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pandoraslxna · 1 year

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OMG no bc stepbro lo’ak secretly fingering you under the table

Movie night

Stepbro Lo‘ak x female Omatikaya reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Lo’ak can’t keep his hands to himself. Not even during movie night.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest, stepsibling au, aged up characters, innocent reader (I leave it to your imagination if she’s a virgin), slight age difference, they’re very much in public, voyeurism, fingering, little degradation, corruption kink, teasing between (step)siblings

Tonight was movie night at the labs in high camp.

It was a little tradition that Lo‘ak and Spider had started just a few months ago. Norm and Max had allowed them to use the big screen in the common room of the bio laboratory to watch some of the movies they had available. Gradually, more and more people had joined them in their little tradition over the last few weeks. Now there was your stepfather Jake and your stepsiblings Kiri and Neteyam. But also Norm and Max and some of the other scientists. And you, of course. Your stepmother, Neytiri, wasn’t a big fan of the whole thing. She still despised most human technology and basically everything else the humans did, so she usually avoided any unnecessary contact with them. You weren’t even sure if she liked Norm and the others. During movie night she would rather take care of chores or spend time with Tuk. The youngest wasn’t allowed to join anyways, since most of these movies weren’t exactly meant for children. Today was horror movie night on top of all.

The concept of horror or movies in general was still quite new to you, so you decided to settle as close to your stepbrother Lo‘ak as possible. Lo’ak had always been good at these human things. He was curious and eager to learn, so he understood these things pretty fast. And he enjoyed playing his big brother role very much, teaching you about them and easing your anxiety by explaining that the things you were watching weren’t real and it was all fiction and technology. He bought you great comfort.

Somewhere during the first thirty minutes of the movie, Lo’ak had pulled you onto his lap, his arms encircled your middle and his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Every once in a while, he planted a soft kiss to your temple or along your jaw. It’s was such an innocent gesture, so naturally that you two showed affection towards one another that nobody in the room even batted an eye. Your arms were resting on the table in front of you, mindlessly drawing patterns onto the tabletop and your eyes were entirely fixed on the screen in the front. You were sitting a little far behind in the left corner of the room, so it was a good thing that the screen was rather big and you were able to see perfectly fine from back there.

Lo’ak however, had a very hard time concentrating and following the movies plot. He was too busy focusing on the feeling of your soft bottom pressed tight against his crotch, where his erection grew with every passing second. He mentally cursed your choice of clothing today. Nothing else but this thin piece of woven fabric separated your privat parts from his cock. Worst of all was probably, that he was to one that had made this loincloth for you– with exactly that thought in mind.

You were painfully unaware about how much you were affecting your stepbrother, when you squirmed in his lap like that. Pressing yourself further against his crotch whenever you got scared. In the corner of his eyes, he watched the way you chewed on your bottom lip and how your breath hitched whenever the masked killer was on screen. You were adorable like this.

Lo’ak couldn’t help the way his hands wandered over your belly, caressing your skin as if they had a mind on their own. Experimentally, he dipped them a little lower, tracing the faint stripes on your lower abdomen and hips. His touches slowly grew more confident and bold over time. Sliding his hands over your thighs, he begins to massage your soft flesh, paying special attention to the squishy insides of your legs. Your skin was warm and smooth there. You weren’t unfamiliar with his touch, not even on those parts of your body. You didn’t resist him, when he wedged your legs slightly apart to make room for his hands. He could feel your tail, gently swaying next to his leg, making it known that you were relaxed and content. Maybe a little excited, but that was probably because of the movie.

Discreetly, Lo‘ak glanced around the room. Neither his friends nor his family payed any attention to him, everyone seemingly focused on the movie. Good.

His hands slide just a little further, until his thumb followed the outline of where your loincloth covered your sex. You were so lost in the bright, flashing movements in the front of the room, that you barely registered what was happening. Until Lo’aks thumb glides over the thin fabric resting over your folds. You inhaled sharply, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. The movie was too loud anyways.

You blink a few times, as if you were trying to gather your thoughts and make out what your stepbrother was doing. You were used to him being touchy with you, showing you just a little more affection than your other siblings, touching you in ways that stepsiblings weren’t supposed to touch each other. But Lo’ak always assured you that it was normal and that you should just let it happen if it felt good. Sure, hugs and cuddles and kisses felt good, very good even– but this was something completely new. It made your stomach tingle, almost the same way it did when he kissed you with his tongue.

Meanwhile, Lo’ak repeats the same motion again. He adds a little more pressure over the thin cloth, enough to part your lips under his touch to feel for your clit. Even covered by your loincloth, he expertly found the little nub of pleasure. Once found, he presses down on it and instantly, your eyes widen and your back straightens.

"Lo’ak?", you call out for him softly, barely turning your head in his direction as you spoke because you were just too flustered to look at him right now.

"It’s okay, just… just pay attention to the movie, yeah?", he whispered, sounding almost breathlessly as he spoke against the shell of your ear. You swallowed thickly, but like the good little sister that you were, you nodded and tried your best to regain focus on the plot.

At some point when the killer lured one of the human teenagers into his cabin somewhere in the woods, you felt Lo’ak pull your loincloth to the side.

His fingertips were ghosting over your flesh, with barely enough pressure, yet you were already panting. His index finger slides through your soft folds and you hear him exhale a shaky breathe behind you.

"You’re so wet, what’s got you all excited?", he whispered along a soft, content hum. You could literally feel the way your cheeks changed color, from blue to purple, because you were just so flustered from your big brothers filthy words. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to him. You didn’t even dare to open your mouth, too scared that a moan could slip out at any second. Especially, when he begins to circle your clit with his thumb again.

His index finger then glides over your entrance, spreading your slickness and coating his digits in those clear juices. Ever so carefully, he slips his very fingertips into your cunt. Just an inch, before he pulls out again. You visibly tense above him, while he repeats the motion a few times. You bite your lip hard enough to keep quiet.

Slowly, Lo’ak slides his finger deeper inside, deep enough until his last knuckle disappeared past your tight opening. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder, before he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you. It’s slow, but enough to make you gasp and huff out tiny breaths of air.

"Shh, you have to be quiet, okay?"

He was one to talk. Right when the words had left his lips, he pushed a second finger into you. Your hand, that was resting against the tabletop just a few minutes ago, quickly comes up to cover your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut when he begins to scissor you open.

Lo’ak could already feel you clench around his digits and you were slick enough, that it slowly begun to produce faint squelching sounds. Thankfully, the movie was getting to its high point and the dramatic music mixed with the screams of the killers victims overturned your soft whimpers and the obscene sounds that your pussy made.

"Lo‘ak I’m… I‘m really trying, but—", you turn your head enough so he could hear your quiet whimpers, but he quickly shushed you.

"I know, baby. Does your big brother make you feel good? Feeling all special down there, hm?" He tilted his head and you got a glimpse of the smug grin on his face. Nodding your head quickly, Lo’ak kisses your cheek affectionately. "Try to focus", he then tells you, acting like he was paying attention to the movie again. You try your best to do like him, but it was getting more difficult with every thrust of his fingers.

When his other hand finally joins him under your loincloth, you almost loose it altogether. Now he was using both of them, one hand circling your clit with the one was busy burying two of his thick digits into your tight pussy.

Mindlessly, you buck your hips in an attempt to try and move away from him, the sensation of his hands all over your private parts simply being too much for you when you weren’t allowed to make any noise. You arch your back a little, your bottom pressing harder against his crotch only to feel his throbbing cock right there where you were sitting.

He was hard beneath you, impossible to ignore, yet there was no way you could do anything to help him out with this. Not here, to say the least. But Lo’ak didn’t even made any intentions for you to do so. You could clearly feel him twitch against the curve of your bottom, desperately waiting to get touched, yet Lo‘ak only payed attention to you. Seemingly taking pleasure by simply playing with you, teasing you in a room full of people. He carefully grinds himself against you a few times, but that was it. It would’ve been too obvious for anyone else if he kept doing that though. You, almost humping his hands was enough to hide already.

The pace in which he pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy has you squirming in his lap, toes curling and biting your tongue to prevent yourself from moaning out loud. The way he was rubbing your clit simultaneously, switching between slow and fast, as if he wanted you to become vocal, drove you quicker to the edge than you thought was even possible.

But then, on the other side of the room, your stepfather coughs and shifts in his seat. It startles you enough to squeeze painfully tight around Lo’aks fingers.

"Easy, sis", he coos next to your ear, "It’s okay, I’ve got you. They won’t see anything, don’t worry."

You squeezed your eyes shut once again and tried not to think about all the people in the room, because it just felt too good to stop now. The strokes of his fingers, the way he rubbed your clit as if he could read your mind, as if he did this a thousand times already and knew exactly how to make you come.

His speed picked up slightly, only making you whimper again. You leaned forward enough to rest your head on the table, encircled by your own arms to make it look like your were just tired. In reality, you bit down hard on your bottom lip and your eyes crossed before they rolled to the back of your head.

The soft, wet walls of your pussy were clamping down on his digits, tightening even more as the rest of you was starting to tense too. You could feel yourself right on the edge, his thick fingers pumping into you with vigour, your arousal running down between your legs, soaking his fingers where he was rubbing your throbbing clit over and over.

Your body trembled in his lap from the efforts of keeping any noises inside, when Lo’ak didn’t bother to slow down, carrying you thoroughly through every second of your climax until you were limp and whimpering quietly against your palm that was now covering your mouth again.

How he had managed to make you come harder with his hands than you ever had with your own was fucking beyond you.

When Lo’ak finally pulled his hand away and discreetly rearranged your loincloth, you slowly sit up again, letting your back rest against his front. You were spent, chest rapidly rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath again. In the corner of your eye, you watch Lo’ak lick his fingers clean with a wet pop.

Not shortly after, the lights of the common room are turned on again and you squint your eyes until they have adjusted to the brightness.

"And? How did you like it, guys?", Spider gleefully approached you both as soon as the blinds went up again and everyone had started their little chitter chatter about the movie, "You look a little shaken, everything alright?" He looked at you with genuine concern for a moment. At least until Lo’ak bursted out laughing, "She’s such cry baby, she was super scared the whole time. You should’ve seen her, bro! Maybe we should leave her with Tuk next time if these are too scary for her, right sis?" Lo’ak pinched your cheek teasingly and you couldn’t help but blush even harder at his words, a little pout forming when they both laughed at that.

You squirmed in Lo‘aks lap, cringing, as you felt your own slickness smear between your thighs with the movement of his laughter. Spider then turned his attention back to you, with both eyebrows raised high, as if he had just made a great discovery, "Ohh so that’s why you were hiding your face in the end? C’mon, it wasn’t even that scary!"

#avatar 2 #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #awow #loak x reader #loak x female reader #loak #atwow loak #loak fanfiction #loak sully #lo’ak #lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan #lo’ak sully #lo’ak x reader

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mvybanks · 3 months

Text

SAFETY NET — ch. 3

a/n: jj is a simp but we all knew that right? spider-man jj edit in the moodboard is NOT mine, check out jjyiit on pinterest! + that edit is doing things to me and a spidey jj au is calling out to me now

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+, smut (of course), angst (lil bit of violence and name calling🫣), protective!jj

word count: 4.1k

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—

“Fuck!” You moaned out as you rode the man underneath you, who was enjoying this too much, letting out loud sounds of pleasure.

JJ’s hands greedily grabbed your breasts, squeezing them and absolutely loving the way you reacted to his touch. His cock deliciously thrusted inside your soaking cunt, your legs trembling while you continued to lift your hips up and down on his member, one hand on his chest. As your fingers scratched his skin and you threw your head back in pleasure, biting down on your bottom lip to not let out any sound, JJ loudly moaned your name, causing a blush to creep up your cheeks.

You giggled and quickly placed a hand on his mouth. “Shut up!” You laughed, warning him to lower the volume for all of his housemates were home.

“Can’t help it, baby,” his needy hands gripped your behind, hard, forcing you to move just like he wanted you to, “Feels so good.” He groaned before he securely planted his feet on the bed and began to thrust up into you.

The filthy, squelching sounds of your wet heat filled the room, almost making you feel embarrassed, but you knew that they only spurred JJ on. You squealed when he manhandled you until you were lying on your back and he was on top of you, hitting spots inside of you that no one had ever been able to find before. His lips traveled from your neck to your chest, biting and nipping at the sensitive skin as you whined his name.

“‘M gonna cum.” You tried to whisper in his ear as you fisted his hair to bring his head close to your lips.

JJ groaned, completely lost in pleasure, “Cum all over my cock, baby, c’mon.”

The sound of his grunts, mixed with the dirty words that you had learned he was an expert at, brought you to the edge. Your back arched into him and your teeth trapped your bottom lip in order to stop your own moans, although they still managed to get out, which triggered his own release. He swore the sight was heavenly, and damn it did he wish to stop the world in that moment. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get used to it, having you all to himself and yet not having you at all. There was a reason why JJ didn’t do meaningless hookups anymore, he was all grown up and he craved something real, he wanted affection and passion, but god didn’t you make a man throw away all of his beliefs. He had asked for it and he wasn’t regretting it one bit — not yet, anyway.

You both lied on your backs as you attempted at regaining your breaths. Your arm covered your eyes as your chest raised up and down until a chuckle suddenly escaped from your swollen lips. “You might’ve just killed me, Maybank.”

Turning his head towards you, he grinned cockily. “Didn’t hear you complain about it.”

You shook your head, letting out another laugh, “Shut up.”

JJ scooted closer to you as you lowered your arm from your head, and he went to brush some hair out of your face. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?” He asked you softly.

Looking up at him, for he was now slightly hovering above you, you smiled. “I don’t know. It’s not like I understand what’s going on anyway.”

“You’re supposed to come and see me, I don’t care if you understand the game.”

Smirking, you playfully said, “Well, there are lots of other players that I would love to see.”

That was when JJ went to completely hover on top of you, looking down at you with challenge clear in his eyes. “None of them could make you feel the way I can and you know it.”

As you put all of your weight on your elbows behind you and closed the distance between you, you said, “You jealous, Maybank?” The playful tone was clear in your voice as you spoke those words, because after all he had no reason to be jealous, right? Why would he be when you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours? However, the look in his eyes was unreadable, it wasn’t challenging anymore, but a glimpse of something you couldn’t quite grasp swam in those sea-blue orbits.

Without giving you time to show your confusion, he connected his lips with yours and silenced every doubt in your head. You weren’t sure what that had been for but you were glad that he had done that, because the conversation had seemed to had taken a heavier meaning, one that you didn’t want to understand nor question. You were okay with how things were going, with the way your heart had begun to feel so light, your chest free from the disappointments, and you knew that you could finally breathe.

“See you tonight?” You whispered against his lips as your hands carefully pushed on his chest to put some distance between your mouths.

He hummed. “Eager to see my costume, baby?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, knowing damn well that you were about to drive him insane over yours. “Getting too cocky, Maybank.”

Smirking at you, he let his lips trail down your jaw, torturously slow as they brushed against your neck, lightly nipping at the skin before sticking out his tongue to slightly lick and bite, until your hands found their way in his hair and a breathy moan left your swollen lips. His mouth then reached your ear, pressing a light kiss behind it, then licking the shell of your ear, and finally lowering his voice to murmur, “I think I have every right to get cocky, don’t you think?” And with that, he got up from your body, rolling over on his back with a crooked grin, and leaving you close to panting next to him.

You gaped at him, the ghost of a laugh playing on your lips as you attempted to sound mad when you said, “Asshole!” You sat up, keeping the bedsheet close to your chest in order to cover yourself, and turned to the side, letting your legs dangle from the edge of the bed before you tried to stand up from it.

Tried – because JJ was already reaching for your hand, chuckling at your antics and pulling you down again, “C’mon, c’mere.” He laughed again, which only made your faux anger raise even more. Nonetheless, you sat back down and let him lay you on your back, until he was kneeling between your legs. “Let me make it up to you, mh?” And it surely wasn’t a question for he was already kissing his way down your stomach, ready to be forgiven.

—

JJ had spent the rest of his day at practice, although his thoughts had been filled with the images of what you two had done that morning, which had been such a huge distraction. He couldn’t get you out of his head, everything about you pulled him to you and he just knew that there was nothing that he could’ve done to put a stop to what he was feeling. How can you get someone out of your head when you spend every waking minute with them? You just can’t.

The problem was that JJ didn’t want to either.

When he showed up to your door that evening, he had believed he was going to have you all over him all evening. The tight costume left nothing to the imagination, and he knew what he was doing, remembering all too well when you had confessed your embarrassing crush on Tom Holland in Spider-man only a couple of nights prior, which had given him enough time to find the perfect costume.

Oh, was he wrong.

As you opened the front door, JJ swore he began feeling dizzy at the sight of you. The small — fucking inexistent — skirt you were wearing was surely showing your perfect ass, hanging in the air and begging to be grabbed by him. If there was one word that he could've used to describe your costume, it would've been either tight or tiny. Your breasts were basically spilling out of the white corset, jiggling as you slowly turned on yourself to let JJ see everything — and by everything, you meant literally everything.

"So," you giggled, already excited at his reaction, "What do you think?"

All that he could think about was how could such an innocent get up, an angel costume for fuck's sake, turn him on so much. “Maybe we should just stay inside tonight.” He rasped as his eyes raked up and down your body. He finally decided to touch you, feel the material of the clothes that he was dreaming about ripping off you, placing his itchy hands on your waist and grabbing it tightly, with hunger and need.

You craved the way he would touch you when he would get like that, which was why you decided on making his misery go on a little while longer, although you would've loved to have accepted his proposal. Therefore, you put your hands on his shoulders and then you interlocked them behind his neck. “We’ll stay just for a couple of hours and then we can come back here, ‘kay?” You whispered as a pout took over your features, and JJ took advantage of the closeness to kiss it until your lips turned into a smile.

You hadn’t gotten used to that and you weren’t sure it was something you were supposed to do — random kisses, that is. Do friends with benefits kiss randomly? Is that part of the benefits? You didn’t know and to be completely honest, you didn’t want to know because there was no way you were ever going to be able to tell him not to kiss you — especially because he had the ability of taking your breath away and make your pulse quicken just by the touch of his lips.

Suddenly, his hand began to slip down towards the exposed skin of your upper thigh, making your need grow even more. He groaned at the contact and rested his forehead against yours, “You sure? ‘Cause you’re killin’ me here.”

You chuckled and let your hands dance down his hard chest, so visible through the thin costume he was wearing. You couldn't have lied, you were dying for him to take you while wearing a spider-man suit, but you also wanted to go out and have fun. “You’re not making this easy on me either, Maybank, but…” You got on your tiptoes and reached his ear to whisper, “…I’ll reward you later.” And with that, you took his hand and led him outside, a groaning JJ behind you.

“You’re literally the devil in disguise, baby.”

