing implying he wouldn't, suicidal people don't always resort to this. I’m personally just tired of people using it for their whump narratives, in all fandoms actually.

I don’t care much for it if that’s what they’d like to do because I understand, but it’s not something I like being depicted in weirdly graphic detail for no reason other than the character to suffer. Besides that, there no harm in it. I don’t want to get all “you shouldn’t write this stuff because I said so”, that’s stupid.

(-150 points if it’s for white knighting ship content)

Now I hope you don’t mind me rambling off a bit! It’s been on my mind since last week to talk about the bandages.

Symbolically, the bandages can mean a couple things. All very similar things haha. It’s like what Chuuya’s gloves are to him and how personal it is to take them off outside of Corruption, or how he said he used to put his hands in his pockets because he wanted to protect his humanity while fighting.

Core things they can mean are:

A thin barrier to separate and hide himself from others (including from himself)

To minimize skin contact from his ability aka himself (not as literal as it sounds)

Abilities in Bungou Stray Dogs are apart of the user. No matter if you move your ability on to your child (Kyouka and her Mother), have it be mutilated into something unrecognizable (Verlaine, Chuuya), or to naturally be imbedded into you, you cannot separate it from your humanity. It’s still you, as Atsushi had to eventually accept this fact.

You can say a lot about the nature of abilities and 55 Minutes made some worrying discussion points about Abilities that I wish were touched on more by others, but let’s go with first thought process because it’s the one Asagiri let’s us off easy with.

No Longer Human, as Asagiri told us, is based off of the feeling he got when reading Dazai Osamu’s writing. Functionally, his ability is a bit horrifying to me as something born from himself. Maybe I just overreact, but when you translate what his ability mean functionally against every ability user we know, you can come up with interesting conclusions.

It’s not like how Atsushi can cut through abilities as a Tiger as I’m sure that was meant to imply something about his psychological breakthrough and combating other’s soul born abilities with his own. Dazai just straight up takes away other’s abilities. As long as he’s touching you, you have become a victim to his soul’s vacuum of searching for humanity or lack there of.

That’s not to say others who don’t have abilities aren’t human, I think the difference is that ability users are forced to put a part of their humanity up for show and scrutiny, which makes them appear inhuman to the average human being. Dazai is as paradoxical as his own ability. He’s functionally the average human being, but he also lacks something… human when you put him up against another ability user.

Sorta this middle ground in what to think and how he also tends to be. When I read No Longer Human, it popped out to me too often that Yozo Oba was incredibly human while putting himself in this position of inhumanity.

When Dazai’s ability is in effect, he takes away a piece of your humanity, making your less than who you were before. So when Dazai covers skin with his bandages, he’s covering up the metaphorical cavity that is his ability and inhumanity. When the bandages starts going everything when he’s using his ability, he’s swallowing that piece whole and embracing you falling to his level.

Am I overanalyzing a stylistic choice that usually only appears in official art? Yes, but it’s fun.

You can tell I skipped the first one, but that’s because it has to do with an example that’s been the reason I keep thinking about this and it sounded more fun to talk about. In the Onsen CD Drama, there’s two scenes I want to put emphasis one.

The first one being when Dazai says that they’re all getting closer because of them being in the hot spring, but Kunikida calls out the fact he’s still wearing his bandages. I could’ve passed it off as being not that significant because it’s a joke scene if it weren’t for the next one.

Atsushi wanted to wash Dazai’s back since Kunikida had been occupied and he wanted to help them like they did for him, but Dazai had already walked away. Later when they’re still awake while the others had slept, Atsushi tries again and actually gets the opportunity to do it. Only problem, Dazai still has his bandages on. Dazai just tells him it’s okay and to scrub anyway.

This made me feel… how do I say this… speechless? Not because Dazai was entirely insistent on them being apart of his body like the troll he is, but because of the simultaneous intimacy of the act and abruption of it with the bandages. You can pass it off as a running joke, but we both know Dazai absolutely heard Atsushi thank him and avoided that confrontation by playing it off as being sleepy.

I’ve said this a couple times to people I’ve talked to before, but Dazai is the type of guy who you would talk to every day, invite you everywhere, and always go out with a lot of people, but if you were to be asked what you personally know about him, you’d be able to say nothing but surface level stuff everyone knows.

With anyone and everyone, there’s always this level of personal separation between them and Dazai, and they know it. Even if you are closer to him like Oda and Chuuya are and Dazai had willing shared stuff usually wouldn’t (mind you, it took Mimic for Dazai to share more about himself to Oda and Ango), he doesn’t let himself be that vulnerable or let himself go.

I’m arguing that the bandage are a more literal barrier between him and the world. Either to protect himself or to protect others from what they’ll realize about him. He hides himself because of what he is…or something like that at least, I don’t know what goes though his head. Im still trying to figure out his perception on things thoroughly and if he really cares about it.

The eye bandage has been talked to death by now. Yes yes, Dazai left his eye covered for depth perception in the dark and Oda uncovering it for him to see the light as well. We all know it. Still, I think it’s quite meaningful that when he’s finally having an heart-to-heart with Odasaku, he’s the one to open up that bandage. It doesn’t fix everything, but he’s been opened up to that possibility.

For Beast, Dazai having a bandage on the other eye can be seen as a misguided attempt of seeing everything with Oda in mind by seeing it all in the eye he uncovered, but still needing to cover the other to guide himself in the dark. He’s also a mirror image of the original Dazai if you’d like to see it like that.

In Side B, Dazai covers his whole face up. Ironically, while I called the bandages on his body a cover up for his inhumanity, the face bandages cover up his emotions, suppressant of himself. Dazai is not typically that emotional, but Side B Dazai is going through a lot when it comes to Odasaku… so while he’s covering his face to hide it from Oda, he is also hiding the overwhelming feelings he has.

In the ending of Side B where he takes off the dirty bandages, he’s so wracked with emotion he almost fails himself in his plans, and presumably forces himself to cover up his one eye again. When he falls to his death in the ending of Beast, bandages fall when he’s able to let himself go.

In the manga, Hoshikawa was evil and drew the bandages falling into Oda’s hands. Let’s say… they’re a symbol of his protect of Oda and remembrance of the scene where Oda pulls them off. You can even say they where still taken off with Oda’s influence!

OKAY ENOUGH, I’m talking you ears off. It seems I like the sound of my own voice and wanted to share as much as I could.

#/ discussion of self harm #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd beast #me writing this post: Dazai’s bandages mean *throws dart* …..*squints* the protection of his own disappointment against the face of the #world’s predictability and in turn being…?#okay let’s start over.. *picks up another dart*

14 notes · View notes

marstheprinzess · 5 months

Text

current skincare routine (am+pm) 🩷

my current skincare routine(s) consist of a few products that i won’t repurchase, not because they break me out (or anything of that sorts) but bc i realised, that my skin created some sort of tolerance towards them. i will mention the products that are on my wish list in my next post! ♡

my (face) skin type + concerns:

oily/combination (depending on the season)

hormonal acne

textured skin

hyperpigmentation / dark spots / acne scars

i do, what some might call “skin cycling”, so my skincare routine looks different every other day! it might seem like a lot but the base products stay pretty much the same.

my current products ♡:

cleanser:

Inky List Oat Cleansing Balm ❌

CeraVe Foaming Cleanser ❌

Panoxyl Benzolperoxide*

toner:

Simple Soothing Facial Toner ❌

Haruharu Wonder Black Rice Hyaluronic Toner

serums/treatments:

Boots Azelaic Acid 15% ❌

Paula’s Choice BHA/AHA Toner ❌

The Inkey List Tranexamic Acid ❌

retinoid:

Tretinoin Cream 0.025%

moisturiser:

Cerave Moisturising Lotion ❌

spf:

Eucerin Sun Gel-Cream Oil Control Sun Cream SPF50

*only used when i have active breakouts but not on the nights when i use tretinoin x

all products marked with ❌, i will not be repurchasing, more info at the end!

my current routine ♡:

Monday AM: CTMSPF** + Hyaluronic Toner

Monday PM: CTM*** + BHA/AHA Toner

Tuesday AM: CTMSPF + Azelaic Acid 15%

Tuesday PM: CTM + Tretinoin 0.025%

Wednesday AM: CTMSPF + Tranexamic Acid

Wednesday PM: CTM + Tretinoin 0.025%

Thursday AM: CTMSPF + Hyaluronic Toner

Thursday PM: CTM + Azelaic Acid 15%

Friday AM: CTMSPF + Tranexamic Acid

Friday PM: CTM + Tretinoin 0.025%

Saturday AM: CTMSPF + Hyaluronic Toner

Saturday PM: CTM + Tranexamic Acid

Sunday AM: CTMSPF + Azelaic Acid 15%

Sunday PM: CTM + Tretinoin 0.025%

**CTMSPF = cleanser, toner, moisturiser & spf

***CTM = cleanser, toner & moisturiser

ps. on the days where i only use the hyaluronic toner (w/ hands), i won’t use the simple toner (w/ cotton pad). and just to be clear, i’m using my serum/treatments before any moisturiser or spf! and i double cleanse every night ♡

per my last lil life update, i mention that i’m back home in germany after completing my studies in the uk and i realised that i actually don’t need to order most of my skincare (+ body care) stuff from the uk, since germany (rossmann, budni, dm & certain pharmacies) have improved their range and released a lot of products that are similar (or the same) to the ones i could easily find in boots or superdrug! which i’m excited and happy about bc i always prefer to get the majority of my hygiene stuff from local drug stores rather than buying them online; especially with products that run out rather quickly (e.g. spf, cleanser, etc). so watch out for my next post, on the products that are on my wish list! ♡

best wishes & until next time,

mars the prinzess ❤︎

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

*none of the pictures i used are my own, unless stated otherwise. i get them from pinterest

17 notes · View notes

minervadashwood · 2 years

Text

Scars and Stitches, Chapter 17: Strings Attached - Daryl X PlusSize!Reader (she/her)

Masterlist

________

Chapter Summary: Daryl begins to recover from his injury. Word Count: 2,800 (of 45,00+)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x PlusSize Reader (she/her) Era: Season 1-Season 4, Longfic that follows the series with a few alterations. Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of past abuse, Shane Walsh being awful, and mentions of drug use/addiction.

________

The real knife to a man's heart was his woman's tears. ― Christine Feehan, Savage Nature

Daryl jerked awake. He couldn’t remember much of anything after Andrea fucking shot him. His side hurt like a bitch, and it took him a few seconds to piece everything together. Hershel and Patricia had probably patched him up. Didn’t feel like they’d bothered giving him any pain relievers, though.

It still took him a few long minutes before he realized something warm and soft was cuddled up next to his good side. It was you. His heart melted, and he now recalled snippets of how he got here. Shane and Rick had carried him to this room, and at some point you had been facing away from him, just out of reach. But you had talked to him, while your fingers were literally inside him, with his blood all over your hands and wrists.

Fuck, he had been so stupid out there, letting himself get distracted by the rain, falling onto his own damn bolt. Even now, Merle was in the back of his mind, with his ‘Darylina’ and calling him ‘worthless,’ and ‘weak,’ but it was that voice that had saved him. Daryl crawled his way out of that forest just to prove Merle wrong. Maybe Merle was wrong about a lot of things.

Beside him, you whimpered, and your steady breathing gradually grew panicked and labored. With the hand closest to you, he scrambled to touch your arm. It was soaked in sweat.

Ignoring the pain in his side, he pushed himself up to lean on the headboard and grabbed you with both hands, shaking you gently. “Darlin,’ wake up. It’s just a dream. C’mon.”

You jolted awake, breathless and tense. “D-Daryl?” You sat up quickly, your hands suddenly cupping his face. “Daryl, baby, you’re okay. Don’t worry, you’re going to be just fine.”

You leaned down, and his eyes fluttered closed just as you kissed his forehead. He breathed in the familiar scent of you and reveled in your gentle touch.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “You got me all patched up?”

You pulled away, sniffing. “I helped, but Hershel and Patricia did most of the work.” You were getting off the bed, and he was bereft without you beside him. In the darkness, he heard the striking of a match and then a warm glow filled the room as you lit an oil lantern.

“I didn’t know,” you were saying, with your back to him, “What kind of pain medicine you’d want. I have Merle’s stash in here.” He watched as you squat down over your red backpack and Merle’s tackle box. A second later, you turned around with an assortment of pill bottles in your arms.

He’d never seen you so nervous, like a storm of anxiety flitting from one corner of the room to the other.

Near the bed, you kneeled to the floor and the pill bottles clattered on the rug. “D-do you want the really strong stuff? Looks like we have plenty oxycodone, some prescription strength ibuprofen, plus all the over-the-counter pain relievers. I just didn’t know what you wanted….”

Daryl said your name, filling his voice with as much sternness as he could manage. He had to say it three times before you stopped your rambling and blinked up at him, practically trembling. He tried studying your face to figure out just what was wrong with you but came up with nothing.

“C’mere,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your eyes soft and pitiful.

He urged you back on the bed, and tucked you against his good side, holding you close with one arm. “You’re a fuckin’ mess,” he told you.

You sighed, lip quivering. “I know. I just—I was so scared, Daryl. First you didn’t come home on time, and then Andrea shot you, and you were bleeding, and I thought I was going to lose you, just when I’d found you—and I don’t know how to do this, how to be strong for you when I can barely hold myself together. I’m sorry, Daryl. I’m so sorry.”

Wincing, he moved his left hand to thread his fingers in your hair. “I ain’t going nowhere. I came back, didn’t I?”

You sniffed. “You made it back, but there was so much blood…I thought you were bitten…Andrea said you were a walker, and that’s why she shot you.”

Daryl was at a loss. You were hysterical. His easygoing, level-headed, hopeful woman was falling apart. Over him. Never in his whole life had anyone given a damn, not when he’d been missing for days, not when his father tortured him, not even when Merle’s dealer nearly killed him. He didn’t know what to do with this, with you.

So, he asked himself what you would do, and the answer was completely obvious.

He hugged you.

With one hand, he held your head to his chest, and with the other he held you just tightly enough to be soothing, but not so tightly as to be possessive. You sobbed into his chest, and he let you get it all out. It only lasted a minute—maybe less than that—but soon you were taking deep breaths and pulling away from his hold. You took his hand and kissed it.

“Sorry,” you murmured again, getting up from the bed once more. “You need the medicine. What do you want?”

It took him a minute to answer. You appeared better, calmer at least, if not entirely yourself.

“Good stuff. Feels like Glenn run me over with my own bike.”

That earned him a small chuckle from you, and soon you were handing him a pill and a glass of water. You made him drink the whole thing. Then you were forcing him to eat three boiled eggs and two peaches, followed by a second glass of water. He let you tend to him, unable to admit to himself that he rather liked your attentiveness.

By the time he finished eating, the medicine was kicking in, dulling his pain and making him feel lightweight and sleepy.

He started laying down again and said, “Turn out that light and get over here. Need you next to me so I can get some sleep.”

You gave him a small smile, the worry behind your eyes slightly abated. “Such a sweet talker,” you replied.

You snuffed out the lantern, and a moment later you gingerly crawled into the bed, this time under the covers, right next to him. He couldn’t hold you like he wanted, not without risking all the patchwork done to fix him, but you solved that problem by hugging his right arm and resting your head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Ya good?” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m good,” you said.

The next morning, after making sure Daryl took his medicine and ate breakfast, you left him with Carol and set about cleaning your and Daryl’s filthy clothes. Near the water pump—now walker free—you filled a bushel-sized bucket of water and sprinkled in a good amount of borax. Out of habit, you checked the pockets of Daryl’s jeans. People in your group seemed to leave all manner of things in their pockets, from useful things like lighters and maps, to worthless things like quarters and dimes.

When you put your hand into the side pocket of Daryl’s jeans, your fingers touched what felt like strands of loose thread. Thinking the seam of the pocket was coming undone, you turned the pocket inside out to inspect the damage. However, as you did, small pieces of knotted black thread fluttered to your lap. You picked one up, studied for a moment, then finally realized what they were: the stitches you’d taken out of Daryl’s back. You faintly remembered when you removed them, and that Daryl had taken them to throw away.

