#(or you would get it a LITTLE but the effect would be so much more muted and nowhere near as emotional or vivid as the final product) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kittykattysstuff · 1 day

Text

When mom's away, it's time to play!

Warning: Stepcest.

Stepdad!Toji x fem!Reader

WC: 2.2K

Summary: Your mother won't be home during the weekend due to a business trip. With her gone and the entire house to yourselves, you and your stepdad Toji get to know each other in more intimate ways.

"Bye, dear. I'll be back Monday morning." Your mom gave you a kiss on the cheek as she left the house.

"Keep Toji some company, will you? This can be a great opportunity for you two to have some father-daughter bonding time."

She smiled, giving Toji a peck before she climbed into the driver's seat of her car. You gulped. Sometimes you wondered if your mother was either too oblivious to notice the furtive glances Toji threw your way whenever you were in the same room, or if she actually noticed them, and simply didn't care, confusing his inappropriate behavior for affection.

Well, it didn't matter what your mom thought. Her opinions wouldn't change the fact that you would be spending the whole weekend alone with Toji.

"Don't worry, love. I'm sure Y/N and I will have a lot of fun together."

You pretended not to notice the sexual innuendo behind your stepdad's words. God, this was going to be a long weekend. You and Toji waved as your mom started the car and drove away.

"Finally home alone. "Toji smirked, following you inside the house. You didn't need to turn to know he was shamelessly checking your ass. "Any plans for the weekend?"

He asked before you walked up the stairs to your room.

"Not really." You shrugged. You were more than ready to get this talk done and over with, but it seemed like Toji wouldn't let you off so easily.

"I intend to study for my upcoming exams."

That was a lie and Toji knew it. He knew you had already finished all your exams and didn't have any more classes until the next semester, since your mother had told him before you arrived from college at the beginning of the week.

"That's lame. Even Megumi's going to his friends' house. You should live a little, doll. How about we follow your mom's suggestion and have some father-daughter bonding?"

Toji's smile was so sweet, you could almost mistake him for an angel if you didn't know him. However, you did know him, and you knew that behind that sweet smile, were actually the most evil intentions. You felt yourself getting hot. You didn't want to admit it, but ever since you met Toji Fushiguro, you felt attracted to the man. His broad shoulders, thick thighs, and captivating emerald eyes made him look like a Greek god.

"Well, what do you have in mind?"

Against your better judgment, you indulged in his ideas.

"We could binge watch some of those rom-com movies that you like so much."

"You? Watching "girly" movies?" You asked, quoting the way he always complained about the films you and your mom liked to watch.

"Anything for you, doll."

Oh, you were definitely screwed. It took all your willpower not to jump him right then and there. Instead, you found yourself agreeing to his offer.

"Sure, why not."

Two hours later, the credits of "10 things I hate about you" appeared on the TV screen.

"This one wasn't so bad."

Your stepdad commented, stretching his huge arms, which were conveniently bare, given he was wearing a tight black tank top. You watched him put an arm on the back of the couch, getting dangerously close to you as he adjusted in a more comfortable position.

You were starting to seriously regret your choices today. You'd been doing a decent enough of a job trying to avoid Toji ever since he and your mom got married, almost one year ago. Because as soon as he stepped into your home in all his glory when they were still dating, two years ago, you knew you were in trouble.

The man was literally sex on legs, all your teenage dreams personified right in front of you, and the worst part is, he knew the effect he had on you. He knew it and he purposely took every chance he had to get closer to you; from accidental touches that started to linger more each time you both were in the same vicinity, to the hungry looks he sent you, not even trying to hide them.

You thought that once Toji and your mom got married, things would stop. But it was quite the opposite. Taking advantage of the fact you wouldn't be able to actively avoid him, since Toji and Megumi moved in with you and your mom after the wedding, Toji was everywhere. And he was driving you insane.

Your only solace was college. Your college was considerably far from your home, so as soon as you were accepted, you opted to live on campus rather than commute back home. The reprieve was great, especially because now you could be alone with your thoughts, without your step dad's presence everywhere you turned. If you didn't see nor think about Toji, then you were safe from the ever growing attraction between you.

However, now that the semester had finished and you wouldn't have classes for three weeks, your feelings were more and more difficult to ignore. Especially now that it was only the two of you in the house.

"What's next?"

Your step dad asked, though he didn't really seem interested in the answer whatsoever.

"Legally Blonde." You replied, selecting the next movie.

For the most part, things were going well. You were so concentrated on the film that you almost forgot about Toji's presence. That is, until his hand started to softly caress your shoulder. You held your breath as your step dad started rubbing circles on your skin delicately.

In hindsight, you know you should've stopped him instantly. But you were tired, Toji's touch was warm and honestly, you were craving some affection lately. So yeah, you let him touch you. After all, parents and their children touched all the time, that was normal, you rationalized. Except, there was nothing innocent in the way your step dad was getting closer to you.

His hand was now on your hips, massaging them expertly. You could feel his thigh pressed to yours. Before you noticed, a low moan fell from your lips. From your peripheral, you could see your step dad smirking.

"You're so far from me. Come closer, angel, I won't bite."

He didn't expect an answer from you, already pushing you to sit on his lap.

"This okay?"

Toji asked, his chin on your shoulder, his hot breath on your neck. You moaned again.

"Yes." You managed to say in a whisper.

"Y'know, this movie's getting boring, dontcha think?"

Toji said before sucking on your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Toji, we shouldn't..."

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to touch you, doll."

Before you could protest, Toji captured your lips, giving you a bruising, passionate kiss. You opened your mouth, and he wasted no time to shove his tongue down your throat. He nibbled your lower lip with deliberate boldness, hearing a soft moan of pleasure in response, making his arousal sensually painful. As you kissed, Toji wanted to drink in your moans in sweet tremors of sinful pleasure.

Toji and you separated briefly, his sharp gaze locked on yours as you both struggled to regain you breath. Before things could get even more physical, he pressed his forehead to yours, inhaling deeply. You caressed his soft dak locks, reveling in the texture against your fingers. For a man as big as he was, Toji could be surprisingly endearing when he wanted to.

"Do you want this?" He finally asked, moving so that you'd be able to see each other in the dark room illuminated only by the dim light of the TV.

"If you say yes, I won't be able to hold back."

You knew that if you went further than this, there was no going back. You nodded, smiling. You had made your decision. You had wanted him for so long, you wouldn't miss the chance of having him all to yourself.

"I do, Toji. Fuck me."

"Damn. You're gonna drive me crazy."

Toji didn't waste time, ripping off your white buttoned shirt and your tight shorts to reveal your underwear.

"So perfect." He muttered as he unclasped your bra, immediately latching his mouth on your nipple, while he played with the other.

"All for me."

He said reverently, before sucking hardly, which elicited a gasp from you due to all the pleasure he was giving you. You kept your hands on his hair, in a tight grip. Toji's mouth and his finger kneading your tits felt magical.

"Yes, daddy, l'm all yours."

You didn't even notice what you had said until Toji stilled his movements, looking at you like a hawk. Instantly, you felt self-conscious, a blush on your cheeks as you mistook his sudden halt in his movements for rejection.

"Fuck."

Toji mumbled, licking his lips and watching you with a lust-filled gaze.

"Say that again."

Your shyness gave way to pure pleasure, the carnal desire consuming the two of you.

"Daddy."

You repeated, feeling his arousal as his dick twitched. Your step dad looked an animal, his expression was so filthy you almost came on the spot. He changed positions, laying you down on the couch, his firm, muscular chest pressing against your body.

You took his black tank top off, and kissed every inch of skin you could find. His shoulder blades, his abdomen, his chest, everywhere. Toji moaned, fueling you to continue.

"I know you're eager to play, baby, but I can't wait."

Toji took your hands off his body as gently as he could. Understanding what he meant, you moved your hands to his pants, ubuttoning his leather belt. Toji wriggled out of the fabric of clothing, throwing it away haphazardly. You could see the white patch of precum in his black boxers.

"I've dreamed about fucking your tight little pussy for so long, you've no idea."

Toji kept muttering as he got rid of the rest of yours and his underwear, the last remaining clothing between you two.

"Whenever I fuck your mom, I imagine you. I have to keep myself from moaning your name".

"Daddy, please, I need you."

"You want daddy's cock, little girl? Don't worry, daddy's gonna make you feel so good you won't want any other dick anymore."

"Yes, daddy, please, I need you so badly! Fuck, me daddy!"

Your stepdad kissed you again as he entered you without warning, giving you no time to adjust to his size. Toji sucked your mouth, bit your lips, swallowed your taste as if it were the last kiss he would give in his life. The kiss made you forget the slight discomfort you felt when he first penetrated you.

Toji buried himself to the hilt inside you, making you moan loudly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, so that he could reach even deeper.

"So tight. Perfect little pussy, was made for me."

"Only yours, daddy."

The position allowed him to explore all the curves of your body as he moved frenetically inside you. God, he was amazing. You couldn't fathom why you tried to resist your stepdad in the first place. Now that you had a taste, you would certainly become addicted.

You pressed your hands on his taut abdomen, feeling his strong chest, buffy arms and prominent collarbone. Holy shit, his body was a masterpiece. You moved in sync, lost in the pleasure of the skin to skin contact. Toji started rubbing his fingers over your clit, sending you over the edge.

"D-daddy, I'm close."

You mumbled, breathing heavily.

"Cum, baby. Let it all out for daddy."

You felt all the tension explode from your nerves, relaxing all your muscles at once and clouding your mind in the most genuine relieved ecstasy.

"Will you let daddy cum inside you baby?"

"Yes daddy, please! Cum inside me, need you!"

"Fuck!"

Your words made Toji cum inside you in full force, your insides creaming his cock deliciously. Toji pulled you to his side, letting you lay on top of him.

"That was amazing."

You smiled, turning your head and resting your chin on his chest. He smiled back at you, stroking your cheeks lovingly. You leaned on his touch, letting yourself enjoy this rare soft side of his, knowing that this could very well be the first and last time you two were so intimate.

"Well, I'm glad. Now stand up."

He urged you, leaning forward on his elbows and creating some distance between you. You tried to hide your disappointment with a fake smile. That was the problem. You held back so much because you knew that when you caved, you wouldn't wanna let him go. Swallowing, you reminded yourself that it was only natural. After all, he wasn't yours to begin with. He was your mother's. Putting on a brave face, you finally stood up, gathering your clothes and attempting to cover your body the best you could. Before you could stray too far, however, you felt a tug in your hand.

"What is it, Toji?"

You asked, feeling irritated. He told you to go, but still kept bothering you. Classic Toji.

"Hey, I thought it was daddy. And where do you think you're going? I was gonna ask you to take a bath. It's only the beginning of the weekend, darling, we still have lots of time for father-daughter bonding moments. And I intend to enjoy it as much as I can."

#toji fushigro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #fushiguro toji x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #toji fushiguro smut #soft toji #soft toji fushiguro #smut

152 notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 1 day

Note

Are horned helmets actually a thing? How would a fantasy race that has horns... compesate for them?

Only in the sense that people do make them for various reasons. There are ceremonial and ornamental horned helmets dating back into the bronze age. There's a famous example that was gifted to Henry the VIII in the 1500s.

As I said, some were made for religious ceremonies. Usually for priests of horned deities (there's a bunch of these.) In these cases it could be made from either metal or actual animal horns. I'm not familiar with much beyond that in these cases because archaeology and anthropology are a little outside my area of expertise. I'm not aware of any religions that still use horned helmets, but it really wouldn't surprise me if it pops up from time to time. I'd also categorize head gear with attached antlers in the same range here. It wouldn't surprise me if it exists, or existed, but, I'm not aware of any examples.

We have depictions of horned helmets from knights at tourney in the 14th century. (And at least one surviving example.) This is probably legitimate. At least, in so far as that the knights may have worn horned helmets to show off. Though, this head gear wasn't something that a knight would wear onto the battlefield.

The modern image of the horned helmet (and the association with Vikings) has a lot more to do with Wagner's The Ring Cycle, and particularly stage performances of that opera. (It's not technically original to that, but the horned Viking was a 19th century German invention.) This also the source for a lot of novelty hats and helmets that you can readily obtain today.

The problem with horned helmets on the battlefield is that it gives your opponent something to grab in a tight melee. And letting someone get control of your head in a fight is a very bad thing. This is made worse with a helmet, where the foe could easily unseat the headgear, potentially blinding the wearer long enough to kill them.

There are historical examples of horned helmets intended for use on the battlefield. The Japanese are probably the easiest example to reference. However, in these cases, the horned helmets were worn, specifically, by officers, and communicated their authority to their soldiers, so they could more effectively issue orders. Somewhat obviously, that's not someone you're going to see in the meat grinder of the front lines. (Also, in most cases, these horns were oriented vertically, and were probably too small to grip. The surviving knight's helm, mentioned above, also featured vertically mounted horns.)

Similarly, if you had examples of horned cavalry helms (particularly vertically mounted horns) used by late medieval or even early modern cavalry, that wouldn't surprise me. Especially if that was part of their parade dress. While it's not horns, the winged hussars come to mind as another example of absurd ornamentation on cavalry, and they continued operating until the late 18th century.

Now, as for a fantasy race, I could see grabbing their horns being a very, very, bad idea. This is somewhat informed by the fact that the first example that comes to mind is the minotaur, where grabbing their horns is probably a pretty good way to ensure you're going to get a horn run through your chest. Ultimately though, it becomes a bit like grabbing someone's hair. You've just committed a limb to limiting their head's range of motion, while leaving both of their arms unfettered. On the battlefield, that sounds like a great way to get stabbed in the armpit and die.

So, they are real in the sense that they existed (and still exist), but their actual use in warfare was extremely limited due to practical considerations. That said, people have thought they looked cool for thousands of years, and they're around. Though the Viking helmet is a complete fabrication by 19th century Germans trying to make the Vikings look cooler.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #starke answers #how to fight write

156 notes · View notes

captain-mj · 2 days

Text

Mermay

My friend Rose asked me for one of these a while ago! I went in a slightly different direction but if you see this, i hope you like it! It's just a vague drabble I was feeling

Ghost has spent a good portion of his life recently alone. His family was gone and at some point, he stopped bothering to try to get close to people.