—

The party was packed with people. They were all already drunk and looking for their victim of the night as you and JJ sat away from the horny college students and your friends, for they sure as hell didn’t want to watch the two of you share saliva. You were sitting on his lap and his hands were stuck to your body while his mouth explored yours. It hadn’t taken long for the two of you to start making out when you had arrived, after all JJ couldn’t take his eyes and hands off of you and he knew exactly how to turn you on with even just one look — pretty remarkable for someone that you had been sleeping with for roughly two weeks, but he absolutely knew what he was doing.

You, on the other hand, felt like this man had just made all of your fantasies come true, dressing up as one of your favorite characters ever. He had remembered. You had shared your highschool crush with him with your friends at his place on one drunken night, thinking he was never going to remember it — but he did, and damn it were you glad that he had.

“If we don’t leave right now, I’ll have to fuck you right here, you know that?” He mumbled as his lips had gotten near your ear, biting down on your earlobe.

Keeping his head close with one hand, you let him kiss down your cheek, neck, until you realized that his hand, that had been previously resting on your thigh, had started to inch closer up your non-existent skirt. You giggled and placed your own hand on his. “Not here!” And as you were about to get up and finally give in to what you both wanted, one of your favorite songs began playing, which made you gasp and your eyes sparkled. “Oh god, I love this song!”

On cue, Elle came to find you and excitedly grabbed your forearm, “Sorry, JJ! I have to steal her away.” She all but squealed as she dragged you among the other dancing people while you mouthed an ‘i’m sorry’ at a smirking JJ who couldn’t wait to gawk at you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he wasn’t the only one who was enjoying your dancing, though. The dark haired guy that had been staring at you since you had joined your friend to dance decided to get up and walk to you, taking advantage of the sudden absence of the curly haired woman. Unknown hands grabbed your hips and as you believed for a second that they belonged to JJ, you almost relaxed against him, until he pushed his own hips against your behind. Your eyes widened and you all but jumped away as you turned around to face him and tried to get him off, but his hold on you was too strong.

“Hey! Get off!” You pushed at his chest while he only got closer to you.

“Been watchin’ you and I know exactly what you need, doll face.” He smirked down at you, and it was so different from JJ’s, it made an unsettling feeling grow in your stomach.

Thank God it didn’t last long, however, because the blue eyed man was fast to come in and push the disgusting man away from you, putting some distance between you by throwing a strong and protective arm in front of your body. “You better stay the fuck away from her, you got it?!” He growled, although keeping his voice down enough to not cause a scene.

The man, that JJ realized had familiar features, only crossed his arms on his chest and challenged him with one look. “Why? ‘S that your new bitch, Maybank?”

And well, he really didn’t like what he had said, you thought when a violent fist flew.

JJ’s fist.

In that guy’s face.

You were sure he had murder in his eyes as he looked down at the, now, bleeding man. Your fingers grabbed his forearm, pulling him to you as you yelled at him to just let it go. A crowd had formed around you, friends of the dark haired man began to rush to him and check if he was okay, and you wished that no fight was going to happen. Finally, JJ turned around to gaze at you and he quickly embraced your shoulders and held you close to his chest as he led the two of you outside — not before the strange man could add, “We’ll see what Coach Benson has to say about this, Maybank!”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you attempted to stare up at the man whose arm was keeping you attached to his chest, but he was too focused on pushing people away to give you an explanation. Only once you had reached the exit, you found JJ’s teammates and your friends outside, their eyes immediately on him.

“Are you fucking stupid, JJ?” Adam yelled, ready to possibly put his hands on his friend but holding himself back at the sight of you.

“Shut up.” He grumbled and decided to keep walking towards his car.

“Shut up? Really? JJ! You know what happens now!” Nick was the one to reprimand his friend this time, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

“What happens now? What’s going on?” You echoed, looking for JJ’s gaze once again.

“Nothing. Nothing happens,” he coldly said as his eyes were fixated on his teammates, before they traveled to stare at your worried features, “Let’s go home.” He added more softly.

Nick let out a humorless chuckle, “You wanna know what happens, Y/n?” He halted JJ’s movements.

“Young, stop —“

“He could lose his title as captain,” Marcus interrupted, “Or worse, he could get kicked off the team. You’re on a fucking scholarship too, JJ! ”

“What?” To say shock was written all over your features is an understatement. “What the hell were you thinking?!” You slapped his chest, obviously angry at him.

Wrapping his fingers around the wrist of the hand that wanted to murder him, his sapphire eyes showed you the gentleness behind his stare. “I wasn’t. He was a fucking creep who deserved to get his face caved in, alright? He’s lucky he only got a punch in the face.”

As you were conflicted about wether you wanted to keep yelling or drag him to his car and show him just how much you appreciated what he did, Adam spoke up again, “There’s something else.” Now, JJ was also confused as he raised one eyebrow at him. “He wasn’t just any guy. He’s from Redwood and he’s the captain of the hockey team.”

JJ’s eyes widened, “Redwood?!” He affirmed incredulously before one hand flew to his face, running down until it hit his mouth.

Nicholas spoke up angrily again, “Yeah, we’re against them tomorrow! Coach is gonna think you did it on purpose.”

JJ nodded to himself in deep thought, then he adjusted his arm around your shoulders and for a second his whole body relaxed again. “No, he won’t. I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning.”

“JJ—“ Marcus tried to begin, but was interrupted by his inexplicably calm friend.

“I’m taking her home. Talk to you guys tomorrow.” Was all he said before he silently began leading you to his car.

You were stumped. How was he not freaking out? Hell, you were more worried than he was. Instead, he drove his car with ease, not a single crease between his eyebrows as his hand rested on your bare thigh, his thumb stroking the soft skin from time to time.

The truth was JJ didn't know what was going on with him. He didn't know how to explain the feeling that had taken over him when he had seen another man's hands on your body. He was aware of what he was risking when his fist had made contact with that guy's nose because, whether he was a hockey player or not, JJ was always on thin ice, being on a scholarship and the captain of the team. But every single thought had been pushed out of his head when he had noticed your panicked state, the way you were attempting at pushing a man twice your size off of you, and he just saw red.

And he didn't regret it.

“Are we not going to talk about what happened?” You broke the silence, still in shock from the events of the evening.

He shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I can defend myself, JJ. You don’t need to put yourself at risk for me. You shouldn’t have done that.” You admitted sincerely, although you knew what you had felt when you saw him protecting you — when he had punched someone in the face to defend your honor.

“I know.” He replied quickly, confidently, “I also know that I would do it again and I’m not sorry at all.”

You gazed up at him, admiring his features, something that you had started to love doing because JJ was too much of a beautiful man not to stare at him all the time. Attempting at forming words, he preceded you by grabbing one of your hands in the one that had been previously resting on your thigh, then he brought it to his lips to kiss the back of it. “Stop worrying.”

You sighed. “You never told me you were on a scholarship.”

He was just putting the car in parking outside your apartment complex as the conversation went on. “So? It’s not that important.”

“Jay, could you lose your scholarship because of this? Because I can apologize to that guy or I don’t know, anything —“

Having stopped the car completely, his hand reached for your jaw, cradling it in his palm and making you stop blabbering. “You’re not apologizing to anybody, baby.” He breathed on your lips.

“But —“

“Just kiss me.” And you obliged, because who could ever say no to this man?

The rest of the night was spent with JJ all over you, every single one of your senses could feel him and only him. Perhaps you had imagined it, but you had felt something different in his touch that evening, more urgent, eager — possessive. But that wasn't possible, right?

—

You never thought you would've found yourself in your current position, but there you were, on the edge of your seat as you watched twelve men skate on the ice. The tension in the rink could've been cut with a knife, and you were terrified of what was going to happen.

JJ and the guy from last night were in front of each other, waiting for the referee to drop the puck, and although no one was as jittery as you were yet, you knew something was going to happen.

Unbeknownst to you, they were already murdering each other with their eyes. The opponent was taking advantage of the situation, knowing full well that after what the captain of the opposing team had done the previous night, he was going to have to be extremely careful, which he was not going to make easy for him.

"Your bitch here, Maybank?" He asked, low enough that only JJ could've heard, but he pretended to not have heard him. "You serious with her? 'Cause I'd love to get my hands on her. She looks real fun, isn't she?"

JJ's knuckles hurt. He was glad for the gloves he had to wear or his palms would've probably started bleeding by then from the way he was tightly closing his hands into a fist, doing everything he could to not absolutely jump the guy right there and then. The burning stare should've been enough for the smirking man in front of him, but he knew the way of thinking of those kind of guys and he wasn't going to stop until he had broken his opponent.

Once the game started, everything went downhill. Redwood didn't care about the amount of fouls they were inflicting on the opposing team, because the referee had probably been corrupted. Between boarding, kneeing and hooking, the crowd keeps booing the referee, fed up with how no one had done anything to stop the opposing team yet.

You were sweating. Elle was yelling along the other onlookers, which made you realize how many times Redwood was supposed to have gotten a penalty.

"He can take care of himself, babe." Your best friend whispered to you when she noticed your distress, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

You couldn't understand why you were so scared for him, why your palms were sweaty and your heart squeezed every time they landed on him being almost pushed to the ground. Everyone was able to tell that something was up between him and the captain of Redwood, and yet no one was doing anything to stop the latter from boarding JJ — right in front of you.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you raised from your seat, following the rest of the crowd as you yelled, "Do fucking something!" At whoever was in charge.

Finally, half time came around, and you were dying to see JJ and the damage that had been done to him, but it was not possible. As soon as he had skated off the center of the rink, Coach Benson called him over, a serious look upon his face, which was worrying you. Anxiously waiting for him, you saw JJ angrily skating off the ice and out of the rink, and you followed him until you were able to see him eye to eye.

"What happened?" You asked, attempting at reading the look in the storm of his eyes.

"Coach just benched me for two weeks." He ran a hand through his messy hair, free from his helmet, "I'm gonna fucking kill that guy."

taglist:

@notslay-norcleor @poppet05 @solargazes @cindersnightmare @chaostudee @goldenroutledge @harleyharlot @babypoguelife @voguesir @vigilanteshitposting @gemofthenight @magnificantmermaid @f4ll-for-you @marzipaanz @guililove @freyawhitexxx1 @mistalli @shady-the-simp @fangirl-madz @one-sweet-gubler @camelliaflow3r @emery-333 @hallecarey1 @lovelornanonymity @rafetopia @maybankslover @lyndys @futurecorps3 @maybanksbabe @moremaybank @jjsbank444 @vivian-555 @jjfordays @highpope @livsters @starkeylover @peachpitlover @fishingirl12 @congratsloserr @loveu-always @rentaldarling @embersfae @bee6r @savagemickey03 @idli-dosa @hotchsstuff @forevermoreharrington + in the comments!

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angelickks · 11 months

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Miguel Headcanons: Mrs. O'Hara

1k+ - husband! miguel o'hara x spider-woman wife! reader

summary: miguel o'hara and his wife, but make it headcanons! warnings: some swearing. descriptions of two injuries but nothing graphic! that lovey dovey shit. overall fluff. not proofread terrible. lmk if i missed some! notes: this is slight au, meaning i chose peace but i don't think y'all will entirely mind. i am in no way fluent in spanish, as i only know very few words and phrases so i figure i throw that out there. i think i covered all my bases so enjoy, muah!

pt 2!

To any newcomers, learning that Miguel O’Hara had a wife was a concept many couldn’t wrap their heads around…

Could you blame them?

He meant business, he was cutthroat with the way he ran things and no one was safe from his wrath

Well….unless you were his wife

“MIGUEL!” Jess chuckled at the rare use of your husband’s name on your tongue. “Shut it!” He practically hissed at her, she sent him an unimpressed look but that quickly changed when you came into view. She sent you a teasing smile followed by a “Hey mama.” You gave a quick peck to her cheek before your eyes landed on your husband. He cleared his throat and swallowed at the annoyed look painted across his wife's face. “Mi vida,” he simpered but was quickly shut down, “Cut the shit.” He knew the exact reason for this sudden intrusion, you caught wind of what happened between Miles and Miguel earlier that afternoon. Unbeknownst to Miguel, Peter B. may have ratted to the infamous Mrs. O’Hara that her husband might’ve tried to throw a table at Miles, again. Why? Well, Miles had tried to get into Miguel’s good graces the way he knew best, food of course. That brings the couple to right now, you giving your husband a look that meant hell while he stood there looking like a kid caught red-handed by his mother. You wasted no time, “Throwing tables at kids Miguel? Miles of all people?” Jess let out a boisterous laugh as she exited Miguel’s office, Miguel shot her another snarl when she turned back to make a face at him. “Don’t get mad at her! We discussed this: just because you’ve got a temper doesn’t mean you start with KIDS!” Now you were pacing back and forth rambling, frustration oozing off your figure. He sighed in defeat and touched your waist gently, halting your pacing. You narrowed your eyes at your husband, quickly glancing at the hand on your waist. “I’m sorry mi vida, you’re right. I take full responsibility for my actions but-” You shot a icy glare at him, effectively shutting down whatever he was gonna say to even try and justify it. He dropped his head but was pleasantly surprised by the soft kiss on his forehead. You wrapped your arms around his waist and planted another kiss on the wide expanse of your husband's chest. “Yeah…shut up,” He huffed out a chuckle at your comment and caressed the back of your neck, claws lightly scratching you. You gave him a sweet smile before shooting a web at the neck of his suit and gave him a particularly hard tug so he was eye level with you, “Pull that shit again and you can spend a couple of nights in this “office”, mi amor.” You pecked the corner of his mouth before releasing his suit and untangling yourself from his arms. “It’s lunchtime, I brought food. Come.” He grunted as you made your way over to his slightly dented table placed in the corner of his workspace with a bag he hadn't noticed until now. He saw a flash of your webs attached to his chest before he was pulled to the spot next to you.

You were easily a favorite at HQ

You were unabashedly sweet, easy to talk to, and overall had a great energy

Not to mention, you were amazing on the field

Personality wise you were the COMPLETE opposite of your counterpart

And that's why it was so hard to believe why you of all people were with a man like your husband

That’s how you earned the nickname, so lovingly given to you by none other than Hobie, boss-lady. Something he didn’t say lightly, as he never referred to Miguel as “boss” despite him being the one that ran the place

This peeved Miguel, not because he didn’t agree with you being “boss-lady” but simply because it was Hobie

As for Gwen, Miles, and Pav…..you were their work-mom

You seemed to always be saving their asses from your husband's temper, for which they were very grateful

While at work he was well…Miguel

Brooding, perpetually stressed, a void of emotion rlly

But with you, it was the complete opposite

Anyone in a hundred-mile radius could see that Miguel O’Hara was putty in the hands of his wife

Hobie, Gwen, Miles, and Pav had just gotten back from what they deemed a successful mission, but to Miguel successful was the last word he’d use to even describe it. So here they were in his office being reprimanded, again.

“All four of you went against almost every single protocol in the damn book, protocols set in place to prevent your mistakes! Once again, disobeying strict orders to follow them!”

The sight found below Miguel’s platform was not a new one, not even close. Nor was it new when you just so happened to swing in at the right moment.

“Amor! You forgot the bag I packed for you this morning” Your sweet smile lightened up the dark room. The group watched as their boss become the walking definition of heart eyes. “Oh I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Feigning confusion while subtly shooting the four a knowing look. “You? Never love. Come, let me see you” Your husband beckoned, holding out a hand for you. Your webs glowed as they pulled you up the platform, you swiftly reached for his hand and pulled him into you. You made quick work of maneuvering his back toward the group. They watched as you placed a kiss on his collarbone lovingly, quickly sticking your head over your husband’s bulky shoulder and mouthing the words, “Out, now!” Disguising it as another hug.

They wasted no time doing just that, earning you hushed sighs of relief and a small salute.

Some perks came with working with your significant other

Seeing and being with each other often

Constantly checking up on each other, fair share of making sure the other is eating and getting an ample amount of sleep

Looking out for each other in the field blah blah blah

You always looked out for Miguel, but you knew he could handle his own.

Miguel on the other hand? Easily the multiverse's biggest worry wart

The poor man has lost so much that he cannot bare the thought of losing his driving force.

This meaning every scratch or bruise, he’s waiting on you hand and foot

You came back from a seemingly easy mission with Noir. It wasn’t something you two couldn’t handle, it was simple. Catch the anomaly and report back to HQ. It was just this time, you returned with a gash in your thigh and a shitty bruise on your cheekbone. It was lightwork in your eyes, the perks of the job.

Yeah, not for your husband.

The minute you walked into HQ, you were met with the sight of your brooding partner donning his signature snarl. Not pointed at you but at your partner. You rolled your eyes at his antics making quick work to defend Noir from your husband’s fury. “How about you go get this thing situated Noir?" Motioning to the irate anomaly in tow, "Gotta deal with the big guy.” He nodded quickly before walking off, avoiding Miguel’s hard glare.

“Don’t get mad at him, it’s not his fault. Blame the ugly thing we just captured.” Attempting to soothe your beast of a husband, quickly picking up on his clenched fists. He swiftly reaches for your jaw, holding it gently to scan for any further injuries. You reach for his clenched fist and massaged his palm to release the tension there. In a flash, he places a kiss on your forehead and you quickly pick up on his ragged and uneven breathing, frowning as you recognize the tell-tale sign of his anxiety. He softly releases your jaw from his grip and rests the same hand on your lower back, practically dragging you to the med bay nearby. He got there hastily, keeping it together to stay mindful of the gash on your thigh.

It was hard to hand you off to the doctors, who stitched and cleaned you up in time. But not fast enough for Miguel, simultaneously vexed and impatient, who insisted (basically threatened, but ok) that he stay in the corner closest to you. As per usual, you took it like a champ, unlike your very frigid husband menacingly staring down at the unfazed doctor. They gave you some final instructions on how to keep the wound sanitary and to stay off the field for a week or two while insisting you stay a night in the med bay (this is upon Miguel's request threat so he could have supplies readily available if anything were to happen) After the doctor left your side, Miguel was right there softly caressing your unbruised cheek, causing you to melt into his touch. “Love, you realize that the doctor is just doing their job and you can’t just stitch me up yourself right? No matter how talented you think you are,” You said, sleepily teasing Miguel. He shot you a very unenthusiastic look, rubbing his thumb over your eyelid gently to coax you to close your eyes. “Shut up, go to sleep muñeca” He placed another kiss on your forehead, making his way to your cheeks while being sure to avoid the bruised one before making it to your lips. "Rude ass" you murmured, he lightly poked your nose with the pad of his thumb. "I love you endlessly, mi vida" he whispered you opened your eyes one last time and gave him a knowing smirk, "I love you, I'm sorry for worrying you amor. It's going to be okay."

He spent that whole night at your side, woke you up once to get you to change into more comfortable clothes, and put you right back to sleep. He had spent a few hours rubbing your feet and softly singing to you in Spanish in the dimly lit room. He didn’t sleep as great as you wanted him to, in fact, woke up with an annoying ache in his back from the shitty chair he slept in.

Safe to say you spent about two weeks in the "office", helping with paperwork. All while trying to convince your unrelenting husband to let you massage the new annoying knot in his back. which he let you help with after a few empty threats and a lot of kisses.