Or so you thought.

You picked up each stitch, placed them in your palm, and gazed at them for a long moment. The ends were slightly frayed, indicating they’d seen a lot of friction. Why did Daryl still have these? Aside from being kind of gross, they were of no practical use whatsoever. But he’d kept them, apparently. Had he been moving them from one pair of jeans to the other whenever he changed clothes?

How long had he been keeping them? You weren’t sure of the date. There had been those long days of traveling since leaving the CDC, getting to the farm, looking for Sophia, then even more time after that as all of you settled into life next door to the Greenes. And all that time Daryl had kept these worthless pieces of thread.

Why would he need such things?

You put the stitches in the pocket of your pants. You could not decide if you should ask him about them later or to just casually leave them someplace so he could find them on his own. He’d probably prefer the latter.

You turned your attention back to the laundry. Daryl’s flannel shirt was ripped into pieces. Still the cloth might be useful as rags, padding, or to patch up his other shirts. At any rate, either you or Daryl would certainly make use of them.

Your own t-shirt, once a bright yellow, would hereafter have a large rust-brown stain on it. It had been one of your favorites, too, so vivid and vibrant. As you rinsed out the clothes, a fanciful notion came to mind.

You remembered that phase in middle school when you and all your friends obsessively made friendship bracelets. You’d even learned how to make them out of old t-shirts.

Your mind flitted to the rope bracelet on your knife, and overcome with both nostalgia and affection, decided to make something similar for Daryl.

Daryl made it to the afternoon before staying inside the stuffy farmhouse was making him lose his mind. A while after he finally got rid of Carol, Daryl grabbed your red backpack and Merle’s stash, and struggled out of the room and down the stairs. He only stopped when he got to the porch steps. Then, he breathed in the fresh smell of wildflowers, grass, and wheat, while savoring the openness of the sky and the gentle breeze lifting the ends of his hair.

With a grunt, he lugged the tackle box and your backpack to the tent he shared with you.

The camp was humming with its usual activity. Even Carl was up and about, playing in the dirt with Sophia. Glenn and Dale were elbow deep in the engine of the RV, tinkering with the fickle thing, while T-Dog looked on. Shane and Andrea were perched on top, keeping watch. Daryl supposed Rick was off somewhere, maybe talking with Hershel again.

You were sitting at the collapsible picnic table with Lori and Carol, sunshine beaming down on you as you helped the other two women string and snap beans. The sight of you hit him full force, right in the chest, so pretty and captivating, and—most importantly—his.

“Daryl!” Andrea exclaimed. “You’re up!”

He tore his gaze from you to watch Andrea clamber down off the RV.

“I can’t tell you how awful I feel,” she said. She held out a half-eaten candy bar. “Peace offering?”

He declined the offer. “You were protectin’ the group,” he told her.

The woman rambled on, but out of the corner of his eye, Daryl caught Shane staring down at him.

“What the hell happened to you out there, man?” Shane asked.

“Huntin’ accident,” Daryl grumbled, looking off into the distance. He wasn’t about to admit to everyone all his stupid ass mistakes out there (nor the hallucinations that got him home).

“Daryl?”

He spun around at the sound of your voice, his shame and embarrassment forgotten as you walked toward him, gazing up at him with wide, worried eyes. He felt everyone else watching him, and even though he wanted to wrap you in his arms, he only gave you a small nod.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, bab—buddy,” you stammered.

He shrugged. “’m alright.” Truth was, he was in pain, but being all cooped up bothered him more than his injury.

Lori stood up from the table. “Good to see you’re going to be okay. You want something to eat?”

He shook his head. All this attention somewhat overwhelming, he looked around camp, avoiding pairs of curious, watchful eyes.

His gaze settled on the clothesline, where his jeans were hanging. Ignoring everyone around him, he walked over and yanked the pants off the line. He had to make sure the stitches were in there.

He heard your soft footsteps behind him. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbled, his face hot with embarrassment. He shoved a hand into each pocket; they were both empty. Furiously, he turned all the pockets inside out, even the back ones, but still, he couldn’t find the stitches. He knew it shouldn’t matter. They were only short thin threads, but somehow the loss of them was almost unbearable.

You touched his elbow. “Daryl,” you whispered. “I need to show you something.” You moved to stand in front of him.

He gripped the jeans tightly in both fists to keep his hands from shaking.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out two braided lengths of…something.

You held the longer one in your open palm, showing it to him.

“I cut up our shirts and made a couple of bracelets…”

He dropped his jeans and snatched the braid from your hand. He recognized two strands from one of your t shirts, and the third one from the red and gold flannel shirt he wore yesterday. The yellow from your shirt picked up the goldenrod plaid from his own. His lip quivered. Down the center of the braid were a series of V-shaped black threads, the stitches.

“Do you…want to wear it?” you asked, voice full of uncertainty.

He nodded, unable to speak. Dropping the pants, he held out his left arm. You gave him a small, achingly sweet smile, then put the braid around his wrist.

You adjusted the ends. “Is this too tight? Too loose?”

“’s fine,” he croaked.

Nodding, you knotted the bracelet around his wrist. Then, in an echo of the time he gave you the paracord strap, you used your knife to cut off the loose ends of the braid.

You held up the other braid. “I made one for me, too.” This bracelet was slightly different. It had two strands from his shirt, one strand from yours, and it lacked the trail of V-shaped stitches.

You blushed. “Do you want to help me put it on?”

Again, he nodded, gently taking your left wrist and tying the braid in place. He held your soft, supple hand in his, and blinked away his tears.

Then, suddenly forgetting his audience, Daryl’s hands were cupping your full, round cheeks, and he was pressing his mouth to yours. Fuck you tasted good, felt good. Kissing you took him to another plane of existence, where he didn’t have to think or worry, all he had to do was hold you close and let himself go.

Well, that was the case until Glenn shouted, “Oh, man! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Daryl reluctantly released you just in time to see Glenn handing T-Dog a packet of sunflower seeds.

“Easy bet,” T-Dog said, grinning and plopping a handful of seeds into his mouth.

“Sure was,” Carol agreed, getting up from the table. Glenn grumbled and handed her a handful of sugar packets.

Daryl watched the entire scene, slack jawed.

“What is going on?” you demanded, your face flushed, hands on your hips.

Glenn sighed. “I thought it’d take the two of you until at least winter. Now I gotta ride with Rick and listen to that stupid George Jones album on our next run. Why’d you do it, man?”

“Oh hush, Glenn,” Carol said, and she walked over, pulling both Daryl and you into a hug. “We’re all rooting for you.” She kissed Daryl’s cheek and then yours.

“Watch out. I got stitches,” Daryl mumbled, secretly enjoying Carol’s friendly gesture of approval.

However, he again saw Shane out of the corner of his eye. The former policeman was glowering down at you and Daryl.

Daryl put his arm around you and walked you back to the picnic table and sat you down. Arm snaking around your waist, he took out your Fällkniven, and sat beside you, facing the other way, pretending to look off in the distance while he was really keeping a close eye on the man atop the RV.

_________

Thanks for reading! Please consider replying or reblogging to let me know what you think!

Next Chapter

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @haleypearce @takeabreathdeath

If you want to be tagged, reply or send a message/ask.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #mdop #minerva writes #dd/xm #scars and stitches

114 notes · View notes

shywhumpauthor · 1 year

Text

NO. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

Muffled Screams | Stumbling | Magical Exhaustion

Prev. || Masterlist

Cw: torture, broken bones, thoughts of escape, broken Whumpee, kinda giving up hope? Not really. Mathias being creepy, mentions of death, starvation, drugging, other fun stuff. Most of this chapter is boring. Oh also gagging, restraints, noncon/kinda con touching (kaden is too broken to care—still not sexual)

The rest of the day passed in a lazy blur. The sun outside quickly faded into a dark, quiet night, hues of golden and pink dancing across the snowy landscape as the sun set beyond the trees. Kaden sat in front of the window for most of it, doing nothing but watching and thinking, their mind wandering to some place far away.

The landscape was truly breathtaking, the open meadow behind the house a beautiful contrast to the acres of forest they had grown used to staring at. They could see a barn near the peak of a hill on the other side, lights shining through the few windows. Somewhere in the back of their head, a vile thought of escape nagged them. A devil whispering in their ear tales of freedom if they could cross the field, make it to the light. The people who lived there could help them, or at least bring them to someone else who would. So much hope and so many dreams resided in those few lightbulbs that illuminated the distance.

Kaden sighed, their breath fogging up the glass as they suddenly stood up straight. There were no curtains, only a thin sheer of blinds which was practically see-through. Still, Kaden quickly pulled them down, cutting off all sight of the house.

Things weren’t bad right now. Mathias, he wasn’t as cruel. He took care of them, and the least they could do was stay put. Sure, they longed to walk free, to be able to do things on their own account rather some man who dictated everything they had come to know, but freedom meant choices. Hard choices, which they didn’t have the strength to make. They would need somewhere to live if they were free, and for that they would need money. For money, they would need a job. And after being presumed dead for months, looking as they did decorated in scars and marks, Kaden was sure that finding a job would not be easy.

Impossible.

So they would stay. They would stay and enjoy this life for however much longer it would last. They were sure Mathias would grow bored of them at some point, dispose of them as he claimed to do to all the others. Whether that meant killing them or dropping them off in the middle of nowhere to make their own way, Kaden wasn’t sure. And they weren’t keen on finding out yet. All they knew was that they had more time, and for as long as they remained they would enjoy every meal, every comfortable night spent tucked in a bed, every soft caress or gentle word because all of that could be ruined in a moment and they knew that.

They knew it wasn’t going to last.

With a sigh, Kaden sat back down on the bed—their bed, which they had come to assume. A dark green quilt spread across the plump mattress, providing cushioning as they fell back to lay flat, legs hanging off the side. The ceiling light above let off a soft yellowy glow, coating the room with a dim light. There was a fan, but Kaden couldn’t be bothered to get up and pull the small chain required to turn that on. Somewhere in the back of their mind they wondered what had happened to all of Mathias’s other toys. The ones they knew lay chained, drugged in his basement waiting for their debut in the studio, or as stress relievers. The ones that were just like them, snatched from unfortunate situations just like Kaden had been. The ones that saw too much or just had the poor fate of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had they been discovered by the intruders? Had they been rescued, or simply put out of their misery? Or were they left alone, those breaking in realizing that they were way over their heads—or had they not cared?

Kaden couldn’t imagine, and they didn’t want to.

What would have happened to them if Mathias hadn’t been with them? What would have happened if he had simply bandaged them up and left to attend to his own business? Would they have been left too? Left to rot in that giant mansion with no one to save them until he would return weeks later, finding them starved or bled to death between the sheets of their bed.

Kaden quickly turned their mind away from that subject before they could make themself sick.

They looked up exhaustedly as a light knock hit against their drawer, drawing them back to reality. A moment later, the knob twisted and swung open, and in Mathias stepped.

He looked a bit better now, hair damp but freshly washed, wearing clean clothes, the dirt cleaned from his skin. He looked even more exhausted than before though, his movements slow and lethargic as he stepped into the room.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He sighed, offering a small smile as the doorknob slipped from his hand. Though his words were kind, his expression genuine, something behind his gaze seemed to lurk, an emotion Kaden was so terribly familiar with. They quickly sat themself up, biting the inside of their cheek, half expecting the man to lunge. But he stayed there, leaning against the doorway with a tension clear beneath his muscles. “Come here. I have dinner ready, let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

His voice was stiff, hesitant in a way that threw Kaden off. A quick dread began to build in the pits of their gut, a chill creeping it’s way down their back. Why was he acting like that…

Something was up.

With a small, prompting wave of his hand, Mathias drew Kaden to their feet even from the distance, the constant threat lying against his fingers. He could tell Kaden was nervous, bare feet slow moving across the floor as they shuffled over to him.

Maybe he’s just tired, Kaden tried to convince themself as the man took their hand, guiding them from the room. Maybe he was just tired and he didn’t have anything planned, that would explain why he was acting weird, right?

They forced themself not to flinch as he took their hand, their heart hammering against the inside of their chest as he led them out of the room. His hand was warm, but not in a sweaty, clammy way. It was warm and smooth, without a single callous or scratch. Kaden couldn’t help but be calmed slightly, just the feel of skin against their own soothing their spiraling mind. They drew in a breath, and with their exhale letting go all remaining worries. Whatever happened, there was nothing they could do to stop it. If Mathias wanted to hurt them, trying to fight back would only make it worse. They would accept the pain, because they knew what would follow once it was over. Words of praise and soft caresses, making them forget about the tortures they had endured. They’d get to rest, and that would make anything worth it.

Kaden didn’t hesitate as they followed him into the kitchen, not when they saw Daniel leaning against the counters with something in his hands. On the stove top, two pots were pushed to the back burners, one turned to low and the other off completely. A soft aroma filled the rustic themed kitchen, a few dishes piled up in the sink. They didn’t pause or dig their heels against the ground as Mathias guided them over to one of the kitchen chairs, pushing lightly on their shoulders to make them sit. They didn’t try to struggle as they watched Daniel approach, the same roll of duct tape from earlier spinning between his fingers.

“I really don’t want to do this, love,” Mathias muttered, his other hand moving to settle against their wrist, pulling both their forearms to rest against the chair’s armrests. “But I’ve seen how you’ve looked out the window. I wish I could trust you, sweetheart, but the stakes are too high.”

Kaden didn’t speak. Their thoughts seemed to have retreated to a far corner of their mind, with them gone the panic and stress. They just looked up at him, their gaze weighed down with exhaustion.

Mathias’s heart seemed to crack a little in that moment. Were they really that broken? He couldn’t help but think, his grip barely against their wrists as Daniel began to wind the tape, pinning them to the chair. They didn’t even try to fight back.

Sure, he had wanted a broken toy, one that he could easily manipulate and control, but this? This was… sad. He had been hoping to get just a little more fight out of them.

“I wish there was another way, but I can’t watch you all day, and I really don’t want to keep you restrained,” He explained softly, not sure Kaden was even listening as he brought a hand up to gently cup their cheek. They melted into the touch.

Somewhere in the back of their mind Kaden was screaming. They were thrashing and crying, begging and cursing the man before them. They knew his words were a lie, of course he wanted to do this. He wanted to listen to them scream, he wanted to hear their pained sobs, to see their bruised, split skin. Of course he wanted this.

They couldn’t bring themself to react more than a tired blink, not fighting back as Daniel handed Mathias the remainder of the duct tape, who ripped off a short strip and quickly smoothed it over Kaden’s lips.

“I’m sorry, darling,” He whispered, his hand hesitating against their cheek. “Can’t have the neighbors hearing now, can we?”

He stepped back a moment later, tossing the roll off to the counter. Kaden could feel the tears begin to prick their eyes, hot and stinging, but they didn’t struggle. They didn’t twist against the restraints, knowing it would only bruise their already sore wrists. They didn’t kick or yank their legs away as Daniel pulled another chair out and settled it just in front of them, before moving their feet to rest on top of it. A growing dread began to build in the pits of their chest as they watched Mathias step over to one of the dark granite countertops and pick up a long iron rod.

A fire poker, their mind supplied, seeing the pronged end and decoratively twisted handle. But there wasn’t a fire place… oh.

The last of their will resigned in that moment as Daniel took a step back, allowing Mathias to move next to them.

“I’m sorry, love,” The man murmured, though the light dancing behind his eyes gave away his true emotions. “I have to do this, you know that, right?”

A tear slipped from the corner of Kaden’s eye, slowly slipping down their cheek. They could do nothing but watch, their eyes empty of all except a distant fear as Mathias raised the poker as one would a mallet, his eyes focusing on their exposed, unprotected ankles.

When he brought it down, Kaden could do nothing but scream along with the sickening crack.