At this moment, he was just barely drifting above the twilight zone of the water. Lately, it has become harder and harder to bother going all the way up to get air. Right not, he could tell he had another fifteen or so minutes of air before he’d need to come back up.

He glanced up and saw the ship. With a sigh, he started swimming faster, trying to go in the opposite direction of where they were headed.

A pulse ran through the water. He paused and glanced back. He listened closely as the water settled.

Merpeople only sent that when they needed someone to pay attention. Basically a sonar sound. He didn’t want to move just yet. Just… just in case.

He knew he should move. Sitting here put him in danger.

Right as he gave up and went to keep swimming, he heard a scream. So loud it hurt.

Ghost should keep moving. He should keep moving. No reason to go back.

Ghost was turned back around and racing back to the boat.

“Help!! Please!” The voice was gruff and desperate sounding.

The body attached to it was…

Ghost almost stuttered in his movement.

They had large fins along their arms and legs that glittered like the shiny stones along the ocean floor. When he twisted, Ghost became aware of the blood where someone had a hook through one of those beautiful fins.

They made eye contact with Ghost. “Please?”

Ghost barely hesitated before slamming himself into the boat. He could hear people yelling, but more importantly, he could see the hook yanking itself through the rest of Soap's fin. It released him, but left a nasty wound that spilled far too much blood in the water.

Ghost reared back and hit the boat again, hearing it crack. He dug his fingers into one of the breaks in the wood and yanked so the water would flood in.

The pretty fish from earlier managed to grab his tail as they started to sink down and Ghost relented his assault on the boat to make sure they didn't slip down into the depths. He rose up for a moment to take a deep breath of air and then sank back down.

"My name is Johnny." Pretty fish said, smiling despite the odd way they held themselves.

"Simon. Do you think you can swim?"

Johnny moved around slightly and winced. "No. I don't think so. If you wouldn't mind dropping me off near the reef, i can take care of myself." He did not look like he could at all. Although the blood was quick to stop as the flesh of his fins was very thin, the long gash meant he wouldn't be able to propel water very effectively.

Simon hummed. "You're coming to my cave." He picked him up like a bride and started to swim down.

"Wait, isn't that a little soon?? We just met! Does your family live there?"

Simon didn't answer.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

71 notes · View notes

tinydefector · 21 hours

Note

Do you think cybertronians every freak out with more "fragile " humans. I have EDS and it seems to effect my knees the most right now so I tend to fall due to them popping and giving out on me. I'm used to it by now and have gotten knee braces. Do you think any of the bots or cons would freak out if they saw a human fall and have to lay down for a while. I think I'd find it really funny while laying on the ground in pain lmao. Love your work by the way you write lovely !

Gods, I felt the knees too much mine dislocated, and atm I have one that's been causing me hell

________

I do think they would freak out the first few times. But after a while, they would start just going. "You good?" But also on that, I believe they would also find ways to help improve your movement. Mind you, I have a rather messed up knee and need a brace that has a locking mechanism in it in case my knee gives out on me. So I can see a lot of the Cybertronians trying to help make you more comfortable with gadgets to help. For example, if you have trouble walking, they will make you a more advanced brace, one that still assist and holds much better than the flimsy wires in the ones you get from the hospital.

The first time the bots hear your bones crack, it sends them into a panic, thinking you're breaking, and they have them rushing you to the medbay into the doctors servos, saying your dying because your body is creaking and cracking.

These guys love modifying things because they know humans can't simply replace limps like they can. So when you have an issue with one of the wheels on your wheelchair. They are straight away working on fixing it up, adding wheels with a lot more resistance to strain. Don't ask where they got the equipment. The bots try their best to be as accommodating as possible. A place doesn't have a ramp. They will lift you up the stairs. Even make it easier for you to get into their alt mode. It's simple little things, and they may not be a lot to them, but it makes life so much easier for you.

The medics also take it upon themselves to learn human medicine and body structure because after they hear you complain about how expensive health care is, they want to try and give you the best care they can. Which involves them making medicines, equipment, and services for you. Also, expect with any injuries that the bots are going to make you do a lot of physio to try and help you strengthen your joins the best it can. Tho they know each human is different, they do try their best to accommodate for you better than a lot of other humans do. To them, you are never a burden its always a delight for them to do something as simple as help you when you're in pain or having difficulty.

67 notes · View notes

envy-of-the-apple · 2 days

Note

RAST is my current obsession, thank you v much for your service!! i love love LOVE how uncomfortable and how unsettling you've written it out to be, i swear i've reread it everyday since you've posted it, i fall in love w your writing a bit more each time <3 i can only imagine what would happen in miss gem pissed off the two BAD. more than just consistent attempts to run off, just plainly... not accepting them as 'her own' or stuff that'd be most likely to set them off without her knowing, maybe she's just so withdrawn all the time that it's getting on satoru's nerves... suguru's no longer keeping a leash on satoru, who's less than merciful regarding miss gem's acting out, and it makes me akhskajd what's something miss gem does that could really get them mad? i'm genuinely curious about how far the two would go if their patiences were to be tested. (and at any point, would it lead to any gunplay in... intimacy? more punishing than anything?)

god i should've put gunplay in the fic. now that i think about it my smut fics are getting a little bland i gotta kick it up a notch.

anywayyy tyyyy for like the fic!! regarding pushing them...hmm. Let's say Miss Gem does run away one time too many. Suguru thinks you just need another chance to prove yourself. Satoru thinks you need a wake-up call. Just this once, Suguru releases the reigns.

The handcuffs, the lectures, are all nothing compared to the wide grin on Satoru's face as he glides the cold metal across your neck, up to your cheek. He giggles at your pleas and sobs. When you look at Suguru, hoping he'll pull Satoru out of his mania, the man just stands there, leaning against the wall. He's not here to help. He just wants to watch.

Satoru doesn't stop until you apologize until you're barely garbling out words anymore. He doesn't stop until he's sure you've learned your lesson.

When you pass out, he'll toss the prop away, complaining it doesn't feel real without bullets. Suguru will chide him for going too far but even he's impressed by the effectiveness.

You don't run after that.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark content #yandere gojo satoru #asks #RAST ask #dark geto suguru #yandere geto suguru

62 notes · View notes

dreamsinmoonlight · 2 days

Text

Angel Massages

(Welp as promised, the sequel to Angel Cocoon, as voted on by the public. Rejoice!

Definitely didn't write most of this with my Adam plush on my lap, don't know what you're talking about

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Adam, angel!reader

Pairing: Adam x reader

Genre: Comfort, fluff (this time with a tiny bit more spice)

Summary: You deserve a medal for loving this idiot as much as you do. Aka Adam gets a massage and care.)

“This is your own fault you big goof.” The grumble you got in response was expected.

Mornings in heaven, with a lover like Adam, were pretty routine: you woke up, you found yourself encased in a cocoon of feathers and slightly squishy flesh, you'd end up laying there until finally the man himself decided to wake up, and then this. Without fail he woke up, blinking in that lazy sleepy way of his, and took note of your presence; this then turned into him giving one of those smug grins of his and holding you closer, rubbing his face against yours. This as always caused you to whine and complain, playfully of course, because of his stubble and you pushed at him to no avail as he stretched out his wings and you finally were able to a) see your room and b) get up.

“What babe, don't like a little early morning affection?” he asked, as if he didn't know exactly why you were trying to get free; he snickered and one hand found it's way further down, trailing down your body with obvious intent, “Maybe you'd prefer it a different way?”

Adam snickered and stuck out that tongue of his and you did your best to resist him, pushing at his chest. He was considerably larger and stronger than you, meaning he could easily hold you in place if he so wished, but he decided to be kind enough to let you get free and you shook your head at him. “You're incorrigible I swear.”

This made him laugh, and to say the sound of it didn't do things to you would be a lie. But you knew what was coming and like clockwork it did; he laughed and his wings stretched and then his expression turned annoyed and grumpy when the effects of sleeping with his wings wrapped around you two inevitably hit him. The soreness caused him to start whining loudly and lower the appendages, practically dragging them on the bed.

You sighed softly and climbed out of his lap, watching and listening to your giant manchild of a boyfriend complain. “Lay down already, Adam.”

“My wings are so sore,” he groaned, with the kind of tone you'd expect of if he was dying; it had occurred to you a while ago that to him, any sort of inconvenience was no different than that, a fact you were not sure if it was him exaggerating or actually so. It was always hard to tell.

You did your best to try not to laugh or smile too much at how he was acting, it tended to make him act out more and honestly you just wanted to make him feel better quickly so he'd go back to being his usual smug, grinning self. Again you sighed and got up, stepping around the bed to gently try to push him forward. “Adam, come on, please lay down.”

He continued his complaining but eventually did as you instructed, laying down with his wings stretched out. The first time you did this you had been struck with the beauty of his wings, to the point of distraction honestly; it was hard to concentrate when you're faced with something so pretty as those golden feathers on those long thin wings. The bed, large as it was and it was fairly big, couldn't really handle the full length of them so while they were not folded persay, they weren't actually entirely stretched out. You though were used to that and so was the crybaby continuing to act like it was the end of the universe and his wings were going to fall off or something.

For the thousandth time you thought about how much you loved this stupid, reckless, egotistical moron but aloud told him how this was his own fault before taking one of the wings gently in your hands and starting to manipulate it. You'd done this enough times, you knew exactly where to press and where to knead, and you couldn't resist smiling as you felt those warm feathers under your fingertips, the muscles and tendons and bones that all made up those magnificent wings; you felt them twitch and move, responding to even the lightest touch from you. You started near the middle and went outwards towards the tips, easing the tension out little by little before going inward again, moving towards there they joined into his back. It was a seamless point, as it was on all angels you suspected, but you moved it nevertheless, the way the soft down of Adam's wings became the warmth of his flesh and back as you moved to the other wing. You took your time and you bit your lip as you heard his complaints and whines and moans turn from pained and irritated to far more pleased. Maybe a little too pleased.

“God babe, you know how to make me feel good,” he groaned and the slight rumble to his voice could be felt down below.

“I'm not done yet,” you warned, feeling him shift and move, knowing that Adam had only a few true virtues and patience was 100% not one of them.

“Then go faster.” Not a request, a demand, and one you were going to ignore no matter what he said or did or made you feel with that voice of his.

“And risk your wings still being sore later? Besides we both know you like it when I go slow with this.” You smiled, feeling a bit playful as you continued what had become your morning routine; currently working on his own wing, going slow and deliberate as usual, you pressed your fingers into one particular spot, reveling in the reaction you knew you'd get.

You'd found it entirely by accident the first time, a little after this whole thing started, and usually you did your best to avoid touching it too much for this exact reason. It seemed to send a shock of electricity through his whole body and the noise that came from him was best described as “fuck yes”; his wings shuddered and stretched to their full length, causing one side to end up over the side of the bed and brushing against the carpet and the other side to very nearly slam directly into the wall. You managed to keep that one folded enough to avoid that disaster, that would have been counterproductive. Adam buried his face in the sheets and you were certain you heard swearing, he hated that you knew about that spot and hated it even more that you weren't afraid to use it for your own amusement and delight. But probably, you were certain, he hated it the most that his ears turned bright red and were not so easy to hide. There was definitely some growling and you leaned down to place a kiss between his shoulder blades with an angelic smile. It was easy since you were indeed an angel.

The fact he behaved after that was a miracle you were certain but not one that was going to end well for you. You knew too well your boyfriend, and you knew that while patience wasn't his strong suit, vengeance was. You took your time with his wings, enjoying every second of peace you got from this, knowing full well of what would happen next and doing your best to mitigate the damage. You completed your ministrations upon his wings and were about to massage his back, usually a good idea considering, but your hands never got close to touching that space again.

Despite his size Adam was a dangerously quick creature. He was dangerous in many ways as you knew. And the glint in his golden eyes as he managed, with agility and speed one wouldn't easily expect from someone like him, to pin you under him, his hands holding your wrists to the bed, it was enough to send your heart rate racing.

“You're a naughty girl making me wait, sugartits,” he spoke, his teeth showing in the shark grin he had now, that he so often had, “Lets see how you like it.”

His teeth found your neck and you let out only the smallest of complaints. Maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't have teased him. Now it was going to be you who was sore.

Oh well.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam x reader #fluff #mmmmm fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader

85 notes · View notes

winedarkthoughts · 2 days

Text

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

#bts ot7 #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts poly au #bts poly x reader #bts polyamory

59 notes · View notes

nerdy-frog98 · 2 days

Text

Okay I’ve had several days to think about it, and I’m not upset about Eddie’s cheating storyline anymore.

Nobody asked, but HERE’S why.

Eddie is an incredibly traumatized character. The military experiences (+ his dead friends), losing his wife so suddenly & without closure, and a couple near death experiences will do that to you! Add that to parents trying to take his child away ON TOP OF feeling like he needs to give Christopher a mother at any and all costs…? Maybe a little bit of Catholic guilt sprinkled in there too.

Season 5 was not my favorite for a myriad of reasons, but one thing I did like about it was Eddie’s complete mental breakdown. It felt like a long time coming... BUT. His mental breakdown didn’t even really scratch the surface of his issues, and there are still a lot of things he needs to face before he can truly be at peace. One of those things is Shannon.

The effect that Shannon’s loss had on Eddie has, in my opinion, never been explored properly. We got a little of it in season 3 with the illegal fighting, and then hints of it again when he was with Ana, but it never felt like closure to me. It felt like season 6 tried to give him closure (through Marisol), but it wasn’t satisfying because it was more or less a duller version of what happened with Ana. “Moving on” for his sake, but with no real emotional repercussions. Maybe this is just a personal opinion, but his story has felt like a ticking time bomb to me since the moment he broke up with Ana. His breakdown in s5 wasn’t the real bomb though.

Now imagine being Eddie, a guy with a lot of unresolved guilt and feelings for a woman who died right in front of him. Imagine you see a woman with that dead wife’s exact face. I can honestly say I have no fucking clue what I would do in his position. What he did- erasing Marisol in his first conversation with this lookalike Kim, then later lying to Buck to meet up with Kim- is morally not okay. Sure. Would any of us act in a rational way though?

I’m not meaning to justify cheating, but I do genuinely believe this is one of the only ways that stubborn ass was going to figure out his issues in a way that might actually help him move on. He’s being delusional with Kim, and once the ball drops, I believe there’s a great big breakdown waiting for him on the other end.