BONUS:

A few days after the group’s mission, the last thing they expected to see was their boss in the cafeteria unfortunately unaccompanied by you, walking towards them.

“Next time you guys decide to break protocol, don’t expect my wife to save you.” He grunted, his fangs flashing slightly. They watched worriedly as he sauntered over to where you sat five tables over.

Now it was your turn to look like a kid caught red-handed.

xtras! i had sm fun writing this its 12am and i have work tmr but oh well. possible pt. 2?

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nonranghaes · 1 year

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warnings: spider mentions bc writer is terrified and needs to write comfort. this is idol au, btw. (also readers in a polyamorous relationship with both chris and felix, just a heads up)

chris jolts awake when he feels you tugging at his sleeve, barely opening his eyes by the time you speak up.

“christheresahugespidercanyoupleasegogetridofit--”

it’s... a lot. it’s clear that you’re terrified (although his brain hasn’t deciphered what you said yet), and he sits up, reaching out to pull you in. on the other side of the bed, he can feel felix stir from his own slumber--and he hears him stifle a yawn. chris just focuses on you, though, “honey--”

you sniffle, fingers dinging into his arm as you hold him by the forearms, “please go get it before it moves--”

he doesn’t even have to decipher what you said anymore. he knows only one thing gets you this scared, and he gently pulls you in further until you’re actually sitting on the bed. “it’s okay,” he says, “i’ll go catch it. don’t worry,” he presses a kiss onto the crown of your head, getting out of bed. “i won’t come back until it’s gone, okay?”

you nod frantically, and chris mumbles felix’s name to rouse him further. felix turns over, gaze meeting chris’s--although he quickly nods toward you, redirecting the attention--and he understands. he kicks off the blankets, crawling over to you as chris takes his leave as designated-spider-getter.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, drawing you in for a hug. “chris will get it.”

your breath hitches, and felix can feel as you start to cry. it’s a frustrating fear to have--felix knows, as does chris, because you’ve cried to them before about how you wish you could just be normal about those eight-legged little things--and you know that they’re far more afraid of you than you are of them. or, well, that’s what everyone tells you. you haven’t seen a spider have a breakdown because of you, but what do you know?

he holds you, gently tracing hearts on your back as he lets you cry your fears out. felix’s lips press against your softly, just for a second, before he pulls you in again. he draws your face into his shoulder, gently talking you through it. when he finally draws back, once your cries have stifled, he begins searching around.

“where’s bbokari...?” he mumbles. when he and chris are away, the plushies they gave you take their place (... alongside the others, sometimes, but you don’t tell them about that since you’ll never live it down). he moves, patting around until he hears chris come back. “hey,” he calls out, voice raspy with sleep, “do you see bbokari?”

chris stops for a moment with a “hm?” but looks over to your dresser where the group was last assembled. he reaches for the little chick, tossing him over to felix. he returns to bed soon enough after felix moves out of the way, gently guiding you back to the middle of the bed by the arm. he’s pushed bbokari into your arms, and already snuggled in next to you as chris pulls the blankets back over you all.

“it’s okay,” chris presses a kiss against your shoulder. “it’s gone. i took it outside. we’ll protect you, baby.” there’s a teasing lift to his voice, but you know he genuinely means it.

“mmhm,” felix sounds, planting a soft kiss against your lips. “we’ve got you,” he promises. “alright?”

you snuggle in, both of your boyfriends cuddling in to keep you as safe as they can. it takes you a while to get back to sleep... but it helps to have your silly saviors nearby, always happy to catch and release the spiders and soothe you with as many kisses as it takes.

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greeniegaes · 1 month

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Back at it agains with another svsss au im pulling out of my (slightly) sleep deprived brain

Basically yada yada everything happens as normal UP UNTIL the immortal alliance arc. SQQ gets this searing headache and the system just keeps popping up with errors, so while they are all fighting the spider hoard the system just kinda snaps and breaks. SQQ suddenly feels like he’s hit by a truck, his body starting to act like his sickly Shen Yuan body and his cultivation is tying itself into dead knots and every bone in his body feels like it’s locking up. There’s no system to blame for things as he and LBH confront MBJ and he just has to do his hardest to survive with just his spiritual sword.

And then the worse thing happens, Xiu Ya shatters.

SQQ panics at this, continuing to try his best fighting people off and eventually MBJ leaves *hooray* except not really because all the system errors are getting louder and louder in his head, and everything is blue and blaring and he might be bleeding and he can’t understand what LBH is saying even though he is right there, shaking his body and crying.

And then the abyss opens. He suddenly has the choice. He can send LBH, his white little sheep, down there to continue on with the PIDW plot, or he can… not do that.

So he pushes LBH.

Away from him. Away from the abyssal rift, only for him to be the one that falls though. He had prepared various lesson plans, life advice, what skills people to work on and so much more once he got without-a-cure, just incase he slipped up one day and couldn’t protect himself. So SQQ was satisfied as he knew his peak would be taken care of if LBH opened a specific drawer, everyone could still be taught by the hall masters and also have some future help prepared for each of them.

So SQQ let’s himself fall into the abyss, watching his student’s horrified expression as he plummets. He hears the system disconnect from LBH as he falls, all of the glowing blue error messages and pop ups instantly go away and he’s left in the dark as he sinks further and further into the abyss.

Surprisingly, he wakes up. He landed in the same field of flowers that are the reason LBH didn’t die in the original, they are filled with celestial qi in a place meant to be horrible and deadly. The one good thing about this place. He lays there for awhile and lets the plants essence fix up his meridians.

Then he has to experience the same horrifying things the protagonist did in person, fighting off each beast and trying his damn hardest to survive. It takes him a while, fighting and walking his way through what’s practically hell on earth, slaying beasts ten times his size, making sure not to fall into the trappings of demonic plants. He cuts his long hair, he thinks he will never see his peak again, so what do filial ties matter when you’re barely surviving. Sometimes the worse thing is his own mind, he feels a heavy layer of guilt to himself for so willing going along with the system. He sometimes forgets it’s not his fault too, that he was threatened to return to a dead body if he didn’t do as he was supposed to. But he’s happy sometimes too, he goes back to that field of flowers, laying in them and basking in his memories of a happier LBH, a LQG that isn’t dead, a Qing Jing peak full of song and happy healthy students.

He ascends from the abyss that day. He doesn’t know how or why but he wakes up in the same field of flowers, the sky above him no longer a damning black with red cracks seeping light in. it’s blue, soft, it hurts his eyes almost to look at it. It hurts so much but he can’t look away. He picks himself up, looking at all the grime and blood on himself and weeps in relief that he can go home. He hides his face and asks people where he is, somewhere in HHP territories, and begins to make his way back to his sect. Once he gets to his peak he sits down softly at the gate, it’s night time and there haven’t been many people about. He basks in the feeling of being home, leaning his head against the tall bamboo pole as he falls asleep.

He’s glad tomorrow is a new day, when he can see his family and just go back to his life.

(in the years he’s been gone all of CQS has been in some kind of mourning. LBH found all the letters from his shizun and they made all the disciples of QJP weep. Some of them took the advice given and left, some of them stayed and took care of a lordless peak. None of the hall masters or disciples were qualified to step up, and when the issue was raised even the peak lords agreed he shouldn’t be replaced. It was LQG who found him at the gate, going to visit the sword shrine in the bamboo house after an expedition, going to leave another fan to rot at the shrine’s foot. instead he heaved up his shixiong, hair not even reaching his shoulders, hands callused and dirty, and brought him back to the bamboo house, waking LBH in the process. Once morning light came everyone would know that their lost peak lord came home, but first they had to get the doctor to make sure he actually got through the night)

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #svsss shen qingqiu #svsss au #greeniegaes #text post #alternative universe ideas #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #Yuan in Abyss AU

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the-kr8tor · 5 months

Note

Imagine the twins grow up a little let’s say 5 years old and they ask the most random questions it would be so funny? Like “why happens if the earth stops spinning?” “Why is the water blue?” “How does snow happen” and obviously “how are babies made?”

Cuteeee!!! Thank you for requesting! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, Dad! Hobie AU, Twin AU, Billie and Ramona AU, Mom! Reader. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The twins have gotten good at sneaking, scarily good. You have no idea how they've gotten this great at sneaking and bypassing Hobie's spidey senses but you have a hunch that they heard your conversation with Hobie during what was supposed to be their nap time. With his head on your lap and your fingers scratching at his scalp he dishes out a complaint to you, well you both thought it was just you.

Hobie was complaining that his spidey senses can't feel when the three of you approach him from behind. Citing that it has probably been ignoring you and the girls because it's used to your presence and dubs you and his girls a non-threat. He has also grumbled that it only activates for you three when there's danger; like the girls almost falling from the playground or you almost burning yourself from a hot stove. He's deeply annoyed because he misses the little tingles that never fail to make him smile whenever you or his girls are near.

You take this new information into consideration, when you enter a room he's in, you always call his name or knock on the wall so he still gets that warm feeling when you're in his presence. Unfortunately for him, the girls have better ideas.

Both girls keep popping up from somewhere when you least expected it, their footfalls silent, guess they've learned from the best. Then suddenly you hear their voices asking about life's greatests mysteries.

Once, while you were preparing their bath, Billie appears behind you, asking why water in the pool and ocean are blue but not in the tub. You almost fell in the water back then.

A few times the girls have materialized in Hobie's workshop, scaring the crap out of their father. Again asking him a barrage of questions that has Hobie answering promptly of course.

The sun is just about setting, the backyard looks gorgeous in the sun's rays. The metal bench is cold underneath you but with Hobie's arms around you, you don't seem to mind the chill.

You and Hobie cuddle outside in the garden, laps covered in the same patchwork blanket you've gifted him all those years ago. The breeze picks up and you snuggle closer to him, he presses sweet kisses on your temple as his hands rub up and down over your arm. The girls are in the living room watching their cartoons, the telly's light shines in the backyard, illuminating the flowers and veggies all four of you planted.

It's quiet, too quiet.

“How does the telly work?” Mona’s sweet voice rings out in the silence making you and Hobie jump in each other's arms.

“Fu–blo–what?!” Hobie saves himself from accidentally swearing right in front of Mona.

She peeks out from the arm rest, too small to fully reach up, her eyes are curious, hair disheveled from lounging on the settee.

“How does the telly work?” She repeats.

“Oh, lovely, you scared us a bit. Come here” you pat the seat in between you and Hobie. He lifts her up, placing her on his lap.

“Curious, eh?” Hobie pokes her side, she giggles, snuggling closer to her dad.

—

“I've finally got them to go down” you flop yourself on the dining chair, eyes growing heavy. “Remind me not to give them ice cream before bed.”

Hobie wipes his hands on a cloth, the last bit of dishes all cleaned and drying on the rack. He flings the towel on his shoulder, knowing what the imagery does to you.

Before he could throw a witty remark, you're already making grabbing hands towards him, lips pouting from impatience. He obliges, crossing the small gap between you.

You grab him by the ribbon of his sweatpants to get him impossibly closer to you. He's situated in-between your legs, knees knocking with yours. He chuckles lowly, hands placed on your jaw to look at you fully, his thumbs rubbing softly at your tired eyes.

“Missed me? I was home the entire day, lovie”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hobart”

Hobie rolls his eyes, already bending at the waist to meet you halfway.

“How are babies made?” Billie and Mona suddenly appear by the kitchen doorway, holding hands in their blue pajamas. They remind you of a horror movie.

Your soul and Hobie's left your bodies for a second.

“Girls–you scared us!” you clutch your non-existent pearls.

Hobie's head is on top of yours, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Sorry,” Mona apologizes, “Annie said they came from storks but Shane says they came from fairies.”

“And Ricky says they come from parents sleeping together. Daddy always sleeps with you mummy, why isn't there a baby yet?” Billie continues.

Oh childhood wonder. Your brain is already trying to find the right combination of words to answer their burning question.

Hobie chokes on air, you slap his arm as a warning. He lifts his head up with a lopsided smile.

“If you sneaky sneaks didn't interrupt there'd be a baby soon enough—”

“Hobie!”

“We don't get it” they simultaneously say.

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asterias-record-shop · 10 months

Note

BINGOO! Can you please write a Miguel O’Hara sugar daddy story with prompt 15? I’m not creative enough to write a description for this but could you add a mention of the age gap? Miguel is Like 30 or something. Reader is young and wants money ofc. They met online and are meeting up irl. Thank youu

—𓆩[mi menté, cuerpo, corazón, y alma]𓆪—

I am so sorry anón honey, I got completely carried away!! I hope you enjoy it though!

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Modern AU! CEO! Sugar Daddy! Soft! Miguel O'Hara x Sugar Baby! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.1K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You loved being a sugar baby. Truly, you did. The only con was the fact that you had to get with someone who was literally a hair away from dying, so when Miguel found you, it was truly a saving grace. After a while, he made you cut off all of your other sugar daddies, easily matching what they give you and more. Things have gotten weird lately, though… and you’re not sure how to take it, even when he says everything is ‘strictly pleasure’.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and foul language || obsessive behavior || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship || possessive! Miguel || his wife and daughter do not exist anymore 🤍 like at all || Latina coded reader || featuring Jessica Drew as another CEO because we love her (spider-verse variant) || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship turned real relationship || i speak rancho spanish so i write rancho spanish, it ain’t google translate so it might not make sense- || miguel is lowkey an asshole so he is an asshole now || fighting || you make him fix himself || i’m ngl, i don’t know what the hell i did but i had fun and there’s smut so enjoy || this is so much more kinky than it initially was going to be- || kinda OOC Miguel || sub turned dom! reader || sub! Miguel || sounding || cbt || slight oral || praise & degradation || riding || non-protected sex || cumming inside || ending is supposed to be humorous I’m not weird ||

Finding a sugar daddy that wasn’t quadruple your age was hard. Very, very hard. What was wrong with men? Couldn’t they just become billionaires at twenty-five?

Bastards.

Oh, but then Miguel O’Hara came along. A man in his early thirties that absolutely towered over you at 6’9”, built like a fucking god with looks to match and wealth to pair.

In the beginning, though, you had your doubts, so many doubts. You didn’t know what made him drawn to you in the first place, mainly because you had over five sugar daddies and he easily matched the prices immediately and made you get rid of them. He easily matched all your prices, doing even more before purchasing a test to make sure you were ‘healthy’.

After that, everything else happened extremely quickly - him buying you a car, jewelry and clothes, but the most recent was having you move in with him in his extremely large mansion. The first thing you noticed was that he had nothing in his home that gave it personality. No pictures, just crazy expensive art and photographs of things that were also crazy expensive.

He didn’t even have plants. Or a dog. Or a cat, something to give him some sort of personality besides that stupidly hot face. And stupidly hot money, but that’s why he was at work while you were at a shelter, promising yourself that you’d take some sort of pet home. You had settled on a kitten, a tuxedo kitten with a little bow tie and a mustache, along with small little mittens on his paws.

He immediately curled in your lap, a giggle falling from your lips as you stroked the back of his head. “I’ll take this one… I’m gonna name him Hart.”

And with that, you took him home. You bought him his own bed and all of the toys he could ever want or need, and you sat in the closet you had made his room as you wagged the cat toy in front of him, Jessica on the phone.

“Y/N, I really think you’re going to kill him bringing that cat into his house!” She laughed, snacking on her latest craving.

“Oh, he won’t! You’re being overdramatic, he’s gonna love Hart,” you wiggle the stick some more, the kitten swatting at it as you heard Miguel’s loud voice yell out for you. “Oh! He’s here, I’ll call you later Jess! Love you!”

“Don’t get killed!”

You giggled as you hung up and quickly stood, running out and fixing your skirt. “Miguel!”

He was tired today, you could tell. His body was more tense than you had ever seen, the buttons at the top of his shirt undone and his tie loose with his blazer open. You paused, his clenched fists making you swallow slightly. You had your share of violent lovers, and you sure as hell weren’t going to have another.

“Hola, mi reina,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he set down his briefcase and his fists unclenched. He softly set his hand on your hip, kissing softly against your temple as he sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day.”

You inhaled as he softly pressed kisses down your temple around your eye, along the apple of your cheek. “Wh-What happened?”

He shook his head, his hands going from your hips to the pretty skin of your thighs that was exposed by the skirt. “Stupid idiots who don’t know how to fucking do their job.”

You hummed softly as you stroked the back of his head, twirling the locks of his hair with your fingers as you kissed his sharp jaw. You were already on your tiptoes, his hands supporting you as he ducked down. “I’m so sorry, Miguel,” you whispered as he let out a soft hum. “I uhm… I got something.”

“Ah si?” he responded, his hands slipping under your skirt to tease your pretty cunt. “Es esto, mi reina?”

“No,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Lemme show you.”

He smiled as you dragged him along, pulling him toward the closet you turned into the kitten’s room before turning around. “You can’t get mad.”

He started to cross his arms, raising a brow. “Why would I get mad?”

“You won’t be mad because you can’t. That’s my whole point,” you say, nodding firmly. “Okay?”

“You can’t say I can’t get mad and expect me not to get mad.”

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, shaking your head as he hummed softly and leaned down. “Just… trust me.”

He hummed again as you opened the door, the loud mews of the kitten making his eyes widen. You felt your smile disappear as you inhaled, shaking your head as you turned around. “This is Hart! He’s a little spy,” you giggled, kissing the kitten’s small head. “H-He was named after-”

“I know who he’s named after, Y/N,” Miguel growled, glaring at the kitten in your hand. “Why is it in my house?”

“Our house,” you correct him, a scoff falling from his lips. “What?”

“My house,” he basically growled, stepping forward as you started to step back. “Just because I fuck you like a ragdoll and cum inside of you like a cumdump doesn’t mean that this is your house.”

You inhaled as you held the kitten closer to your chest, scoffing. “You’re a fucking bastard, Miguel O’Hara. This is strictly business as always, isn’t it? You fucking asshole.”

He scoffed as you went around him, shaking his head. “This is mine, Y/N! All of it!”

“It might be yours, Miguel, but you don’t want it! You keep this giant house full of nothing that you love, nothing that you care for! You don’t even have a damn plant here!” You yelled at him, inhaling as you sent him a glare. “You’re a self absorbed bastard, Miguel.”

“I have you here,” Miguel spoke, something that completely betrayed his previous words. “You’re… all I could ever need.”

“You don’t need me though. The only thing that you fucking need is a damn whore,” you shake your head, keeping Hart close to your chest. “I will get myself a lawyer to get myself out of this contract, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“Y/N, wait-”

“No! Fuck you!” You were already rushing to your room - which was sadly one you shared with Miguel - locking it before he could come in after you.

“Y/N, amor… mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not!” You yelled, sighing. How could you ever think this would go any other way? “Just… go away!”

To be honest, you weren’t sure what made you think you could love him. Actually love him and have it reciprocated, but you didn’t want to leave. You had worked so hard in this relationship with Miguel, gaining his trust and what you thought was his love, for fucks sake you couldn’t lose it now. What he said just… got to you.

It wasn’t until you heard a soft knock that you unlocked the door, Miguel slowly stepping into the room. “What do you want?”