———————————

I mean where’s the fun in a recovery arc if there isn’t some sort of long-term injury to deal with?

Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @pigeonwhumps @d-cs

49 notes · View notes

yanderu-deredere · 1 year

Note

Eun-jeong Yoo, Ryuunosuke Yamamoto, Gavin Byrne with an artist reader who uses them as inspiration in his art.

a/n: thank you so much for the request! just wanted to warn everyone that most of this is gender neutral except the last one with gavin where i use male pronouns/boyfriend to refer to his darling. i did it just cus anon asked for it. hope you guys like and enjoy!

eun-jeong yoo ★ profile

I feel like I mention this a lot when I write about Eun-jeong but he's very insecure about a lot of things all the time. It’s not about his appearance though (excluding his burn scars) but more about what kind of person he is.

Sometimes, his biggest fear is that he looks the same outside as he does inside.

He’s a very lucid yandere where he understands that this obsession inside of him is dark and all consuming, that it’s very disturbing. He knows his urge to hide you away from the world is both good (because it’s to protect you) but also bad (because he doesn’t care about how much it’ll warp you in the end).

That being said, the worst part of it all is the fact that he knows he’s being selfish. That the way he covets you despite understanding that being around him also ruins you.

So, the fact that you can look at him and find something worthwhile, something gorgeous and artistic? It brings him to his knees.

If you draw him or paint him or sketch him and show him, he won’t know what to say. He’ll be flustered, of course, but the words to describe the feelings your drawing evokes don’t exist.

It would probably be some picture of him sitting by a window sill or hunkered over his desk doing paperwork; it’s something mundane and ordinary. Maybe you even drew him looking at you in that way he always does.

To him, he’s some ugly piece of shit. In your drawing, he looks so so beautiful. In his drawing, he looks ethereal as the light from the window shines on him. In your painting, he looks handsome in the dim fluorescent lights. In your sketch, he looks at you with adoration, his eyes soft and kind and gentle.

You show him a side of himself he’d never seen in any mirror and it both breaks and puts his heart together. You’re an angel bringing him salvation.

ryuunosuke yamamoto ★ profile

Ryuu is an artist himself so he understands the struggle of finding inspiration!

He’s never been consistent about creating. He’s always gone through phases where he doesn’t draw at all before suddenly having the urge to draw everything all at once, only to then finish nothing because he can’t find it in himself to pick up a stylus.

He draws anime style. Very manga-esque, very early Japanese animation kind of deal. His art style is very much inspired by original Sailor Moon, Inuyasha, Yuyu Hakusho, Tokyo Mew mew, etc. Growing up with all of that stuff made him wish he could create an anime or a manga that instilled in others the feelings those series instilled in him.

They made him feel not alone. They made him feel like he could conquer the world, that he could grow up and do whatever the hell he wanted to do because Sailor Moon could do it, because Ichigo could do it, because Urameshi didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinions and he could do it; so why couldn’t Ryuu?

Of course, that opinion very much got crushed as he grew up and realised that the world wasn’t as full of potential as he thought it was.

Which is why he finds it so baffling that you find inspiration in him, that out of all the people and things in the world, he specifically fills you with passion to do art. He was a nobody who trafficked drugs and ice cream, what about him was so wonderful.

Still, he’d encourage you. He wouldn’t be able to understand, of course, but that doesn’t stop him from finding beauty in your art. Sometimes, he’d look at the way you draw him, without the things he uses to cover up, just him in his most natural state, and wonder how you could make a monster like him look like a masterpiece.

He knows himself that artists always instil a lot of love into their artwork at the thought of you loving him so much that you exert effort and patience and time to draw him or paint him or sculpt him makes him fall even more in love with you.

gavin byrne ★ profile

Unlike the other two, Gavin isn’t surprised. He subscribes to the belief that there’s a higher power out there. Maybe not God (cus the Christians have ruined that for him completely) but there had to be some sort of fate, something that meant there was more to the world than just pure randomness.

After all, something had to bring you to him or him to you, right? You’re so perfect for him, so wonderful, his twin flame, his soulmate, the other half to his heart; there’s no way that was mere coincidence, right?

So, of course he’s not surprised. You’re his muse after all. Something about you sitting pretty, doing ordinary mundane things, maybe even just breathing, brought passion to his chest and energy to his fingertips.

If he felt that way about you, if you could inspire so much love and adoration and creativity in him, why wouldn’t he do the same to you? In fact, if Gavin is with an artist, he pretty much expects it. After all, if you love him like you said you do, he’d definitely have to illicit the same emotions in you as you do in him.

The fact that he expects it doesn’t make it any less awe inspiring though. He’d look at every single piece of art you make as if God himself placed it with his giant glowing hand into Gavin’s hands.

(Which, honestly, is accurate because, if Gavin didn’t know any better, he’d claim you were some higher being blessing him yourself)

Also, he’d totally collect every scrap he can get his grubby hands on. Like, yes, all of the yanderes would do the same but Gavin does it to an insane degree. He’d collect all of them and *gasp* display it at the tattoo shop for all to see.

If you go in there when he’s tattooing a client, you’ll hear him babbling nonsense about your art. Something like:

Did you see that sketch of me? Yeah, it’s on a Chipotle napkin but it’s a fucking work of art, I swear. Yeah, my boyfriend did it. Yeah, he does that a lot. Why did I frame it? What do you mean why, it’s literally a masterpiece.It’s very embarrassing but it’s him and you loved him enough to memorise how to draw his hair, his freckles, the specific way his nose swoops, the way his eyes narrow, the way his lips quirk. How could he not be obsessed with the way you give your love physical form?

#yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #male darling #male pronouns #eunjeong #ryuu #gavin #drabbles

16 notes · View notes

sleepless-in-southlands · 2 years

Note

I would be very very interested in learning more about the lore of your recent fic... I love crime/mob boss aus so so much

:D you are SO valid i am happy to offer my words

under a cut bc they Do get kinda violent/dark so be forewarned

to start with the Big stuff imma talk about scar + mumbo's respective scars

ik i didnt say it specifically, but when bdubs tells scar to be careful and he grabs his neck, he's grabbing at a scar (ha)

he got this from his first right hand man! bdubs is the second who got his position after helping save scar's life when the first guy attempted to kill him and take over Glass Empire

scar also has a few smaller face/shoulder/arms scars from the encounter, but the neck one is the biggest and the one that nearly killed him

bc of this, scar has an inverse relationship with trust! the more he trusts someone, the more he expects them to betray him. this does create relationship problems later but it's ok they'll figure it out <3

a lot of mumbo's scars actually come from him being a bit clumsy, tho ofc mr South mob boss will never admit this

most of the gunshot scars come from him takin hits for grian, tho some are jus his

the big ones, over his heart and around his side, come from the same event!

see mumbo used to be a mob boss in a different town (imma come up with names for the org/town/etc later) that was somehow worse than Heremita

it was worse bc every group had their own specific Thing they did to show that a certain kill was smth they had done- Heremita uses symbols

one of the groups 'thing' was cutting the heart out, sometimes keepin/displayin it in their main office if it was a significant murder

mumbo had met with that group's head in what was supposed to be a no-weapons discussion dinner, but the other guy drugged mumbo's drink and was pretty far into gettin his heart when mumbo managed to wake up enough to flee

he got the side cut in the scuffle that ensued when he got up and ran

that event is actually what led mumbo and grian to strike out in a new town, bc a move like that indicated their group was rapidly losin respect, and more bold attacks would follow. they set up at night in Heremita to establish themselves Big and fast

this is also why mumbo didnt take the painkillers from scar- he only accepts food/drink that grian gives him (he mostly jus makes his own) and anythin med related is usually a plain-out No

now to make things fair i will also talk about Grian's scars

grian also has a fair few gunshot wounds, most taken for mumbo, but not as many as mumbo. this is due to a mix of mumbo havin been at a higher position longer, and grian being better at dodging

however grian also has, going down both arms from shoulder to just above the wrist, a little more than a dozen (each arm) near-circle cuts around the arm that are straight-edged and evenly spaced

remember how i mentioned old town had Styles? yeah

grian didnt start out as mumbo's right-hand; he used to be a regular lackey who mumbo ended up takin a shine to and talkin with a lot

enemies thought he'd be a good target to kidnap and get info from, bc he was close to mumbo, but not high enough on the command chain to be noticed missin very soon

the lines are from torture- after each line, they ask if the victim wants to crack, and they cut again if the answer's no. the mix of prolonged pain and bloodloss is usually effective

grian Refused to break however, and was about to die for it, when mumbo, who did notice his absence right away, burst into the room with absolutely Zero back-up and beat the living shit out of everyone there

hazy from pain/bloodloss, grian watching mumbo commit what was probably several war crimes only to then very gently ask if grian was ok was a religious experience

if grian had it his way their first kiss wouldve been Right Then but mumbo thought he was just acting out of delirium and misplaced need to 'repay' mumbo- it took several days of recovery and grian proving he was lucid for them to get anywhere

altho grian isnt ashamed of his scars (bc he didnt break), in old town, they were usually pretty shameful- the only people who had those scars and lived were those who betrayed their organizations- so he usually keeps them covered

so yeah scar histories <3 cant be a mob-er without 'em amiright

tumblr told me there's a character limit for text blocks, which ig bullet points count as, so here's a break in the block

ok on to smaller details referenced but not fully explained in the text:

heremita Does follow the s7 mayor race in the sense that it has five major mobs- the South, Glass Empire, the Armory (false's), stress's, and doc's- and those bosses are all runnin for mayor

also similar to s7, false's method of trying to get votes is striking down members of opposing gangs to convince the people only the Armory can offer them satisfactory protection

this sometimes involves kidnapping members and then staging a fight-kill at the scene where false wants to plant her poster, again a la s7

scar's cane is not entirely for decorative/dangerous use! he does actually need it to walk long distances/for long amounts of time, due to various leg and lower back injuries he's sustained over the course of his time as Glass Empire's head

grian might technically be mumbo's right-hand, but you'd be hard pressed to find anyone in heremita who doesnt see him as a secondary head of the South. he goes with mumbo to all business meetings, and mumbo rarely says no to his ideas or suggestions for the org

most of the mobs have separate abandoned warehouses they do their tortuin/killin in. the End Crystal has one directly in it bc the South is Like That

not really lore, but all last names were picked in my attempt at fitting them with their minecraft names- Chronos is the personification of time, Eris the goddess of discord/chaos. since grian doesnt have anythin else to his minecraft name, Penemue is a 'watcher' angel and, in enochian lore, the scribe of god

and there is a lot of the lore!! not all of it, and not all of it is fleshed out, since i hadnt really been plannin on makin this much more than a one shot, but,,,,,, we'll see. i already have some good ideas if i were to do a sequel so ya never know ya never know

#and ty SO manys for asking it's so fun to talk about these things im happy ur interested <3 #oizys mumbles #messages in smoke #bloody fruits au #get it bc they're gay and commit violence sdhcfnjds

16 notes · View notes

qblester · 2 years

Note

✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎✒︎

-he loves shitty phone games and will spend 100′s on gacha pulls, he always gets bored of them within like, the week though. -he has several tattoos! his barcode/identifying tattoo on his back(going straight down the middle ontop of the spine, krissa has a similar one) but he also has a few stick and pokes. A blue house on his ankle, and in red on his lower stomach “this is not for you” (a quote from house of leaves)((he was very intoxicated at the time and deeply regrets this tattoo)) He has one helix cuff piercing he got with krissa. -he doesnt really decorate his belongings ever, most of his stuff is black, in black cases, and has no identifying marks. -if you run your fingers through his hair you’ll feel several odd scars on his scalp, from various fights with his sister and otherwise. the other FORTY! answers below the cut

-he loves to drive, and has a nice newer car, something very safe like a honda. Krissa has put stickers on the back window despite his protests. Despite this he usually rides with krissa in her car, which is something ridiculous, with the big wheels and lift and a different color wrap on the thing every month or two -he is a freak and doesnt care about what pens he uses. he just steals whatever pens he finds around the office or on the ground -in a non-gilhue/normal au he ends up being a medical illustrator with a service dog :) -he refuses to have a favorite animal because it feels mean -similarly he hates stupid pet names, like when people name their cats “concrete” or anything similar. -he is a serial cheater, anytime he gets into any sort of relationship he usually cheats within the week. its not out of malice he just likes attention and has problems -CANNOT RIDE A BIKE! cannot figure it out! lacks the balance for it -used to bite his nails to the point of them bleeding as a child -he pretends to hate krissa’s parties more than he actually does (for context krissa will throw huge parties for money inside of penthouses or mansions that are “currently unoccupied” she holds these for friends of hers that are looking to play music, do raves, ect ect) when he’s given time beforehand to prepare for them he does enjoy the loud bass and drugs. -i havent brought up my favorite fact of all time in a while so i will mention it here; he lost his virginity WHILE his dad was dying. he got the text and ignored it. -inside his office is a small lockbox where he puts jewelry he finds on the people he vivisects. He has no idea why he keeps it, or what he’s going to do with it, it makes him feel bad to think about though. -twice a year he has to go through a weapons test wherein he gets in the whole hunter getup and has to do some basic maneuvers with krissa. its a huge pain in the ass but quite fun honestly. like playing laser tag -he and krissa have custom lego minifigures of eachother on their keychains -he has an atleast 20 minute phone call with his mother every day -every month he has to meet with Dr.Witting to ensure he is of “Strong mental standing” which basically means they just want to make sure he is not suicidal or homicidal -he is soooooooooooo afraid of the dark. its ridiculous. he has no other real like strong fears in that same vein besides like, you know vampires and such which is a given -he doesnt shower normally, he puts the water on really hot and then takes a nap on the floor of the shower until the water gets cold enough to wake him up, wherein he then actually showers in the cold. -has never really enjoyed reading to be honest, but he loves audiobooks -FUCKING LOVES DDR SO MUCH!!!!!!ITS RIDICULOUS -ive made 40 hours of playlists for him -he gets freckles if out in the sun, but alas doesnt hang out in the sun so we all miss out on this -instead of getting new glasses every few years he just gets the lenses replaced -has the worlds strongest praise kink. it is absurd. -to add onto the above he DOES cry after or during sex every single time. -favorite fruit is apple slices with peanut butter. will not eat apples otherwise -favorite candy is those wierd flat suckers you get from the bank -used to vape using a juul but when those got banned he started vaping from this chunky rig, he has years worth of fruity ass juice for it already stockpiled -his hair is pin straight but very thick and full of cowlicks, he’ll wake up with it full on anime boy sticking up usually -if he had the time or space he would 100% be constantly fostering kittens, like the really small neonates and the ones that need to be bottlefed especially -he has alerts on for ebay to tell him when people post new calico critter hauls, he’s always looking for pieces that he’s missing and will buy a 100+ dollar haul to get one piece of furniture he’s missing -him and krissa grew up in a strange victorian home in rural michigan, as part of an effort to keep them away from “mitigating and changing factors of development” it was very shining-like. -him and krissa starting sleeping in the same bed consistently around age 7 -his favorite dessert is lemon bars :) -can do complex math in his head and has pretty much always been able to -has some small level of synesthesia -was not allowed cable until they moved to california, so he and krissa spent their childhood watching selected vhs tapes and cds -loves going to the zoo so much. will spent hours upon hours just wandering around and looking at the animals. one time inside an aviary a bird landed on his arm and its one of his favorite memories -when both him and krissa are comfortable theyre pretty much always physically touching eachother, leaning against eachother, sitting close to eachother, ect -knows a surprising amount about setting up amps and various concert stuff since he’s helped krissa and her friends with this sort of thing semi-frequently -despite the constant fighting he is on ok terms with a few members of the occultics dept, not friendly but they will talk to eachother if theyre on a smoke break at the same time -Dr.Witting used to be almost a surrogate mother figure? his relationship with her is odd because shes a mother/boss/therapist/ect. -he will get drunk and start talking to whoever he can corner about random topics, he will pull up wikipedia and start basically reading the articles to them

#GUHG #this was An exercise #thank you for the huge ask mwah mwah!!!