People often accuse Eddie of being the most boring of the 118, and I hate that assessment so goddamn much. Eddie is probably one of theee most complex characters (besides Buck) in the entire show. He’s self-destructive, kind, loyal, patient and impatient- he’s a good father and a good friend, and he’s FLAWED. That is why I love him so much.

My initial disappointment with him partially stems from me wanting him to have a singular season of PEACE, which…I realized wasn’t possible without blowing up the bomb first (would’ve preferred to disarm the bomb but I’ll take what I can get).

#i also think eddie is hella gay but that’s for another day #the hate on eddie has been annoying me because it DOES feel in character to me #not because i think eddie is a cheater #but because eddie is stupid (affectionate) and delusional when it comes to love #mans got a big storm coming #911 abc #911 #buddie #watch 911 with whitney #gay eddie diaz #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #character study #shannon diaz

67 notes · View notes

heliza24 · 3 days

Text

In which I try to figure out Armand:

My brain has been ticking away thinking about Armand ever since episode 2.1. I have been fascinated and irritated by Armand in the off-season, so to speak, because I love Daniel and relate to him so much, and I know Armand is going to be very important to him. But we were given so little of Armand last season it has just felt impossible to get a grip on what his deal is. I am admittedly not a book reader, but I also feel like these feelings are still justified because the show version of Armand is so different than the book, in circumstance at least. So he’s the character I’m most interested in this season.

We still didn’t get a lot of him in ep 1, but I’ve been thinking about him and synthesizing some of the stuff that people have been saying about him in interviews, especially about his relationship to control. I’m specifically thinking about Hannah describing him as “Louis’s creature” and saying that he’ll do whatever Louis wants, and that this is part of their sexual dynamic as well. I think this makes sense with what we’ve seen in the trailers; it seems like Louis is the more sexually dominant one between them. So Armand is happy to be more of a sub in the bedroom and in their original flirtations. Maybe in their earlier dynamic as a couple too, we’ll have to see. Meanwhile, he’s in the background, arranging scenery, pulling strings, trying to do everything he can to hold onto Louis and keep him at least passingly happy. This, by the way, perfectly meshes with his role as director at the theatre. Never in the limelight, but always in control. (The stage management school of sexuality, if you will.). I think that emphasis on control probably becomes more pronounced as the years go on, and Louis is sitting in his grief for Claudia and more of their initial spark dies. But it also perfectly explains the Rashid act. Armand is comfortable playing a servant role. He’s comfortable observing from just off stage. He’s comfortable doing those things if it means ultimately having a better grasp on the way the scene unfolds.

For his part I think Louis is probably drawn to the way Armand seamlessly irons out the bumps in his life. The penthouse is a cage, but Louis is his own jailer; Armand isn’t the one keeping him there. There’s probably an interesting comparison to be made against Lestat here. Lestat revels in melodrama and high emotions, while Armand is intent on maintaining a facade of calm stability. It makes sense to me that Louis would have leaned into this facade, even if he knew it was partially a falsehood, after losing Claudia. I think this is true even around Claudia’s death. It was easier for Louis to forget and forgive whatever part Armand played in it, and allow Real Rashid to hide those diary pages away, than to really reckon with Claudia’s death.

I think Louis requested the interview as part of his general goal to narrativize and soften his own memories and grief, and Armand acquiesced in order to keep Louis. The original goal of the interview was for Louis to convince himself he really had killed Lestat, literally and maybe emotionally too. I think it’s possible that Lestat is back in the picture somehow and the interview is Louis’s last ditch effort to convince himself not to return to his maker. But then of course the whole thing goes off the rails and Louis ends up facing down his true memories for the first time in years. It makes sense that when put in an uncomfortable situation- watching Louis talk about Lestat- Armand would default to his old role of manipulating things from the wings of the metaphorical penthouse stage. Him stepping into the interview is a big departure from that, and shows how effectively Daniel has rattled him.

So how this plays against Daniel is interesting. Armand is putting on a big show about how he and Louis were able to manipulate Daniel in San Francisco. But I wonder how true that ever really was. I imagine even in San Francisco, Daniel represented a completely opposite dynamic to Armand’s relationship with Louis, which would have hooked Armand’s attention. If Louis appeared in control on the surface, but relied on Armand’s ability to arrange the periphery of his life, Daniel would have appeared to be easily (and perhaps happily) dominated, but resistant to Armand’s larger attempts to control his life. Obviously I don’t know exactly how they’ll play out a 1970s devil’s minion scenario. But I imagine that Daniel’s addiction, and Armand’s misguided attempts to protect him from it, will play a role in whatever kind of break up and memory erasure ensues. Whether it was the addiction or his personality or something else, there was some element of Daniel that was too wild for Armand to tame. He threw him back into the pond, all memories of being snared on the fishing line erased. And it’s entirely possible that Armand feels this loss of control very deeply. As heartbreak and loss, but also as a scary moment when his grip on the love that he needs in his life faltered. It’s possible that the break up with Daniel made him even more determined to control outcomes with Louis. And it’s also possible that the pain that he felt when he originally lost Daniel is causing him to revise and edit his own memories of his relationship with Daniel. If Daniel broke Armand’s heart, it would be a lot easier to remember him as a silly boy Armand manipulated in tandem with Louis than someone Armand actually found fascinating. Admitting otherwise means admitting his own weakness. So memory becomes the monster, again, even if you are the one controlling the vampire amnesia.

For what it’s worth, I currently think that Louis doesn’t know about Armand’s past with Daniel. I don’t think Louis would be as vulnerable with Daniel if he knew. And that would point to Armand once again subtly manipulating and managing Louis, completely hiding his connection to this mortal from him.

Regardless, I don’t doubt that Daniel was less fearsome in San Francisco than he is now in Dubai. (The show’s insistence that an elderly disabled man is just as powerful in his own way as an immortal vampire is perfection, and it makes me want to kiss all the writers on the mouth). He’s even less controllable by Armand than he once was (if he ever was), and he’s intent on finding out Armand’s truth, and the truth of their connection. I was really struck by Assad saying in an interview that the thing that Armand wants most is acceptance. He craves love and acceptance, but is terrified to show his real self and be vulnerable. Thats why he’s continuing to play stage manager to Louis’s love. But Daniel is coming for his true self in Dubai whether Armand wants it or not. And I imagine that is both extremely confronting but also ultimately attractive to Armand.

I deeply hope we get to see Daniel crack Armand’s sense of control. I hope we get to see Armand being vulnerable to Daniel and Daniel being receptive to that. I also hope we get to see Daniel facing down Armand as the source of his trauma (because being stalked, bitten, and then having your memories forcibly repressed is trauma, even if Daniel was attracted to Armand through it). I hope we get to see the way that trauma and fear and desire and love intermingle. And I also hope that when Daniel breaks Armand’s sense of control and sees his true self, he still likes what he sees. Because I would like Armand to get that acceptance from someone, even when his worst tendencies are laid bare.

(Oh, and while I’m making predictions- I’m not worried about 70s Devils Minion not happening, or them interacting in the 70s but it not turning into some form of romance. There is simply no better way to add stakes to the Dubai iterations of the characters than to give them this hidden history, and Rolin has talked extensively about needing to bring Daniel into the story in a personal way and crank up the conflict happening in Dubai. The penthouse is no longer just a framing device, but a site of active conflict and growth, and the only way you do that is exploring past and future DM dynamics. In ep 1 it’s still mainly acting as a frame, but I’m really excited to see its importance grow over the season).

Armand is such an intriguing mystery, but if I’m right about some of this stuff I actually relate quite strongly to him too. (I am reminded of a Brennan Lee Mulligan quote, where he describes characters you love/play as being garages attached to your actual personality of a house, and sometimes some piece of writing or improv shoots a sniper rifle perfectly through the garage door into the house and hits you in the heart)

@bluedalahorse warned me that this is how you really get stuck on a ship, when you see pieces of yourself in both characters, and I do fear that she is right.

So we’re really in it now, is what I’m saying. Send me your Armand thoughts, I want all of them. I will be counting down the days until episode 5 and obsessing until it airs. I’ll check back in on this meta later, I guess, to see how correct or incorrect I was.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #my meta #devils minion #armand #armandaniel #daniel molloy

49 notes · View notes

deathsbestgirl · 2 days

Note

So Never Again. Just saw this post and the way she looks up at him there is on a level with Mulder’s famous Fallen Angel eyes and his reaction to her? He doesn't melt? He chooses violence and being a dick? Please tell me why.

i LOVE this question because it is so easy to see it from scully's perspective. it's her episode. but you really have to think about mulder's perspective.

for mulder, this seems out of nowhere, and in his mind she was extremely inattentive with his informant on a case he's taking seriously. he doesn't understand what she's really asking or what the problem is, and a big part of that is she doesn't exactly either. it's almost like she's blaming him for the stand still in her life, but at the same time wants to be seen & appreciated (in a way that she understands, can feel, can see). and i don't think she could have figured it out the way she needed to with mulder. she needed the safety of talking to a stranger, someone inconsequential to her life. (like there's no way she could have that "other fathers" conversation with him lol) so ed jerse is the one to give her that. (she does with ed what she can't yet do with mulder. something neither of them are ready for and she isn't brave enough to do yet. and like. idk i just think she needed this! regardless of mulder lol)

like: "this isn't about you. or maybe it is, indirectly. i don't know." the one thing she got right is "i don't know" lol so of course mulder is confused!!

if you place leonard betts first, she's contemplating what she's leaving behind. has she had any impact working on the x files? on mulder? who is going to remember her? what evidence of her life will be left? in that office...it looks like she's had very little effect. (but i do not subscribe to this one.)

if never again is first, which i like better lollll (it makes more sense to me. i understand why people like lb first, it's more clear cut. it puts a reason behind her behavior. but i just don't think it quite fits. scully literally doesn't know what's wrong. if she was already worried about cancer, i think it would come across differently. but she's frustrated & confused and she wants for something she can't admit, express, pinpoint, articulate? idk what word i'm looking for lol) scully's just hit that point in her pattern again, her cycle...it took her four years, and after some rough cases (paper hearts – she couldn't help mulder despite how she tried, el mundo gira – a dead end. and idk, so many of their cases. and she's always wrong, he always does the crazy thing, he's always hurt)...well anyway, at the end he's still asking "all because i didn't get you a desk?" he still isn't quite understanding, until she says it's her life and he almost says "yes but it's become mine." he doesn't say it, they sit in silence, and in leonard betts, he tells her she did a good job & should be proud. all his little jokes like he's trying to make her laugh, to get back to their usual banter. because he wants to make her smile. so he understood at least a little by leonard betts. but they also come to a silent understanding. i just love the way kae talks about it. and i think the end is kind of the explanation for the beginning. the end is the real answer to the whole episode, and what it took to get there...and this post here, kae just understands him and talks about him in a way that i feel. it's exactly what i see in a way i could never articulate. (and she does my favorite thing!!! connects different moments. the characterization is so good.) and she has such a special insight to both of them, different patterns, but to me two sides of the same coin.

and so, either way, at the beginning of never again, he's completely thrown because he doesn't know. this is when their bad verbal communication and personal issues/insecurities/fears take hold. they're both so good at taking too much responsibility.

we're seeing into scully's mind a bit, but we aren't really seeing into his. but he's afraid, he doesn't want her to leave (something he's feared for a long time), he thinks space is the answer to whatever's going on. but he's also kinda needy and he can't just say that. so he calls her and they misunderstand each other again and she makes a date. he isn't trying to be an ass but he's scared & defensive, and he gets like that when she makes him nervous. like whenever she believes (beyond the sea, revelations, all souls, en ami). it feels like that to me. he's afraid, but this time he thinks he's the problem, their work is the problem. and he kinda said the worst thing he could say to her at that moment. "you were just assigned" — he has no idea how she understood that, how it hurts her. (and she's not thinking about how he means it, what he thinks/feels/fears.) and really, it's because she sucks at just saying the thing as much as he does. it takes them a long time to work out their direct communication. their unspoken communication, the way they work on their cases doesn't translate to their personal relationship. as intimate as their partnership is, working through their own issues takes time and it's those things that hinder them moving forward for so long. ya know?

i think @randomfoggytiger talks about it beautifully here — in depth essay on never again. here they touch on mulder's fear/walls & scully's insecurities/needs. it's a journey!! which they talk about here. and i forget what this one was (lol) but i'm sure i saved it for a reason: a little master post. i love the way foggy breaks things down, especially visually. it's something i could never do.

i also reblogged some other never again posts. not completely on topic but it's all connected!! (you can definitely go through my never again tag to see more probably too!)

#calimanc #asks #never again #dana scully #fox mulder #LITERALLY I DONT SAY ANYTHING #READ THE LINKED POSTS #lmaooooooo #my brain is an ouroboros tbh #mulder and scully #the x files

45 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 2 days

Text

push and pull // feitan portor

tw ⇢ hate fucking, kinda rivals to lovers, mentions of violence and injuries, sexual tension, grinding, fingering, biting, cunnilingus, squirting, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cum-eating, implied voyeurism, rough sex, manhandling, overstimulation, feitan spanks you once

wc ⇢ 8.7k

a/n: this man is so difficult to write for 💀

The dimly lit hideout reeked of stale blood and smoke, the dank air carrying the weight of countless atrocities committed within its walls. In one corner, you and Feitan squared off, teeth bared and murder in your eyes.

"You son of a bitch," you snarled, fists clenched so tightly your nails bit into your palms. "That was my kill."

Feitan scoffed, his expression one of utter disdain. "Tch. As if a pathetic worm like you deserves the honor." His lips curled in a sneer. "I was putting that fool out of his misery before you botched the job...again."

A vein throbbed in your temple as you took a threatening step forward. "I'll show you who's pathetic, you arrogant little shit."

Before either of you could strike, a massive figure inserted itself between you, Nobunaga's broad chest blocking your path. "Enough!" he bellowed, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Unless you want Chrollo brought into this, I suggest you two back off."

You and Feitan held each other's glare for a beat longer before grudgingly disengaging. As you turned away, Feitan spat a glob of phlegm that landed disturbingly close to your feet.

"This isn't over," he promised, voice laced with quiet menace.

Grinding your teeth, you fought the urge to whirl back around and rip Feitan's throat out with your bare hands. The only thing staying your hand was the unspoken rule against infighting - a rule that both of you constantly tested the limits of.