“I just… look at this,” he gave you the binder, swallowing. “If you uhm… look at it, it annuls our last contract… if you sign it, mi amor-”

“What, are you gonna try and bribe me?” I ask, softly scratching Hart’s ear before he gives you the binder.

“Perdóname, amor,” he whispers, slowly falling to his knees in front of you. You certainly weren’t expecting this. “Read it.”

“Summarize it for me.”

“It says that you own me,” he says, tilting his head. “Everything I own, you own. Everything I am is yours,” he takes your hand, softly kissing against your wrist. “I’m sorry… that it took me so long to see how important you are to me. Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, y alma.”

You swallow as you stare at the dotted line, looking down at him as he kisses your skin. “Tu cuerpo? Es mío?”

He groaned as your hand shapes his jaw, softly tugging on his hair as Hart jumped down, sauntering out of the room as though he knew what was about to happen. “Todo es tuyo, mi amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his hair so he’d stare up at you. “Todo lo que quieras, es tuyo. Nomás me digas y es tuyo. Todo, todo es tuyo.”

You hummed, sighing as you moved your hips to come off the bed slightly. “Show me. Show me that you belong to me and I’ll sign it.”

He hummed, sending you a smile as he started to kiss against your wrist. “Of course, mi reina.”

You smile slightly as he starts to tug off his shirt, carefully unbuttoning and kissing along your calf before slipping off your heels. “If this keeps going, Miguel, you need to know that I’m not putting up with your bullshit.”

“Ya se, mi reina,” he whispers, his tongue flattening up your thigh as he pulls down your skirt. “I’m aware.”

“I’m going to sign that shit in your cum.”

He laughed, nodding. “If that’s what you want to do, mi amor.”

You tilted your head down at him, raising a brow. “That raises no red flags?”

“No, they’re actually green.”

You hold back a laugh as he slowly stands up, already taking off his clothes before you put up a finger. “I’m in charge, right?”

“Yes,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What would you like me to do, hm?”

“Get on the bed,” you say, standing and slipping off your clothes. “Why are you just standing there? Go.”

Miguel smirked slightly, but followed your orders, his bare body looking perfect against the bed. “Well, what do you want me to do next, mi amor?”

You hummed, staring for another few minutes. “Get hard. I’ll be back.”

You go into your closet, but after hearing Miguel’s moans, you knew he listened to what you said. It wasn’t until you went into your drawer filled with sex toys did you know what you wanted to do - oh, you were going to make him sob. You grabbed the small silver toy you had never had the chance to use on him, biting your lip as you finished taking off the rest of your clothes and fixing your bra and underwear.

It was normal to makeup with Miguel with sex, then talk about what happened and why it should never happen again before you fell asleep, resulting in Miguel waking you up with breakfast in bed and another lavish apology gift.

When you walked out, you smiled when you saw Miguel bucking his hips into his hand, his thick cock dribbling precum out of his bright red tip. “Look how pretty your cock is, baby… so, so pretty.”

He lets out a dry laugh, groaning. “Oh yeah? Que vas hacer?”

You giggled, slowly sliding between his legs and taking out the metal sounding rod. “Voy a jugar con lo que es mío.”

He lets out a choked moan as the cold tip of the rod dragged in a circle along the tip of his cock, already lubed up so you wouldn’t hurt him, a giggle escaping your lips as you slowly pushed it into his cock. He lets out a choked moan as you laugh, watching as it slowly disappears inside of his cock.

“Hijo de su pinche madre,” he cursed, groaning as he bucked his hips, stomach clenching as you watched his body slowly fall to your mercy. “Amor, please, please- I'll be good, I just need to fuck you.”

“Cállate,” you ordered, giggling as you pushed it inside until the ring was showing, your mouth latching onto his balls and sucking softly. “Come on, be a good boy and fuck it.”

He cursed as he starts to roll his hips, following the sounding rod as he groaned loudly. One of your hands rubs along his thighs, giggling as you stared up at his face all scrunched and desperate. He really did make a good sub.

“Come on, don’t stop now, Miguel, you’re doing so good,” you move away from his balls but continue to cup them, moving so that his fat cock was settled on his abdomen and you rubbed your now bare pussy against his shaft. “Come on baby, I know you want to cum. As soon as you cum, I’ll put your cock in me and I’ll let you fuck me.”

He groaned loudly, almost growl-like sounds falling from his lips as he forced his hips to go faster, fucking into the sounding rod as he rubbed against your wet cunt. You couldn’t hold back your own moans, the friction of his cock perfect against your cunt and he wasn’t even inside of you yet.

“Amor, please, please!” He was begging to cum, even if he didn’t quite know it yet, a groan falling from your lips as you continued to squeeze and rub his balls. He had never been this quick to cum, and you knew you’d have to try this again soon. “I’m close, chingao, I’m close.”

You let out a laugh as you watch the sounding rod start to be pushed out, pushing it back in as he whined. “Not yet, amor mío.”

“Por favor, mi vida, necesito- fuck!” He screamed out as you continued to hump against his length, pushing and pulling the rod in and out of his cock.

“Say it again. That you’re mine.”

“Fuck, I’m yours! Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, corazón, y alma, ¡chingada madre!” He yelled out as you finally let go of the sounding rod, watching it pop out of his cock and a perfect, pornographic cumshot follow. You moved your hand from his balls, lifting your hips as you continued to pump his shaft. You watched as the pearlescent liquid spurts onto his toned abdomen, smiling before cupping your hand in front of his tip and gathering his cum.

He panted, watching as you slowly smeared it along your cunt and placed the sounding rod onto the nightstand. “Next time we need to go bigger.”

“Whatever you say, amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his cock to push into your cunt, another loud groan falling from his lips. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I know,” you spoke, laughing slightly as you gasped. No matter how many times his cock was inside of you, you never got used to it. “Fuck, Miguel, It’s like you get bigger every time.”

“Maybe I do,” he smirked, offering that playful wording as you finally sat on his pelvis, groaning loudly. “Look at how perfect you look with my cock inside of you, mi reina. Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, groaning as you started to roll your hips, his cock feeling as though it was deeper than it ever was. “N-No, no.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “No what, amor? Tell me.”

“Stop that,” you order, knowing damn well if he kept talking like that you’d soon be on your back begging for him to fuck you. That’s now how it was going to happen, not today. “I’m in charge. Not you.”

“I never said you weren’t, amor-”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips firmly to his as he held your hips, helping you rock onto his cock. “Stop talking.”

He laughs as his other hand pulled you in for another firm kiss, your hands searching for the contract before his hips slam up into you. You pulled away, gasping as he lets out a loud groan, cursing. “Thought you needed some help, mi amor.”

Your hands claw against his shoulders as he keeps your chest pressed to his, using his strength to easily thrust up into you. For fucks sake, he couldn’t even let you have this, but you weren’t complaining as he grunted underneath you and you felt his cock rub against every place you ever wanted him to be. He repeatedly thrusted into you at that perfect rate to hit that spot inside of you that just made your body go limp, stomach twisting and turning.

One of the pros of having a man who knew your body like the back of his hand was that you could always count on him making you cum.

You gasped as his cock finally thrusted against that perfect spot that easily made you come undone, mind blurring as you basically see stars right as your nails dig into his skin. Your cunt clenched and squeezed his cock as a result of your orgasm, a hissed groan falling from his lips as he thrusted a few more times and finally came inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back, the added feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, filling you up as your inner thighs started to register slight heat from the power of his thrusts. You panted as you started to sit up, Miguel letting out a slight laugh before you grabbed the sounding rod and the contract.

“Q-Qué estás haciendo?”

You looked up at him, giggling as you dipped the rod into his cum. “I said I was going to sign it with your cum.”

“Mierda, Y/N, don’t do that!”

“What?! You think I was joking?! I said it was a red flag!”

Thank all of you so much for supporting me!! Even though Bingo requests and Bingo itself is done, I have my next event already planned - please stay tuned!! Requests are closed but they will be open when I clear my inbox, and again, thank all of you so much!!

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sanctum-of-ramshackle · 5 months

Text

🕷️🕸️The Chaotic Adventures of Spider-Mage✨🌟

[TWST AU]: The MC/Yuu may not be only one who encountered an unexpected turn of events.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, an unknown stranger gets bitten by a spider that actually gave them spider-based magic to become Twisted Wonderland’s Spider-Hero.

[Gender Neutral!Spider!Reader]

[(A/N)]: Happy New Year! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much on my TWST blog. Been busy IRL and stuff like that. I hope this makes up for missing out and enjoy reading.

So…about the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse- This is a stupid name. I don’t know why O’Hara chose this over the Spiderverse. That name makes more sense and easier for people who can’t decipher scientific names right away…

Anyway…

There are many variants and other dimensions who have their own spider like protectors.

There’s one particular Spider who has an interesting upbringing with their situation.

Maybe it’s better to let them introduce themselves to the people reading this…

[Y/N]: “My name is [Y/N] [L/N]. I’m a Second Year of Night Raven College and part of the Ignihyde Dorm. One day during last year, I get bit by an experimental and magical arachnid which granted me spider-based magic. I became to the public as “Spider-Mage”.

“I climb up on flat surfaces, having a Spider sense to alarm me for potential danger, the usual things.”

“I created an algorithm to alert me for crimes occurring and use my newfound powers by casting web-like portals to reach to that specific location.”

“Following my backstory: I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Aunt Mei and Uncle Benji. However, Uncle Benji passed away due to saving someone from an Overblot attack. He asked me if I were to become somebody having great magic, listen to his advice. With great power, comes with great responsibility.”

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[Chapter 1]

OB!Riddle: *On a rampage* YOU ALL WILL BE OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!!!! *Throws a rose bush towards MC/Yuu and Grim*

MC/Yuu & Grim: *Gasps and embrace for impact*

[Then a mysterious figure jumps into action. They cast a magical web barrier to protect MC/Yuu and Grim from the thrown plant.]

Spider-Mage: *Looks back at the two Ramshackle students* It’s okay. I got you two.

OB!Riddle: WHAT IN THE QUEEN’S NAME? WHO ARE YOU?!

Spider-Mage: Hi! I’m Spider-Mage. The friendly arachnid type magic user you hear people talk about. Y’know, you have some serious issues and hopefully seek anger management after this.

OB!Riddle: *Throws another bush at them*

Spider-Mage: *Shoots web at the bush and triggers a fire spell to burn the plant to ashes* Bad idea, buddy.

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

MC/Yuu & Grim: *Running late for class*

MC/Yuu: *Carrying Grim in their arms* You just have to try sleeping in.

Grim: It’s not my fault I was studying late!

MC/Yuu: You were cramming for an exam today!

Spider-Mage: *Just saved some people from a robbery* Huh? The Prefect and their familiar?

MC/Yuu: Spider-Mage? Hey! We’re late for our morning class and it’s at the other side of the building.

Spider-Mage: Need a lift?

MC/Yuu: Of course! Thank you.

[Cut to a scene where MC/Yuu and Grim were dropped off to their class and have messed up hairdos from all the swinging around.]

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[Ignihyde Dormitory]

[Y/N]: *Crawling back into their dorm without disturbing anyone* *Lands on their feet from the ceiling and stalks over through the hallways*

Idia: Ortho, did you get my- *Stops mid-track and eyes widened at them* …

[Y/N]: …It’s not what it looks like. *Deactivates their suit*

[Y/N]: *Looks down at their body* Shit.

Idia: Y-Y-You’re Spider-Ma-

[Y/N]: *Shushing him* Don’t say another word. I’ll explain everything somewhere private.

[Back in Idia’s room]

Idia: You’re Spider-Mage.

[Y/N]: Yes, I am. I got these abilities last year and then bam! I’m a magic superhero.

Idia: You kept all of this from me?

[Y/N]: Well, I tried to explain everything to you since you’re my Dorm Leader but duty calls and assignments.

Idia: …I still can’t believe one of my dorm members is Spider-Mage.

[Y/N]: It’s alright. It’s a lot to take in.

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[Rose Queendom]

Spider-Mage: *Shooting webs and swinging around the city* *Lands onto of an apartment complex’s rooftop*

Fan 1: Oh my Seven, It’s Spider-Mage! *Pulls out their phone* Hey Spider-Mage, can you do a flip?

Spider-Mage: *Does a flip*

Fan 1: *Recorded the whole* Thank you, Spider-Mage! I’m showing this to my friends.

Spider-Mage: No problem! Tell your friends I said hello!

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[In the hallways]

Kalim: Hi [Y/N]!

[Y/N]: Oh, hey, Kalim! Uh…What’s up? How was your break?

Kalim: You wouldn’t believe who came by. Spider-Mage came to rescue Jamil and everyone. They were amazing! They shot their magical webs and swung around kicking off the ‘Blot!

[Y/N]: Really? That’s crazy. “Great Seven. I’m jealous of myself…(T . T) Fuck me…”

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[Monstro Lounge]

[Y/N]: *Working there to fill in a deal*

Floyd: [Y/N]-chan/kun~ *About to squeeze them*

[Y/N]: *Spider sense triggered and kicks back at Floyd in the stomach*

Floyd: OOF- *Crashes into Jade*

[Y/N]: Crap! I’m sorry, you two. I’m just on edge today.

Azul: What is going on here? *Sees Floyd and Jade on the ground*

[Y/N]: I’m so sorry, Azul. I’m just super anxious today and Floyd was about to squeeze the shit out of me.

Azul: …Why don’t you take a half day off? You claimed you’re anxious enough to beat the two most valuable people in my dorm.

[Y/N]: Yes! That’s true and I’m going now. *Sprints out of the restaurant* “Fuck me and my Spider sense! I need to lie better.”

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[Afterglow Savannah]

Spider-Mage: *Battling against a weird-looking guy with lightning bolt accessories*

The Shocker: Well well well, love the new look Spider-Man.

Spider-Mage: Uh…Who? I’m not Spider-Man.

The Shocker: Oh, I see. Playing dumb to distract me.

Spider-Mage: Great Seven. Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s just get this over with. I have clubs to attend.

[The Shocker charges at Spider-Mage throwing rays of electricity at the magic user.]

Spider-Mage: *Shoots their web casting a Water spell to absorb the attack* Think fast! *Shoots the water spell at The Shocker*

[The water spell webbing was effective to short circuit the electrified villain.]

Spider-Mage: Now I can leave.

[Then a portal opens in front of Spider-Mage.]

Spider-Mage: What the…

[Three people appear out of the portal and they’re picking the unconscious Shocker anomaly.]

Spider-Mage: Uh… *Spider sense triggered*

???: Wow. Another Spider variant in this dimension.

???: Yeah, and explain what we’re doing here.

???: While also grabbing the anomaly who’s waking up. *Knocks The Shocker out*

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

[After [Y/N] was taken to the Spider Society on Earth-928, everything was explained to them and how their Canon Events will happen.]

[Y/N]: Y-You can’t be serious. I couldn’t let it happen. There has to be another way.

Miguel O’Hara: There are no other ways-

[Y/N]: You’re wrong! The multiverse is wrong! I’m doing everything I can to prevent any more disasters back in my already chaotic world. I can’t lose him…

Peter B. Parker: Kid, everything’s gonna be alright.

[Y/N]: Tell that to “Leader of the Spider Society”. I’m going and won’t stop until everyone’s safe.

[[Y/N] casts a spell to disappear from everyone’s sight.]

♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️ ♢🕷️

Arachnis: No no no Miguel. *Blocks his path* Do not chase the teen like last time with Miles.

Miguel: They can’t interfere with the Canon Events. Their world would already start falling apart.

Arachnis: Miguel, you don’t know that. Remember when I saved you from your supposed event? My Canon Event overlapped with yours which should interfere but didn’t, preventing your untimely death. What if [Y/N] can save their friends and loved ones like us? We almost lost everyone when we were against The Spot.

Miguel: *Glare softens and sighs* I don’t want this kid to make the same mistakes.

Arachnis: I know. It’s tough to accept the possibility, but we been through this before. Doing everything we can to help others. Hey, look at me.

[As the Spider-Man of 2099 and Arachnis share an intimate moment, [Y/N] ran back because they dropped their Magic Pen.]

[Y/N]: Uhh…Is this a bad time?

Arachnis: Kid, I’m gonna shoot your ass if you don’t rush back to save your world.

[Y/N]: Right! Sorry! *Sprints out of their sight*

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

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#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #Marvel #Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse #Across The Spiderverse #ATSV #Spider-Man!Reader #Spider-Mage #Across The Spiderverse x reader #ATSV x reader #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader

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teabutmakeitazure · 1 year

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Burgeon

A chance encounter that barely lasted seconds plants curiosity into Chrollo's mind. After searching for you, Chrollo decides to keep himself entertained, but being called to a blood splattered scene causes his initial plan to derail.

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

Soulmate au where either person experiences the other's emotions prior to their name appearing on their body. Only Nen users are able to see those names.

>Warnings: blood, murder, someone being eaten alive, mentions of domestic abuse and suicide, premarital hand holding, Chrollo being a creep

>Word count: 10.5k (kind of a slow burn)

Part 2 I Part 3

Fear was not a familiar emotion to Chrollo. If anything, the closest he's acquainted with is excitement, thrill. It was the excitement in thievery that he looked forward to the most, that he relished the most.

Not even three skilled Nen users could make him bat an eye. One pen was all it took to end them, no Nen at all. So why was it that when you both locked eyes through the smoke he felt fear?

The way his heart pounded was a foreign feeling. You were just a passerby, someone who had to stop for cover because a car had exploded seemingly out of nowhere. The culprit, Chrollo, stood on the other side of the wreck as his spiders fled.

Clutching his heart, he imprinted the feeling in his memory, from the way his heart was beating out of his chest to how he was seemingly frozen in place. It was when your eyes widened in horror that he broke out of the trance and moved again.

The next time you blinked, he was gone.

As if the timing couldn't be more convenient, Chrollo couldn't sleep that night.

His troupe members had passed out after getting heavily intoxicated, and he was left alone with his thoughts. Another heist was successful, yet he felt incomplete. Is this another facet of himself he has to discover? To figure out?

No. It was the encounter he had. It was something about those eyes that deeply disturbed him. Could you be a Nen user? It's possible, but if you were, he would've known. You looked… normal.

Either way, it was just eye contact. He will never see you again, so there's no point in overthinking it. As Chrollo calms his mind to slip into slumber, the feeling from before returns. Dread and fear seeps into his being like water does a sponge. A few hours later, his mind finally allows him to rest.

Chrollo was wrong. He was so unmistakably, so horribly wrong.

It has been hardly three days since the heist, and he's already come across you again. Curse this. If you recognise him, it might prove to be a problem. Killing this many people in the library would be a hassle as the authorities would come to realise that the Phantom Troupe is still in the city.

No matter. He'll continue what he was doing. If you do have the gall to approach him, he'll quietly deal with you.

As he mindlessly grabs a book from the shelf, he concentrates on your presence. You seem to be somewhere in the science section. Perhaps you're a student? That would explain why you're diligently looking all over. It must be something particular.