3 notes · View notes

kokoch4n3l · 17 days

Text

DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO

ELEVEN — what was i made for?

"There's a chilling sense of control in Mr.Kurokawa's demeanour, as if he's always one step ahead, anticipating the reactions of those around him. It's as if he views the world as his own personal chessboard, with everyone else merely playing their roles." —MAYA'S ROUGH NOTES ON K.I

chapter summary: Izana gets carried away and Kakucho and Maya do damage control, bringing them right back to the start.

warnings: dark content 18+, character death, depiction of corpses, corruption, slight religious themes, suicide mention, suicide attempt, suicide ideation, self-loathing, slight hanagaki takemichi slander, scarring, bite marks, implied relapse, drug use/misuse, mentioned drug addiction, withdrawal symptoms for unnamed drug, possibly unrealistic/inaccurate withdrawal care, possessive!izana, betrayal, mentions of past torture methods(noncon drugging, waterboarding, noncon, noncon waxplay, first degree burns), emotional manipulation, mental health issues, MAJOR dubcon, unprotected sex, no prep, piv, making out, nipple play, hair pulling(m), multiple orgasms, tummy bulge, creampie, implied cockwarming, implied dissociation, aftercare, possessive!manjiro, noncon, mirror sex, coercion, forced orgasms, hair pulling(f)

word count: 13774

masterlist | previous | chapter 12

Naoto often thinks about Maya. When he starts thinking about her, he doesn't stop. He thinks about her death, goes through the evidence over and over and doesn't stop till Hinata tells him that it was enough. But just how was he to explain to his sister that things didn't add up with Maya's death when the only answer he'll get from Hinata is: "You're looking too deep into it... I know you liked her but you're feeling guilty... that's all"

His poor sweet sister. Hinata had no idea she was hanging out with people that are affiliated with the gang that caused her death in 5 other timelines. Naoto is frustrated and there is no one he can confide in. Alone with his thoughts, Naoto finds himself consumed by a sense of helplessness, a gnawing frustration at his inability to uncover the truth and protect those he cares about. Maya's memory haunts him, her death a stark reminder of the dangers lurking beneath the surface of their seemingly ordinary lives.

As Naoto meticulously pores over the evidence from the scene of Maya's supposed suicide, his keen eyes catch a crucial detail that sends a chill down his spine. In the photographs of Maya's charred remains, one glaring absence stands out—a distinct lack of the necklaces she always wore. Furrowing his brow, Naoto zooms in on the images, scrutinizing every pixel for any sign of the delicate chains that adorned Maya's neck without fail. But no matter how closely he looks, there's no trace of it, not even a glimmer in the ashes.

It's a discrepancy that can't be ignored. Maya cherished those necklaces— they were real gold. She wore it every day, never once removing it so why wouldn't it be here or in the evidence or among her stuff recovered from the apartment she booked? Maya fucking loved those necklaces so there was no way she wouldn't be wearing them.

The realization hits Naoto like a ton of bricks. This isn't just an oversight—it's a deliberate omission, a glaring inconsistency that casts doubt on the official narrative surrounding Maya's death. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Naoto realizes the implications of this omission. If Maya's necklace isn't among the evidence, then it's possible that her death wasn't a suicide at all—it could have been staged.

As he sifts through the photos once more, Naoto's mind races with possibilities. Was Maya's death orchestrated to look like a suicide? And if so, who would go to such lengths to cover up the truth? The pieces of the puzzle start to come together in Naoto's mind. Kurokawa Izana was discharged the same day the hospital director of Sunshine Grove reigned and disappeared off the face of the earth, the other employees resigning and disappearing as well and that day being the last Maya is seen. But who would benefit from Maya's death, and why?

Could Kurokawa Izana be connected to Maya's disappearance? And if so, what role did he play in her supposed death?

But as Naoto considers the pieces of the puzzle, a new, daring possibility takes root in his mind. What if Maya isn't actually dead? What if she's still out there, waiting to be found?

The idea ignites a spark of hope within Naoto, driving him to redouble his efforts in unravelling the truth behind Maya's disappearance. With determination burning in his heart, he sets out to follow this new lead, determined to uncover the fate of the woman who has captured his thoughts and haunted his dreams.

(At this point, no one could be trusted. Not even Matsuno Chifuyu and Hanemiya Kazutora. Anyone wit affiliations with the Tokyo Manji gang, whether present or past, was now a threat.)

Maya's mother was a surgeon and her father was a mechanical engineer. They weren't exactly religious either. Maya wonders if they were, would she be going through this? As Maya ponders her parents' professions and lack of religious affiliation, a wave of nostalgia washes over her. Memories of her childhood flood back, painting vivid scenes of her family's home and the moments they shared together. Her father, with his tinkering tools and inventive mind, would regale her with tales of his latest engineering projects, sparking her curiosity and igniting her imagination. Their home was a sanctuary—a place of warmth, love, and acceptance. Maya was free to explore her interests, pursue her dreams, and chart her own course in life. It was a far cry from the dark and twisted world she finds herself trapped in now. But as Maya reflects on her upbringing, a sense of longing creeps into her heart. She yearns for the safety and security of her parents' embrace, for the comfort of their words and the strength of their presence.

She feels worse as she realizes she no longer remembers what their faces looked like or how their voices sounded. It had been so long since her father's passing and her mother's suicide. She was 13 then and now she's 22. As Maya grapples with the weight of her memories, a profound sense of loss settles over her like a heavy blanket. The passage of time has blurred the lines between reality and remembrance, erasing the sharp edges of her parents' faces and the cadence of their voices from her mind. She closes her eyes, trying in vain to conjure up their images, to recall the sound of their laughter and the warmth of their embraces. But all she finds is an empty void— a void filled with echoes of the past, faint whispers of a time long gone. At this point, she might as well have been an orphan all her life.

But her parents loved her of course.

Her father loved her.

Her mother loved her.

But her mother didn't love her enough to stay alive after the passing of her husband.

Maya had never been enough for anyone— not even her own parents. Part of her hates Chifuyu. Just why did he have to be at the park the evening she was going to kill herself? Dying would have saved her from a whole bunch of pain. She wouldn't have lost her virginity to Chifuyu and been rejected, she wouldn't have been drugged, and she wouldn't have been kidnapped out of her fucking workplace, waterboarded, tortured, burned, and then betrayed by a false saviour.

No one in this stupid beach house had made anything easier for her. Not Izana, not Mikey, not even Kakucho.

Kakucho had seemed like a healer at first— reviving her after Izana drowned her, constantly patching her back together, helping her with the burns on her back. But at the end of the day, he was still a gangster, he was still Izana's closest aid, and he was still the dark knight. Not her knight in shining armour but Izana's dark knight with dented and bloody armour.

Kakucho is not a friend and might as well be someone involved in Izana's ploys of breaking down her spirit and betraying her. Maya could care less about who Kakucho thinks she's like. She isn't that guy. She's her own person. She refuses to let Kakucho's nostalgia for whatever childhood friend he lost shape her future or how and why she runs from Mikey and Izana. That other guy that ran just seemed like a damn coward. Running because he didn't like where Tokyo Manji Gang was headed, running even though he had so much influence over Sano "Mikey" Manjiro, running when there was no actual threat to his life.

Maya hates him.

She hates him, Kakucho, Izana and Mikey.

Fuck all of them.

Fuck that motherfucker, fuck Kakucho, fuck Izana, fuck Mikey, fuck Chifuyu, fuck Kazutora, fuck the Tokyo Fucking Manji Gang. She hates all of them and hopes they all go to hell. She hates them all for making them feel this way.

She always had so much love but nowhere to put it. It's as if she's been searching for something or someone to share her love with, but each time she reaches out, she's met with rejection or betrayal. Whenever there is someone to love, they suck it out of her greedily. Just keeping taking and taking and taking till there's nothing left to take. Maybe it's her own fault. She wore her heart out on her sleeve and just gave love to everyone that wanted it. Why did being kind and loving only give her pain in return? Why did everyone like to only take from her?

Why is it that she never learned her lesson after getting he heart torn out over and over.

"Maya..." Kakucho is at the door of the master bedroom

It's early in the morning, about 9:30 am, she feels like actual shit even after showering. The bite mark on her shoulder from Izana has healed but it will scar. "Yes?" She asks

Mikey was still out with Sanzu for some business thing. Apparently, he'd be returning either today or tomorrow. "Uh well..." Kakucho looks nervous and stressed

His hair is a mess and he's wearing his glasses. He wasn't even dressed yet. "So uh... Izana is having withdrawals..."

Maya's eye twitches in annoyance, her inner doctor coming back after so long. "and who's amazing idea was it to give drugs to a recently recovered addict?"

Kakucho just shifts uncomfortablely. "please can you just... can you come help me? You're a psychiatrist and you helped him before at the other hospital... You can do it now too"

Maya's muscles tense as Kakucho's words sink in, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Dealing with Izana's withdrawals is the last thing she wants to do, especially after the ordeal she's been through herself. But she knows she can't ignore Kakucho's plea, no matter how inconvenient it may be. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maya meets Kakucho's gaze with a resigned expression. "Fine," she concedes reluctantly. "I'll help."

As they make their way towards Izana's room, Maya can't shake the feeling of dread settling in her stomach. Dealing with Izana in this state is bound to be challenging, to say the least. But Maya knows she has to do whatever it takes to prevent the situation from worsening. Maybe she doesn't like him but as a doctor, she has an obligation. As she steps out of the master bedroom she realizes this was the first time she had been out of the room. The house was decorated similarly to Mikey's bedroom with huge windows displaying the beach outside and just an overall homey feel. She never thought a place like this would be her prison. Kakucho leads her to Izana's room and Maya hesitates. She could run now. She really could. There was no one else here but her poor weak heart would just feel too much guilt.

stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid she keeps thinking as she enters Izana's room. The blinds and curtains were drawn and the lights were off. There is a lump under the covers and if she looked close enough Maya could see it trembling. She hadn't been present for the start of when Izana was admitted into Sunshine Grove. She didn't know what his withdrawal symptoms were or how he was doing through it. She was only there during the detox. This right here, was new territory. "what are his symptoms?" Maya asks quietly to Kakucho

"um... similar to yours but no hot flashes. Just cold and he's got really bad mood swings" Kakucho says looking really nervous "Headaches, he threw up earlier... Uh... He was hungry..."

Maya nods and reluctantly walks over to Izana and kneels on the bed next to the lump under the comforter he is under. She feels a knot form in her stomach as she realizes the weight of the situation she's stepping into. This isn't just about providing medical care; it's about navigating the delicate balance of emotions and power dynamics that exist between her and Izana. Gathering her resolve, Maya gently pulled back the covers to reveal Izana curled up beneath them. His breathing is shallow and uneven, his face drawn with discomfort. Despite her own reservations, Maya can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him in this vulnerable state.

Oh god did she feel so stupid.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maya reaches out to brush a lock of white hair away from Izana's forehead. His skin feels clammy to the touch, and she can sense the tension radiating from his body. "Hey," Maya murmurs softly, her voice barely above a whisper

Izana's response is a low, guttural groan as he shifts restlessly beneath the covers. Maya sighs inwardly, steeling herself for the challenges that lie ahead. This won't be easy. She flinches when he suddenly grabs her hand and presses it to his cheek. He shudders and mumbles something unintelligible under his breath. Maya watches as he curls into himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Had she been like Izana, she would have made him beg like he did to her. But she isn't like Izana so instead she asks "Does your head hurt?"

As Maya waits for a response, she can see the struggle playing out on Izana's face. His brows furrow in discomfort, his teeth chattering slightly as he curls tighter under the covers. She senses his agitation, the chill seeping into his bones and exacerbating his withdrawal symptoms. Finally, Izana manages a hoarse denial, his voice strained. "N-No," he stammers, his breath coming out in shaky puffs. "I'm f-feeling really f-fucking c-cold."

Maya's heart aches at his words, her empathy for him warring with the lingering resentment she harbours. Before Maya could say anything, Izana suddenly sat up and pulled off his hoodie, throwing it to the floor and leaving him in just a white undershirt. "Izana what are you—"

Before Kakucho can even finish his sentence, Izana is pulling Maya down onto the bed, laying on top of her. "H-Hey—" she tries to say

"Shut up" Izana mutters, his face buried into the crook of her neck "You're warm"

Maya's initial instinct is to push him away, to resist his sudden closeness, but she finds herself frozen in place as Izana's weight presses down on her. His warmth envelops her, a stark contrast to the coldness that had gripped him moments ago."Izana, this isn't—" Maya tries, but her protest is cut short by another one of Izana's hushed commands.

His words send a shiver down her spine, but she can't deny the underlying vulnerability in his tone. For a moment, Maya hesitates, unsure of how to respond to Izana's unexpected gesture. A big part of her wants to push him away, belittle and humiliate him the same way he did to her but... Maya was too weak. She couldn't get herself to do that to him and Maya hated herself for it. Instead, she avoids Kakucho's gaze and pulls the blanket further up Izana's shoulders, covering his bare arms and his exposed shoulders. "Do you... Need anything?" Kakucho asks slowly

"No..." Is all Maya says

Kakucho nods and leaves. A shudder goes through Izana as he clings to Maya tight. She goes stiff when his hands slide under her shirt and rest on her ribs. His skin is cold to the touch. Maya wants to belittle him. She wants to make him beg. She wants to humiliate him. But she can't get herself to and it's probably the worst feeling ever. She was never an eye for an eye person. She wasn't like that. Maya was too nice for her own good, even at her own expense. So instead of doing all the horrible things she wishes to do, Maya wraps her arms around Izana's shoulders, running the nails of one hand up and down the back of his neck. Izana sighs and just rests all his weight on her.

In the quiet of the room, Maya finds herself grappling with conflicting emotions. She's torn between the desire to protect herself and the innate compassion that compels her to offer comfort to Izana in his time of need. It's a battle she's fought countless times before, and yet, each time, it leaves her feeling conflicted and uncertain. But as she feels Izana's breath steady against her skin, his grip loosening ever so slightly as he starts to fall asleep on top of her, Maya finds herself relenting to the quiet intimacy of the moment. With a heavy heart, Maya resigns herself to the role of reluctant caretaker, knowing that she's bound by duty to tend to Izana's needs, even as she struggles to reconcile her conflicting emotions. And as they lie entwined in the darkness, Maya can't help but wonder how they ended up here, bound together by threads of fate and circumstance, their destinies intertwined in ways they never could have imagined.

She's just there, in his bed, crushed under all his body weight, pinned between him and the mattress with his cold hands under her shirt looking for warmth and face in the crook on her neck. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position beneath him, but his grip remains firm, holding her in place against the mattress. The intimacy of the moment hangs heavy in the air, the warmth of their bodies mingling in the confined space of the bed. Maya can feel the steady rhythm of Izana's breath against her skin, the soft brush of his lips against the curve of her neck sending shivers down her spine.

Despite the tangled mess of emotions swirling within her, Maya finds herself instinctively running her fingers through Izana's hair, the strands soft against her touch. With each gentle stroke, she feels a strange sense of calm wash over her, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the chaos that surrounds them. Izana lets out a low, contented sigh at her touch, his grip on her softening ever so slightly. His breath tickles the sensitive skin of her neck as he nuzzles closer, seeking solace in her warmth. It isn't long till the shivering stops and he has fallen asleep, completely lax on top of her and crushing her with his weight. He's pressing down on her ribs and it's hard to breathe but Maya doesn't dare complain.

They come back a full circle.

Izana as the patient and Maya as the doctor.

This time, there was no pristine white doctor's coat, secure rooms with magnetic locks, CCTV cameras or security guards— only this time, she knew what was wrong with him.

There was just Maya and Izana and her all-too-soft heart.