"One of these days..." you trailed off meaningfully.

Feitan's lip curled in a feral grin. "I can't wait."

As he slunk off into the shadows, you turned your frustrated glower on Nobunaga. The samurai met your look with an impassive stare.

"You two need to get your shit together," he stated bluntly. "These pissing contests are getting old."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Nobunaga raised a hand, cutting you off.

"I don't want to hear it. Take that shit outside if you must, but if you compromise one more mission with your bullshit, Chrollo will have both your heads."

Fuming silently, you could only nod in grudging agreement. Everyone in the Troupe knew better than to risk incurring their leader's wrath.

As Nobunaga wandered off, you allowed some of the tension to bleed from your shoulders with a weary sigh. Your eyes drifted to the corner where Feitan had disappeared, cold hatred settling into the pit of your stomach.

The next few days were a tense affair, the air thick with animosity every time you and Feitan occupied the same space. You traded insults and thinly veiled threats like volleys, each one more creatively vicious than the last.

"I heard the bakery down the street got a new shipment of rat poison," Feitan would muse idly, his dark eyes glittering. "I could slip some into your dinner if you'd like to try it."

You responded with a saccharine smile. "Why thank you, that's so considerate. But I ate rat poison for breakfast...your severed head on a platter is what I'm really craving."

The other Spiders quickly learned to give you both a wide berth during these escalating verbal sparring matches. Only Machi seemed unperturbed, rolling her eyes at your juvenile antics with a disdainful sniff.

The tension finally reached a breaking point a week later during a routine mission. Tasked with shaking down a local merchant for unpaid tribute, you and Feitan bickered the entire way over the most effective interrogation methods.

"If you so much as look at him wrong, I'll string you up by your entrails," Feitan hissed as you approached the target's store.

You barked out a harsh laugh. "As if I need pointers from an edgy little runt like you. I'll make this idiot squeal like a stuck pig while you watch and learn, shrimp."

The ensuing encounter quickly devolved into a pissing contest between the two of you over who could dole out the most creatively brutal threats and violence. By the time Pakunoda and Nobunaga arrived to collect you, the merchant was a blubbering, bloodied mess - the money long forgotten.

"This is the third time this month you idiots have fouled up a simple job," Pakunoda stated, her voice laced with barely restrained fury. "I've had enough of your bullshit."

Before either of you could react, her ability slammed into you both with the force of a typhoon. You slumped to the ground, mind wiped utterly blank as she extracted your memories of the incident.

When you came to a few moments later, Feitan was already lurching to his feet with a groan. You shot him a venomous glare, to which he responded by spitting a thick gobbet of blood at your feet.

"Starting to think you actually enjoy getting knocked around like that," you sneered, struggling to stand.

Feitan's eyes flashed with murderous rage. "Why you little-"

"ENOUGH!" Pakunoda's shout shook the room. "The next time you two sabotage a mission with your idiocy, I'll make sure you never remember your own names again. Am I making myself clear?"

You clenched your jaw but nodded stiffly. As much as you hated to admit it, the woman's threatening ability terrified you on a primal level.

In the ensuing silence, you cut your gaze towards Feitan, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, crimson stark against his pallid skin.

Despite your blinding loathing for the cocky little bastard, you couldn't deny the dark flicker of something else that stirred within you at the sight. You quickly smothered it beneath your ire.

One day, you vowed silently. One day, this powder keg would finally ignite.

The hideout was unnervingly quiet when the rest of the Troupe returned that evening. An eerie hush had settled over the dingy space, the kind of stillness that made the hairs on the back of one's neck prickle with unease.

As the group ventured deeper inside, the first drops of blood became visible - dark splatters marring the concrete floor. Nobunaga tensed, hand straying towards the sword slung across his back as they followed the grisly trail around a corner.

What they found then pulled them all up short, eyes widening in a mixture of shock and disgust. You and Feitan were in the center of the room, a tangled heap of flailing limbs and bloodied violence.

A feral snarl ripped from Feitan's throat as he tried in vain to dislodge you from where you'd pinned his smaller frame. In the struggle, his shirt had been shredded, exposing a mottled tapestry of dark bruises across his sinewy torso.

You weren't faring much better. Your face was a ruined mess - eyes swollen, lip split and gushing, vivid bite marks scoring your throat and shoulders. Despite the beating, you clung to him like a rabid animal, hands scrabbling for purchase to finish him.

"You crazy bitch!" Feitan's harsh pants turned your name into a vicious slur as he bucked and thrashed.

In response, you drove your elbow towards his face with sickening force, not caring that his head snapped back hard enough to crack against the floor. Bloodied spittle flecked his cheek as you leaned in close, lips peeling back in a manic snarl of your own.

"That all you got, runt?" You wheezed out a breathless laugh, nails gouging deep furrows into Feitan's straining throat. "I was hoping for more of a fight before I killed you."

A guttural growl bubbled up from Feitan's chest as his hips snapped upwards with bruising force, momentarily dislodging you. The two of you rolled, a flurry of grappling limbs and tattered clothing, each desperately struggling for the upper hand to deliver the killstroke.

It was Machi who finally intervened, upper lip curled in a sneer of revulsion. With a deft flick of her nen threads, she sliced through the melee and bound you both - Feitan hog-tied and you lashed spread-eagle to the floor.

"Enough of this depraved idiocy," she bit out, dark eyes flickering with disgust. "You're both lucky we don't slit your throats here and now for such weakness."

Feitan strained furiously against his bonds, deathly pale except for the mottled mess of his ruined face. His gaze swung wildly between you and the other Spiders, feral and uncomprehending.

You simply laid there, chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. Spitting out a thick gobbet of blood, you turned your head slowly until your battered gaze met Feitan's. A dark, unreadable look passed between you both - something haunted and turbulent flickering behind the hatred and violence.

If the rest of the Troupe noticed, they said nothing. Gathering themselves, they began to disperse - leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage until Chrollo could decide your punishment.

Chrollo's expression was utterly impassive as he surveyed the two of you - bruised, battered shells of your former selves after that vicious brawl. His lips quirked ever so slightly as he took in your defiant glares, eyes flickering with loathing.

"You two have become a liability," he stated, voice devoid of inflection. "Your pathetic inability to control yourselves nearly compromised everything we've built."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Chrollo raised a slender hand, effectively silencing you.

"Normally, I would have Pakunoda wipe your memories clean and be done with it." His eyes bored into you, glacial and unrelenting. "However, I have another task that requires your...unique talents."

Feitan made a rude noise of derision from where he sat slumped against the wall. You shot him a withering glare before turning an expectant look back towards your leader.

"You will attend the DeMario charity gala in two weeks' time," Chrollo continued calmly. "Posing as a wealthy couple, you'll insinuate yourselves into the inner circles and extract information from Marcello Randazzo - rumored to be a prolific collector of rare antiquities."

The implication hung heavy in the air for a beat before the weight of it slammed into you full force. Your mouth fell open in disbelief as you turned an incredulous look on Feitan, who was already visibly bristling with outrage.

"You can't be serious," you sputtered, temper flaring hot and bright. "There's no way in hell I'm playing make-believe as that bastard's lover!"

"Over my dead body." Feitan's low, raspy voice was laced with venom. "I'd sooner claw my own eyes out than be seen on that bitch's arm."

Chrollo's eyes flashed warningly and you felt the slightest prickle of his powerful aura washing over you, a silent threat. "You'll do as I command. Unless you'd both prefer to follow the fate of the hostages we collected from that ill-advised debt collection?"

He let the unspoken threat hang in the air for a long moment before continuing.

"I'm sure Marcello's information is worth playing along for an evening. Unless you'd prefer some...permanent disciplinary actions?"

You and Feitan held each other's murderous look for a moment longer before grudgingly turning your gazes away in submission. As much as you despised each other, neither of you were foolish enough to legitimately cross Chrollo.

"I expect you'll both conduct yourselves with aplomb and professionalism befitting our reputation," your leader stated flatly. "Any further disruptions or unbecoming behavior, and I'll have Pakunoda take away more than just your memories of the gala."

With that ominous warning, he swept from the room, leaving you and Feitan alone to simmer in your mutual resentment and disgust.

Seconds ticked by, taut with palpable tension, before you finally broke the silence with a contemptuous sneer.

"I hope you know how to dance, Portor," you bit out acidly. "I have a strong urge to grind my heel into those stumpy little feet of yours."

Feitan's eyes slitted with murderous promise as he levered himself upright with a pained grunt.

"Keep dreaming," he shot back caustically. "I'll be counting the minutes until I can slit that pretty throat of yours without consequence."

As your vicious glares clashed and held, it was abundantly clear that this mission posing as lovers would be anything but smooth sailing. For both your sakes, you could only hope the inevitable storm wouldn't capsize everything you'd built.

The ornate dressing room was suffused with tension as thick as the heavy perfume hanging in the air. You sat rigidly before the gilded vanity, jaw clenched tight as Machi deftly styled your hair into an elegant updo.

"Would you relax?" The girl's voice held a hint of irritation. "You're as wound up as a clockspring."

You shot her a venomous look in the mirror's reflection. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly eager to play Ken and Barbie with that sadistic little gnome."

A snort of muffled laughter came from the chaise where Shizuku and Pakunoda were laid out, idly inspecting their phone screens. You pivoted to fix them with a withering glare.

"Something amusing?"

Shizuku shook her head quickly, eyes widening innocently even as her lips twitched with suppressed mirth. Pakunoda simply arched one sculpted brow in a look of infinite disdain.

"Must you be so crass?" The blonde's dulcet tones somehow managed to sound derisive. "This is an important mission, not some childish game."

"Tell that to our 'esteemed leader'," you bit out acidly, making air-quotes. "Playing dress-up as Feitan's loving wife is about the sickest joke I've ever heard."

Machi made a soft noise of disgust as she speared another jeweled hairpin into place. "You're both behaving like petulant children. This is simply a job - nothing more. The sooner you and Feitan stop acting like lovesick buffoons, the smoother this night will go."

Her reprimand struck a nerve and you opened your mouth to deliver a biting retort when a sharp rap at the door cut you off. A moment later, Feitan slipped into the room, looking equal parts irritated and sheepish in his elegant tuxedo and slicked-back hair.

Your breath caught momentarily in your throat as you took in his appearance. Despite the permanent scowl etched onto his features, he cleaned up...well. The fine charcoal suit hugged the lean lines of his muscled frame in a way that should have been illegal.

Just as quickly, you smothered the errant thought, sneering at him in disdain. "Well, well, if it isn't Feitan Portor himself, dressed up like someone finally house-trained him."

Feitan's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth - no doubt to deliver a scathing rebuttal - when Machi smoothly interjected.

"Enough, you two." She leveled you both with a quelling look. "The car is ready, so I suggest you get your acts together before I tie you both up in nen threads to keep you in line."

An ominous threat given her prowess with her sadistic ability. You bit back the retort burning on your tongue and forced yourself to take a steadying breath. God, this night was going to be interminable.

Rising fluidly, you smoothed your hands down the shimmering fabric of your evening gown, subtly reveling in the way Feitan's eyes automatically tracked the movement before flicking away. Feeling petty, you allowed your lips to curve into a taunting smirk.

"Well, shall we, dear?" You crooned the endearment like a slur, watching his jaw tense infinitesimally. "I can already smell the misery wafting from those uppity pricks just waiting to be robbed blind."

Feitan's look could have curdled milk, but he extended his arm stiffly all the same. As you entwined yours through the crook of his elbow, his fingertips brushed feather-light against the bare skin of your back, raising gooseflesh in their wake.

"Lead the way, wife" he bit out with obvious distaste. "Try not to embarrass me too terribly in front of the marks."

Your derisive laughter was a caustic thing as you allowed him to escort you towards the exit.

"Oh Feitan, we're way past embarrassing at this point. I'd say this night is primed to be a total shitshow."

His dark chuckle echoed yours as you departed the dressing room - a soft, shared sound that somehow managed to sound equal parts threatening and thrilling.

The sleek town car purred to a stop before the opulent entranceway, and you took a steadying breath before allowing Feitan to assist you out onto the crimson carpet. Despite the months of rigorous training and countless assignments in your bloody career, you couldn't deny the flutters of trepidation in your stomach.

This was it - the moment to see if you two idiotic sadists could pull off playing a loving couple without slitting each other's throats.

Feitan's hand was firm at your elbow as you ascended the grand staircase, his expression locked in a rictus of forced neutrality. Up close, you could make out the barest hint of cologne wafting from him - something earthy and sophisticated that shouldn't have appealed, yet had your throat tightening oddly all the same.

Then you were sweeping through the arched doors and into the spectacle of the ballroom itself. A dazzling kaleidoscope of glittering crystal and jewel-toned decor assaulted the senses. The hum of cultured chatter and tinkling laughter washed over you as you took in the crowd of Yorknew's social elite, all decked in their finest attire.

You felt Feitan tense almost imperceptibly beside you before he was smoothly taking the lead, guiding you further into the fray with a proprietary hand at the small of your bare back. A shiver traced your spine at the contact, though from revulsion or something else, you couldn't say.

"Try not to look so much like a viper about to strike, dear," he murmured against your ear, voice a surprising low rumble. "We're supposed to be the picture of marital bliss, remember?"

You bit back the instinctive need to elbow him in the throat, instead pasting on a sickly-sweet smile.

"Of course, darling. Though with how titillating you look in that dashing suit, I may have trouble keeping my hands off you in public."

His lips quirked in a mockery of a grin, even as his dark eyes remained flat and assessing. For all his bravado, Feitan was firmly in killer-mode, scanning the ballroom with cold calculation.

Playing along, you looped one arm through his, allowing your free hand to roam almost territorially over the fine material of his jacket as you began to mingle with the other revelers. With each new cluster of mark- ahem, guest you engaged, you felt yourself relaxing infinitesimally into the role of the devoted wife on her husband's arm. Feitan too, seemed to warm to the act, his featherlight touches and heated murmurs just skirting the line between play-acting and something darker, more authentic.

It wasn't until you were deep in conversation with one of Randazzo's alleged underbosses that the illusion flickered momentarily. Leaning in conspiratorially, you relayed the crucial details you'd extracted about the mobster's dealings in the black market antiquities trade. But when you glanced up to share a weighted look with your "husband", you found Feitan's gaze was distinctly...elsewhere.