Chrollo stays out of sight and seats himself in a corner. The table fortunately has only one chair and from there, he can see the rest of the floor. If anything, his appearance reassures him. His hair is down, a cloth wrapped on his forehead and his clothing is just as normal as anyone else's.

Okay maybe it doesn't entirely fit the description of an average citizen. It leans towards the more 'pretentious' side as Phinks had once said. However, it doesn't stand out so nothing to worry about.

…

Why are you coming this way?!

Oh wait. Your belongings are on that table over there to the right. Great. Just great. You're sitting on the table to his right and facing him. Ah, at least you're looking into that book you have. Wait, what is he reading? Did he even bother to check what he grabbed?

It was in the literature section, so it ought to be something interesting. No matter. He'll just multitask. If he feels your eyes on him, it'll be likely that you recognise him. In case that does come to pass, he shall immediately exit the premises.

Chrollo immerses himself in the book. He didn't bother to read the title, satisfied at seeing Friedrich Nietzsche as the author, and started going through the words. The priority at the moment is to keep an eye on you, and keeping an eye on you he is because his book is now forgotten as he side eyes you at the disruption of aura.

Grey eyes carefully consider how you channel the flow of aura in your body. It's practised and genius how easily you've manipulated it to flow and concentrate under your palms. However, before Chrollo has a chance to even think about what sort of Nen user you may be, you abruptly stand up.

Grabbing the books and your bag in a hurry, you head for the librarian to check them out. Chrollo slowly keeps pace, hiding behind a bookshelf when you're waiting for the librarian to do her job.

He can see the way apprehension oozes out of you, and he feels more drawn into you. Akin to an unlike magnetic pole, he follows after you, attracted, getting closer and closer each time only to snap out of it when he's a few feet behind you on the sidewalk.

Your bag is now swung over your shoulder, books hugged closely to your chest and eyes constantly darting around like you're looking for something. When you move to cross the road, Chrollo doesn't follow.

There has to be something wrong. This must be some sort of joke. All that stuff was just a fairytale, not reality. So why? Why did he feel overwhelming anxiety and apprehension when he was standing behind you? Why did your tapping foot settle down at that same time?

Why is there now a name written on his forearm?

Hopelessly trying to scrub it off while showering, he realises that it's there to stay. The realisation does little to assist in comforting him. All the evidence points to what he had deduced to be a simple folktale to be reality.

It's alright. Chrollo is a thief after all. The most business he has is to steal whatever Nen ability you have, if it proves useful that is.

There it is again. Anxiety.

Just being within eight feet of you brings about that feeling, but considering how your posture just relaxed, Chrollo finds that being within a certain radius of your 'soulmate' causes both parties to feel what the other feels, which in your case is anxiousness.

So he wasn't feeling fear that day after all. He was feeling what you were.

Regardless, Chrollo puts on a smile and casually takes a seat opposite to you in the coffee shop. It has been a real hassle locating you, so he isn't going to throw in the towel anytime soon.

The sound of a chair being dragged against the floor causes you to flinch, but you don't bother glancing up from what you're reading. Perhaps you're not very outgoing and would like to keep to yourself. He doesn't find any problem with that, for he can quite easily make conversation for two.

Chrollo clears his throat once, carefully eyeing you for a reaction and simultaneously calming his beating heart. Over the somewhat quiet atmosphere of the shop and his calm demeanour being transitioned over to you, you would have easily heard him. He tries again, but you give no response.

He tries a third time, and leans forward as he starts conversation. "I can't help but notice that you've been reading about the quantum properties of light. Are you a physics student?"

Slowly, like how the most grand and most precious merchandise is unveiled at an auction, you raise your head to meet his eyes. In an instant, he feels his heart wildly pound against his chest before his usual calmness is back.

"I'm… not a physics student," you reply, voice meek.

"Ah, someone interested in the topic maybe?"

The most Chrollo is rewarded with is a nod, and you immediately bury your face back into the book. That reaction was more than what he was hoping for, thus he won't complain.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, he decides to take his chances, using his gentlemanly exterior to smooth things over.

"Would you mind if I joined you this evening?" He smiles when you peer over the edge of your book. "I believe the book you're reading is of my interest. Do you want to talk about it over coffee?"

"Why?"

Playing hard, aren't you?

"Well, it would be nice to make friends in the city. Especially if they're like minded, right?"

Smile Chrollo. She might lower her guard.

You put down your book, watching him in consideration. Then, you call over a waiter and give your order, gesturing to Chrollo to do the same. A smile stretches on his face. Oddly enough, he hasn't felt any apprehension again, only mild nervousness at best.

Voice gentle, he starts conversing.

"Are you a college student?"

With narrowed eyes, you watch him carefully. "No. Far from it actually. What about you?"

Chrollo rests his chin on his hands, elbows on the table. "I'm just here for business. I keep an eye on auctions and merchandise. My job is to keep tabs on such matters."

"Alright… then why are you interested in what I'm reading?"

"Science is fascinating, isn't it?"

"You're lying."

Silence.

Chrollo cannot say if the calmness he feels is from you or him. What he can say for sure is that you're not as innocent as you seem. The cold gaze you have is proof of it.

With the grace of a swan, he sits up straight, smile still present on his face as he tries conversing again.

"Why do you think that I'm lying?"

"It's obvious," you reply.

Shaking his head, he keeps his voice soft. "Well, I couldn't just let a beautiful girl like you sit alone like this. Why not converse if we have mutual interest?"

"You're lying again, sir."

Somehow, being called sir makes Chrollo feel… alienated but still good nonetheless.

"My name is Chrollo. What about you?"

You consider him for a moment before you close the book in front of you. "I'm [Name]."

It takes all the composure he has to not let his eyes widen. That's the same name that appeared on his forearm. Perhaps choosing to encounter you was the right decision. You may be able to aid him in one way or the other.

"Well, [Name], truth be told, I felt oddly drawn to you, and I don't say this to be flattering. I really did feel drawn. That's why I approached you."

The waiter returns with the drinks, and he closely watches how you thank him with a smile. An odd feeling stirs in his chest, but Chrollo brushes it off as your emotion.

"Alright," you interrupt. "I have to say… you're pretty weird."

"I do hear that a lot," he chuckles.

"Hm." You lean forward, eyeing him closely. Chrollo sits unbothered at your peculiar behaviour. If anything, he's amused. He's finally found an interesting person with Nen no less. He could even claim that he's ecstatic.

"Is there something on my face?"

You shake your head and return to your seat. The both of you start drinking your drink in silence. However, you keep eyeing him closely and it's rather bothersome. Suddenly, like how a water balloon bursts when too heavy, you speak.

"I was just messing with you earlier, Chrollo. No hard feelings?"

He smiles, "None at all."

Silence once again persists, but is quickly replaced with conversation when most of Chrollo's coffee is gone. He starts with asking about your hobbies and slowly manoeuvres the conversation to hunters. Disinterest is palpably written on your face at the topic, but he pushes through.

"I've heard that hunters are very odd people. It's almost as though they're a completely different breed."

Bored, you trace random patterns on the table with your finger. "Yeah. They're all a little crazy in the head if you ask me. The exam is even worse from what I've heard."

"Are you interested in taking the exam?"

For a split second, Chrollo sees your aura change, but it quickly disappears.

"No," you deadpan.

You're tracing something on the table again, but why has your aura disappeared? Taking advantage of the pause in conversation, he uses Gyo to see if you may have used In. The technique is used for hardly a second, just long enough to know that you did use In, but judging from your disinterested gaze on him, you may have caught him.

"You can do that?"

Chrollo blinks, attempting to act coy. "Do what?"

"Don't act dumb, Chrollo. I saw that."

Amazing. You weren't even looking at him when he did. Has he found a formidable Nen user? Hm. He wonders what your Nen ability is.

With a flirtatious smile, he leans in. "You're quite talented if you found me out so easily."

"Are you a hunter?"

"Not at all."

An expression of deep thought is present on your face, eyes boring into the empty cup that sits in front of you. Chrollo lets you stay under the assumption that you have the power in this conversation. He lets you think and consider your next words carefully, feeling almost giddy at seeing this encounter through to the end.

"Do you know… what Nen is?"

Bingo. Chrollo has finally found an opening and the world be damned if he doesn't use it to his advantage.

"Of course I do," he replies, voice smooth and gentle to lull into a sense of security. "I've actually taught people about it before."

For some reason, you raise a brow at that and he laughs.

"No really. I have taught people before. Mostly my friends. Are you looking to understand it better?"

Cautiously but almost desperately, you give in. "Yes! I don't know what this weird thing is. I thought I was going crazy."

"Well, you've met the right person."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Really?"

Your expression contorts into one of slight disgust mixed with overflowing annoyance. At the sight, Chrollo keeps his composure in case you may have recognised him or worse, seen through him. However, all panic goes down the drain when you bang your hand on the table.

"You look like you work a corporate nine to five! How are you supposed to be an expert?"

Relieved but still very, very confused, Chrollo slightly tilts his head, eyebrow raised under the bandana. "Are you… insulting me?"

"I'm stating the obvious." You settle down, slumping into your seat. "You better not be lying to me, Chrollo. Trust me, a lot of people already have."

"I promise. I will help you understand your ability better, and that's final."

For some reason, the way your eyes had lit up at that was kind of cute.

Chrollo is absolutely itching to confirm whether you're aware of the existence of his name on your body or not. It might be in some inconspicuous place like behind your knee that you don't look often, but the 'emotional exchange' should have been concerning if not completely odd.

Nonetheless, Chrollo marches on towards your apartment. Naive as you are, you had allowed him to come to your apartment just after a few days of being acquaintances. The credulous mentality you harbour is simply aiding him. Once he knows what your Nen ability is, he will steal it and be on his merry way, any soulmate talk be damned.

Before his finger could even meet the bell halfway, you've swung open the door. Chrollo stands there blinking at your haphazardness, and is immediately pulled inside by the wrist. You stand there in pitch black darkness, the main door stuck to your back like glue as all the curtains continue their purpose of blocking any light from the street.

Had this not been his first time here, he would have been able to navigate the place properly. Pushing aside his desire to eliminate the darkness a little bit, he calls out your name. Chrollo doesn't miss the way you flinch or the way your breathing gets worse.

"What's going on?"

His question further rattles you. Fisting your hair, you drop to your knees crying. What he can see of the sight makes Chrollo feel odd. Why aren't the emotions transferring back and forth between you both?

Being as frazzled as you are, wouldn't it be advantageous if your emotions were transferred to him instead? So why aren't they? Is there some sort of condition he isn't privy to?

You choke on your own wails, and out of something Chrollo brushes off as pity - totally ignoring the pang in his chest - he squats down and holds you. As though soothing a child, he keeps comforting you till your sobs turn into quiet weeping.

Half an hour later, the curtains are still drawn, a few of the lights have been turned on and freshly brewed cups of coffee are present in both your and Chrollo's hands. You make it a point to not look at him, obviously embarrassed at the earlier situation.

So, like always, Chrollo takes the lead and asks what happened.

"I did something," you reply. "I… I don't know how but it just did and then…and then all the light became too much."

This piques his interest. Could it be that you found your Nen ability after just hearing about the basic techniques from him?

"What do you mean by 'did something'?"

You wordlessly stand up and seat yourself on the floor right in front of the centre table. Palm flat on the table, you slowly raise it up, and Chrollo sees something forming beneath it.

Using Gyo is useless, for what you've conjured up is made of hardly any aura at all. It baffles him to see a little rabbit, white but almost translucent, sit there. It blinks up at you, puffy eyes looking back at it with what one can only describe as repugnance.

Slowly, the bunny hops towards you. Its translucent body and solely white colour scheme makes it seem eerily unnatural as it clings to you, climbing up your body and into the crook of your neck.

You pet the animal, but when Chrollo tries to do so while reaching forward, his hand goes through it and touches your neck instead. Oddly enough, when the rabbit bumps its head against his hand, he feels the impact.

"I think only I can touch this thing," you state.

This ability may mean that you're a conjurer, but then why is it not made of aura? Chrollo can't seem to see any even with Gyo, so what is that? When you clench your fist, the animal disappears into thin air.

As frivolous as this seems, if used correctly, it could be a deadly ability.

"Is that what scared you, [Name]?"

Perhaps you took his words to be infantilising, for you look away and furrow your brows. Not even now can Chrollo feel your emotions like he did before. Therefore, he's left to guess like he always does.

"It scared me because it's the light."

The light?

He leans forward. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that light is what's making these things."

Light? So your ability consists of shaping light to your will? It is in a sense just energy.

"How can you be sure," he challenges.

Your stare is cold, merciless and oozing with disdain when you reply. "Because I know it is."

Wow. That's a lot of confidence for someone who was previously overwhelmed. Resting his face on his hands, Chrollo studies the flow of aura in your body. There's no need for him to give away all Nen related information if you're doing this well without it, so maybe he should just withhold it and watch how this plays out.

Had he felt generous, he would've done the water divination test with you, but he's not here to teach. He's here to give a slight push, steal and leave. That's it.

"I created a dead person's head."

Chrollo blinks up at you. That's certainly… something interesting to conjure up.

"Whose head was it?"

This time, your expression is sad when you answer. "My old neighbour. She died recently."

Ah, perhaps it was an unconscious thing. As you put away the cups, Chrollo keeps a close eye on your movements. The reason why your aura has been awakened may stem from this person's death. They might have been close to you considering that you did unconsciously create a copy of their head.

Maybe he needs to do some digging.

As Chrollo lets the midnight breeze blow through his hair, he thinks over the earlier events and information. An abusive husband, a docile wife. You were good friends with the lady, and tried to gather evidence to report the man.

Unfortunately for you, evidence was hard to gather. Whenever you tried, it would backfire and the now dead wife would suffer instead. Thus, when she took her own life, you used the police investigation to your advantage and revealed everything. The man was jailed, but the wounds of your dead friend never healed.

It is highly likely that this event triggered your aura nodes. Extreme emotional turmoil, though rare, is a possible trigger in your situation.

Eyes scanning the view in front of him, he thinks over possible uses of your ability. It's better than what a conjurer can do because you've already proven its versatility with the two extremely distinct things you created.

Maybe he should wait it out, let it develop more. He did, after all, tell you to practise with different things. If in case a new facet of your ability is unveiled, he wouldn't be the first to experiment with it.

The sounds of the bustling city make up for the lack of conversation. Behind you, a mother scolds her son for fighting with his younger sister. Next to them, a group of friends who have supposedly not seen each other for a while drink in the afternoon sun of the park.

You look tired.

And Chrollo has the urge to bring up the topic of soulmates.

Have you really not found a name on your body yet? It's hard to believe. He goes to sleep every single night after staring at that thing on his forearm with as much scorn as he is able to muster. He is a thief. And thieves do not indulge in daft affairs such as romance… or maybe most of them do not.

Contrasting his urges, Chrollo does not know what he would do if you have actually seen his name on your body. Should he use it to gain more of your trust? Or act innocent and pretend he doesn’t know? Would it be appropriate to indulge? Why does he want to indulge? What is so charming about your smile that he is rendered frozen and unable to look away?

Chrollo figures that Shopenhauer was perhaps partly correct in his analysis of love. Infatuation can blind even the most intelligent of men.

Your lips finally part to speak and Chrollo's world momentarily goes silent, the only sound being your voice and his beating heart.

"He's out of jail."

A vivid image of a grinning man comes to his mind, and he entertains it as the silhouette sports a hammer in his hand.

"He's out and he's looking for me."

The desperation in your tone suffices to rouse curiosity in him. Though a restraining order is paltry in this situation, he still suggests it just to be turned down. When you explain that a measly piece of paper saying that he isn't allowed to be near you is useless, Chrollo is unable to hold back a chuckle.

"Then why don't you just deal with him yourself," he proposes. "You're strong, [Name]. An ordinary man like him will go running as soon as he sees your Nen."

Now that the seed has been planted, Chrollo sits back and watches it grow.

Blood has never looked this good on any human being than it does on you. Oh if only he was able to witness it. The dead body of the man lies mangled in the living room, limbs separated, but your eyes seem to be more lifeless.

Intentionally feeding the enraged man information about your whereabouts was supposed to lead to a conflict where you flee home and purposely seek out Chrollo. During the panic, he would take advantage of your trust and steal your ability, take care of the man and be on his merry way.

Cleanup duty was not what he had expected. Well, neither was the possibility of you killing him considering how cowardly and timid you are. You must truly be his soulmate if you've done this.

Chrollo ushers you to your bedroom and asks you to stay inside till he comes for you himself. Summoning Bandit's Secret, he gets to work and once the mess is cleaned, he finds you seated on your bed in the same spot he had left you in an hour ago.

It's almost as though he's looking at a corpse.

Unmoving. He can't even be certain if you're breathing.

Calling your name does not elicit a reaction, so he simply sits next to you, mattress dipping under his weight. Judging from how messy it was, a fight must've transpired before. However, no furniture was broken or even scratched which means it was a clean strike. Not even your hands are dirty, only a few splatters on your face.

Which only boils down to you conjuring up or creating some sort of weapon with the 'light energy' that you manipulate. Whether it's conjuration or manipulation, Chrollo isn't sure. What he is sure of is that you are absolutely devastated.

So, being the gentleman that he is, he comforts his fated other half and bids goodbye after you're sound asleep. It was a completely one sided conversation again, but it doesn't matter.

He wants to break you more.

"Say, Chrollo?"

The man in question looks up from his book, the warm atmosphere of the library putting him at temporary ease. With a tilt of his head, he urges you to continue.

"Why do you always cover your forehead?"

He smiles, amused, and rests his chin on top of his hands. "Why do you wear clothes?"

"Huh?" Incredulous, you lean forward as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We wear clothes to hide our body, yes? Some people choose to cover most of it, and some choose to cover less. I don't see anything wrong or socially unacceptable about covering my forehead. It's just another part of my body I wear clothing over."

Chrollo smiles smugly. The way your mouth is left open at the answer is quite delightful. It's hard to believe that just a week ago you murdered someone.

"You're hiding something!"

"Am I," he challenges. "If I recall correctly, I'm not the one with skeletons in my closet, dear."

Lately, he's been getting more bold with the pet names. It's amusing to see you grow flustered over his nonchalance.

"It was self defence. I… I didn't mean to do anything."

Sure you didn't, but neither of you talk about that night. It’s an unspoken rule you set when you acted as though nothing out of the ordinary took place the day after the incident. Ironically, Chrollo is bemused at why you’re not afraid that the police might come after you if he decides to not stay quiet.

"Why did you help me?"

Now that is an interesting question from you. Why did he help you? Was it some feeling of obligation that led to his cooperation? Or did he feel pity? Pity that he will soon leave you after taking away an imperative part of yourself.

But he's never felt pity on his victims before. Why now? Is it because you're his supposed soulmate? The full name is the same, and he is quite curious to see if you are to play a key role in understanding himself.

Perhaps it's time to tip over the cup and let the tea spill. As composed as you outwardly were when asking, he could laugh at how obviously you're panicking, afraid that he might get bored and tell the police. That is one thing he silently holds over you.