"Why did you cut your hair?" Izana asks, lazily twirling a short curly strand of Maya's hair between his fingers

Hours later he was awake and was making no move to get off her. Maya hesitates for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected question. She shifts slightly beneath Izana's weight, the pressure of his body against hers a constant reminder of their closeness. "I... I needed a change" she replies softly, her fingers still idly tracing patterns on the back of his neck.

Izana hums in response, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly. His other hand is still under her shirt, no longer cold thanks to her body heat. "Is it 'cause Matsuno broke your heart?" He asks casually "I heard girls cut their hair when they get their heart broken"

Maya's breath catches in her throat at the mention of Chifuyu. She hadn't expected Izana to bring him up, especially not in this vulnerable moment. How is it that Izana is still vying for control even while he's so vulnerable? She closes her eyes briefly, gathering her thoughts before responding. "Yes..." there was no point in lying to him when he already knew the truth— having forced it out of her weeks ago "I wanted to forget everything Chifuyu said about me so I cut my hair... Someone once told me hair holds memory so I cut it and then I felt better..."

Maya's admission hangs heavy in the air, the weight of her words settling between them like an unspoken truth. Izana's fingers pause in their gentle exploration of her hair, his gaze searching hers with a mixture of curiosity and something else she can't quite decipher. "I see," he murmurs, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a hint of something deeper "But I have to admit, I liked your hair long much better. It suited you. I was pretty disappointed when I saw you cut it so short"

Maya's heart flutters nervously at Izana's unexpected confession, his words stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within her. She hadn't anticipated him expressing any sentiment about her appearance, let alone disappointment over her haircut she did herself weeks ago. It's a strange sensation, hearing him speak so candidly about something as trivial as her hair when there are far weightier matters hanging between them. "Sorry to disappoint," Maya murmurs, a faint hint of sarcasm lacing her words as she avoids meeting his gaze or just looking down at him in general while he's lying on her chest

She's acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the way his fingers linger in her hair, and it's all she can do to keep her composure in the face of such unexpected intimacy. Izana chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down Maya's spine. "No need to apologize," he replies, his tone light but tinged with something that feels uncomfortably like possessiveness "but don't cut it again, alright? I want you to grow it out long"

That wasn't a suggestion but a demand. Maya's heart sinks as she recalls the promise she made to Izana, the weight of it settling heavily on her shoulders. She had vowed to be his, to submit to his desires, and in that moment, it felt like there was no escaping the hold he had over her. With a resigned sigh, she nods slowly, her voice barely above a whisper as she agrees to grow her hair out. "Okay," she murmurs, her tone heavy with defeat as she concedes to Izana's demand. "I'll grow it out."

Izana's grip on her hair loosens slightly, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he leans back, his gaze lingering on her with a possessive gleam. "Good girl" he purrs, his words sending a shiver down Maya's spine

She wonders just how absolutely shameless this guy could be. Just hours before he was shivering and trembling, desperately curling into her arms for warmth and now he was being a little shit again as if none of it happened. Izana shifts himself more so he's fully on top of her again, crushing her ribs, knocking the breath out of her lungs, his thigh pressed between her legs. "You're so sweet to me, y'know that bunny" Izana murmurs, his face in Maya's neck again, lips brushing against her skin "Came here to take care of me... So sweet"

Maya's breath catches in her throat as Izana's weight presses down on her, his closeness suffocating yet strangely comforting. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in his muscles palpable against her skin. Despite the discomfort of his position, Maya finds herself unable to push him away, her resolve weakening under the weight of his words. "I... I just want to help," she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to maintain her composure.

The intimacy of the moment leaves her feeling exposed and vulnerable, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. Izana's lips brush against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending shivers down Maya's spine as she tries to suppress a gasp. His touch is both electrifying and terrifying, a potent reminder of the power he holds over her. "You're so good to me, bunny," he murmurs, his voice low and husky against her skin. "So sweet."

He goes still again after that. His lips just rest against the curve of her neck. They're both silent again and if it wasn't for Izana's fingers rubbing circles into her ribs, Maya would have thought he was asleep. Izana's hands ignite a firestorm inside her. Had this situation been any different, she would have craved it— craved him. But it's not an ideal situation, this danger. "Hey bunny..." Izana murmurs

"Yeah?"

"How did you feel when Matsuno broke your heart?"

It's an odd question, something she didn't expect him to ask her. "I was sad"

"Yeah fuckin' obviously. But what did you feel?" Izana moves himself, his hands on either side of her head as he's now hovering over her face

She's staring up at him. He isn't his usual golden-tanned colour due to the utter shit he was going through due to the withdrawal. His breath is hitting her lips. He isn't so close to her face but it feels like he is. "I felt like shit... I didn't wanna come to work that day but they wouldn't give me a day off" Maya says quietly

Izana brushes a curly strand away from her forehead. "hm... So you came late that day 'cause you got your heartbroken...?"

"Would you want to come to work if the person you liked for years broke your heart?" Maya counters back

Izana's gaze softens, his fingers tracing a gentle path along Maya's jawline as he considers her question. "No, I suppose not," he admits, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "But I don't have the luxury of letting my emotions dictate my actions. I have responsibilities."

Maya can sense the weight of Izana's words, the burden of his role as the number 3 of the Tokyo Manji Gang weighing heavily on his shoulders. She knows all too well the pressure he faces, the constant need to maintain control and uphold his image of strength and authority. Even being in a gang is hard work she supposes. "I understand," she replies softly, reaching her hands up, her fingers threading through the strands of his hair as she tries to offer him comfort.

Despite everything, she can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him, a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. Izana leans into her touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savors the warmth of her embrace. "Thank you, bunny," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "For being here."

Her eyes widen at his words, not at all having expected him to say that. He's saying that as if she choose to be in this damn beach house. No wait. Izana mean thanks for taking care of him. It's odd. Seeing him suddenly be so vulnerable. Just what did he want from her this time? What stupid trick was he playing on her? But she doesn't ask, and instead says "how are you feeling now?"

His skin isn't that cold anymore but he's still very clearly feeling like shit. "I've been better"

She isn't too sure what else to say, going stiff when his thigh presses against her crotch. "D-Do you want me to make you something to eat?"

Izana presses his forehead against her's and sighs quietly. He takes one of Maya's hands and laces their fingers together, pinning it down beside her head. He's acting sweet. Izana has been acting this way ever since he revealed that Mikey was lying to her— since the day Maya promised to be his. Maya's heart pounds in her chest as Izana's actions send a jolt of unease through her. She can't shake the feeling that there's something more to his sudden change in demeanor, something lurking beneath the surface that she can't quite grasp. She watches as Izana's eyes search hers, a hint of vulnerability shining in their depths. "Izana..." Maya begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to find the right words.

But before she can say anything else, he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Stay with me," he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin as his forehead stays against hers. "Just for a little while longer."

With a silent sigh, Maya relents, allowing herself to be drawn into the web of Izana's embrace once more. He's being sweet, somewhat, he won't be like this for long. Maya can't help but wonder— if Izana had played the long game with her the same way Mikey did, would she have felt just as betrayed as she did when finding out what Mikey had done? Would Maya have felt her heart shatter the same way? She isn't able to look away from his orchid eyes as she brings her free hand up to his hair, tangling in the white strands. After a while Izana moved his head back away from her so he could look at her face properly then said "You're gorgeous. Have I ever told you that?"

That was unexpected. Her fingers stay tangled in his hair. "Well... You call me a lot of things"

"I feel a lot of things for you too" Izana admits

She's silent for a moment, her nails gently scratching against his scalp. "Is that why you won't let me go?"

"Yes... I'm greedy... I want you for myself"

"I know" Her voice comes out as a small, breathless whisper before she says "Would you like something to eat? You need something to be eating properly while recovering"

Izana takes the hand he's holding and kisses the back of it. Maya isn't too sure how to react. These were the things Mikey did to her, not Izana. Izana was calculated words, control, the need for dominance and control, he was fear and terror and uncertainty. Maya didn't know Izana could be like this and she isn't sure if she likes it better, especially after Mikey. Oh god, Mikey didn't even know that she knew yet. He hadn't been back home since Izana revealed the truth to her. "Yes... I'd like that" Izana says then moves off her

Izana is no longer crushing her ribs but it still feels like she can't breathe.

The sun is shining through the large windows of the beach house. Maya is cooking, stirring the pot of soup. Kakucho is sitting on the bar stool in front of the kitchen island with an unknown expression on his face. Izana on the other hand, is standing behind her, arms around her waist and his chin hooked over her shoulder. He's holding her like he's her lover and Maya really isn't sure how to feel. Maya can feel Izana's warmth enveloping her, his presence both comforting and suffocating at the same time. She tries to focus on the task at hand, stirring the soup with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the way his arms tighten around her waist. Kakucho's gaze flickers between Maya and Izana, a mixture of concern and uncertainty evident in his expression. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then closes it again, seemingly unable to find the right words to say. As the silence stretches between them, Maya can't help but feel a sense of unease settling over her. This domestic scene feels foreign and surreal, a far cry from the chaos and violence that usually surrounds her. She wonders if this is just another one of Izana's games, another way to exert his control over her. "I fuckin' hate vegetables so this better be good" Izana mutters, his hands slipping under her shirt to rest on her bare lower stomach

She can feel the heat of his hands against her skin, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her stomach, sending a shiver down her spine. His skin is no longer cold but it might as well be with the way he's making her feel. "It will be... You can take my word for it" Maya replies quietly

Kakucho shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Uh, maybe I should help with something else," he suggests, looking for an excuse to leave and not be a third-wheel

But before Kakucho can make a move, Izana tightens his grip on Maya's waist, his touch bordering on possessive. "No, you stay right there," he says, his tone laced with a hint of warning.

Maya's heart sinks at the possessive edge in Izana's voice. With a heavy sigh, Maya focuses on stirring the soup. "U-Uh Kakucho you can take out the bowls" she says, in hopes of making the situation a little lighter

Kakucho nods, grateful for the chance to escape the palpable tension in the kitchen. He quickly stands up, grabbing a few bowls from the cupboard and setting them out on the counter. "Sure thing," he says, his voice a bit strained as he busies himself with the task.

Meanwhile, Izana's grip on Maya tightens slightly, his fingers digging into her waist possessively. "You're mine, aren't you?" he murmurs, his breath warm against her ear.

Maya's heart skips a beat at his words, a mixture of fear and uncertainty swirling inside her. She doesn't know how to respond, torn between the promise she made to Izana and the lingering doubts in her mind. "I... I don't know," she admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Izana's hold softens slightly, his touch gentler as he leans back to look at her. "You said you are," he says, his gaze intense as he searches her eyes for any sign of resistance "You told me you'd be mine so are you still mine?"

Maya's heart pounds with conflicting emotions as Izana's grip tightens around her waist. She felt the weight of her promise pressing down on her, the words she uttered in a moment of weakness now binding her to him. Despite the uncertainty swirling in her mind, she knows that she can't go back on her word. "I... I am," Maya whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own racing heartbeat

The admission feels like a betrayal to herself, but she knows that denying Izana now would only lead to more pain and turmoil. Izana's expression softens slightly, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he leans in closer. "Good girl," he murmurs, his breath warm against her ear. "You belong to me, bunny. Don't ever forget that."

Maya just hums, not knowing what else to say. Izana presses a kiss to her ear and she resists the urge to shiver. "Uh... Sanzu texted. Said he and Mikey will be here tomorrow morning" Kakucho says

Maya's heart sinks at the mention of Mikey's impending return, a mixture of apprehension and uncertainty swirling inside her. She knows that his presence will only complicate things further, adding another layer of tension to the already fragile dynamic between her and Izana. "Great," Izana mutters, his tone laced with irritation, burying his face in Maya's hair "Just what we need..."

Maya's stomach churns at the thought of facing Mikey again, her mind flooded with memories of their complicated history together. She knows that their reunion will inevitably bring up painful emotions and unresolved issues, and she's not sure if she's ready to confront them. She doesn't know if she'll be able to pretend that she doesn't know he was lying to her. Oh god, Maya thinks she'll be sick.

Soup was soon ready and Maya finished eating first. She excuses herself and goes back to the master bedroom— Mikey's room. Alone in Mikey's room, Maya sinks onto the edge of the bed, her thoughts swirling with a tangled mess of emotions. The familiar surroundings offer little solace as she wrestles with the conflicting feelings that weigh heavily on her heart. She stares at the view of the beach in front of her and stands up. She stands in front of the double doors, staring at the beach past the deck. The waves crash against the shore. Unconsciously, her hand comes up to the doorknob. She knows it's probably locked but just as she's about to twist it, the door swings open, revealing Kakucho standing there, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he steps into the room, closing the door behind him. Standing beside Maya, he joins her in staring out at the beach, the rhythmic sound of the waves filling the room. "you okay?" Kakucho asks as Maya lets go of the doorknob

Maya nods stiffly. "Yeah... 'm fine"

A moment of silence washes over them but only for a moment. "Maya about what I said to you..." Kakucho starts "About running..."

She looks at him. "yeah?"

"Stay."

She furrows her brows in confusion. "W-What?"

Kakucho rubs the back of his neck, a look of guilt in his eyes. "Stay with Izana. Stop trying to run"

Maya's heart sank as Kakucho's words hit her like a heavy blow. The sense of betrayal wells up inside her, mingling with frustration and confusion. Just a few days ago he told her he believed in her that she could get away just like that guy that did years ago. So why did he change his mind? "Why?" she asks, her voice trembling with emotion.

Kakucho meets her gaze with a solemn expression, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and concern. "Izana wants you and... and you're good for him"

"But what about me?" she demands, her voice cracking with emotion. "What about what I want?"

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fucking fair. Why was this happening to her? It felt like she was being robbed of her agency, forced to sacrifice her own desires for the sake of someone else's happiness. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Kakucho's expression softens, his gaze filled with empathy as he reaches out a hand to gently touch Maya's shoulder. "I know it's hard, Maya. But sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good" he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

Maya pulls away from his touch, her fists clenched in frustration. "And what about my happiness? What about what I need?" she challenges, her voice trembling with emotion "There is no greater good in this situation, just a fucking sociopath that wants a pet and that pet happens to be me"

Kakucho's eyes widened, a conflict evident in his expression as Maya's words pierced through him. He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak. "Maya, I... I can't let you leave," he admitted, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "I care more for Izana than I do for my own morality."

Maya's heart sank at his confession, feeling the weight of his words bearing down on her. She struggled to comprehend how someone she trusted could prioritize the well-being of another over her own autonomy. "So, what? I'm just supposed to sacrifice my happiness for yours and Izana's?" she retorted, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Kakucho's gaze faltered, guilt flickering across his features. "I know it's not fair to ask this of you," he began, his tone heavy with remorse. "But Izana... he's not in a good place right now. He needs you, Maya. And I... I need to protect him, even if it means making difficult choices."

Maya's fists clenched at her sides, frustration boiling inside her. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of Kakucho's expectations. "That's not fair... That's not fucking fair" Maya says angrily "I got drugged and kidnapped right out of my workplace, drugged again, waterboarded and drowned—"

"Maya" Kakucho tries cutting her off but she just keeps going

"—drugged till I was addicted, went through withdrawals, taken against my will multiple times"

"Maya"

"got hot wax poured down my back, had first-degree burns on my back all while I was going through withdrawals," She says, her eyes teary now "Just why should I stay for him, when all he's done is hurt me?"

Kakucho's expression softened, his gaze filled with sorrow as he listened to Maya's anguished cries. He reached out a hand to gently touch her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could in the face of her pain. "I'm sorry, Maya," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse. "I know it's not fair, but Izana... he's not well. He needs help, and you're the only one who can give it to him."

Maya shook her head, her heart heavy with the weight of her suffering. "But what about me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a sob. "What about my pain? Who's going to help me heal?"

There was a moment of agonizing silence as Kakucho struggled to find the words to comfort her. He knew there were no easy answers, no simple solutions to the pain she had endured. All he could do was offer his support and hope that Maya would find the strength to persevere. "I wish I had an answer, Maya," he admitted softly. "But all I can offer you is my support. I'll be here for you, no matter what."