Following his stare, you bit back an irritated hiss at the realization that his attention had been utterly diverted by the low neckline of your evening gown, eyes firmly trained on the swell of exposed cleavage. His tongue darted out to wet his lips unconsciously as he drank in the view.

"Feitan!" You hissed out the side of your mouth, snapping your fingers to regain his focus. "Are you listening, or are my tits really that mesmerizing?"

He startled, gaze snapping guiltily upwards as you fixed him with a heated glare. For a beat, Feitan seemed utterly nonplussed, caught completely off-guard in a rare moment of distracted...appreciation? Honesty? His eyes were wide and molten in a way you'd never seen before - utterly disarming.

Then the mask slammed back into place with a nearly audible click, and he simply arched one brow in response.

"My apologies, dear. You were saying?"

And just like that, you were speaking to the most dangerous man in the room once again, cold and brutally efficient. Swallowing hard, you relayed the rest of the intel automatically, even as something restless took up residence beneath your breastbone - an odd, disquieting feeling sparked by that split-second glimpse of whatever it was you'd seen flickering behind Feitan's eyes.

As you continued to circulate through the crowd and ply your roles, you found yourself stealing sidelong glances at your diminutive partner more frequently than was wise. Each time, it was to find him in typical form - lethal focus etched across his features, not a hair out of place or a single tell to betray...whatever it was you'd witnessed earlier.

The grand ballroom seemed to bleed into a hazy blur around you as the waltz began, the opening strains of the orchestra swelling through the cavernous space. Feitan's hand found your waist with surprising gentleness, pulling you into the first steps of the dance.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other, the newfound proximity seeming to crackle with a charge you refused to put a name to. Up close like this, you could make out the faintest dusting of freckles across the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the dark fan of his lashes. Little details you'd never noticed - or never allowed yourself to notice until now.

"I must say, dear wife," he murmured, voice a dark rumble that shivered across your skin. "You clean up rather nicely for a miserable little gutter rat."

You arched one brow coolly, refusing to be baited even as you moved seamlessly with him across the floor. "I'm surprised you can recognize 'nice' through that perverse little killer's lens of yours, darling husband."

His lips quirked in a semblance of a grin, though it held no mirth - only the same lingering malice that seemed to follow you both like a sickly perfume.

"The better to watch every tantalizing inch of you with, my vicious little vixen." His grip tightened fractionally at your waist, fingertips brushing bare skin. "Perhaps I'll have to stake my claim more...thoroughly later."

You scoffed loudly, allowing your palm to roam down the firm plane of his chest as you spun in seamlessly for the next figure.

"Trying to whisper sweet nothings won't get you far, darling. I've heard more creative threats from preschoolers."

Feitan simply hummed deep in his throat, a rough sound that inexplicably raised the fine hairs along the back of your neck. His gaze, when you met it again, had taken on a dark, hooded quality that had heat pooling low in your belly despite yourself.

"Say what you will, wife," he practically purred, dipping you in a slow, lingering arc that brought your bodies into sinful alignment. "We both know those pretty little lips were made for better uses than childish barbs."

His thumb caressed your chin with barely-there tenderness as he pulled you upright again, scorching your skin like a brand. For an endless second, you simply swayed there in silence, chests brushing with every stuttering inhale, caught in the molten undertow of his stare.

Dimly, you registered the buzz of an alarmed voice echoing over the sound system, followed by the unmistakable wail of police sirens dopplering towards the estate. Masks began slipping as guests registered the threat, panic seeping into the ballroom like a tenuous haze.

In that moment, time seemed to splinter apart kaleidoscopically, stretching and scattering until all that remained was the unnameable thing gripping your heart in its stifling vise. You turned back to Feitan, already anticipating the vicious string of threats ready to tumble from his lips as your covers were blown apart.

But there was no anger simmering in those unfathomable depths this time - only a searing sort of intensity that pinned you in place, ignited something low and precarious in your core that you didn't dare put a name to. His fingers were still ghosting across the curve of your jaw, a scorching benediction that somehow managed to convey both possession and worship in the same toxic mix.

You watched, utterly transfixed, as he leaned in with aching slowness, lips brushing the softest whisper against the thrumming pulse at your throat. Then he simply held there, breath searing like a brand, driving ragged splinters of sensation rocketing through your body.

"Run," he rasped, the barest brushing of sound against your superheated skin.

Just like that, the spell was shattered, reality cleaving back into your field of vision as distant shouts and shattering crystal rent the atmosphere. Feitan's fingers slipped from your skin, leaving a throbbing ache of loss in their wake as he pivoted and simply vanished through the thickening crowd.

Blinking dazedly, you found your limbs unlocking woodenly as you staggered into motion, following the only directive that seemed to make sense as the ballroom descended into pandemonium. One foot in front of the other as your heart jackhammered double-time in your ribcage, coursing with an unfamiliar feeling that felt a hell of a lot like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

Run. The word seemed to echo inside your skull as you fled through the service exit, a ghost's refrain. Though from what - the explosion of chaos around you or the cataclysm blooming deep within, you weren't entirely sure.

All you knew was that you would never be the same after this night. How could you when Feitan had irrevocably annihilated every fragile barrier you'd constructed between you, leaving your entire world shifted on its axis?

The dank alleyway reeked of rot and piss as you slammed Feitan against the filthy brickwork, fingers snarling in the lapels of his once-pristine tuxedo. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the split in his brow, vivid crimson against his pallid features.

"This is all your fault, you arrogant little prick!" The words tore from your throat in a guttural snarl as you shook him viciously. "If you could stop eye-fucking me long enough to focus for two goddamn seconds-"

"My fault?" He cut you off with a wheezing laugh, still managing to look utterly derisive despite the position you had him pinned in. "If your whorish little act wasn't so shameless and distracting-"

You drew back a fist, fully prepared to break his smug nose, when a peel of distant sirens had you both freezing. After a momentary standoff, you released him with a disgusted shove, wiping a trembling hand across your sweat-slicked brow as you struggled to leash your spiraling temper.

"Forget it, we need to move. Our exit is compromised."

Feitan sneered at you as he straightened his jacket with a dismissive tug, refusing to acknowledge he was just as rattled. His gaze took on a faraway look for a split second before he gave a tight nod.

"Chrollo sent a new set of coordinates. There's a safe house two blocks west."

You fell into step beside him, moving at a clipped pace that matched the jackhammer pounding of your pulse. Every few steps, your shoulders would brush with the barest whisper of contact, reigniting a phantom echo of the way he'd felt pressed against you on the dance floor.

The memory had you grinding your teeth hard enough to make the hinges creak, riling the sickly ribbon of confusion currently squirming through your gut. What the hell had happened back there? One minute you were shredding each other with barbs as natural as breathing, the next...

You shook your head sharply, refusing to dwell on the hunger that had momentarily flickered in Feitan's gaze. Or the way your entire body had sung in response, every nerve alight like a livewire about to detonate. It was nothing - a fleeting second of insanity brought on by the adrenaline and heightened circumstance. An anomaly, meaningless in the grand scheme of your...whatever the hell this sick alliance was.

Shoving the errant thoughts aside, you pushed forward into the overgrown lot Feitan indicated, trampling a wavering path through the weeds towards a squat, nondescript building. Not a word was exchanged as he disarmed the security system and led you inside to the dingy, compact space that would be your shelter for the foreseeable future.

You grimaced as you took in the sparse furnishings and musty odor. "Fucking fantastic."

Feitan simply grunted, dropping his suit jacket over the back of a battered recliner as he began divesting himself of weapons and gear. Only when he reached the buttons on his shirt did he pause, shadows obscuring his expression as he cut you a sidelong glance.

"I'd offer to let you shower first but..."

But there was only one visible door that presumably led to a solitary bathroom. You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling the first tendrils of an stress-migraine coiling behind your eyes.

"Just get on with it before I decide to gut you and bleed out in the tub like a fucking woman scorned."

A bark of laughter punched from Feitan at the morbid joke before he could smother it. You blinked at him, oddly thrown by the genuine amusement glinting in his obsidian stare for a fleeting second. Then the moment passed, and he simply shrugged out of the soiled dress shirt, turning to disappear through the doorway without further comment.

You were left standing in the middle of the ramshackle living area, keenly aware of the steady drip of blood tracking from your split knuckles to patter on the cracked vinyl floor. With measured inhales, you attempted to shunt the chaos of the evening into a small, containable box to be unpacked later. Feitan was right, getting cleaned up would be the priority for now. After that...

Well, you'd just have to sort through this tangled web you'd woven like adults. And if violence and bloodshed was the only way to sever the noose cinching around your sanity, so be it. At least that path you understood - that was stable, solid ground to walk upon with him.

This... whatever it was brewing between you like a virulent sickness, was far more lethal.

The pipes clanked and groaned as you twisted the tarnished shower knobs, filling the cramped bathroom with a humid, enveloping steam. Grimacing, you peeled off the tattered remnants of your evening gown, letting the ruined silk puddle at your feet.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the warped mirror above the chipped porcelain sink - hair lank and makeup ravaged, vivid bruises already darkening along your ribs from your rough tumble during the escape. More telling, however, were the faint indents marring the swell of your breast, pressed there by Feitan's fingertips in the ballroom like brands seared into your very being.

A violent shudder ripped through you at the visceral recollection, every nerve ending rekindling with phantom echoes of his scorching touch. Slamming your palm against the mirror, you shattered the refracted image into a thousand fractals, each one reflecting back the turmoil roiling in your expression.

With a ragged exhale, you shed the rest of your undergarments and stepped beneath the mercifully scalding spray, welcoming the harsh sting across your battered skin. Anything to dull the incessant buzzing beneath, the molten licks of pure confusion that had you splaying one palm over your lower abdomen in a futile gesture.

After several long, steadying minutes, you finally felt coherent thought filtering back, shunting the chaos into submission - at least for now. Grabbing a towel, you twisted it around your body and yanked open the bathroom door, striding back into the main room with a cloud of steam billowing in your wake.

Feitan stood in the cramped kitchenette, spine taut as a bowstring as he doctored the split over his brow with clumsy, one-handed stitches. At your abrupt entrance, his shoulders twitched and rolled almost imperceptibly, head swiveling to face you with narrowed eyes.

"About time," he groused, voice sandpaper rough. "I was starting to think you'd drowned yourself in there to avoid facing the cosmic fuckup you-"

Whatever insult he'd been ready to deploy withered and died as his obsidian gaze dropped lower, raking over the exposed expanse of damp skin visible beneath your precariously knotted towel with undisguised hunger. His throat bobbed convulsively as he swallowed hard, suddenly looking anywhere but at you.

"Dammit," he snarled after a strained pause, teeth snapping the crass endearment like a viper's strike. "A little warning about parading around like that would be appreciated."

Despite the multiple layers of ice coating his tone, you detected the barest wobble crack along its surface - an infinitesimal tremor betraying the struggle to maintain his sangfroid. A meandering lick of validation bloomed through you at having caught him so thoroughly off-guard, splitting your lips in a mocking moue.

"What, am I making Lord Feitan flustered?" You stalked forward challengingly, towel slipping lower with every predatory step to bare more glistening skin. "Seems your vaunted self-control has sprung a rather conspicuous leak, husband."

His nostrils flared minutely at the poisonous endearment, fingers tightening around the bloodied gauze until his knuckles shone bone-white. Yet, his stare remained steadfastly fixed above your collarbones, the muscle in his jaw twitching erratically.

"Keep pushing, wife ," he bit out in a strained rasp. "You're cruising for a brutality you're ill-equipped to face tonight."

The unveiled threat landed square in your solar plexus, simultaneously shunting your reckless desire to poke the caged beast and stoking a deeper, infinitely more terrifying burn low in your belly. You felt yourself sway forward of its own volition, every instinct honed on a whetstone of fear and adrenaline screaming at you to retreat, to reassert the fragile barriers before they were obliterated entirely.

Yet you held your ground, searching Feitan's expression for any flicker of the same wounded animality you felt ricocheting through your own veins, your towel slipping another infinitesimal fraction down your sternum in the process. His eyes followed the movement with searing intensity before snapping back up, something dark and unfurling igniting in those obsidian depths.

"Bring it, husband," you heard yourself hissing recklessly. "I'll shove those brutalities so far up your sadistic little ass, you'll be regurgitating blood and teeth for a month."

You could have sworn his pupils blew wide at that, flaring with undisguised relish before he was lunging for you, movements a blur of untamed violence. If you'd hoped to provoke him, to unleash whatever it was roiling between you into the light, you were rewarded a thousand fold.

His hands were iron manacles around your biceps, slamming you back against the grease-stained counter as his lithe body caged yours with arching menace. You crashed together like colliding celestial bodies - unstoppable force meeting immovable object in a maelstrom of jagged breaths and stifling heat.

"Should've kept your mouth shut, dear," he growled against the hammering pulse in your throat. Each consonant scorched like a brand, igniting detonations of raw sensation you were powerless to withstand. "Now you get to take exactly what's coming to you."

His hips rolled into yours with bruising force, crushing your lower bodies together as his teeth sank into the juncture of your neck and shoulder hard enough to reave a harsh gasp from you. Not quite a bite, but a vicious promise all the same - a precursor to the violence he was poised to inflict that would leave no question as to whom you belonged.

You were suddenly lightheaded, nerves blazing white-hot as your body responded viscerally to his provocation. Mortification, anger, arousal - every emotion flooded your senses in a dizzying, inextricable miasma until you couldn't be sure what you felt any longer. Only that you burned feverishly from within, every cell straining towards the brutal inevitability of Feitan's next calculated strike.

When it came, your world whited out entirely, the resounding concussion off the counter rattling you down to your very marrow. There was no pain, only a discordant ringing and an unbearable pressure centered below your diaphragm. A sustained, broken noise reverberated in the cramped space that you belatedly recognized as your own ruined voice.

Feitan remained locked against you with grim triumph, the pads of his fingers leaving livid crescents in your flesh as he drank in your total debasement and undoing. When he leaned in next, you were certain without a shadow of a doubt that anything left unraveled between you would be torn asunder in the next breath.

You glared at Feitan from your sprawled position on the floor, chest heaving as you swiped the back of your hand across your split lip. A thin rivulet of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth as well, stark against his pallid skin.

"You're going to pay for that, you sadistic little bastard," you growled, levering yourself upright with your elbows.