However, once the tea spills and stains, it never washes out.

"Have you ever heard about soulmates?"

The question seems to baffle you, for your inner panic morphs into plain dumbfoundedness. Thus, Chrollo takes the liberty to explain.

"There's this folktale that two people have each other's names somewhere on their body that can only be seen by Nen users. These two people are destined to be romantic partners. I thought it was a silly story at first, but it seems to be true. To be frank, I hadn't believed anyone's reporting of it, but seeing it for myself has proven me wrong."

You close your book, eyeing Chrollo closely. "What're you trying to say?"

As ballsy as he is, Chrollo pulls up his sleeve and shows you your name written on it. Mercilessly, he explains how he felt your emotions prior to fully accepting that you are, in fact, his destined 'other half'. Chrollo's tongue holds no remorse to the horrified look on your face as he continues explaining his reservations for befriending you and how he got over them.

Conversely, he stays quiet after the unloading of information and lets it all sink in, allowing you to process what you heard. You look scared and vulnerable, yet Chrollo can't figure out why. Is it because he is your soulmate? Or is it because you're just stuped over something as silly as this?

Whichever it is, you clearly did not know about it which means that you haven't seen his name on your body yet.

"And that's why you helped me…?"

"Frankly," he says, "that's why I approached you in the first place. I felt your emotions in this library and when I put two and two together, I figured it out."

A pause and you speak again. "But… I haven't seen any name on my arm."

"It can appear anywhere on your body. It's usually triggered by the other person being in your vicinity."

Silence.

Was stealing your ability and leaving the right way to go? Why are you looking at him like that? With such hope and friskiness?

Why are you reaching for his hand?

Once intertwined, you make it a point to look at your and Chrollo's hands held together. He eyes the connected hands with childlike curiosity at the uncalled gesture but lets you have your way. Once your giddiness has settled down, he's quick to put on a smile.

"Premarital hand holding? Why, that's a bold move."

The comment causes you to immediately let go of his hand as though touching a hot surface. What part of his little slip had bothered you is beyond Chrollo. However, he continues smiling and tries again at conversation.

"I hope you're not disappointed over who fate has chosen for you, [Name]."

"I'm not." The sudden proclamation perhaps made you nervous because you keep touching your hair. "It was just so sudden."

Chrollo decides to poke a little, just for fun. "So you have no qualms about me being your romantic partner? Is that what you're implying," he chuckles.

Somehow, this kind of flustered look on you is even more precious. Stammering over your words, you take a few moments before you can give a comprehensive reply.

"That's not… w-what I was saying. What I meant was… was…"

"Was?"

Taking a deep breath, you gather all your courage to speak which, by the way, is a lot more than what you used to kill that man. "I meant that I wouldn't… be opposed… to the idea."

Wow. If Chrollo thought he had seen the peak of your bashfulness, he was absolutely wrong. He could almost pinch your cheeks.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't outright reject me. That would have hurt quite a lot."

"What if I reject you later?"

"Hm." Faking contemplation, Chrollo holds his chin between his index finger and thumb. "I would simply kidnap you. I can't let someone as adorable as you escape, now can I?"

"Haha. Very funny, Chrollo."

Very funny indeed.

It was around two in the morning when you texted Chrollo. The second he saw your contact name on his screen, he felt victorious. You noticed, didn't you?

He had been keeping an eye on your schedule. During the hours you were not at home, he would enter your apartment and do a little… redecorating. An example is how this time, he left your kitchen knife over an empty piece of paper with a single red cross on it.

Simple and not bloody at all, but he knows you. Subtle signs are what scare you the most.

Wide open wardrobe doors, an unlocked main door, balcony door slid open with the curtain blowing outside because of the wind, kitchen drawers and cabinets left open, sofa cushions piled into a corner of the living room and so on.

Returning home to things being changed inside your house or waking up to those changes has certainly scared you a lot. Despite being as agitated as you are, this is the first time you contacted him. Did the knife outshine the other things?

No matter. It's not like he plans on replying. It's just a simple message asking him if he's awake. Chrollo doesn't even open the message, dismissing it from the notifications bar and heads to bed.

Perhaps he went too far with the scares.

As dire as the situation was in the beginning, he had thought that you grew accustomed to the changes in your surroundings but he seems to have been proven wrong. There are apparent signs of your weariness and agitation, and the sight almost makes Chrollo frown.

Your eyes cautiously dart around as you grab the cup of steaming hot coffee and bring it to your lips. Chrollo watches closely how you determinedly blow on the drink to cool it down, eyes fixated on the way your lips shape into a pout to do so.

He wonders how it would feel to touch them… among other things.

During your pursuit, you fail to acknowledge Chrollo's attentive stare and how he suddenly crossed his legs after clearing his throat. Begrudgingly averting his gaze elsewhere, Chrollo picks up his own cup and lets the silence between the two of you settle.

Was it not appropriate to tell you about the mark on his forearm? Are you somehow now vying to turn whatever this relationship is into a romantic one?

For the first question, Chrollo thinks he chose the right course of action. Knowing that he is your soulmate will make winning your trust easier, not that he doesn't have it already. For the second question, he can't be sure. There haven't been any such hints from you yet.

The fact that neither of you address the elephant in the room is also maddening. You had admitted to not being against having a romantic relationship with him, but the conversation hadn’t gone further. Should he take the initiative himself? It would certainly be more charming that way, but what if you didn’t bring up the topic again because you’re not ready for the commitment?

Ah, maybe he should go through the romance books you read. There ought to be a few quirks and personality traits of the male lead that could help him woo you.

His thoughts are interrupted by you calling his name. Putting down his cup, he watches you do the same, already missing the little pout on your lips from earlier.

"Chrollo, I think…I think I'm seeing things because of my ability."

Hm. An interesting deduction. You're wrong, but you don't need to know that.

"Do you suspect the happenings in your apartment to be hallucinations?"

You freeze at his question, but manage to muster a reply. "I don't know. It's probably my ability. It is related to light and conjuring stuff up, right? It has to be the ability!"

"Or maybe a vengeful spirit."

"No! No… he's dead. I know he is."

Erratic behaviour and irrational thinking. You're reacting accordingly. Now, to just give a little oxygen to the spark…

"If you're sure it's your ability," Chrollo drawls, "then maybe you should just get rid of it."

Surprise is clearly written on your face, and Chrollo almost smiles at the endearing wide eyes you sport.

"I can get rid of my Nen ability?"

"Of course." He takes a sip of his coffee and continues. "It's possible."

You bang your hands on the table, cup clinking against the surface. "How?!"

Chrollo simply smiles bastardly at that. If you suppose he will give away important information so easily, you're naive. However… your reaction to the matter was adorable if not an absolute deal-breaker.

Maybe he should give a little push before he claims his prize. It's been a fun ride, so why cut it short?

"If you want to know, dear, meet me here again next Friday at this same time. I need to do some research beforehand."

A change of plan is considered, and Chrollo needs time to think it over. Nevertheless, seeing how desperately you agreed, he thinks he might just change his plan after all.

Chrollo isn't certain whether this idea is wise to act on or not. As he makes way to your apartment, he recalls all the other times he's watched you for hours on end daily. There wasn't any noteworthy information he could gather other than your questionable nonchalance at continuing daily life despite everything.

Maybe he's put this off for too long. He should just get the job done and get on with it. Well, not after messing around with you a little more that is. You're his soulmate. The least he could do, if not indulge you romantically, is be a little playful, not that he isn’t going to indulge you, far from it actually.

Chrollo easily picks the lock in your apartment door. Turning on the lights, he sits himself on the sofa, pulling out a book to read while he waits for your usual time to come home. As he goes through the latest romance book you read, an hour passes, and when he can sense your presence in the vicinity of the building, Chrollo feels absolutely elated.

It's dark when you walk in. Closing the door behind you, you kick off your shoes, groaning. Leaving your bag near the shoe rack, you slowly walk in, wincing when the lights are turned on. However, the living room lights aren't the ones that are turned on. It's the kitchen.

"Good evening, [Name]. I hope today didn't tire you."

Squinting, you look at the dark haired intruder casually leaning backwards on the kitchen counter. His appearance is a mystery to you because you do not remember giving him a key.

"And what brings you here, Chrollo?"

"Is it taboo to want to see my destined other half?"

You scoff, "Quite the smooth talker. Seriously, why are you here? You scared the bejeebers out of me."

You carefully eye his posture. If he turns out to be a threat, you could just use your Nen. Maybe make a sword or some other weapon or just make a run for it. No, you trust him. The door was probably unlocked.

"I simply wanted to see you. I'm leaving in a while after all."

This seems to capture your interest. "Leaving? When? We were supposed to meet next week."

"Soon."

"Okay…"

"Very soon."

"How did you get in?"

Ah. There it is.

Before you could even blink, Chrollo had disappeared. Unfortunately for you, by the time your brain even registered the fact that he had supposedly vanished, a blade is pressed to your neck while an arm holds you steady against a chest.

He's behind you.

And he's put a knife to your throat.

"It's been fun. I could even say that the time I've spent here with you was quite enjoyable, my dear [Name]. However," he presses it closer to your neck, a sign that you should stop struggling. "All good things must come to an end."

"What-"

"I've told the police about what you did."

That's a lie, but what do you know?

Chrollo feels you struggle more, and even though he had no need to hold you like this, he finds satisfaction in feeling you writhe against him. It's nice to see you cower in fear.

"I can give you two options, dearest, and you have to choose whichever poison you prefer."

"Chrollo let me go-"

"If I move this blade even a millimetre, it will pierce your skin. It's also poisoned, so I can't guarantee that you will experience anything pleasant."

Another lie, but it easily makes you settle down.

Chrollo continues, "You can choose to either come with me quietly or stay here and let the authorities deal with you. Considering that you used Nen, I believe that the Hunter Association will come after you as well."

He releases you, and goes back to leaning on the kitchen counter like before, casually sauntering there.

"Will you choose me or certain death?"

"Who the hell are you?"

With a smile, Chrollo summons Bandit's Secret and holds it up for your view. The sight makes your insides twist in fear. For the ethically ambiguous man, your reaction is simply amusing.

"Do you not know, dear? I'm your soulmate."

You scoff again, fists balled. "How much did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie," he states, matter of fact. "I simply withheld information."

The look you give him is one of pure rage. Ah, what bliss. Being on the receiving end of such an expression just makes you more precious in his eyes.

"You wouldn't regret coming with me." Releasing the book in his hand, he relaxes his posture. "We can have a good time together. I don't bite."

"Yeah, but do you stab?"

Chrollo shrugs, a smug smile making the action all the more infuriating. Holding the knife up to your view, you make out its intricate design and all the detailing. It's probably one used by assassins and the like. What should you do?

Before he says something, you cut him off. "Honestly, I'd prefer you bite. That thing doesn't seem to be a pleasant thing to be stabbed with."

"I assure you that biting would come one way or the other. How else am I supposed to mark you? Show my love for you?"

"Are you serious," you deadpan.

"Why? Do you want me to bite you right now? First, premarital hand holding, now this? My, how forward of you, [Name]."

Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

"Setting the jokes aside," he says, "I'm primarily here to rid you of your Nen. You asked me, remember?"

As Chrollo slowly steps towards you, your eyes - widened and glossy - stay fixated on Bandit's Secret. When Chrollo stops just a step away, he opens an empty page, watching how apprehension and dread oozes from your being.

Cupping your face with his free hand, he takes the opportunity to rub his thumb on your cheek as he consoles you. He could even almost lick his lips at how innocently you hold eye contact with your glossy, frightened eyes.

"I'll be gentle, so don't worry."

The first thing he did after he drove you here was give you a long list of rules to follow. What you had deduced from them was that you're now powerless and what he says, goes. He even took your Nen. At least now you know what his ability is, and it's in no way pleasant.

The hotel room is oddly fancy, but for someone like him, it's a perfect fit. He didn't tell you much on the way here, only absolutely necessary information like the fact that you are no match for him in combat or any other way and that you’ll have to stay with him for a while if you don’t want the police on your tail.

Your phone is confiscated, the telephone in the room has its connection cut and he's glued you to himself by trapping you between his body and the armrest of the sofa.

If anything, the arm Chrollo has slithered around your waist is just proof that he did hold some sort of affection for you from the beginning.

"If you keep drilling holes into the floor like that, you'll get wrinkles very early from the frowning, dear."

He hears you scoff and despite the book from earlier in his hand, smiles to himself at the reaction.

"I would prefer growing old and wrinkly early than endure this."

"How unfortunate then."

"..."

Chrollo turns a page, eyes going through the words. He feels you deflate, the action prompting him to pull you closer. On your end, it goes unappreciated, for you glare at him from his side.

Hesitantly, Chrollo turns his head to look at you. "Are you mad at me?"

"Nope. Not at all." Sarcasm oozes from your tone, but it only riles him up further.

"Would you like to be?"

Perhaps his smile is what's ticking you off, but it's amusing and he isn't someone to pass up on that.

"No. I'd rather take the wrinkles."

"Wise choice."

Is he really this unbothered after essentially ruining you? For what reason did he inform the police and then proceed to hide you? Why is he acting as though the two of you have been in a relationship for months? How is he so casual?

Before more questions can flood your panicked mind, Chrollo closes his book and announces that it's time. For what? You have no idea.

Chrollo's idea of a first date was to bring you to a mafia hideout with nothing but the clothes on your person. It was mainly a way for him to showcase just how powerful he is and just how much disparity exists between the two of you in strength. If he earns your compliance and submission on the first night together, you wouldn't dare to ever leave him.

You did say you weren't opposed to the idea of a romantic relationship with him, so it should be easy earning your acquiescence and cooperation, correct?

No. You're absolutely horrified at the dead bodies. Chrollo thinks he may have earned your fear instead of submission. But aren't the two things the same in essence? Maybe Shopenhauer is rubbing off on him a little bit.

As Chrollo removes a pen from the dead man's skull, he eyes how you're supposedly holding in a scream. There was hardly any blood involved in the kill, so maybe your terror stems from the act and not the sight. No matter. The man he was targeting is near. It'll be over soon.

An arm slung around your shoulder, his eyes don't miss the way you flinch. Chrollo smiles at you reassuringly, sending you an implicit message that you can take it and you will take it quietly. You're his soulmate. Stomaching this is the least you can do.

Maybe he'll reward you with giving you some privileges for the time being. Perhaps some information and clarity? He didn’t tell you much, so any information he gives you will be appreciated. Well, it's not as though your reaction to hearing that you will now live with him will be a positive one.

Chrollo indifferently saunters through the corridor filled with dead bodies as though walking through a park. You hesitantly follow behind him, staying close as per his instructions. Having arrived at the target's office, Chrollo once again asks you to stay close.

It's precious how you cling to him like your life depends on it.

And it does. It absolutely does depend on him.

The door opens with a creak and the man inside clearly looks like he's seen a ghost. Trembling in fear, all he manages to do is whimper. Chrollo simply closes the door behind him, and wordlessly summons Bandit's Secret, smug at how your eyes widened at the sight of the book.

The idiot crawling on the ground knows what's coming, and he's unarmed so there's no threat to you both. Chrollo supposes that arrogant men like him are easier to take care of since they're too prideful to even keep a knife on their person.

Nonetheless, Chrollo browses through the collection of abilities thinking over what to use. You're standing right next to him, throat dry and possibly even feverish from the fear. The latter is evident from how your face looks flushed and pale.

Using an ability that would swap air with water inside his lungs wouldn't be fun since it would do a quick job. Piercing his body with multiple Nen blades and then burning his skin off would be too terrifying for your poor eyes. Killing him without Nen would be pointless because he wants you to see the possibilities of what he can do.

Hm. What to use. What to use. Maybe…

"Indoor fish."

Your eyes widen at the two fish like creatures that appear in the room, floating. Without removing his eyes from the man, Chrollo gives you a warning. "If you don't want to be eaten alive, you will need to be in physical contact with me, dear."

A lie, but he wants to see your reaction.

Despite you desperately grabbing his free hand, you immediately close your eyes shut out of trepidation. The action will make you miss the point of what he's doing, so Chrollo frees his hand and pulls you in front of him by the shoulder.

Book open in one hand and the other gripping your shoulder, he calmly tells you to watch carefully, not allowing you to close your eyes for even a second. He forces you to watch the man be eaten alive by the fish, his terrified screams echoing in your mind.

Is this feeling a good one? Chrollo wonders if he's feeling victorious over his target dying or over you learning to fear his capabilities.

Ah, he was right earlier. You are feverish. He pulled you to him, back touching his chest and when he cupped your cheek, he felt wetness along with the increased temperature of your body. This night may have been too much for you, but it'll be worth it.

When the fish have eaten everything except for the man's head and half his torso, Chrollo closes Bandit's Secret and watches as his body collapses into a sad pile of flesh. You stifle a scream at the sight, and Chrollo briefly wonders if you felt this when you killed a man yourself.

His curiosity won’t be sated for a while. You've collapsed as well, so he can't ask you now. Well, off to the hotel you go. If you wake up soon, he’ll simply act as though nothing of importance transpired in the past few hours. It should throw you off into lowering your guard.

…

Seems like your legs had given out, not your consciousness. Chrollo’s thought process goes on auto-pilot and before he realises, he’s on his knees as well. The absolutely terror-stricken look on your face stirs something within him; however, an urge to remove you from this death filled environment is trampled by the urge to ruin you further, the latter winning solely because he let it.

He had squashed the will to soothe you like an insignificant insect and failed to dig up any remorse for the action. Even now as you frantically try to regain your bearings, the only thing on Chrollo’s mind is that this outing has ensured that you will never step up to him, and it is absolutely imperative that you do not. The reason is something Chrollo adamantly refuses to acknowledge.

Thus, like he always has, he will steal everything from you. Even if you are his soulmate, his destined other half. From you, he will steal your future and entwine it with his own no matter how.

The domesticity of waking up your beloved as sunlight falls on their face. Ah, such bliss. The curtains aren’t completely drawn, so some rays of sunlight peak through the gaps and fall onto your face. It's a sight that Chrollo would have ingrained into his mind if he wasn't confident that he'd be seeing it again often.

It may be that his arrogance will be his downfall but why not uphold it for the time being?

If it does not aid in anything else, it certainly makes the moment you flutter your eyes open all the more rewarding.

It’s not like he woke you up. You roused from sleep all on your own, and now you’re staring at him in confusion. Like you’re still dreaming. A switch flips inside you and you recoil backwards, putting some distance.

You’re simply being dramatic. On your insistence he had to sleep on the sofa, yet now you have the gall to react this way? Preposterous!

“Good morning to you too, dear.”

Chrollo’s greeting is accompanied with a smug smile, and you seem to have to hold yourself back from spitting something unsavoury.

“You…!”

“Contrary to what you may be assuming, I assure you that I woke up on the sofa. I merely came here to wake you up, that’s all.”

You squint your eyes at him in assessment. “Did you?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Alright.” You settle down and sit yourself at the side opposite to which you woke up since it’s currently occupied by the man who’s become your captor. A question pops into your mind, and you voice it before you forget. “Chrollo, why do the pillows smell like my perfume?”