"no, you won't Kakucho..." She whispers

He doesn't answer after that and only sighs. Maya watches Kakucho reach into his pocket and pull out a key. Maya watches in silence as he puts it into the keyhole and she hears it... lock? Her heart drops at the realization that the door has been unlocked this whole time. "W-What?" she whispers

Her freedom was right there. It was right there and now it was... gone. Her freedom was right there. It was within reach, tantalizingly close, and now it was slipping through her fingers, lost to the cruel whims of fate. The realization hit her like a wave crashing against the shore, overwhelming her with a sense of helplessness and despair. "It was unlocked this whole time?" she choked out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Kakucho's gaze remained fixed on the door, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry, Maya," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I can't let you leave. Not now."

Maya's heart pounded in her chest, panic clawing at the edges of her consciousness. She felt trapped, suffocated by the confines of the room, with no escape in sight. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to consume her. "Please," she pleaded, her voice barely audible. "Let me go."

But Kakucho remained silent, his gaze fixed on the locked door, his decision final as he left the room. And as Maya sank to the floor, her spirit broken and her hope extinguished, she knew that her fight for freedom had come to an agonizing end.

"what cha' thinkin' 'bout?" Izana asks

He's lying on top of her again, his weight pressing down on her ribs, not letting her breathe properly. Maya's heart skipped a beat as Izana's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the suffocating reality of the present moment. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling dry as she struggled to find the right words to respond. "Nothing," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

But Izana wasn't one to accept evasive answers. He shifted slightly, his weight bearing down on her even more as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "You're lying," he accused softly, his tone tinged with amusement.

Maya tensed beneath him, the weight of his body pressing down on her making it difficult to think. "I... I was just... thinking about everything," she admitted reluctantly, her voice barely audible. "About... about how we got here, I guess."

Izana hummed in response, his fingers idly tracing patterns on her stomach. "You're mine now, Maya," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "And I'm not letting you go."

Maya's heart sank as she heard Izana's possessive declaration, his words a stark reminder of the chains that bound her to him. She closed her eyes, a heavy weight settling in the pit of her stomach as she whispered softly "I know."

A short silence washes over them, Izana's face resting in the crook of her neck again. He had a headache earlier which made him pretty fucking irritable but now it was gone. "Izana..." she says quietly

"hm?" his lips created a slight vibration against the curve of her neck

"What if I didn't come to work that day? What if I just stayed home that day and didn't show up to the hospital?" Maya asks him, her fingers tangled in his white hair

Izana's response is a low, contemplative hum as he shifts slightly, his breath warm against Maya's skin. "If you hadn't shown up that day..." he begins, his voice trailing off for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. "Well, things would've been different, wouldn't they?"

Maya's heart clenches at his vague response, a flood of uncertainty washing over her. She had expected him to offer some reassurance or clarity, but his words only served to deepen the sense of unease gnawing at her conscience. "Different how?" she presses, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Izana's grip on her tightens slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her back as he considers his response. "I suppose we'll never know, bunny," he murmurs cryptically, his tone betraying a hint of amusement. "But even if you didn't show up, I would've brought you here anyway... Would've dragged you out of your little house."

Maya's breath catches in her throat at Izana's words, a chill creeping down her spine at the realization of just how little control she had over her own fate. She had always suspected that Izana's intentions toward her were far from benign, but hearing him admit it so casually sent a shiver of fear coursing through her veins.

"You would've... dragged me here?" she echoes, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind reeling with the implications of his words.

Izana's grip on her tightens even more, his touch bordering on possessive as he presses his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. "Of course, bunny," he purrs, his breath hot against her skin "It wouldn't have been as fun as chasing you through the hospital but you would've been here with me"

Maya doesn't know why she expected a different answer from Izana when she already well knows how this crazy bitch thinks. After all, she's seen firsthand the lengths he's willing to go to get what he wants. But knowing doesn't make it any easier to accept the reality of her situation. "It was cruel of you to do that all that the same day I got my heart broken" Maya mumbles, trying to lighten the situation

Izana chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down Maya's spine. "Cruelty is my specialty, bunny," he replies, his voice dripping with amusement. "Besides, it's not like I planned for Matsuno to break your heart that day. It just happened to work out in my favour."

Maya forces a weak smile, trying to play along with Izana's twisted sense of humour. "Lucky me" she mutters under her breath, her attempt at levity falling flat in the oppressive atmosphere

A thought passes through her head and then she asks "What about Mikey?"

"Manjiro? What about him?" he replies, fingers tracing circles on her ribs again

"What will he think about all this?" Maya clarifies

Izana's fingers pause their motion, his expression turning slightly contemplative at Maya's question. "He's got his own world to worry about," he replies nonchalantly, his touch resuming its gentle circles on Maya's ribs. "Trust me, he won't mind."

Maya's brow furrows in concern, uncertainty gnawing at her. "why won't he mind?"

Mikey seemed like the possessive type— even more than Izana was. So just why wouldn't he mind? Izana chuckles softly, the sound carrying a hint of amusement as he meets Maya's gaze with an enigmatic smile. "Because, bunny, you're mine and Manjiro is mine too"

Maya's brow furrows further, confusion evident in her expression as she tries to decipher Izana's cryptic words. "What do you mean, we're both yours?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty

But that's when it hit her. Izana saw her as a pet, a possession. Something to own. She was a toy for him to play with. Izana saw Mikey the exact same way. Mikey was a toy for Izana to play with, the same way Maya was a pet for him. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, Maya's heart sinks with the weight of understanding. Izana's twisted game becomes clearer, his manipulation extending beyond just her. She recalls faint memories, fragments of conversations heard through the haze of drugs and confusion. Izana's whispers poisoning Mikey's mind, turning him into a pawn in his cruel game. The realization hits her like a punch to the gut. Izana saw them both as objects to manipulate, to control, to possess. Mikey, his own brother, is reduced to nothing more than a pawn in his relentless pursuit of power and dominance. Anger simmers beneath the surface of Maya's composure, fueled by betrayal and indignation. How could Izana be so callous, so cold-blooded, to toy with the lives of those closest to him? And how could Mikey, blinded by loyalty or perhaps ignorance, allow himself to become ensnared in his brother's web of deceit? Mikey may have lied to her but what if she wasn't looking deeper into it? What if there was more to Mikey's lies that Izana hadn't told her about? But she holds back these thoughts, feeling even more sick as she keeps thinking and decides to change the subject. "Why did you take drugs again?" She asks looking at the back of his head "You recovered didn't you?"

Izana hums into the curve of her neck, seemingly accepting the topic change. "yeah... I dunno... I felt like I needed it and I got carried away without Kakucho noticing and then this happened"

Maya listens to Izana's response, a mixture of frustration and concern bubbling inside her. "But you were doing so well," she murmurs, her voice gentle, not wanting him to think she was in any way disappointed because she wasn't— Maya knows and has seen how hard it is recovering from addiction "Why would you risk everything by taking drugs again?"

Izana's grip on her tightens slightly, his breath warm against her skin as he shifts his weight. "I don't know, bunny," he admits quietly. "Sometimes, it's just hard to resist the temptation."

Maya's heart aches at his words, the complexity of Izana's struggles weighing heavily on her mind. Despite everything, she can't shake the feeling of empathy towards him, even as she grapples with her own conflicting emotions. "You know you can talk to me about these things... I'm still technically a psychiatrist..." she says softly, her fingers gently stroking his hair

Izana chuckles softly, a wry smile playing on his lips as he turns to face her. "You're a persistent one, aren't you?" he teases, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of amusement and affection. "But I suppose that's part of why I keep you around."

Maya feels a little stupid for being this way with Izana after all he's done. Maybe it was because not once he had lied to her. Because he had been truthful the entire time. She feels stupid for unconsciously looking for affection in such a violent place and from such a violent person. Yet, there's a raw honesty to Izana that she can't ignore. He may be brutal and ruthless, but he's also authentic in a way that few others are. In a world filled with lies and deceit, his transparency is both refreshing and unsettling. But Maya knows she can't continue to delude herself. She's playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of a cliff with Izana as her partner. Maya is about to say something until she feels one of Izana's hands start to trail up higher on her ribs, the tips of his fingers grazing against the band of her bra. "lace?" He murmurs "lemme see"

Maya's breath catches in her throat as Izana's fingers linger on the edge of her bra, sending a shiver down her spine. The gentle touch of Izana's fingers against her skin ignited a firestorm of conflicting desires. "I-Izana" she mumbles nervously as he lifts himself off her, hovering over her body

Izana's lips curve into a knowing smile as he leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Don't worry, bunny," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Just wanna take a look"

But Maya can't shake the feeling of vulnerability that grips her, the sense of being caught in a web of desire and deceit. She knows that she should resist, that she should push him away and reclaim control over her own desires. But as Izana's lips brush against her neck, igniting a spark of desire deep within her, she finds herself unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. With a trembling sigh, Maya surrenders to the intoxicating allure of the moment, allowing herself to be consumed by the passion that burns between them. At that moment, she knows that she's playing with fire, dancing on the edge of oblivion with Izana as her partner. But for now, she chooses to embrace the flames, surrendering to the tumultuous whirlwind of desire that threatens to consume them both. "Arch your back" he mumbles

Maya's heart races as she complies, arching her back in response to Izana's whispered command. Every nerve in her body tingles with anticipation, her senses heightened by the intoxicating proximity of his touch. She can feel the heat of his breath against her skin, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins. As she arches her back, Izana's hands slide gently along her sides, tracing the contours of her body with a feather-light touch. His fingers dance over her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as he explores the curves of her body with a tender reverence. Izana slides his hands under her back and with one movement lifts her off the bed like she was a child. She's now in his lap, straddling his thighs, chest pressed against his. Maya gasps as Izana effortlessly lifts her off the bed, her body instinctively wrapping around him. She looks into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but finds only a smouldering intensity that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins. "can I?" Izana whispers softly, a look of vulnerability in his eyes "Will you let me this time?"

With trembling hands, Maya reaches up to trace the contours of Izana's face, her touch gentle yet filled with fierce longing. She feels a surge of electricity shoots through her body at the contact, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Izana's hands roam freely over her body, igniting a firestorm of desire that threatens to consume them both. Their breath mingles in the air, hot and ragged, as they lose themselves in the dizzying ecstasy of the moment. "Is that a yes then?" He murmurs, a small smile playing on his lips

With a soft exhale, Maya nods slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes," she breathes, her fingers still tracing the contours of Izana's face, her touch a silent affirmation of her consent

Oh god did she hate herself for this. But maybe she was too tired. Too tired after fighting, too tired after realizing there was no one on her side. Izana's smile widens, a glimmer of satisfaction dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Good"

Maya's heart races as Izana's lips draw closer, anticipation mingling with trepidation in her chest. She feels a surge of conflicting emotions—desire warring with self-loathing, longing battling against resignation. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through Maya's veins. It's a whirlwind of sensation, overwhelming and all-consuming, as they lose themselves in each other's embrace. In that fleeting moment, there is no past, no future, only the raw intensity of their connection, binding them together in a fiery passion that defies reason and logic. "now lemme get a look" Izana says, pulling away from the kiss

Izana pulls her shirt off with ease, throwing it to the side, and falling onto the floor. He sighs softly, his thumb brushing over the baby pink lacy strap on her shoulder. Maya's cheeks flush with heat as Izana's gaze roams over her exposed skin, his eyes tracing every curve and contour with a hunger that sends shivers down her spine. She feels exposed under his intense scrutiny, vulnerable yet strangely exhilarated by the raw intensity of his desire. "Beautiful," Izana murmurs, his voice low and husky as he reaches out to caress her cheek with gentle fingers

She leans into his touch, her own fingers trailing lightly down his clothed chest, tracing the lines of his muscles with a reverence born of awe and longing. Izana's gaze shifts to her shoulder to the scar from where he had accidentally bitten her too hard. Maya feels a surge of mixed emotions flood her being as she watches him study the mark with a mixture of regret and a weird look of fascination. "I'm sorry," Izana murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he traces the scar with gentle fingertips

Maya isn't too sure if he actually means it though. But she doesn't feel like doubting it right now. Maya doesn't want to feel like shit anymore. She's tired of feeling that way. "It's fine" she mumbles, thumb tracing over his jaw "It'll fade"

Izana sighs, leaning down to press a kiss to her scarred shoulder. "I've hurt you so much, hm..." She knows he's not just referring to the physical scars but also the emotional wounds he's inflicted upon her. "I'll make it up to you, bunny... Promise"

And so Izana kissed her again, all tongue, licking desperately into her mouth like he was starved. Maya's mind swirls with conflicting emotions as Izana's lips meet hers once more, his kiss desperate and hungry, as if trying to erase the pain of the past with the intensity of the present. She can feel the raw desire coursing through him, his touch igniting a firestorm of longing within her. Izana is being oddly sweet for someone who waterboarded and burned her.

Oh well.

He unclips her bra with ease, throwing it in the same place he threw her shirt. She's soon lowered back onto the bed. He's kissing down her throat, ending at her sternum, sucking love bites into her skin while her fingers tangle into the thick white strands of his hair. Izana sighs against Maya's skin and she shivers then he shivers too. "Fuck... I'm cold again" he groans, his fingers digging into her waist

She forgot he was still going through withdrawals. Izana is going through another cold flush like earlier. She can feel the chill emanating from his skin, a stark contrast to the fire burning within her own veins. With a mixture of concern and tenderness, she reaches out to caress his cheek, her touch gentle yet filled with an unspoken promise of comfort. "It's okay, Izana," she murmurs soothingly, her voice a soft whisper against his ear. "I'm here. I'll keep you warm."

Izana's grip on her tightens, his fingers digging into her waist with a mixture of desperation and longing. "I need you, Maya," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion, using her name for the first time in a long time

At that moment, Maya knows that she can't deny him what he seeks, no matter how temporary or fleeting the relief may be or how much she hates him. With a silent nod, she pulls him closer, enveloping him in the warmth of her embrace, determined to offer him solace in the midst of his torment. So their clothes scatter and Izana pushes in, slowly, inch by inch, knocking the air out of her lungs. "f-fuck" a whimper leaves Izana and Maya lets out a shuddery breathe, squeezing her eyes shut

Her nails dig into his shoulders and her legs go around his waist, not sure if she wanted him closer or further. Maya is breathing heavily and shaky, her head up in clouds from the stretch caused by the lack of preparation from both herself and Izana. "god, you're so warm" Izana moans, his face pressed into the crook of her neck

He hasn't moved his hips yet, probably being nice for once and trying to let Maya adjust to him first. She wraps her arms around his neck and sighs, fingers tangling in his hair. "I can be on top" She offers, voice shaky

Izana's teeth graze against her throat. "as much as I'd love the view bunny, I wanna be on top... I'm trying to make it up to you remember" He hisses a little, mumbling how tight she was

Maya's heart flutters at the intimacy of their exchange, a mixture of desire and uncertainty coursing through her veins. She hesitates for a moment, torn between her own desires and Izana's request. But ultimately, she nods in silent agreement, trusting him to lead them in this dance of passion and a twisted kind of redemption. "Okay," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. "I trust you, Izana."

Honestly speaking, no she didn't. Just because Izana was truthful to her didn't mean she had to be truthful to him. She could lie to him as much as she wanted. She had no reason to be honest. So as Izana start to thurst she whimpers out his name over and over. It felt good. So fucking good. The drag of his cock against her walls and each time his pelvis brushed against her clit. It felt so fucking good. "I-Izana" she whines as he thrusts in slow and lazy

His lips meet hers in a just as lazy but desperate kiss. Maya didn't know Izana had the capability to kiss like that— soft, full of passion, desperation and eagerness. Fuck it felt good. Being treated that way by someone who's only ever treated you violently felt so good. She whimpers into his mouth as his fingers find her nipples, lightly rubbing against them before pinching. Her legs tighten around his waist and her fingers tug at his white locks. Izana begins kissing down towards her jaw now, till her throat, collarbones, and sternum and then Maya feels him smile against her skin before he takes one of her nipples in his mouth. A shuddery breath leaves her lips at the feeling. He sucks at it, soft, but his teeth graze against it almost threateningly. Maya feels like she's having an out-of-body experience when he tugs at her other nipple and his free hand goes down to rub at her clit. There's so much going on at once that she already feels so overstimulated and comes from the sheer feeling of all of it. Izana chuckles as she comes down from her high. He stops thrusting momentarily as he presses his forehead against hers. "so sensitive, hm bunny..." Izana sighs softly "Wish I took your first..."