Feitan simply arched one brow mockingly, his tongue darting out to lave at the crimson seeping from his busted lip. The sight of it, so obscene yet undeniably magnetic, had molten anger roiling through your veins anew.

"I'd like to see you try, bitch," he taunted in that raspy timbre that somehow managed to sound both threatening and profoundly unsettling. "Unless you plan on crying for Chrollo to intervene again?"

You were across the room in a blur, your towel slipping loose as you tackled him with bruising force. Feitan met your violence with feral glee, hands snarling in your sodden hair as you grappled viciously. The two of you crashed and rolled, trading blow for stinging blow in a whirlwind of flailing limbs.

At some point, your towel had come undone entirely, the terrycloth puddle abandoned on the floor as your bare skin met Feitan's sweat-slicked torso. Yet neither of you registered the complete state of undress, too singularly focused on the vicious undulations of your battle.

Finally, you managed to pin him beneath you, knees caging his hips as you fought to trap his wiry arms. Feitan thrashed and strained, every sinewy muscle corded to breaking as he bowed against your weight in a futile attempt to dislodge you.

Then, all at once, something within the atmosphere shifted - a subtle charge bleeding the rage from the air in a dizzying spiral. You both stilled as one, harsh pants reverberating between your sweat-sheened forms as you registered your tangled states. Feitan's gaze was hooded, pupils blown wide as they raked over every inch of your exposed, vulnerable flesh with undisguised hunger.

Belatedly, you realized your fingers were fisted in the sweat-damp fabric of his tank top, straining the material to translucence and leaving very little to the imagination. Your lips parted on a ragged inhale as Feitan's hips canted up in a subconscious grind, the blatant ridge of his cock catching you square between your bodies.

Time seemed to slow to a viscous crawl then, the world narrowing to the minuscule space between your labored breaths. Feitan's lashes fluttered once, twice, before his eyes slitted back open - dark pools of naked wanting that had you arching into him before conscious thought could intervene.

His mouth was searing, branding yours with a ferocity that stole the air from your lungs. Yet you returned his onslaught with equal desperation, all nails and teeth as you clutched him tighter against your naked body. There was no preamble, no gentle exploration - only the wild, unrestrained explosion of every unspoken want and need as you finally surrendered to the maelstrom.

Your fingers found the hem of his tank top, tearing it upward impatiently. Feitan's muscles rippled beneath your fingertips as you ran them reverently across every scarred inch of his chest and abdomen. When you flicked a teasing thumb across one hardened nipple, he hissed into your mouth, bucking up hard.

"Fuck," he swore, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp. His fingers were tangled in your hair, holding you steady as his other hand skimmed up your bare flank. "If I'd known what a devious little whore you were, I'd have fucked you over every surface in that ballroom ages ago."

You arched one brow mockingly. "Is that so? Or would you have been too busy eye-fucking me to notice?"

The words left your lips in a breathless, taunting rush, and suddenly you were on your back again, the wind knocked from your lungs as Feitan pinned you against the floor with an animalistic snarl. He looked wild, utterly disheveled as his hips canted hard between your thighs.

"Perhaps I would have fucked that smart mouth of yours right there in the middle of the dance floor, wife," he practically purred, eyes gleaming as he rocked harder. "Would have had everyone watching how thoroughly I owned you."

Heat bloomed through your lower body at the vivid imagery, even as a traitorous moan slipped past your lips. Feitan smirked, a smug, victorious expression that had you surging up to catch his bottom lip between your teeth. He groaned, heady and deep, as you bit down, blood mingling on your tongues.

Then, abruptly, he was wrenching free, leaving you sprawled against the cracked tile. Before you could recover, his palm was wrapping around your ankle, yanking you across the floor like a ragdoll. Your fingers clawed at the ground, scrambling for purchase as you were dragged inexorably towards the couch.

The rough material was cold and abrasive against your skin as he flipped you over, yanking your ass into the air. Then his hands were spreading your thighs wide, and he was sinking his teeth into the tender flesh at the crease of your hip. You whimpered, hips grinding back against him mindlessly as your nails tore into the worn fabric.

His fingers were rough, merciless as they probed at your entrance, slicking through the evidence of your arousal. A choked moan slipped free at the sensation, back bowing as your spine arched involuntarily.

"Oh, look at how wet and desperate my vicious little whore is," Feitan crooned, two fingers curling inside you as his thumb circled your clit. "This what you've been aching for, wife?"

He punctuated the taunt by leaning in and biting the swell of your ass, sending a violent shudder through your core. Your fingers tangled in the frayed throw, the fibers ripping under your grip.

"Go fuck yourself," you bit out, hips canting back against him.

A sharp crack rang out as Feitan brought his palm down on your ass, a livid welt flaring across your skin. The sudden pain had you hissing, a curse rising on the tip of your tongue before it died as a third finger was shoved roughly inside you.

"Careful what you wish for," Feitan murmured, a hint of danger lacing his tone as his fingers thrust into you at a brutal pace. "I'd be more than happy to oblige, since you're such a cock-hungry little whore."

His words sent an undefinable pang through your core, your muscles clenching around him in a visceral response. He chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers with a final, lewd curl. You heard the jangle of his belt, the rustle of clothing being discarded, and then he was dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds.

"Please," the word escaped in a hoarse, pleading breath, the last vestiges of your pride crumbling away.

Feitan paused, his entire body stilling. A long, tense moment passed, the only sound between you two the rasp of your combined, ragged breathing. Then, slowly, his palms slid over the curve of your hips, thumbs hooking along the crest of your ass as he spread you wider.

"As you wish, dear wife," he replied in a strained whisper.

His first thrust was a violent thing, driving straight to the hilt in one harsh, relentless motion. You keened, fingers tearing deeper into the couch as the pain-pleasure of the stretch burned through every nerve ending.

Then, without pause, Feitan was fucking you in earnest, hips snapping forward with savage, staccato motions. Every inch of you was alight, electrified by the feel of him, the sound of his low, guttural grunts as he ravaged you.

You felt the tension mounting within, coiling low in your belly and spreading through every extremity like liquid fire. When Feitan's thumb ghosted against the tight ring of your ass, a violent spasm rocked you, a choked sob tearing free.

"You like that?" He practically growled, the pad of his thumb teasing the sensitive rim with a wicked rhythm that matched his thrusts. "Such a filthy little thing, you'll take it wherever I decide to shove it, won't you?"

Before you could even respond, the digit was pushing inside, sinking into your ass and stretching the tight muscle in a way that had tears spilling down your cheeks. Everything was too much, too overwhelming, the twin intrusions setting off a detonation of sensations that had you seeing stars.

You came hard, an uncontrolled explosive gush of liquid spraying all over the couch. Feitan moaned, an obscene, animalistic sound that had another aftershock wracking your entire body.

"Fuck, yes," he snarled, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he fucked you through the orgasm. "Soak me, whore. Mark me with every fucking inch of this tight little cunt."

His thumb twisted in tandem with his thrusts, stretching the ring of muscle to an almost-painful extent. It was too much, too fast, but every sensation felt dialed up to an eleven, leaving you helpless to do anything but ride the wave of his brutal pleasure.

When you came again, the scream ripped from your throat was a broken, fractured thing, a desperate, primal noise that Feitan seemed to revel in. You sagged against the couch, trembling uncontrollably as another rush of liquid coated his cock and thighs.

"God, that's it," Feitan hissed, sounding utterly undone. "Fuck, look at you, soaking and gushing all over me."

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back sharply as his hips lost their rhythm. Then, without warning, his thumb was withdrawing, his grip shifting from your hair to your chin, wrenching your neck around.

Your eyes widened at the sight, the utter wreckage of him reflected back - flushed and wild-eyed, with his lips glistening and swollen from your earlier kisses. He was the very definition of unhinged, an untamed beast unleashed at last, and you'd never been more turned on in your life.

He kissed you again then, tongue plundering your mouth with a feral intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. You felt him throb and twitch, his moans becoming more frenzied, more broken. Then, with a final, brutal thrust, he was spilling inside you, the molten heat of his cum a brand marking you deep within.

You were barely able to catch your breath before Feitan was pulling out, rolling you onto your back and yanking your thighs over his shoulders. Your vision blurred for a moment, mind utterly uncomprehending, before the realization dawned - Feitan was burying his face between your thighs, his tongue plunging into the depths of your core to lap at the mess he'd left behind.

Sensation overload had you screaming, back bowing off the couch as another violent, full-body tremor ripped through you. Yet he refused to relent, his tongue relentless, his fingers joining the onslaught as they plunged into your abused hole to stroke at your oversensitive walls.

A third gush of liquid coated his fingers, and he was moaning, utterly shameless, against your pussy as he drank from you ravenously. The sound of him, debauched and unhinged, was too much, your nerves already rubbed raw.

You tried to push him away, the sensations too intense, too overwhelming. Yet Feitan simply growled, a muffled warning, his teeth closing on the hood of your clit. A sob wracked you, the overstimulation bordering on exquisite pain.

Then, he was sucking, tongue swirling and teasing and driving you mad. It was all too much, yet you couldn't pull away, couldn't escape the relentless tide he'd unleashed. When he slid a finger into your ass, the coil snapped, a white-hot, blinding rush that had you convulsing and screaming in his hold.

He worked you through the orgasm, his tongue gentling until the aftershocks had faded and you were left utterly wrecked, limbs quivering and mind completely obliterated.

When Feitan finally emerged, licking his lips like a self-satisfied cat, his expression was one of utter, smug satisfaction. You were barely able to form a coherent thought, much less an insult, so instead you settled for glaring at him weakly, trying to channel every ounce of disdain and irritation into your glare.

Feitan simply shrugged, an infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. "Don't look at me like that, dear wife. You started this."

You attempted a scathing retort, but only a ragged, garbled sound escaped as you realized the extent of your destruction. The couch was absolutely drenched, rivulets of liquid and cum leaking over the cushions in a vulgar display.

Feitan followed your line of sight, the smirk twisting into a lewd grin. "And to think, we've only just begun."

Before you could even begin to comprehend the implication, he was pulling you to your feet, scooping you over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. The next thing you knew, you were being dropped on the bed, bouncing against the sheets as he stalked after you.

"Now, wife, why don't we continue our honeymoon a bit longer?"

The dim of the Phantom Troupe's hideout greeted you and Feitan like a physical force as you stepped through the threshold. Raucous laughter and jeering whistles erupted the moment you appeared, drawing mortified flushes to both your cheeks.

"Well, well, if it isn't the newlyweds!" Nobunaga's booming voice cut through the catcalls as he swaggered over, a salacious grin splitting his weathered features. "Gotta say, I didn't peg you two for the kinky honeymoon suite types."

"I must admit, your performance was rather...enlightening," Chrollo interjected, the barest hint of a smirk playing across his lips as he leveled you with a weighted look.

You felt your face heat even further at the implication. Feitan shot you a murderous glare, clearly placing the blame squarely on your shoulders for this humiliation.

"You've got to be kidding me," he snarled through gritted teeth as understanding dawned.

"We had cameras installed to monitor your location," Machi confirmed with a longsuffering sigh. "For safety purposes. Though I don't think any of us expected...that level of disclosure."

Uvogin guffawed loudly, slapping his knee. "You mean you weren't hoping for some free live entertainment, Machi?"

The teasing and raucous laughter continued to swell around you as the rest of the Spiders utterly failed to contain their amusement at yours and Feitan's expense. Even the typically unflappable Pakunoda had a glint of mirth dancing in her eyes.

"I can assure you, the footage was quite...comprehensive," Chrollo offered blandly, making no effort to hide his satisfaction at your escalating mortification. "There were no details left to the imagination."

You sputtered incoherently, torn between the urge to burst into flames on the spot and throttling every last one of these voyeuristic savages with your bare hands. Feitan, meanwhile, looked two seconds from detonating entirely.

"You lecherous band of voyeurs!" he exploded, visibly shaking with rage as he whirled to face you. "And you! How did you not notice the goddamn cameras?!"

Seizing the opportunity to redirect even a fraction of the blame, you met his fury head-on.

"How did I not notice?! If you hadn't been too busy eye-fucking me at every turn like a horny mutt, maybe we both would have paid more attention to our surroundings!"

The argument quickly devolved into your typical vicious back-and-forth, insults and profanities flying as the Troupe howled with laughter around you. Eventually, you both stormed off in a cloud of barely restrained violence, hurling threats over your shoulders at the jeering pack of depraved hyenas.

As the sounds of your bickering faded down the corridor, Chrollo's smooth baritone carried after you with a hint of dark amusement.

"Do try and be more discreet next time, you two...unless you're intentionally putting on a show for us."

#hunter x hunter x reader smut #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter smut #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader smut #hxh smut #hxh x reader #feitan #feitan smut #feitan x reader #feitan x reader smut

44 notes · View notes

takemebacktowheniwassane · 3 days

Text

so, let's talk about the chess game a little more thoroughly

in the chess game (from falsettos, idk if that's apparently clear, "a chess game" could literally be anything lol) there's a pattern of impatience that follows the two main characters.

Marvin's impatience is fully one-sided, you can see as Whizzer begins the game, he's insistent for him to get his turn over with, even going so far as to (quite condescendingly) ask if Whizzer wants his help. But then the moment it's his turn, he takes his time despite Whizzer having rushed his first move.

I think this might stem from his constant need to "help", or rather, control every situation. He thinks it's always his job to be the leader of every circumstance, as the stereotypical man.

It definitely comes from a childhood of commanding others around and not having a heavy amount of discipline for his actions.

Otherwise, Marvin taking time to calculate his move shows that he's careful with his own placement in life. A life of tiptoing around himself and never actually accepting the full extent of his personality, or sexuality has made him incredibly courteous of where he stands. Maybe it even came from his relationship with Trina, how not being careful led him to being forced into an arranged marriage.

Meanwhile, (and I know I've gone through this bit before in other posts but yes, thanks, I need more appreciation on William Finn not just victimizing Whizzer. Like, he's not that great either guys. We love him, but he isn't perfect.) Whizzer uses the game as a strategy to get Marvin on his side.

Although instead of healthily sorting through his MASS amount of issues, Whizzer pretty much just ends up manipulating him into throwing the game. It's interesting because Whizzer has an opportunity to discuss all of the problems they have with Marvin.