“...”

“It’s a little cree-”

“I forgot to get them washed.”

Sure he did.

In one smooth motion, Chrollo is on his feet and out of the room. However, he backtracks to the doorframe, giving you a sly look before he pulls out his trump card with the smirk of a man who knows he's won.

In your somewhat vulnerable state from having just woken up, your eyes slightly widen at how he leans against the doorframe, arm raised above his head and resting on the doorframe as well. When your eyes land on his halfway unbuttoned shirt and bare forehead beautifully accentuated with loose hair, you immediately look away, eyes still as wide as saucers.

Intrigued at the reaction, Chrollo makes a mental note to go through the list of quirks and actions he made while reading those books you like. Maybe the time wasn't wasted after all.

It’s past noon now, and the dark haired man who holds a book in his hand while leisurely manspreading on the sofa refuses to give you any information. Well, you did learn something new. Chrollo covered his forehead because of a tattoo. What that tattoo is, you don’t know because all that he gave you for an answer was a smile.

His original aim at seating himself so disorderly was to force physical contact between you both. After last night’s date, you had avoided speaking to him and graced him with yelling when he attempted to share the bed with you. He understands why you would want to build up a level of trust to sleep together, but why avoid confrontation?

It’s absurd. Even forcing you to sit on the other end was a hassle. He even went through the trouble of packing some of your belongings and bringing them over late into the night so that you would be more comfortable in the morning after having to sleep in the same clothes you had worn for an entire day.

Chrollo has an idea about the questions that are brewing in your mind, but figured that his considerate gesture would act as a breaking point that would lead to you giving in and talking.

However, observing how you blankly stare at the wall, Chrollo closes his book and takes matters into his own hands. He remains extra careful to keep his voice gentle to soothe you into a feeling of security, to make you believe that you are safe and that he will take care of you despite what he had demonstrated the previous night .

“Did I pack everything of importance?"

You don't bother moving a muscle when you reply. "Yeah."

Grey eyes narrow at your disinterested body language, deciding to poke and prod a little. "Alright. If I missed anything, tell me and I’ll get it by tonight.”

“If the police are looking for me, then why do you keep going back there?”

Bait taken.

Now, reel it in, Chrollo.

“Mm. Maybe,” he rests his cheek on his fist, back leaned on the armrest, “it’s because no one’s looking for you.”

Something snaps inside you, and Chrollo can’t decipher what emotion it is that you’re displaying with that expression. Breath caught in your throat, he can see your eyes start to accumulate tears, brows furrow in what he recognises as confusion, and teeth clench as a sign of rage. Is it fury that you are experiencing? Your eyes show sadness and brows confusion, so which is it?

“What… do you mean?”

Chrollo decides to answer your question, faking a pensive expression. “Well, I never informed the police of anything to begin with, so I’m certain that no one is looking for you.”

“No one?!” You’re closer now, right in front of him in fact. “Not even my family? My parents?”

“It’s hardly been a day.”

“Then why…”

He braces for your yelling, so he’s obviously surprised when your question comes out as a whisper instead.

“Then why did you do all that?”

Yes. Why did he? Why did he go through the trouble of cleaning up your mess and then lie to you about reporting it? Why did he choose this path when a relationship was inevitable considering your subtle yet clear interest in him?

Well, it’s quite simple actually.

“I wanted you all to myself.” Chrollo leans forward and closer to you before he continues. “Your existence is key to understanding myself. You still have nightmares about killing that man, don’t you? I can’t even remember the face of whoever’s life I’ve taken.”

His hand cups your cheek, and the action feels akin to a searing hot piece of iron being placed on your skin. It’s a detestable gesture at the moment but you let him do as he pleases.

“Such a fragile being is bound to me by fate. So fragile, in fact, that she has to justify her sin by calling the man guilty so as to not let her own guilt take over.”

You flinch at the mention of the murder, but Chrollo’s grip is merciless and he keeps you under his hand. As he keeps staring into your petrified eyes, he moves closer, and closer until all you can see are his eyes.

“Tell me, darling. How did he scream? Was it desperate or spiteful? Was the smell of blood intoxicating or revolting?”

“Stop it-”

“What went through your head as you watched him die? How did it feel to see his limbs fly away from his body?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

The first few tears that manage to escape are promptly wiped away by his other hand. Before he resumes his verbal onslaught, he makes it a point to grab your face with both hands and force you to look him in the eye.

“You’re no better than I am. You continued on with life as though nothing had happened. I can’t say I’m unimpressed.”

His half-hearted compliment causes you to do a complete 360 degree turn, and Chrollo realises that he has found a little foible that he can exploit. You’re too emotional if provoked even the slightest bit and always ready to declare what you’re feeling.

“If I never met you, then all that would never have happened!”

However, sometimes those declared feelings can sting worse than even the deepest cuts with lemon squeezed on top of it.

“So I am responsible for you deciding to kill someone?”

“You were the one to put those destructive uses of my Nen into my head. You… you orchestrated all this!”

Chrollo finally lets go of your face but doesn’t avert his eyes. If anything, he looks at you more attentively now.

“Pointing fingers usually is seen as an act of denying responsibility for your actions, but in this case your finger points to the real culprit. You've caught me. How many years must I now serve, judge [Name]?”

His comment infuriates you further. Clenching your fists, you gather all your malice and concentrate it in your glare, malice oozing from your very eye sockets.

“Chrollo Lucilfer,” you say, “I wish I died before ever having the misfortune of meeting you!”

“Unfortunately for you- wait.”

As much as the admittal hurts, Chrollo’s mind focuses on another pressing matter. He never told you his full name which can only mean…

“[Name], I’m afraid I'm cutting your little tantrum short and as much as I wanted to refrain from anything premarital, I hope you understand when I ask you this. Show me where my name is on your body.”

Like a little child, you protectively wrap your arms around your body, shaking your head profusely in rebellion. “No way!”

“Is it somewhere you don’t want me to see?”

“No!” You stop shaking but your arms are still the same. “It’s not there anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen it ever since I got here.”

Ah. That’s because you no longer have Nen. Unlike you, he can use it perfectly fine.

“Where,” Chrollo demands.

Begrudgingly, you turn around, arms now hanging at your sides and legs crossed. “It’s… on my lower back. You can have a look but only this once.”

Hesitantly, Chrollo lifts the fabric of your shirt, unsure of what he may see despite knowing exactly what he will. His eyes widen at the sight. His name, Chrollo Lucilfer, is right there on the small of your back. As though in disbelief, he traces each letter with his index finger, ignoring the way you shiver at the touch.

“Hey, Chrollo?” Voice meek, you don’t turn your head to look at him, speaking sitting as you are. “Why did you lie to me about the police?”

His eyes don’t budge from the sight of his name. “To be frank, I wanted to see your reaction.”

“If your little prank is over, can I go home? I’m sure my parents are worried.”

Somehow, the mention of your family causes an ugly feeling to bloom in Chrollo’s chest. He covers you with your shirt, eyes still fixed on your lower back. Chrollo will try again, and this time he will be clear.

“I’m afraid that you’ll be living with me from now on.”

#yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x reader

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al0m · 20 hours

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Lamb holding their own little wooly Junimo they get after becoming a god in my cotl stardew valley au <3

Yes the crown has a huge attachment to the small creatures, especially Lambs and Narinders ones (preferably Lambs 🤫)

kudos to @asg027 for planting this silly little image in my mind of the crown ditching Lamb and Narinder, sleeping outside in the Junimo hut with a whole herd of them

(or rather... the crown couldn't bare the mpreggers trend anmore LMAO)

bonus doodle 💗 they're best friends

Kallamars would have scales

I'm not dropping their whole lore just yet but yes, they have different textures depending on what god/bishop they serve!!

Shamuras would be silky/a little fluffy like a spider would be

Narinders would be furry

Hekets would have a frog-like texture, a bit slimy and squishable

Leshys would be grassy, mossy, and leafy

lastly, Lambs would be wooly

#cult of the lamb #cotl #narilamb #cotl stardew au #alom does art #narinder x lamb #artists on tumblr #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl au

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threadbaresweater · 8 months

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if music be the food of love, play on

Nanami Kento x reader. You're the proud owner of a new music store that just opened up beside Kento's Bakery, a beloved oasis on a busy street of a quaint small town. Nanami is cold and unwelcoming when you first meet, but as the weeks pass, he discovers that there's a world of music and happiness right at his doorstep.

Tags: bakery owner Nanami, female musician reader (main instrument is piano); lots of technical talk about music; lots of food mentions (it's a bakery au, afterall); fluff, Nanami doesn't have a sorcerer background, Nobara and Haibara as supporting characters, first kisses, little bit of pining, smidge of angst for Nanami's back story. I've been nursing this for months and finally found the time to finish it today. Before you ask about a part two, please know that it's being considered, though it will be slow based on how long it took me to write this.

See end notes for details on the music mentioned throughout the story and an explanation of the title. 6.5k words. Dividers by the lovely @/cafekitsune.

While most of the city is still fast asleep, Nanami Kento unlocks the front door of his bakery and steps inside, ready for another day of creating the neighborhood's best loved bread and pastries. He works alone until his front of house staff arrives a little before 6:00 a.m., when it's time to open to the public. Every morning is the same– by the time he flips the little sign on the door from Closed to Open, there's a case full of fresh baked pastries that have each been handcrafted with loving skill by Nanami's hands. It's meditative for him– ingredients, measurements, time, routine, a well-loved butcher’s block table, intoxicating aromas and his favorite music playing on an old record player. He has an affinity for the classics: Vivaldi, Brahms, Chopin, Tchaikovsky. But on weekend mornings, when the strict weekday regimen is more relaxed and free, it’s jazz.

The storefront is small, the floors made of old pine planks that groan underfoot, and there's room for one small table for two in front of the window that faces the street. There are a few framed prints of famous artworks on the walls, a well-loved spider plant hanging in the corner, and a small wooden shelf with the daily newspaper and a few old cookbooks. Behind the cash register is a cutaway window where Nanami's kitchen is nestled just beyond. Customers come from miles around at all different times of the day– the morning commuters who build an extra fifteen minutes into their routine to stop in for a cup of coffee to go and a savory pastry wrapped in brown paper, the afternoon crowd who call to order sandwiches ahead for themselves and their coworkers to eat in the park on their lunch break, the evening crowd that stops to grab a fresh loaf of sourdough or rye to take home for dinner. By the time the last customer has left for the day, the case is empty and the cash register is full. An overnight baker comes in around 8 p.m. to begin prepping and proofing for the next morning, and Kento departs for home.

He appreciates the routine. It's predictable and comforting, and he thrives on knowing that he's still making a difference in the world– or, at least, in his little neighborhood. Owning a bakery is not a glamorous existence, but it’s honest work. His staff is competent and efficient, and he pays them fairly. He’s never failed a health department inspection– his kitchen is pristine and organized, with fresh ingredients and well-kept equipment being of utmost priority. It took him months to jump through all the hoops; health, utility, and zoning inspectors paraded through the store, nitpicking at every small detail until it’s all up to code. Nanami had little patience for all the red tape, but he held his tongue and signed all the papers and paid all the fees. He hired and trained a handful of workers and opened for business on a sleepy Thursday morning.

By the time the little music store comes to life next door, he’s been in business for over two years. And he’s thriving. Amid the other small businesses– a florist, an artist co-op, a jeweler, a few specialty clothing boutiques, a candy shop– he’s respected and loved, though the rest of the owners agree that he’s a bit of a grump. Hard to talk to, rarely smiles or makes small talk. Perhaps none of them have ever really given him a chance to say anything. Or perhaps Kento doesn’t really want to say anything to them. For all intents and purposes, he seems happy with his lot.

You purchase the store next door to Kento’s at the end of September. It takes a few weeks for the finer details to be secured, but the day you move in, it’s sunny and unseasonably warm. Nanami watches from behind the counter as the box truck you rented pulls up and takes up two parking spaces in front of his bakery. The dough he’s kneading bears the brunt of his frustration as he continues to watch.

You and two men get out; you survey your parking job and shrug your shoulders as if to say this will have to do. The truck is large, and there isn’t a lot of room in the alley behind the store, so it's really your only option. With a worried nibble of your fingernail, you turn and look in the window of the bakery to see if anyone’s watching. The glare on the glass makes it hard for you to tell, but Nanami watches you with a deep frown as you motion for your movers to start unloading the truck. For a moment, it looks like you’re going to come inside, but you change your mind mid step and go to unlock the door to your own store instead.

Nanami finishes the dough he’s working, dusts off his hands on his apron, and decides it’s time to confront you.

“Mr. Kento, is everything okay?” the counter attendant asks, concern etched into her features. “Are you–”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, without making eye contact. Onto the sidewalk he steps and crosses his arms, looking from your giant truck and over to your store, mouth slightly open, brows arched. He’s clearly annoyed, and he’s about to make it known when you bounce over to him, extending a hand in greeting.

“Hi! You must be Kento. I’ve never been to your bakery, but I’ve heard wonderful things.” You tell him your name, even though he doesn’t ask. And when he doesn’t take your hand, you sheepishly pull yours away, feeling a little deflated.

“You’re taking up two parking spaces.” It’s all he offers.

You scratch the back of your head and huff a little laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. The alley is so narrow, and I wasn’t sure if–”

“I receive deliveries out back twice a week, in a truck of a similar size. None of those drivers have ever had a problem fitting.”

Nodding, you stammer an apology, then call out to your movers. “We can park out back, you guys! He says there’s plenty of room!”

Nanami seems to relax, but only a little. “This is customer parking.”

You scoff, but you feel your face grow hot. This definitely isn’t the way you’d hoped to meet your next door business owner. “Look, I said I was sorry, okay? I’m not sure what else you want me to do.” As you start to say you’d like to buy something from him, the truck roars to life and you snap your lips shut with a short nod. Pleased, Nanami retreats back inside just as one of his customers pulls in to claim one of the spaces your truck left.

It takes hours to unload the truck, and days after that to sort through everything you’ve brought with you. You don’t hear another word from the baker next door, and you’re quite content with being left alone to organize your store the way you envisioned. There’s much more than you’d realized– stacks of sheet music, instruments you’d picked up at auctions and thrift stores that needed a little TLC, boxes of records and CD’s and even a few old cassette tapes, and an old upright piano that had been yours since the tender age of four. Your grandmother taught you to play on this piano, and now, it’s your turn to pass on the skill. Deep down, you know it’s a little crazy and overly-ambitious to open a music store and attempt to teach piano lessons, but you want to try. If worse comes to worst, you could always hire someone to tend to the store while you teach.

As the weeks go by and autumn settles in, word of your shop travels through town. You aren’t terribly busy yet, but you have a few regulars from the local university who like to raid your record collection from time to time, and you teach about a dozen piano students on a weekly basis. There’s generally a lull in business in the early afternoon, so on a particularly cool October day, you decide to lock up for a few minutes and head next door. You haven’t seen Nanami since the first time you met, but you’re hoping he doesn’t kick you out when he sees you at his counter.

A little bell above the door signals your arrival. Inside the bakery, it’s warm and inviting and smells like coffee and your grandmother’s kitchen. You order a drink and a croissant and make small talk with the counter staff. She’s young and smiling, seemingly happy to be at work as she goes about making your coffee order. You look around, noting the finer details of the store– the handwritten tags on the different varieties of bread, the old world feel and warm, yellow lighting. For someone whose first impression left you a little disenchanted, he certainly knows how to create a charming atmosphere.

As you go to leave, you hear your name called from the kitchen. You turn around just as you tear off a piece of the croissant to stuff in your mouth and meet Nanami's eyes, chewing in wide-eyed wonder. The flaky, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture of the croissant makes you want to moan in delight. But you're also gobsmacked that he remembers your name.

You swallow, then offer him a wide smile and a thumbs up from the hand that holds your coffee. "Kento! Nice to see you! I didn't know you were here today," you demure.

He is not impressed. "I'm here every day."

"Oh, right– being the owner and all."

"How do you like it?" he asks, giving a subtle incline of his head toward the pastry in your hand.

"Wha– oh, this?" You purse your lips and kiss the air. "Delectable. Delightful." You bite off another piece, and some of the flaky dough flutters across your cheek. "I should have come over weeks ago."

Something in his demeanor softens. It's so subtle that you'd probably have missed it if you weren't watching him so closely, anticipating his next move. "I wondered if you ever would, considering our first encounter."

You scoff. "That's old news. I was over it an hour after it happened."

There's a hint of a smile that lifts the corner of his mouth, and he pushes his glasses up with a floured finger. "Yes, I suppose it is."

For a brief moment, he considers asking about how business has been going for you, but ultimately decides against it. You take a sip of coffee as the cashier looks between the two of you, busying herself with wiping down the counter while trying to appear nonchalant. "Well," you begin, hooking your thumb over your shoulder, "I should probably head back over. I have a student coming soon. Nice talking to you, Kento!"

His interest is piqued. "Student?"

You nod, chewing on another mouthful. "Mm-hm! I teach piano lessons."

A golden brow raises, and his brown eyes gleam behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I had no idea."

You laugh. "That's why you should come and visit me! I haven't had the most warm welcome in this little neighborhood, and you're partly to blame for that."

"I thought you said that was old news," he deadpans.

You throw him a wink and use your elbow to open the door. "Later, Kento."

You visit once or twice a week, then every day. It becomes part of your morning routine to visit, and you know it's no good for your wallet, but you can’t resist. Eventually, the counter staff stops charging you for coffee. “It’s on the house,” Nanami calls from his station one morning. You leave an extra tip in the little jar by the cash register, and he scowls at you. You laugh and wave, then head back to your store, pleased that you seem to know just how to get under his skin.

You bring him a record next time you come. Vivaldi– The Four Seasons. You’d been at an auction over the weekend and thought of him when you found it. You slide it across the counter and tip your head toward the grumpy baker in the back. “For your boss,” you tell the cashier, whose name you’ve learned is Nobara and that she’s in school for graphic design but she’s been shadowing Kento and learning the art of baking.

“He won’t take it,” she whispers, though her mouth betrays her when she grins with you in a conspiratorial sort of way. She slips it under the counter and leans forward, lowering her voice even further. “I’ll make sure he hears it, though.”

You sip your coffee and meander toward the window while Nobara sneaks her way toward the record player that’s playing some pretentious Bach etudes. She rolls her eyes and pretends to yawn, then winks at you and lifts the needle.

“What happened?” As soon as the music stops, Kento calls from the kitchen, though you can’t see him from where you stand. You and Nobara share a wide-eyed moment while she slides the Vivaldi record out of its sleeve.

“Record’s over!” she replies. “Just getting another one out.”

You stifle a giggle behind your palm as she drops the needle. A few revolutions of static fill the small space, then the triumphant fanfare of Spring makes your heart leap with familiar excitement.