He doesn't give her a chance to respond as he starts thrusting again, this time rougher, harder. Her eyes roll back as he pulls his head away from her. "oh fuck..." Izana mutters as he slows down but keeps going just as hard "Look at that"

Izana is looking down at her stomach, right at the small bulge on her lower tummy every time he thrusts into her cunt. He fucking giggles, like it's something cute, like he's not practically fucking her guts. Oh god, she should be horrified but it just turns her on even more. A sob-like moan leaves her when Izana speeds up and presses down on her lower stomach. She feels good. Everything feels good and even if it's only momentary, Maya wants it so badly to last. No matter how overwhelming, no matter how sensitive. Because it seems that only during sex is when the pain truly stops. "please" Maya whimpers desperately, pulling him in as close as possible when he pounds into her cunt

"Please what, hm?" He asks, the tips of his fingers pressing bruises into her waist "wh-what-f-fuck... what do you want bunny?"

Izana's voice is shaky as he speeds up even more, feeling himself getting closer. "a-ah~ want more" Her moan sounded more like a sob

Izana smiles, his eyes dark with lust as he leans down, capturing her lips in a rough messy kiss. It's all teeth and tongue and eventually, they're both just breathing heavily into the other's mouths as they come at the same time. Izana doesn't pull out after that though. He simply shifts their positions so they're both lying on their side and keeps his cock buried in her using the excuse that he was still cold. That was probably his first lie but Maya was too tired to say or do anything so she just complies. She's tucked away in his arms. Izana is holding her tight and close like he's afraid she'll slip away at any moment. Maya on the other hand can't focus on anything other than the feeling of him still inside. "One thing I adore about girls like you is how prettily you suffer." Izana whispers as his fingers trace along her spine "How could anyone want to comfort you when you look this fuckin' pretty when you're miserable?"

Mayas closes her eyes and just falls slack in his arms. It's dark out now. "You're gorgeous, you know that my pretty bunny? Everything about you is breathtakingly beautiful" He whispers and she opens her eyes to look at him

Maya doesn't say anything to Izana. Everything just felt too good for her to really even try to speak or move. "You're so pretty... The way you suffer is so pretty too so I just can't help but hurt you..." Izana murmurs and presses a kiss to her cheekbone

After a while, he pulls out with a small hiss, leading her silently to the shower. As the water cascades over them, washing away the physical remnants of their encounter, Maya's mind drifts into a haze of numbness. The weight of their tangled emotions hangs heavy in the air, suffocating her as she struggles to make sense of it all. Izana's words echo hollowly in her ears, his attempts at reconciliation falling on deaf ears as she retreats into the depths of her own thoughts. In the midst of the steam and the warmth of the water, Maya feels a profound sense of emptiness, a hollow ache that gnaws at the edges of her soul. She can't shake the feeling of being adrift, lost in a sea of uncertainty and despair. Each drop of water that falls against her skin feels like a reminder of the tears she's shed, the pain she's endured, and the scars that mar her body and soul alike.

As they step out of the shower, Izana gives her a pill, his voice a distant echo in the recesses of her mind. Maya accepts it mechanically, her movements robotic as she goes through the motions of getting cleaned up. She doesn't bother listening to Izana's words anymore, the pretty lies and empty promises ringing hollow in her ears. Wrapped in a towel, Maya allows herself to be led back to the bedroom, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders. She lets Izana hold her naked body against his chest, but the embrace offers little comfort, a fleeting illusion of solace in a world devoid of warmth and light.

As he kisses her forehead and murmurs empty reassurances into her ears, Maya can't help but feel a sense of profound sadness wash over her. This moment of tenderness feels like a cruel mockery of the pain and suffering that has brought them to this point. She knows that no amount of physical closeness can erase the scars that mar their relationship, nor can it mend the broken pieces of her shattered heart.

One can only dream, she figures.

Mikey is back the next morning. She ignores him as best as she can. Maya didn't want to even look at him after knowing he had been lying to her this whole time— giving her false hope that he'd convince Izana to let her go when Mikey might as well be an accomplice. The air in the beach house feels heavy with tension as Mikey's presence looms over Maya like a dark cloud. But despite her efforts to ignore him, Mikey's presence is an ever-present reminder of the lies and deceit that have plagued their relationship or whatever twisted relationship they had in the first place.

She doesn't know how to face Mikey, how to confront the betrayal that cuts to the core of her being. All she can do is bury her pain deep within her heart, shielding herself from the raw vulnerability of her shattered trust. But even as she tries to push him away, a part of Maya longs for answers, for closure to the questions that have haunted her since the truth came to light. She knows that confronting Mikey won't undo the damage that has been done, but she can't help but yearn for some semblance of understanding in the midst of the chaos that surrounds her. "Thanks again, Maya" Kakucho says with a smile "Really."

Izana had fallen back to sleep after breakfast, still needing a lot of rest. Thankfully this time the detox process shouldn't take too long since he wasn't in that damn shitty hospital with shitty care. "It's nothing" Maya mumbles dismissively

She was still mad at Kakucho. Almost as much as she was mad at Mikey. Maya had the right to be mad after all. She resents his gratitude, feeling as though it's a hollow gesture in the wake of his betrayal. But beneath her anger lies a deep well of hurt and confusion, emotions that threaten to consume her if she lets them. The lies, the deceit, the manipulation—all of it weighs heavily on her heart, dragging her down into a pit of despair. She can't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnaws at her from within, leaving her feeling lost and alone in a sea of uncertainty. "really though... thanks for helping him" Mikey says with a soft smile

Maya resists the urge to sneer at him the same way she would at Izana when she was first brought here. Mikey had been lying to her, giving her false hope. That was probably worse than Kakucho going back on his word. "Sure" Maya replies tersely, her voice lacking the warmth that once coloured their conversations

She can't bring herself to meet Mikey's gaze, her eyes fixed on some distant point in the room as she struggles to contain the storm of emotions raging inside her. Mikey's smile falters slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features. "Hey, is everything okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Maya's jaw clenches as she fights to keep her composure, the urge to lash out at Mikey almost overwhelming. But she knows that giving in to her anger won't solve anything, and won't change the past. So she forces herself to take a deep breath, to push aside her hurt and frustration, if only for a moment. "Yeah, everything's fine" Maya replies, her tone flat and devoid of emotion

She retreats to the master bedroom. Bad idea honestly speaking. It wasn't her own room, it was Mikey's. Stupid idea for her to try and hide from him in there because he just followed her inside. "no... everything's not fine. What's wrong?" Mikey asks with a frown, his black hair tied back in a messy ponytail

Maya's heart skips a beat as Mikey enters the room, his concerned voice cutting through the heavy silence that hangs between them like a suffocating fog. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her, a silent plea for her to open up and share her burden. But Maya remains silent, her emotions roiling beneath the surface as she struggles to find the words to articulate the storm raging inside her. "It's nothing, Mikey," Maya finally murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I need some time alone."

Mikey's frown deepens, his brows furrowing in concern. "You can talk to me, Maya," he insists, taking a step closer to her. "Whatever it is, we can work through it together. I told you I'm here for you"

Maya shakes her head, heading for the bathroom to get inside and lock the door so she can get some alone time but Mikey gets inside before she can even get the door closed. "don't avoid me" He speaks more demandingly this time "You haven't even been looking at me since I got back! Didn't you miss me, baby?"

The petname which used to make her heart flutter is now making her stomach churn. "Mikey, I really don't wanna do this right now" Maya says, digging her nails into her palms, feeling a mixture of panic and anger fill her

"Maya, please," Mikey pleads, his voice tinged with desperation as he reaches out to gently grasp her arm. "I just want to understand what's going on. You've been avoiding me ever since I got back, and I can't shake this feeling that something's not right."

Maya's heart pounds in her chest as she feels the weight of Mikey's gaze on her, his eyes searching hers for answers she's not ready to give. "I really don't want to talk to you right now"

But Mikey's grip tightens on her arm, his expression filled with determination as he refuses to let her pull away. "No, Maya," he says firmly, his voice tinged with frustration. "We need to talk about this. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

With a heavy sigh, she meets Mikey's gaze with a sense of resignation, steeling herself for the difficult conversation that lies ahead. "Okay," Maya whispers, her voice barely above a whisper as she takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the storm that is about to come. "Let's talk."

Mikey nods and gestures for her to continue. "You're lying to me" she says

He furrows his brows. "what?"

"you were lying to me" Maya repeats trying to sound more angry than sad "You told you asked Izana to let me go when you really didn't. You want to keep me here too"

Mikey's expression shifts from confusion to determination, his features contorted with earnestness at Maya's accusation. "Maya, you've got it all wrong," he protests, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "I know it may seem that way, but I was only trying to keep you safe. I asked Izana to let you go, but he's unpredictable. I was worried about what might happen to you if you left."

Maya meets his gaze with a mixture of skepticism and sorrow, wrestling with the conflicting emotions swirling inside her. "Keeping me safe?" she echoes, her voice heavy with disbelief. "By keeping me prisoner with you and your sociopath brother? How is that supposed to make me feel safe?"

Mikey steps closer, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know it's hard to see it now, Maya, but believe me, I was only trying to protect you," he insists, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "I didn't want you to get hurt. I thought I was doing what was best for you."

Tears well up in Maya's eyes as she grapples with the painful realization of Mikey's deception. She had put her faith in him, believing that he had her best interests at heart. But now, as she stands before him, the truth laid bare, she can't help but feel a profound sense of betrayal. Mikey takes her face in his hands as she's standing with her back against the counter. "Baby, it's not just all that, hm... I wanted you and there was no other way to make you stay" he completely shifts his point now "It's so dangerous out there for you and I wanted you anyway so making you stay was the best option"

Tears start to run down her cheeks. "You watched what I went through... This isn't fair" Maya whimpers sadly

Mikey's expression softens, his features contorted with a feigned sympathy as he steps closer to Maya, reaching out to gently wipe away her tears. "I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But you have to understand, I did it because I care about you. I couldn't bear to see you in danger out there, not when I knew I could keep you safe here with me."

Maya's heart aches at his words, torn between the desire to believe him and the nagging doubts that linger in the back of her mind. "But you didn't have the right to make that decision for me," she whispers, her voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and anger. "You took away my freedom, Mikey. How can you expect me to forgive you for that?"

Mikey's gaze hardens, a flicker of frustration crossing his features as he takes a step closer, his hand tightening around Maya's arm. "Because I did it out of love, Maya," he insists, his voice tinged with possessiveness. "I did it because I love you and I can't bear the thought of losing you. Can't you see that?"

She sniffles, trembling a little now after his sudden love confession. "Why couldn't you have just told me the truth?"

"Would you have stayed if I did?" Mikey asks lowly

Maya's breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding with the weight of Mikey's question. His words hang heavy in the air, suffocating her with their implication. "I don't know," she whispers, her voice quivering with uncertainty. "But I deserved to know the truth."

Mikey's expression hardens, a glint of possessiveness flashing in his eyes as he takes a step closer to Maya, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm firmly. "You would have run, Maya," he says, his voice low and commanding. "And I couldn't let you go. You're mine."

Maya recoils at his touch, her eyes widening with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "Mikey, please..." she pleads, her voice trembling with emotion. "This isn't right. You can't keep me here against my will."

But Mikey's grip tightens, his fingers digging into her skin with a painful intensity. "I'm doing this for your own good, Maya," he insists, his tone tinged with desperation. "You're safer here with me. You belong with me."

Tears well up in Maya's eyes as she struggles against Mikey's hold, feeling trapped and powerless. "Let me go, Mikey," she begs, her voice choked with emotion. "Please, just let me go."

But Mikey's expression hardens further, his resolve unyielding as he stares down at Maya with a possessive gleam in his eyes. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dripping with determination. "You're mine, Maya. And you're staying right here where you belong."

It was weird. Just weeks ago she had the same conversation with Izana and now she was having it with Mikey. Just like then, she's weak. Weak as Mikey turns her around to face the mirror in front of the bathroom sink, weak as takes her right there in front of it. "so fuckin' pretty" He moans as he watches her through the mirror "Takin' me so we-well, baby"

There's a thin coat of sweat on her forehead and her hair is sticking to her skin. Mikey keeps running a hand up and down her spine, seemingly enjoying the way it arches as he thrusts into her. He's being rough, moaning, mumbling praises. All Maya can do is take it, grasping desperately at the counter, her moans breathless and whimpers pitiful. Once again she hates how good it felt. One of the things that wasn't fair was how good Mikey knew how to make her feel. She almost regrets letting him take the time to get to know her body, to let him know all those other nights what she liked and what she didn't because now it was her downfall. "You're mine, hm?" He grunts "Yeah baby?"

She's gasping, trembling as he's forcing a second orgasm out of her while rubbing on her clit. "I-I... 'm yours"

It's too much. Way too much as he just keeps going. "say it. say my name"

"Mikey"

"again"

"M-Mikey"

He forces the third out of her. Mikey grabs Maya by her hair and pulls her till her back is pressed to his chest while he fucks her. "look at you" He murmurs shakily into her ear "so fuckin' pretty..."

Had this situation been any other, she would have agreed. God, she looked so damn hot being fucked by him like this. Mikey is holding her so tight against him. Her eyes are glazed over and her hair sticking to her skin. She's trembling, biting at her already red, bruised lips, her fucked out expression looking so damn pretty. "Who do you belong to?"

"Mikey..." She gasps breathlessly

He finishes inside her finally. Her head is a mess when Mikey turns her back around to face him. He's hugging her tight, right up against his chest as if to try and keep her together. Maya can feel his cum dripping down her inner thighs. The feeling is odd. She shivers and just lets him remove all her clothes so they can shower together. She feels boneless and exhausted. He's whispering apologies into her ear for being too rough, asking her where the scar on her shoulder had come from then tells her he'd tell Izana to be more gentle with her. Maya answers each, quietly and shaky. She's so tired and it's only 12 pm. "I love you... okay?" Mikey murmurs as they stand beneath the shower

"I love you too" she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water

There isn't much she can really do about it now. All the roads to freedom have been blocked off and there was no longer a way out. Maya is exhausted and now she just wants to stop fighting.

But the question remains:

Just when will Mikey and Izana be done taking from her?

notes: oh my god we have 2 more chapters left for the main story. The next chapter explores Maya's forgotten memories and a means to an end. lol good luck everyone, all of us will need it.

Idk if the smut with either Izana or Mikey is even good but yeah, that's there.

link to character analysis and headcanons

next update to be announced

likes, asks and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

special thanks to: @highpri3stess @mysouleaten @yaya4thawin @piroporopo @reiners-milkbiddies @bontensbabygirl @tenjikusstuff4 @fairey555 @haikyuusboringassmanager @firstdivisiongirl

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fandom #tokyo revengers manila future timeline #izana kurokawa #tokyo revengers izana #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers smut #tw. dark content #tw. dark themes #mikey sano #sano mikey manjiro #manjiro sano #mikey smut #izana smut #DEAD GIRL’S BEACH

75 notes · View notes

hoodedwing · 3 years

Text

Soldier, Tell Me

Summary: Roy may have banished his demons but we know that demons, and bad habits die hard.