They're in a place in their relationship where he can clearly just throw anything out there, but then he strikes back with anger instead of trying to actually figure out the main issues and help them both through it, effectively shutting off Marvin's ability to actually listen to anything he has to say.

The chess game was actually staged so perfectly, because you can clearly see all of the toxicity in one contained place during that song. There's obviously snippets in others, Marvin's inability to change and Whizzer's insistence not to change because changing would mean they would have to actually talk about their feelings toward each other.

anyways, these are just my thoughts on this :) none of its fully canon, I was just watching through clips of the proshot and realized some interesting things

#whizzer brown #falsettos #marvinfalsettos #hyperfixating on falsettos #the sillies have taken over my account #HERE YOU GO #HAVE ANOTHER RANT!#anyways if you want more of these on any specific aspect of falsettos I'm down to converse about the insanity that is this show

33 notes · View notes

lightlycareless · 7 hours

Note

I had the high school au on my mind and since Jujutsu tech has forms I was thinking what shenanigans can ensue. I can imagine maybe earlier in their relationship, Y/N would invite/sneak Naoya to her dorm after hours to watch a movie with her. Naoya is obviously excited to hang out with his gf so maybe he mentions it to his friends and they’re like ‘ooh you know what that means. And oh she just wants to make out etc’ something along those lines that puts that idea into Naoya’s head when in reality Y/N’s invitation had completely innocent intentions with the only desire to watch the movie, maybe even cuddle while they watched(I can imagine cuddling might fluster her bit at this stage). So when Naoya eventually gets there, maybe he’s been like prepped to the max expecting his and Y/N’s first make out session only to realize that she really only wanted to watch the movie(either to his relief or slight disappointment). I could see it either going with Naoya trying initiate and it causing problems with him getting embarrassed for his misunderstanding or each time he tries to initiate Y/N is like extremely oblivious to it to the point he gives up. I just wanted to share this with you since the thought kept giving me the giggles and I love young love stuff like this. It’s probably why I’m so obsessed with the high school au.(Feel free to write a little something to this though if you get inspiration from it 😊)

Heya anon!!

I'm sorry it took me a while to get back to you; with prompts that are usually a bit longer, especially those that I have an idea of what I want to write but don't know how to land it?

Though I have to admit that your ask by itself was perfect. It was so cute!!!! I didn't think I could add much, but I still hope you liked what I prepared for this occasion :>

warnings: naoya might be a pervert, no surprise there. fluff. highschool AU. he's a dork too. mentions of smut, very light. just implications.

Happy reading!!

Naoya doesn’t like admitting it, and you’ll never catch doing so either—certainly not when it comes to you, the only person he’s ever tried his hardest to appear as confident, seemingly untouchable, above all problems regardless of their nature: a reliable man you could always lean on.

But the truth is, he still gets nervous. Very nervous, indeed. To the point you’d think he was about to attempt a life-or-death type of endeavor, not a silly thing! (it’s not silly, Naoya just says that in order to feel better)

“Do you want to watch a movie…” it’s how it started—at that point, Naoya wasn’t that flustered. Sure, he was excited to spend time with you, as much as any loving boyfriend would! If it were him, the two would be together, every day, every hour, everywhere!

“…in my dorm?”

It’s only when you say these words that he effectively becomes an utter mess, unable to do anything else besides allow heat to form on his cheeks, throat tightening as he squeaks a quick:

“Yes!”

Before going back to his class, to torment himself with what just transpired, and what wonderful things it actually represented.

Still early in the relationship, this would be the first time you and Naoya… saw each other in a more private setting.

Far from seeing each other at cafeteria to eat lunch together, training when the other’s usual partner wasn’t available, going on missions whenever teachers sought it necessary, studying if you didn’t get something from a class he already had (he’s a year older—before your being your boyfriend, Naoya was actually your senpai.), amongst other things.

In other words, his mind saw it was step forward in what he considered the rest of his life with you, and such statement brought him so much happiness, he literally couldn’t do anything else but spend his time imagining just what you had in store for him; undoubtedly something good, he quickly assumes.

Naoya prided himself for being quite reserved when it comes to personal matters, but such was his excitement this time around, that he was unable to hide it from his prying friends, the same ones that were always eager to tease him simply because he made it too easy, often entertained by his outlandish reactions…

Or amusing discoveries.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Naoya?” One of his friends, Kiyotaka (probably someone he could replace with someone infinitely better, as you’ve once hinted.) says once taking a seat before him.

“What are you even talking about.” Naoya responds defensively, like he always did.

“Tsk, come on… you don’t really believe we’re going to fall for that, are we?” Another friend of Naoya’s, arguably of the same nature as Kiyotaka, Hideki, adds with a teasing tone.

“I don’t need to believe anything, you can do whatever you want.” He hisses, still avoiding the subject, if he wanted to push them away, he fails miserably.

Unfortunately, they knew it would only take a few more shoves to get Naoya talking.

And when it finally happened, oh, was he regretful he ever said anything.

“I’m going on a date with Y/N.” Is the sentence that pushes them over the edge, a smirk plastered on their faces as they seem to catch on to your “ulterior motives” way before him.

“Really? Where are you two going?” Kiyotaka asks.

“What do you care?” Naoya frowns, but they knew well to take his intimidation with a grain of salt. “…We’re watching a movie.”

“Oh, you’re going to the city?” Hideki wonders.

“No, not really—we’re staying in, at her dorm.”

With that, their theories were effectively confirmed.

“Oooooh, her dorm.” Kiyotaka teases. “Is that so?”

“What? What about it?” Naoya scowls, he never liked bringing you into his conversations with his friends for this precise reason—they always seemed to have something to say about you, or his relationship. And like the ever jealous, overprotective man he was, he simply couldn’t allow that!

But as experienced as he proclaimed to be, there were still things he had to learn, such as the obvious intentions behind your suggestion. So they were trying to hint.

“Come on, you can’t be that blind.” The other insists, Naoya’s frown (as well as intrigue) deepens.

“It’s so clear why she’s inviting you to see a movie in her dorm—” Kiyotaka continues.

“If it’s so obvious, then spit it out!” Naoya demands.

“She was to make out, of course! No, actually, I think she wants to do something more.” Hideki proclaims.

“Oh, most definitely! You guys have been dating for what, a few weeks? I’d say it’s long overdue!”

At the prospect, heat spreads across Naoya’s face, heart quickening as he carefully considers their words… before annoyance and jealousy overrules him once more, quick to demean them back, especially after they continue mocking him.

“Not that our virgin friend would know, too busy jacking off to anime girls— probably hasn’t even gotten his first kiss!”

“At least I have a girlfriend, losers!” Is what Naoya scowls before storming out the classroom and into the hallways, just before he did anything that he’d come to regret; their hyena-like laughs disappearing in the distance.

But nonetheless, their work was done, for their words would remain in Naoya’s mind for the rest of the day, those that were of any use of course.

Because jokes often harbored truth behind them.

Deeply enthralled by the excitement of spending an evening with you, maybe he did fail to recognize the true meaning behind your invitation.

A notion that the more he thought of it, the more he considered it to be… plausible.

Naoya didn’t think it was going to happen now—though he won’t deny he’s been longing for it. It’s just that… he hadn’t done anything in fear of scaring you. Up to that point, all you’ve done together is hold hands, kiss, hugs, and that’s about it. Nothing more, nothing less, and both seemed happy with it.

Until now.

Once these thoughts made way to his mind, and after placing these erroneous pieces together… Naoya can’t help but wonder, is this your way of telling him… you wanted to do more? Formalize this relationship?

If so, another insecurity arises within Naoya, one that stems from the erratic notion that as the man, he should’ve been the one taking initiative, not you.

He should’ve been preparing everything for that special moment, anything beneath that would only catalog him as someone foolish, and thus, undeserving of your affection—you can blame the Zen’in for those beliefs.

Because ever since meeting you, all Naoya has ever wanted to do is give you the world.

But in order to continue doing that, once you took the lead… what must he do?

“Do you really think she wants to do… that?” Naoya eventually resorts to the only other person he trusts enough to bring some clarity to the situation, though sometimes, for matters of avoiding getting too much information, wishes he didn’t. Yet, he’ll always stand by his side.

“I guess?” Ranta cringes, the thought of you and his best friend getting physical is one he wishes to erase from his mind!

On a more assertive approach, even when you’ve been dating his best friend for a few weeks, he has to admit he doesn’t know much about you. Or at all, really—outside of your excessive affinity for mochi, videogames, and wanting to be with Naoya at all times. Ranta rests easy knowing you mean well above all.

However, at this moment, he’s very concerned, simply because this is a delicate subject that if handled wrongly, could gravely wound his relationship… and all thanks to his supposed friends getting under his skin!

Ranta is tired of telling Naoya that he needs better friendships, that they’re only there because they want to get a rise out of him!

Though, a tiny, almost undetectable part of him does think they might be right. Because being invited to someone’s room is often an opening for something more private… right?

So, the possibility of you wanting more isn’t that farfetched, and considering how clingy the two are…

“Do you know what movie you’re going to watch?” Ranta suddenly asks, a necessary question in his mind.

“Hm? No, not yet. Y/N said that she’s ok with whatever, she just wants to spend time with me.”

Oh.

…

Oh.

It’s too obvious now, enough for Ranta’s mouth to fall agape and skin go pale, a reaction that startles Naoya, rushing to frettingly ask what was going on, why did he react that way?! Did he know something he didn’t?

Well, simply put… yes. He did. It’s just too obvious now to deny: the reason why you hadn’t chosen a movie, or even suggested something, when you were the one to invite him, was because that’s not what really matters! In fact, it never was!!

The only reason this date was happening was because you definitely, undoubtedly, clear as water, or like the sun rising, wanted to do something else!

And the movie was just an excuse to get him where you wanted—with Naoya taking the bait as soon as it was casted.

“What is it, Ranta?!” Naoya asks once more. “Will you speak up already?!”

The poor kid sighs.

He just hopes Naoya is prepared.

When the fateful day finally comes, Naoya can’t help but be all too attentive to your behavior, or more like the oddity of it.

Sure, you were still the giddy, loving, albeit a bit weird girl he fell in love with—but there was something… different about you. Almost as if you’d suddenly forgotten you were his girlfriend and got all shy with him.

And he didn’t mean the the adorable way he loved teasing—no, he meant the glance away from him whenever you’d catch him staring type of way, refusing to smile back whenever he’d do so, or straight up avoiding him in the hallways.

Naoya worried that perhaps he’d done something wrong without noticing, said some stupidity and angered you…

But that proved to be wrong when you approached him at the end of the day, rushing over to his locker and softly calling out his name, which he promptly responded to by swiftly turning around to see you, eager to fix whatever issues unwittingly grew between the two—

“Are you ready… Naoya?” it’s what you’d say, with the quietest tone he’s probably ever heard you use, after your confession of course.

“Huh? Oh; Ye—yeah.” He responds, swallowing. “I’m ready. …For the movie, right?”

You nod frantically. “Yes! Haha, what else?”

“I thought you’d… forgotten about it.” Naoya admits. ��Since you hadn’t spoken to me at all.”

“Oh, no—it wasn’t that! I… didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just… actually preparing some things between classes and all that.” You confess, his shoulders relax, tension leaving his body alongside one of his worst fears. “I’m sorry.”

“Had me worried there, mochi. Thought I did something to anger you.” he says, you don’t notice it, but he tightly clenches his fist, an attempt to ease his nerves.

“…No, you could never.” You pout, looking away embarrassed. After a few seconds of silence, you return to him. “I already got snacks for the movie, by the way. I made sure to bring your favorite’s too, so need to worry about that! Though I was still hoping we could get something to eat first? Or if you want, we can also get some other snacks if you don’t like the ones I—"

“I don' I’m—I’m ok with whatever you picked.” He frets back, you blink. “Just getting to spend time with you is enough for me.”

“Oh, well then—” you blush. Looking around and noticing no one was near, you proceed. “Do you… want to go… now?”

Naoya nods before taking your hand; it’s only then that he notices the first symptoms of your anxieties: through the warmth of your skin and the dampness of it too—seems he might’ve miscalculated how nervous you’d be, yet he was not surprised, because if his assumptions were to be true, it was only natural you’d be in such state prior doing… that.

Well, it was good to know both were on the same page. If only it helped him to not feel as nervous as he did.

Or at least, make him realize not everything was what it seemed.

Naoya didn’t know what he was anticipating when arriving at your dorm. That his anxieties disappear? Perhaps. Should he have expected that? Probably not, if anything, he should’ve foreseen that his emotions were to spiral even further once getting there.

It’s as if the notion of what was happening finally settled into his mind! Turning him a nervous, sweating mess that you couldn’t help but notice as well—though it was more likely that you were on the same page as him.

Your boyfriend mentally scolds himself for his reaction, thinking that he was supposed to be ready for this moment, he did all the preparations, after all! (don’t ask)

But when he’s here, before you, in your room, alone—it’s like it was all for nothing; efforts thrown out the window as all he can do is look at you oversee the last details for the date in a seemingly assertive manner than makes him feel even smaller.

Oh, but if he only knew…

“You can change out of your uniform in the bedroom, if you like. I’ll go to the bathroom.” You suggest, face bright as a tomato as you gesture to said location. “Get comfortable, and all that…”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll use the bathroom.” Naoya responds immediately, his instinct to please you still intact. “It’s your room…”

“Oh—okay, then. I guess I’ll just wait over here…” You then turn around, heading over to the bedroom.

On Naoya’s way to the restroom, he’s able to get a peek into your room, the place the rest evening was to be spent in, taken aback by the sight that received him, demonstrating just how serious you were to have a perfect date:

After moving the bed to the corner, you’ve set up various blankets on the floor to work as some kind of futon, alongside some fluffy pillows to comfortably sit down and lean back on. After that, you place a neatly folded blanket by the corner to use in case either ran cold, though Naoya doubt’s it’ll be used at all…

Nonetheless, Naoya was impressed by your commitment, giving him the impression you were most definitely striking to achieve something more—in for the kill, as some may say.

He should’ve assumed you capable of so, considering how this relationship came to be. If anything, he should be wondering if he even has the means to keep up? And if he doesn’t… what will this mean for the relationship?

Naoya doesn’t want to lose you.

“What snacks do you want?” you’d ask him once he’s out of the bathroom.