Kento steps out from the kitchen, dusting his hands on his apron. It’s only the second time you’ve seen the entirety of him, as most of the time his lower half is obscured by the wall behind the cash register. He’s taller than you realized, with broad shoulders that strain against the cotton of his button up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you can’t help but notice the well-defined muscle in his forearms and the thickness of his fingers. He looks from you to Nobara, then back to you. He’s not amused, but he isn’t exactly mad, either. You wonder if this guy has ever smiled at all.

“Vivaldi,” he says. “This isn’t my record.”

“It is now,” you say. Nobara grabs a broom and sweeps under one of the tables, and Kento steps a little closer to you. The music plays on, and you can’t tell if he’s listening and doesn’t want to ruin the vibe or if he truly is at a loss for words.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, reaching in his back pocket, presumably for his wallet.

You shake your head and smile at him. “It’s on the house. Now we’re even.”

“I didn’t realize you were in my debt.”

“Coffee. I haven’t paid for a cup in almost two weeks. I wanted to give you something in return.”

He knocks on your door just after you've locked up on a cold, rainy November afternoon.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, and if you didn’t know any better (and you really don’t) you’d think he was offended. He pulls a couple of bills from his wallet and holds them out to you. “Really. The coffee isn’t a big deal.”

You take a couple of steps backward until your shoulder butts into the door. The little bell above you jingles merrily. “Neither is the record!” And before he can say another word, you’re trotting back to your territory, leaving him with the triumphant sounds of Spring and your mischievous smile emblazoned on his psyche.

"We're closed!" you shout from the back, not bothering to see who's at the door.

"It's Kento," he calls, fitting as much of his body as he can under the awning to avoid getting any wetter than he already is.

You smile to yourself and go to let him in, sweeping your arm in a grand gesture. "Welcome to my humble shop, good sir. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

He doesn't even crack a smile, but steps over the threshold and dries his shoes on the welcome mat. For a moment, he doesn't speak, only looks around at your haphazard organization of goods. You watch him curiously, filing away a few pieces of sheet music before fully turning to face him.

“How do you like it?” you ask.

“Quaint,” he answers, not meeting your gaze. You notice for the first time that he’s carrying a brown paper bag, and he approaches you, wordlessly holding it out for you to take.

“Aw, thanks, Kento.” You accept it with a smile and stick your nose down in the bag, inhaling deeply.

“Rosemary,” he offers when he sees you lift a brow, trying to place the scent.

“It smells incredible.”

“You give piano lessons.” It’s a statement, not a question. You chuckle lightly at his abrupt change of subject. Either he’s incredibly socially awkward, or he doesn’t waste time on trivial small talk. You think it’s probably the latter.

“Right. We talked about it before. Why? Do you have a niece or something that wants to learn?”

He cocks his head at you, still expressionless. “No. I do.”

THe silence between you stretches on for just a beat too long, making the air tense and awkward. Nanami’s eyes don’t leave your face, and you find yourself stuttering out some kind of affirmative sound.

“Do you have an opening in your schedule?”

“I have a few!” you say. “What’s a good time for you?”

Nanami looks at his watch. “There’s no time like the present. Is this time of day usually free for you?”

“I–” You laugh sheepishly, but gesture for him to follow you to the back of the store where your little, slightly out of tune upright piano sits, surrounded by shelves of method books, theory worksheets, and volumes upon volumes of music through the ages. “I usually use this time to practice my own stuff, but I could make time for you.”

He slides easily onto the old wooden bench and inches it back, away from the keys, to accommodate his long legs. To say you’re surprised when he begins to play scales would be an understatement. He’s a little clumsy, using the wrong fingers on the wrong keys some of the time, but he keeps a steady tempo as his hands move up and down the octaves.

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to play,” you murmur, sitting in the chair you have placed to his right. Your teaching chair. Your newest student watches his hands, a lock of his golden hair falling over his forehead as he tilts his chin downward. You cross your legs and smile fondly.

"I took lessons as a child," he says quietly. "But I didn't keep up with it once I went to high school." He stops abruptly, then turns to you. "I'd like to refresh, though. Maybe learn a new piece or two."

"Of course!" From one of the shelves to your right, you pull out a volume of simplified classical pieces, thumbing through until you find one suitable. You lean forward and place it in front of him. "How's your sight reading?"

"Poor," he frowns, but he begins to pluck out the melody line, slow and deliberate.

"That's your assignment this week, then. I'll give you a book for home practice, and when you come back next week, be prepared to play one or two songs for me. Focus on the mechanics, the fingering, the tempo. We'll add in dynamics when you feel you've got it."

He continues to play, his left hand pressing against the pages to keep them from falling shut. "What's your fee?"

You answer without hesitation. "Bread."

He raises a brow as if to ask if you're serious. "Bread?"

You nod. "Bread. One loaf per week. Doesn't matter what kind, though I'm partial to a well-made focaccia."

"Bread is hardly sufficient for your services."

"I'm trying to be neighborly here, Kento. Indulge me."

"Fine. One loaf per week. And I'll buy my own sheet music."

"That's not necessary, I have–"

"I'll buy my own sheet music," he reiterates. You snap your mouth shut and give him a swift nod.

If his demeanor as a student is anything like his demeanor as a business owner, you're in for one hell of a ride.

The days grow short as winter settles in. With the holidays just around the corner, Nanami's bakery grows busier by the day with custom orders for parties and other social events, and you're busy preparing students for their first studio recital. Despite his busy schedule, he still visits you every Thursday afternoon and astounds you with the progress he makes. You wonder how he finds the time to practice, especially now, during his busiest season.

You've learned a few things about him during your time together. He's not much of a talker, preferring to keep his private life private. But when you do manage to get a little bit of personal information out of him, he gets a faraway, melancholy look in his eye, like maybe some part of him is stuck in those memories of a life long past. He’s divorced. It was a childless, loveless marriage, one where his ex-wife chased more after her own pleasure than their mutual enjoyment in more ways than one. He worked for years as a financial advisor, and when the divorce settlement came, she took her share of their assets and moved across the continent. He soon began to feel suffocated by the endless hours he spent at the office, so he took up baking as a hobby. What began as a way to distract himself from loneliness turned into a lucrative business opportunity; he opened the bakery with part of his retirement fund and never looked back.

His favorite composer is Beethoven. He appreciates the moodiness of the music, the complex and haunting melodies that seem to speak to a part of his soul he's buried long ago. You want to ask him why he never pursued music, but he beats you to the punch.

"There was a time as a child that I dreamed of being a concert pianist," he says quietly. He's playing the same two measures of a Beethoven piece, just the left hand, committing the sequence to muscle memory.

You hum and tilt your head. "What happened to that dream?"

He grunts, frustrated, though with the passage of music or his memory, you couldn't say. "My father. 'You won't make any money as a musician', he'd tell me. I said I didn't care about the money, so he found other ways to discourage me."

You're angry at his father on his behalf. It's true, the life of a musician isn't all glitz and glamor, but it's fulfilling work. The friendships formed and the memories of performances and late night jam sessions are worth more than any measly paycheck you might receive. It might be a romanticized way to think about it, but it's not unreasonable to find a way to make a modest living from music.

"So you studied–"

"Finance. Numbers. Spreadsheets and accounting. Math and music aren't really all that different when you break it down," he says. "Of course, you can't put emotion into algebraic equations," he scoffs. He lifts his hand from the keyboard and turns to look at you. "But you can with bread."

You nod. "It's true. I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to encourage you to follow your heart."

He pauses, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something retaliatory; but he sighs instead. "So am I."

You're struck suddenly with an idea, and nearly knock over your chair to open one of your cabinets. Nanami watches carefully as your fingers flip through different books, your eyes alight with excitement and maybe a smidge of mischief. "Found it!" You nudge him with the book as you sit on the edge of the bench to his right. "Scoot."

"What's this?" he asks as you set the music in front of the two of you.

"Play this with me," you say. You grab the book and bend the spine so that it lays a little more flat. "Look. It's in C Major. It's not fast. And your part is simple!" When he looks at you, skeptical, you laugh. "It's sight reading practice! Come on Kento, don't be scared."

It isn't the music that he's afraid of. It's the proximity of you, sitting mere inches away from him on the same bench. It's your shoulder rubbing against his, the light floral scent of your perfume, the way the setting sun slants in from the front window and makes your eyes shine. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away from you to study the music, ghosting his hands over the keys without actually pressing them.

"I'll take care of page turns. You control the pedal. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he says.

"Alright. On my count. One-two-three-four–"

It isn't perfect by a long shot. You get through the first few pages without much difficulty, but Nanami's capacity for sight reading isn't quite up to par, and he grows frustrated that he can't keep up with you. He stops after an unsuccessful attempt at a set of quick sixteenth notes and shakes his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I need more practice," he murmurs, watching your hands as you continue playing.

"You were doing fine!"

"Not as good as you."

You laugh, incredulous. "Kento, I've got years of practice on you! Give yourself a break!" You swat playfully at his shoulder and start to slide away from the bench, but he takes hold of your wrist. You freeze, and the smile falls from your lips when you see the way he's looking at you.

"I'll pay you for the extra time if I can stay a little longer." I want to get this right. For you.

When you settle back in beside him, he releases his grip on your wrist. The loss of warmth and pressure takes your breath away. Your tongue feels to heavy for your mouth when you agree to let him stay. "You don't have to pay me. Let's work this through."

You spend the next hour writing in numbers on the sheet music to guide him on which fingers to use on which keys, which passages are important to the call and response with your part, where to pause, where to speed up. The piece in its entirety is long; four movements, a total performance time of over forty minutes, but you plan to concentrate only on the first. Nanami is attentive and asks plenty of relevant questions, but as the evening draws on, you find it hard to concentrate on the music. Stifling a yawn with the back of your hand, you glance at the old grandfather clock that stands near the back door.

"I think that will give you enough to do this week, don't you think?" In the beat of silence that follows your question, your stomach gurgles. Embarrassed, you rub a hand over your abdomen. "Sorry."

Nanami closes the book and checks his watch. "When did you last eat?" he asks.

"I had an early lunch. Breakfast. Brunch?" You giggle at yourself and shrug. "A while ago," you admit.

He's at war with himself, and it's written all over his face. There's guilt for keeping you so late, annoyance that you didn't stop teaching him at a reasonable time. There's a thankfulness in the way his brows knit together, though, and a tender admiration for how dedicated you are. He also wants to take you to dinner, but he doesn't want it to be a date, and he doesn't want you to think that he's asking you out because he doesn't want to overstep any sort of student-teacher relationship.

But he owns a bakery that's stocked with food, whose employees have long gone home for the evening.

"Come with me."

You begin to protest. You know what he's going to offer, but you're tired and a little frazzled, and you know you won't be good company for much longer. "Kento, I appreciate it, but–"

"Let me make you something."

You sigh, but your stomach has more to say.

Nanami lifts a brow and quirks up the corner of his mouth. "Come on," he says, "before I change my mind."

The sidewalk is dusted with a glittering swirl of snow when you step outside and lock up. The street in front of your shops is barren and dark, save for a lone, flickering street lamp and a biting cold winter wind. You wish you'd thought to grab your coat (or at least a scarf), but Nanami is quick to unlock his door and usher you inside, his hand hovering near the small of your back, barely touching. You're immediately thankful for the warmth of his bakery. Even now, with the ovens off and only the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. You roll some of the tension out of your shoulders and look around while he goes straight to the record player and puts on an album. This one is different than his usual fare; the crackle of the needle on vinyl satisfies you in a way you can't explain, and soon you're surprised to hear the croon of Louis Armstrong.

"I didn't take you for a jazz fan," you muse, following him behind the counter. You feel like you're being let in on one of the world's best kept secrets, like you really shouldn't be here, even though you were invited– no, told– to come. Nanami pulls out a stool and instructs you to sit, and you do, though you're itching to help in some way.

"Sure you don't need me to do anything?"

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, then uses his index finger to push them up the bridge of his nose. You take that as a no, so you settle onto the stool and listen to the music while he works.

"You know, for it to be a real exchange of services, you should teach me how to bake."

He continues to assemble two sandwiches with cold cuts of meat and fresh tomato and some kind of pesto spread that makes your mouth water. The sound of the serrated edge of a knife cutting through a loaf of crusty bread makes your stomach growl again. Nanami scoffs. "I'm not a good teacher."

"Bullshit. I bet you're amazing."

"I'm not patient. I thought you'd be able to figure that out from the way I study piano." He sets a plate in front of you, then pulls out another stool, settling in adjacent from you at the other side of the prep table. You wonder if it's not customary for him to eat here. Something tells you that he likes to keep this space pristine when he's not using it for its intended purpose, but you choose to ignore it.

"You've got to have a little patience stored in there somewhere." You point to his heart and smile. "Doesn't bread take hours from start to finish? Pastries, too? And pies, and cookies and stuff?"

"Cookies don't take hours," he says. "But you do have a point with the bread and pastries. If you really want to learn, I'll teach you. But not tonight." He nods toward the sandwich. "Eat. I know you're hungry."

You eat. The first bite is a little piece of heaven; you expected nothing less, based on the other things you've eaten from his bakery, but this is on another level. Maybe it's because you haven't eaten in hours, or maybe it's because you're exhausted. Maybe it's because the man sitting with you made it for you and you didn't have to cook or decide what kind of takeout to get, but you'd swear it to be the best sandwich you've had in your life.

You don't talk much between bites, and neither does he. He, too, seems exhausted by the work he put in, but not in a way that has him feeling defeated. It's a sense of accomplishment, a tired sort of pride that comes from concentrating hard on a project that means something to him. You let the music fill the silence, you sip a cup of fresh-brewed coffee (even though you know you'll regret drinking caffeine so late), you let your spine curve as you lean on the table, feeling full and satisfied.

You offer to help him clean up. He insists that you leave it, that it's late and you should go. You pick up your plate anyway and stick out your tongue as you dance away from him and over to the sink. He grabs your wrist for the second time tonight and you look at his hand, then up at him as he tugs you gently toward him, close enough so that he can take the plate from you with his other hand. The fluorescent lighting does little to conceal his expression; a lock of his hair falls over one eye, where you see the dark half-circles in the skin underneath. He's tired. And it's not just because he spent the evening poring over music, nor is it because of the hours he keeps. You think he's just perpetually tired from the hand that life has dealt him, and you wish in that moment that you could help him rest.

"I said I've got it," he murmurs, and you suddenly realize you're closer to him than you'd thought. So close, in fact, that you feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek when he sighs at your stubbornness. There's barely an inch between your chest and his, and you catch yourself staring at his neck, wondering idly what it might feel like to run your nails along the stubble on his jaw.

You whisper, "Okay." Your lips feel dry, so you wet them with your tongue; it's an unconscious reflex, but when you see Nanami's eyes flit to your mouth and his cheeks bloom with color, you realize that he reads it in an entirely different way.

Not that you mind.

He sets your plate in the sink, never letting go of your wrist as he pulls you in even closer. He breathes through his mouth, softly, and he uses his other hand to tilt your chin upward, honey brown eyes dancing across your face. You search his face in kind; your heart is in your throat, and you feel his energy radiating all around you. Testing the waters a bit, you lean in further until the tip of your nose nudges his cheek and he closes his eyes as his hand slips around your waist.

He can't breathe when your lips touch his. You're so tentative and soft, plush silk that presses against his mouth and makes him yearn for more of you right away. There's something otherworldly that happens in that moment; you've shared kisses with a handful of people in your life, but none have ever felt quite like this. You think about the romance books that you read as a teen, where the kiss would be described as electric, charged, all-consuming, like some kind of magic spell was cast over the characters and they knew in an instant that they were meant to be.

You knew how foolish it was to believe in those kind of stories, yet here you were, standing in the middle of Nanami's kitchen, kissing him while he kissed you back, with soft jazz floating on the air, your fingers tracing across his jaw just as you'd daydreamed about only moments ago. His kiss is slow and deliberate, his tongue gentle and languid as it passes over yours and touches the corner of your mouth as if he's savoring the taste of you.

You're first to pull back, your head light, your chest fluttering as you take in a gulp of precious air. Nanami's forehead rests against yours, fingers pressed lightly against the pulse at your neck.

"You should go now," he whispers, though it's the last thing in the world he wants you to do. It's dangerous for you to stay. He isn't sure he'll be able to control himself much longer in your presence.

You nod and give his waist a squeeze as you pull away, and the fatigue of the day begins to set in. Nanami thumbs at your bottom lip before letting you go, watching as you clumsily fumble for your keys in the pocket of your jeans.

The back door opens suddenly, bringing in a gust of cold air and shimmering snow flurries, and you both jolt as the night baker steps inside. He, too, widens his eyes as he sees the two of you standing there. Nanami cards a hand through his hair and clears his throat while you fish out your keys, laughing nervously.

"Mr. Kento! You're here late," the baker says, looking between the two of you as it dawns on him what may have just happened.

"We were– I was just leaving," Nanami says. "Let me wash up, then I'll be out of your hair."

The baker smiles. "Nah, I got it. Go on home. You look tired."

Nanami begins to protest, then stops himself. "Thank you, Haibara. I'll see you in the morning."

He guides you out through the front, stopping to turn off the record player. Outside on the sidewalk, he grabs your hand, thumb running over your knuckles as he smiles at you. A genuine smile, the first one you've seen since you've known him.

"Goodnight. And thank you," he says.

"No need for thanks," you demure, squeezing his hand. "I had fun. And the sandwich was delicious. You spoil me, you know."

He kisses your forehead, then dips down to meet your lips once more. Sweet, chaste, but lingering, as if he wants to commit the feel of it to memory.

"If you’re serious about learning to bake, we can start when you're ready." Tomorrow? Is tomorrow good for you?

"I'll let you know." How about tonight? Right now? You begin to think of ways to rearrange your schedule so you can fit in baking lessons. The thought of rising before the sun makes you scowl, but you might be able to make it work. Especially since you'll be working alongside him. "Goodnight, Kento."

"Goodnight," he repeats, and when he says your name, you can almost hear the way he relishes the feel of it on his tongue.

"Don't forget to practice!" you call to him as you flit down the sidewalk. He chuckles to himself and looks up at the street lamp, hand shoved into his pockets.

"I won't."

The title is taken from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. “If music be the food of love play on,” by itself, is interpreted as equating music to food for love. On its own, as it is commonly quoted, speakers interpret it as promoting love in one’s life as one might seek out more food to sate one’s appetite. But, in the context of the play and the entire quote, it becomes clear that the speaker is asking for more music because he hopes that it will cure him of his obsessive love for Countess Olivia. He hopes that with more music, his “appetite may sicken and so die.” In the case of Nanami and his love interest, I just wanted a clever title to tie bread and music together, so the quote is interpreted here without context, which changes the meaning entirely 😂

The record that reader bring to Nanami is Vivaldi's Four Seasons, and the song specifically that plays is Spring

The Beethoven piece that he plays is Für Elise, which is a common "beginner" classical song for pianists.

The duet they play is Franz Schubert's Sonata in C Major D.812 (for four hands). They don't get very far before Nanami gives up.

In the bakery when they go to share a meal, Nanami puts on a Louis Armstrong record.

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