Characters: Jason, Roy, Cheshire and Lian

Warnings: Implied shipping? (not really actually), Drug abuse, depressive thoughts, major canon death. Vomiting and blood

Additional Notes: This was the 3k fic I spent months working on. I hope you like it as much as I did writing it :))

Word Count: 3,499 words

***

Jason drums his fingers against the handles as he leans a little and presses himself into the seat. His earpieces played some old school song that he didn't bother changing as he took a left turn to a rather deserted road.

Up ahead, a huge building stood in relative isolation, save for a scatter of trees. Jason flips the indicator and takes another right towards the entrance of the car park before finding a small, vacant spot and parking his bike. Switching off the bike, he took a deep breath of the deep gasoline smell lingering.

It assaulted his senses in a good way, preparing him for what was going to happen incoming. He doesn’t know how to start everything with Roy. It’s not as if he could strike up a conversation about a mission like the yesteryears. He couldn’t slide up to him, smile and talk straight away to have expectations that Roy could catch up to speed.

He could try. Pretend everything was normal. Pretend everything was okay and that no one was sinking underneath the weight. Pretend they were still happy despite being scarred all the way through.

He had to accept the fact that Roy was probably in a cleaner slate than when he last saw him. Sometimes, he felt irrational hatred at himself for not seeing it earlier, for not stopping him, A part of him felt that he could’ve saved Roy from hell. He could be the barrier, the small glass shard that held the rest of the pieces up.

Hell, nothing could’ve almost prevented him from collapsing onto the floor when he found Roy out cold on the unforgiving tiles of the damp bathroom floor, a used needle on the floor and empty syringes. A discarded lighter and spoon told the shameful truth Jason wanted desperately to not be true, to not be real, to simply fade and become a figment of his imagination, a hallucination to be exact. An unresponsive Roy sent Jason towards a panicked call to the ER and a shot of Narcan he had in his military-grade belt. There was a splutter and then the vomiting out the offender and the slight feverish touch of the skin. Jason carded his hair and tore a piece of his shirt to keep his forehead cool and try to get his fever down.

Jason had waited outside the ER with trepidation, hoping he really caught him in time. Nurses came in and went. Oliver Queen was suddenly there and Jason doesn’t know what’s next but he sees Dinah Lance as well and all he could pray was that Queen hadn’t disowned Roy. All he registered was a faint squeeze of a shoulder and a soft voice of “He’ll be fine, they’re good at what they do.”

He doesn’t know what to do as he pushes himself off the bike and locks it twice to double-check. Tossing his bag over his shoulder which had a spare set of clothes, shoes and essentials for Roy, he shoves his keys in his jean pockets and his other gloved hand tightening around a Narcan jab.

He’s at the counter.

Jason lazily leans against one of those plastic colored chairs that's plain uncomfortable to sit on. His eyes draw slowly towards the anti-drug videos playing on the screen. Sometimes he wonders if it remotely worked, at all as he watched a video on psychedelics and withdrawal symptoms. He thinks about how the initial years would be hell, suddenly the high was taken away and the addict was suffering. He was shaking, chills and absolutely losing it. He briefly thought about heroin and opium. Then he hears the low whine of machines and the counter number calling for him.

He tiredly gets up and waits at the counter, an all too smiling nurse who kindly gave him a bunch of paperwork to sign. His grip on the pen was so loose the nurse had to gently remind him that his hands were shaking. Steeling himself, he signs the last few release papers.

“You don’t look old to be Mr Queen, don’t you?”

“I’m..I’m his friend. Here to take him home.”

He exhales, a hand in his frazzled bangs making everything a little more messy. The nurse takes it as her cue to take Roy and she leaves.

Jason tries to not imagine what Roy might look like after an entire year. In his dreams, it’s either he was a bag of bones or a hollowed face. Other days, he couldn’t see him, it was a blur of shadows and nothing much. All he remembers is the empty longing for his companion to make his trio complete. Sure, Artemis and Bizarro were lovely company but Roy was the one who truly understood him to the core. He knew so much about Jason it was almost as if he was psychoanalyzing him instead. Roy knew Jason’s preferences like straight black coffee, novels with petrichor or simply a rainy day. He knew too much to not be there and it ached Jason’s bones badly.

He wouldn’t admit it, he missed his best friend.

The nurse returns and the first thing Jason registers is the way Roy’s threadbare olive shirt was hanging off his shoulder blades. The constant micro adjustments he did to push the shirt back up to the collarbone to hide the rest of the boned wisp of a muscled and lean man he once was. The same went for his jeans, rolled up at his shins and looking half-dead yet terrified. He shuffled his feet and chewed rather loudly at a ridiculously pink bubblegum. Jason hasn’t had the chance to look into his eyes and see how much was lost.

Suffice to say, Jason needed time to get Roy back to himself completely. He quietly hoped that there was enough Roy to heal back.

Roy finally looks up and smiles imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curving up as he held a hand out to Jason. The bones were jutting out and it hurt so much to just take his own hand and try to not shatter his fragile ones. Scarred ones with numerous arrows he’s shot in another life.

Another life, Jason reminds himself, something stinging behind his eyes.

Jason stands up and gently embraces Roy, almost afraid of breaking his body completely into nothing. Roy returns the embrace, his hand running down Jason’s back. The nurse was holding Roy’s bag which Jason quickly snags with his free hand and quietly nodded as a sign of gratitude to the lady who walked away to rejoin her colleagues.

“Jason, I’m gonna go home, right?”

Jason lets Roy lean into him, lets him take in the warmth of his leather jacket he’s never quite ditched and into the sleeve of his ash-colored shirt. It was almost light-weight as he half-drags Roy into the carpark and towards his bike.

“Yeah, I'm taking you home."

He pretends to ignore Roy's rather weak grip around his midsection as he revved up the bike and drove out of the centre hopefully for the last time.

Jason made the last turn to his safe house he spent some months converting into a livable house to aid Roy's recovery. The few azaleas he's grown are starting to gain height as he takes the bags and a half-asleep Roy to his doorstep. With some difficulty, he hunts for his keys from his pocket as quickly as possible before anyone nearby starts questioning him.

The door opens with a lazy whine as Jason hurriedly dumps the bags on the couch and drags Roy to his own bedroom. He lowers him gently onto the bed softly before opening his closet and fetching out a pair of his own clothes. He leaves them at the foot of the bed, pre-empting Roy needing to take a shower when he wakes up.

He heads back to the kitchen and starts prepping for a simple soup. After adding the last few vegetables (Roy needed strength on a weak stomach) and closing the lid to let the soup simmer, he takes out the folder of discharge papers alongside a whole host of anti-drug pamphlets which he promptly threw away.

No need for them. He thought.

Taking the remaining papers, he heads back to the bedroom where he settled down in a ratty armchair beside a worn out and asleep Roy.

The first sentence already starts to hurt to the bone and his hands shake again. His eyes keep darting towards Roy and back at the paper.

He OD'd twice during his stay. One time, they had to almost restart his heart because he was unresponsive.

Like that day in the bathroom

Jason mentally supplied, the free hand clutching at the arm of his chair. He doesn't want to read the rest of the letter anymore and carefully folds it, slipping it into his pocket.

He gently holds Roy's hand, lets his fingers trace along the veins standing out against the thin, almost transparent skin. Anger floods through him, how everything had hurt Roy so much. Jason rubbed gentle circles with his thumb as he waited for Roy to stir up.

Roy awoke to a cotton-like feeling in his head and a remnant of sickness in his stomach. He laid there, staring at the repainted ceiling to force himself to not throw up as he blindly reached for a glass of water left by his table. With the blanket pooling at his waist, he sat up and leant against the headboard and tried to get his head on straight because he hasn't exactly processed anything in the last few hours.

He hears the clinking of a metal ladle and then the creaky cabinet with the dishes. A soft breeze filtered through the slightly ajar day and started a fresh bout of chills for Roy. He feebly rubs his arms against his sides and tries to stay warm. He threw a pillow on his head because his stupid, stupid weak body couldn't regulate body temperature right.

He stumbles out of the bed with the blanket draped around his shoulders. He opens the closet and takes out one of Jason's hoodies. He slips it and is instantly comforted by the warmth of the other. It smelt faintly of stale cigarette smoke (He knew Jason had dropped the habit when he was gone, determined to change himself) and gasoline.

Roy pressed his ear near the doorframe and heard other ambiguous noises as he quietly closed the remaining gap of the door. A sudden wave of nausea hits him and he dashes into the joint washroom in his room.

He barely got onto his abused knees before spitting out the little he had in him. Bile dripped down his pale face and he leant against the cool surface of the bathtub. His eyes trail across the almost spotless tiles except for the occasional blood smears. Those must've been Jason's bad days.

Roy briefly wonders what bad days were to him. Every day kept throwing him off balance and he was always unprepared.

He tried swimming to shore before, but his ankles always caught the anchor and he couldn't get out in time always.

When he does free himself, he's so far into the past, it's just their ghosts teasing him and he's bloody trying but he's so tired. He's given up fighting against the waters.

He just opens his arms and welcomes the gush of cold and then the freak warmth of it all. He's so used to breathing without air and inhales water into his lungs. He knows what being waterlogged is like; he's been waterboarded a few times before. Oxygen was so sweet, such a promising relief.

The darkness however still held its charm.

Roy's shaky hand pats against himself, making sure he's still whole and not in pieces. Sometimes he doubted he was still human, the cracks too sharp for his fingers trying to join himself together. His fingers snag between, cuts open and warm blood always follows with the sting.

The sting was so much like when Queen ditched him. God, he never felt so fucking lonely before when his mentor left him to the wolves hungry for his skin. He was weaponless, powerless and defenseless. It was so easy to follow the shadows to the dark alleyway when you're alone, cold and desperate.

Even if it meant you'd sell your soul for relief.

Roy slowly flexed his arms, finding the feeling return to his emancipated limbs. Shaking, he's on his knees in a prayer position before getting up. His busty knees give way and he's so angry he can't even get up.

He felt like a failure. Was he going to be one for the rest of his life? Was he going to forever be trapped and feel he's lost control and never regained it back in any form?

He manages to return to the bedroom without cracking his skull open at the bathroom area. It would be a real shame if Jason brought him home just for Roy to die because he couldn't walk right. He chuckled darkly before making his way to the bag he left the facility with.

He slowly unzipped the bag and felt his way through. The sudden touch of stale fabric signaled to him that Jason hadn't touched the bag yet only because the fabric softener scent Jason used hadn't assailed his nose yet. He always liked the flower ones.

His fingers reached a faux compartment and he lifted the fabric covering the pocket compartment. He fumbled at the zip before untying the zip tie. His hand plunged in deep and a crinkle sound pricked his ears.

He fished it out and unwrapped the gift box. Taking apart the next few layers, his eyes hungry for the prize.

It was at this moment Jason opened the door, a tray of the food in his hands. His eyes took one look at Roy and the offending item in his hands.

He dropped everything, the soup splashing on the ground and spreading so fast he doesn't know where it ends. Glass fragments lay out on the ground, offending weaponry to the victim. Roy is frozen and his eyes are locked onto Jason's wildly open eyes.

In one swipe, the broader man grabs the prize and throws it so far across the room Roy doesn't know where it is anymore.

He felt his shirt being pulled and then the familiar feeling of being slammed into the wall. Light headed, his eyes pinched close in pain as he felt the shift in his skull.

Roy doesn't register someone leaning so heavily into him. It suffocated him before he attempted to throw a punch towards the offender.

That punch was quickly blocked and he was maneuvered right into the bed. Roy didn't have time to process anything before he was reaching out for the prize, body almost primal. Jason blocked him-

"Dammit- Stop fighting me."

Jason grits out, wrestling Roy away from where he spotted the prize. His heart is trembling as he pushes Roy with such force back onto the bed.

"ROY."

Jason yells out, anger flooding his veins with something hot and haunted searing through him.

His eyes threaten to cloud but he forcefully shakes the tears. Roy is spent, panting on the bed as he sweats again. Jason kicks the prize away and rips Roy's bag away from the side table. He slaps him with such ferociousness, Roy is left reeling.

The room is silent. Not even breathing could be heard.

Jason dumps the contents onto the floor. Pens fell out, some artwork he was tasked to do at the facility. A picture of Lian.

Lian.

Jason was livid at the world and it hurts him to the bone as his eyes look at the glossed picture staring back at him from the floor. Her sweet smile formed cracks in his heart as she rode on the rodeo, his leather jacket draping her small figure. Roy's old cowboy hat sat askew on her mop of jet black as she grinned at the camera.

The pain of burying such a smile six feet under sobers him as he watches Roy regain his breath and sit up, a wince gracing his features before he freezes at Lian's picture.

Jason doesn't want to know what kind of scars Roy has sewn shut beneath his clear face. Sometimes Jason thinks he's run out of skin and soul to scar when Roy's at battle. Other days, he couldn't get out of bed and that's where Jason sees Roy for who he is.

A friend.

A friend he cannot afford to lose ever again.

"I miss her."

Roy starts, curling himself in and Jason doesn't look at his expression, all pain and hurting as he closes himself up into a ball, face buried in between as loose strands cross his features. Jason wants to reach out to squeeze a hand on his shoulder but it was still tingling where he slapped Roy.

Jason thinks about napalm skies and burning cities all crumbling when he presses the stinging palm against his cheek, still radiating residual heat and some of the headache. He merely wondered if this was the price they paid for all those nights.

Nights that don't end. Nights that see them running for their lives.

Was this what Jason wanted? To be headhunted, to have a bounty on his head so high the numbers keep flowing. To keep repairing himself and sew up like a doll. To never be able to live completely conscience free when he wakes up one cold night and realise another kid had died and he could've prevented it.

With the photo in Roy's hands, he absentmindedly stroked his fingers against Lian's lit face, trying to remember what her skin felt like. Warm and soft on a summer morning and always decked in daisies or sunflowers depending on which fields she ran to. His lap feels so empty but his heart is gone.

"At one point, I had the power to bring Lian back."

Roy starts, voice rather strained with tears as he rests the photo on the bedside table. Jason's ears prick in confusion as he looks from where he's been brooding.

"I didn't, even told Cheshire no. I think.."

He bravely draws in a breath to calm the incoming gush of throat-tightened and raw emotions he's not ready for.

"I think I'm doing her a kindness. If I brought her back, it isn't fair for her because she's gonna spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to her and why she doesn't remember. She's always going to be angry at a world that refused to stop when she died. I don't want her to end up like us.

I wanted her happiness because she's my angel. Angels do not deserve pain."

Roy quietly ends it, eyes all darting as he buries himself to cry again. Jason is thumbing his fingers because he hates where he is right now and he doesn't want to go too deep.

He still wants to be able to float.

"I think you did the right thing. You let her be free."

Jason softly says, his own eyes shining with tears as he reaches Roy for a hug. Roy inches in and there's nothing in between them as Jason's slightly larger frame encircled Roy a little, protecting him.

At that moment, nothing could hurt them. Not anymore as they both stayed there till sunset dusted their room in the soft afterglow of yesterday.

"I'm sorry, Jay. Don't cry-"

Jason looks up from where tears have drenched Roy's shirt as he blinks a little. Jason false starts before swallowing back shared glass

"I'm not. You're gonna ruin my bad boy reputation."

Jason jokes lightly as he playfully shoves Roy where a small smile appears on his face. There was still so much to do, so much to see-

"You can't do this alone."

Roy cocks his head, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. Every color died outside the window as night came, a sense of serendipity crosses him and he turns back to Jason.

"I know, but you're here."

"Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself, okay? I..I don't want to see you suffer anymore."

No one deserves to suffer alone.

Jason smiles and bites at his reddened lips. Roy's eyes dart over Jason before he turns back to the bed and falls back, a sigh escaping him. He nods to an exhausted looking Jason to lie down beside him too. Instinctively, he reaches for Jason (he was such a big heater) and curls himself against Jason.

"We're gonna be okay."

Jason says, carding Roy's hair to the side who closes his eyes and leans into Jason's gentle touch. When his stressed breathing evened out into calmer ones and later sleep, Jason swore that nothing would ever hurt him again.

He'll make sure of that.

14 notes · View notes