Naoya notices you to be out of your uniform as well, dressing in a matching sweatsuit he normally would’ve considered you looked adorable in, as usual— if his mind wasn’t threading into something a bit more… private.

He made sure to freshen up in efforts to distract all intrusive thoughts, but once again, it was all for nothing when it comes to you; it has always been that way, and it seems will always be.

Attempting to push down his nerves, Naoya eventually makes way towards the makeshift futon, taking a seat there before you join him soon after, bringing along popcorn and sodas you remembered to be his favorite.

“Here, for you.” You say, inching closer to him to the point where your arms are touching his. Naoya tenses up, doing everything in his power to prevent his mind from going somewhere it shouldn’t be, such as holding his breath, or focusing on…

“Is that my hoodie?” Naoya notes, which immediately makes you blush, looking away embarrassed.

“Oh—yeah, I—I guess that’s where it came from.” You chuckle nervously; though it’s not like you didn’t know it was his. In fact, might’ve lied to Naoya about it’s whereabouts that one time he asked you just to keep it around for a bit longer… but could he blame you? It was soft, comfortable, and most importantly, it smelled like him. “…Do you want it back?”

“No!” he shrieks. Your eyes widen in surprise. “I mean—it looks… good on you.” Perhaps a bit too good. “Keep it.”

You turn impossibly redder.

“Th—Thanks…” you whisper, returning your gaze to him, staring at him absolute silence, as if processing the closeness in which the two were, the privacy of it all…

But once it finally settles, oh, does it fluster you even more. Breath hitching to your throat the moment you realized you spent too much time staring at him, quickly turning around and reaching over for the remote control, turning the TV on and attempting to move the evening forward—yet your thoughts would remain behind.

“What movie are we going to see…?” Naoya manages to ask, as if your reaction didn’t affect him further.

“Just one that Shoko… suggested.” You quietly admit; the CD was already set up on the player, all that was left to do was… press play.

Once the movie begins, the two are quickly captivated by it; Shoko wasn’t lying when she said this was something you’ll definitely like, the type of film that won’t let you peel your eyes away from the screen due to its epic storytelling (her words)—and it had been that way up to that point, if it weren’t for the occasional reminder of the other being there.

Whether through a quick exhale, a whine when stretching their legs or arms, or even the warm pressure of your head resting on Naoya’s arm… even with an intriguing movie as that one, neither could refute acknowledging the other’s presence.

Or the supposed reason behind this invitation, which only grew heavier in his mind the same time his insecurities flourished, ignorant of when to take the next step, trying to make out if this was your way of telling him to hurry up or perhaps, something else entirely??

You’ve taken liking to the position you were in, with your head over his shoulder, intertwining his arm with his, occasionally reaching out for a handful of popcorn and asking him if he’d like some before going back to your previous comfortable position, attention completely focused on the movie once again.

Naoya commends you for being able to appear this calm, completely unaware of his turmoil. In a way, he was happy you were.

But your boyfriend knew better than to rely on comfort, and once motivated to act, he was able to quickly intercept the true motives behind your insistency, a wake-up call for him to act and do what he must—as a man, he’s the one responsible to provide a solution to your desire; anything less than that is shameful.

And so, after mentally uttering few more encouraging words to himself… Naoya finally proceeds.

It starts slowly, carefully, with him releasing the arm in your hold to drape it over your shoulders. You don’t seem to put much of a resistance at first, though you did seem startled—but when you realized you could be more comfortable this way, with your head resting over his chest and his arm hugging you, you quickly accepted your new disposition, a smile on your face (alongside a bright blush) as you continued watching the movie.

Naoya remains that way for a few more moments, torn between enjoying your closeness or continuing, perhaps hoping you’d tell him something. But when you don’t, he simply takes it as you being shy.

Thus, he pushes forward, for your introverted sake.

He senses you tense up the moment his hands finally trail down your arm and onto your waist, yet you don’t stop him. Naoya quietly sighs as he keeps his hand there, occasionally giving you soft squeezes here and there, before leaning further and further down, ending by your hips.

Naoya swears to feel his heart (and yours consequentially) to be just a few minutes away from bursting out his chest when doing this—this contact being the most intimate he’s gone with you. And yet, his mind can’t help but wonder why you hadn’t reciprocated his advances, because at that point, his intentions had to be nothing but clear!

But you remained quiet, reserved, with the tightening of your grasp over his chest whenever he moved closer to a particularly sensitive area, softly whining in response, being his only indicative.

Did he need to be more assertive with his actions? Or perhaps he wasn’t doing the right things? Not… touching you the way you liked?

You must excuse him from not knowing, this was… the first time he’d do such a thing with you, and naturally, he’s bound to make some mistakes—but he still wants to make it right.

So, he goes with the one thing he knows won’t fail, considering how you’ve left it clear countless times before that you always enjoyed his kisses—whether through verbal and physical reassurance.

The answers were always there, Naoya just… needs to be bolder about it. Secure. You must enjoy having an assertive boyfriend, right?

Taking another deep breath and in one swift movement, Naoya uses his free hand to grab your chin, carefully turning you to him, leaning forward to take your lips into a kiss before you could even react.

The action undoubtedly catches you off guard, enough to have you tensing, eyes widening as you try to process why the sudden approach—not that it would take you long before you succumbed to it, but still. It had come so out of the blue, you almost felt like it wasn’t truly happening, that perhaps you imagined it, always desperate to dive in Naoya’s gestures.

And it would’ve been quite wonderful too, if only he’d remained in the realms of what he knew, stopped his fingers from travelling up to your stomach and hooking around the edge of your hoodie, gently nudging it upwards in what he thought a clear understanding of what’s to happen, leaving no room for anything else—

Just your shock, which immediately prompted you to place your hands over his chest and push him away from you, with great unprecedented force, so different from the gentle touch you always use on him that Naoya almost didn’t recognize you.

Nor yourself, for that matter.

"Wh—what are you doing, Naoya?!" You breathe, trying your best to hold back the pounding of your heart from deafening your ears, alongside the scrambling of your thoughts, failing to understand what just happened, or more like why. "Why did you—why did you do that???"

"I'm— I'm confused, Y/N" Your boyfriend quickly responds, voice trembling upon seeing the horror in your face, a sight he never wished to see on you again, less be on the cause of it. "I thought you—I thought you wanted this."

“I wanted—wh—what??” you fret. “What are you even talking about?? Want what?!”

“You know…that” Naoya murmurs, and for the first time that evening, the notion that he might’ve miscalculated your intentions invades his mind, bringing along great sorrow that only worsens when all you do is continue to stare at him, surprised. “The…. The thing couples… do…”

“What—…What gave you that idea?” you dared to ask, and then, at that precise moment, is when realization finally settles inside him, making his heart sink to his stomach and his worst fears come true.

“I'm so sorry, Y/N. I thought—I thought you inviting me over was for something else!” Naoya the takes you into his arms, pressing you tightly against him as he continues to mutter endless apologies, silent prayers that he hadn’t hurt the only relationship he has cared about in his entire life, beyond repair."I’m so sorry, please don't break up with me—"

"Huh?! Naoya?? Why would you even say that?!” You cry, whatever you felt for his unusual actions folded immediately in favor of your confusion. “I’m not going to break up with you!”

“Are you not… mad?—Hurt, because of what I did?”

“I mean—I am startled.” Naoya frowns, ashamed. You try to reassure him with a tight smile, he does not budge. “But… I wouldn’t leave you. Never!’

“…Then… what’s going to happen?” he fearfully asks, unwilling to believe that no punishment, no reproach was to occur—you can blame the Zen’in for that.

… Were you truly not angry, not one bit?

“Well, I guess we should… talk about it.” You say, fidgeting with your fingers. A conversation you didn’t think would occur so soon, and like this too—but it did, and with it, came along questions (or more like insecurities) about your own standing in this relationship.

Guess now is just as good as any other time.

“…you don’t want to do it, isn’t it?” Naoya assumes, your eyes widen.

“That’s not true, Naoya. Of course I do!”

“But…?”

“…Not like this.” You murmur. A question crosses your mind. “But… you wanted it… right?”

Naoya remains silent, guess after all that happened, the teasing of his friends, Ranta’s suggestions… he eventually came to hope that maybe you did want more. He would’ve definitely liked that, but then, who wouldn’t want to be intimate with the love of their life?

“You did.” You breathe; now it was your time to lament. “Oh, Naoya, I didn’t mean to confuse you—”

“No, Y/N. I was the one that misunderstood your invitation.” He says, hugging you tighter against him. “I guess I was too excited to spend time with you, that… I might’ve gotten ahead of myself. Might’ve allowed others to that too…”

“What do you mean?” you ask, curiously lifting your gaze to his.

“… I guess… I might’ve… let my friends influence me on what was going to happen…”

“You mean—did they tell you this was for something more?”

“Well—I mean—it’s not every day that you invite me to your dorm, you know??” Naoya gasps.

“Because it’s not really permitted, Naoya!” you cry back. “…and because my room is a mess most of the time, and I don’t want you to see that...”

At the silliness of last, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, invertedly lifting some of the tension that had begun to weight heavy on your shoulders, allowing you relax soon after.

“Is that what you’re most worried about?” Naoya jests. “That I might not like what your room looks like?”

“I gotta look good for my boyfriend, after all!” you fuss. “…and that’s not the only thing I worry about. I don’t want you to get in trouble for sneaking in either.”

“…I’d be more satisfied if you were… well, happy with me.” Naoya silently admits, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It was just a misunderstanding, nothing more.” You say, leaning into his touch. “…And a reminder that you need better friends too…”

“Yeah, that’s definitely something I have to do.” Naoya frowns, but he doesn’t let this issue take much space in his mind. “And make it up to you.”

“Naoya—I’m just happy that you’re here with me!” you grin, wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him. “It’s been soooo loong since we last had a date, it’s going to take much more than that to ruin it!”

“…But I was pretty close, wasn’t I?” he laments.

“Don’t torture yourself about it.” You lean to kiss his lips, the gesture warming his heart as his worries begin to disappear. “It’ll happen, in time, I hope… and when it does, it’ll be special, for both of us. Because it’ll be just how we want it!”

“It sounds like you already had something in mind, though.” Naoya recalls, mentally preparing himself to take notes. “…Do you mind… telling me… what?”

“Well, you’ll definitely have to take me out on a date—somewhere nice for dinner. From there, I’d like to go for a walk around the city, or maybe a drive, I don’t know. We can go to a viewpoint and watch the stars, or to the park and just… relax. After that, we can go back to anywhere but a place we could be caught.” You shiver. “I’d rather die than let that happen!”

Naoya laughs, finding your enthusiasm to be both refreshing, adorable, and informative in two matters:

One, that you are just as eager as he was when it comes to that, effectively removing any doubt he had about the ordeal. It was just a matter of being ready, that’s all.

And two, just how silly it was to even consider you wanted to do it in a place like a school, where strictness was only expected. It was difficult as it was having to sneak him around the dorms just to spend this evening together, now imagine that? Some were shameless, amongst them Naoya, but you were out of the question.

What was he even thinking?!

Naoya feels like an absolute idiot for having trusted his supposed friends. Perhaps he should’ve taken Ranta more seriously, take it slow as he suggested.

But there was no use in agonizing about that when he had more pressing matters to tend to, such as…

“…Do you still want to watch the movie?” Naoya asks, hopeful. But you give him a smile that erases all doubts.

“Yes. Of course I do! I still want to spend time with you, you know? With the boyfriend I love very, very much.”

Naoya blushes.

“And you’re the girlfriend I love very much too.” He stammers, verbal affection is something he still struggles with, but it does not abstain it from being genuine. “I’ll make it up to you—whatever you want. Don’t hesitate to tell me.

…And once we get to do that too, it’ll be special; beyond anything you imagined—I promise you.”

“It’s not necessary, Naoya—just spending time with you is enough for me.” You lean forward once more to peck his lips. “With you, I don’t need to worry about anything because I know everything will fall into place by its own.

….

Though there is one think I want you to do, if you really wanna make it up to me.”

“Anything, it’s yours.”

“…Do you think… you can spend the night here, with me? My roommate is going to be away for a few days, and my siblings are out on a mission; I normally wouldn’t mind staying on my own, but tonight… I don’t feel like doing that.” you shyly ask, and while it’s a far cry from what Naoya initially anticipated, it’s still enough to rile him up.

“Su—Sure, Y/N—I just… I think I just need to go to the bathroom first.”

You don’t say anything else, too flustered to do so, aside from reassuring him you’ll be there when he comes back, understanding that this was a situation that, well, honestly speaks for itself.

And yet, you didn’t think much of it—because at the end of the day, one way or the other, it just showed how much Naoya wished to be with you, and how eager you wished the day you were ready to give yourself to him eventually came to be.

Until then, you’d worry about enjoying the rest of the evening, wondering if Naoya would be thirsty after coming back, perhaps wanting to eat something else than popcorn—you sure brought lots of snacks just in case, highly meticulous for a simple movie night. You shouldn’t be blamed, though; it was your first date in a setting like this!

While Naoya tended to some personal issues—but the most important one was the final acceptance that he needed better friends, deciding to drop them soon after this miscalculation almost cost him his relationship (Not really, just a very upset girlfriend) and God knows what else; Ranta being the only one that remained, because he was the only genuine friend he ever had, that much he could still asses.

But when it comes to your happiness, though he’ll sometimes go to him for suggestions, Naoya decides to only trust his heart—no one else.

The rest of them could disappear, for all he cared. Because the moment you stepped into his life, you were all that mattered to him.

All that will continue to matter, until the end of his days. Luckily, he has a lifetime to prove that to you.

Naoya's growth from dorky boyfriend to husband will be satisfying journey to observe.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I did!!! Whenever I get HS AU stuff I get really excited, I literally couldn't stop thinking about this!!!

Either way, it was fun to write awkward Y/N and Naoya, this is way before the latter grew up to be the arrogant bastard we all know; and though he does end up like that, I like to think that because of Y/N he's not as bad lol.

Now, I don't have anything else except that I really do hope you liked this :> Thank you so much for sending in this ask; take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

32 notes · View notes

tangents-within-tangents · 3 days

Text

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities. What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs.

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people.

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before:

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there’s isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding:

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful.��

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual:

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience.

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation.

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life.

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation

35 notes · View notes