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caffeinetheif · 1 year

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Greenhouse

Yandere! Daivolo x GN! MC

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: basically everything that involves yanderes, blood, heavily implied (but not described) minor character death, imprisonment of MC, implied forced cuddling/bed sharing, blood, mentions of paranoia and the feeling of being watched, some minor violence from MC towards Diavolo (let’s be honest he kinda deserves it), attempt at a non-consentual kiss

A/N: y’all I’m super sorry for the absense. Work and school has been hectic. The stress of prepping for a study abroad is taking its toll that’s for sure. As always, I hope you enjoy and let me know if I missed any warnings! The title is a little cryptic, but I have my reasons for choosing it :)) Also, this was low key based off of a dream I had a while ago lol

“MC, darling,” a gentle voice rouses you from your peaceful slumber. It takes you a moment to remember where you are and who you are with.

Your mind reacts with panic. You’re still here, stuck in this cursed room with the demon who stole you away. The demon who faked your disappearance so he could keep you just for his own selfish desires.

“What, Diavolo?” you can’t help but let a bit of resentment slip into your voice. If there’s one thing that’s stayed the same after being snatched, it’s your distaste for being woken up.

The demon chuckles, “I apologize for waking you, dear, especially so late. There’s urgent business that I must attend to, but I promise I won’t be gone long!”

You glare at the back of Diavolo’s imposingly tall form as he stands up from your shared bed and dresses himself. If you had it your way, you wouldn’t even be here, much less sharing a bed with the Prince of the Devildom. You tried demanding your own room or bed when he first whisked you into his castle, but he laughed and told you that there was no need to be so stubborn.

Noticing your angry stare, Diavolo turns to you and smiles, “You can go back to sleep, MC. I know how much you hate being woken up.”

Diavolo restates that he’ll be back as soon as he can as he moves to press a kiss to your forehead. In a split second act of rebellion, knock your head into his chin as hard as you could without much of a windup. The demon doesn’t even flinch, but laughs instead.

“Still feisty as always!”

You think you see a flash of annoyance and disappointment in his honey gold eyes, but quickly flop back down in bed and turn your back to him. Maybe if he thinks you’re going back to sleep he will leave you be. You hear him bustle around the room a bit more before hearing his boots move towards the door.

That damn door! It locks from the outside and Diavolo has the only key. No matter how much you destroy the room searching for the key, you have never found where he keeps it hidden. The only idea you have is that it is somehow enchanted and bound to Diavolo in some way. Every time he enters and exits the room, he always locks the door behind him, which ruins your chances of any escape through it. Even the solitary window in the room is magically locked and indestructible to anything you throw or hit it with.

You hear the clicking of the lock becoming undone and the door opening. The door is shut quickly and you assume Diavolo has left. Time passes as you wait for the resounding ‘click’ of the lock sliding back into place. The sound never happens, your heart jumps with excitement at the prospect of Diavolo actually forgetting to relock the door in his hurry to attend to business. You quietly sit up and swing your legs over to stand. You move towards the tall solid wood door and listen for any notion that the prince is returning. You hear nothing for several minutes before you decide to test your luck.

Your shaky hand reaches out for the cold iron door handle and you slowly twist it. The inner mechanisms click and you wince as they echo throughout the empty room. Slowly, and ever so carefully, you push open the door. The hinges faintly groan but put up no fight.

The hallway outside is quiet. There is no sign of life from Diavolo or servants or maids. No footsteps or voices are heard. No demon is there to order you to stop or to get back in the room. There is no light coming from the hanging light fixtures or candle holders on the walls. The only light source is the gentle moonlight beaming in through the windows. The lack of life almost seems too good to be true, but it’s your only chance at escaping this hellhole.

Ever so carefully, you sneak out of the doorway. Twisting the handle, this time from the outside, you push the door shut so the hardware doesn’t alert anyone to the door being shut once more. You almost don’t believe that you’re out of that room. Before you begin the next phase of your escape, you look down the hall both ways. No one can see you leave, but that is an unlikely occurrence. So, you just have to out run them if you encounter anyone.

You start at a careful speed walk down the left hall. The paintings and portraits that hang along the wall seem to follow you with their eyes. A strong sense of foreboding urges you to move faster. A creak echoes from down the hall, and that’s all it takes for you to take off. You run down the ornate halls, ones that you had once admired. Now, they’re nothing but a mocking labyrinth and the paintings that adorn the walls mock you as you run. The tiled floor below does nothing to dampen the sound of your feet as your feet hit the ground.

Making turn after turn, you quickly find yourself lost in a state of panic and desperation. None of these halls look familiar and there is not a single living soul wandering around. No one is there to help you.

Or so you think. You make another turn and run face first into another person with a grunt. The force of the impact knocks you to the ground, but the other stays on their feet. You look up at the figure, the first living being you have encountered since arriving at the castle. He’s taller than you, but not tall by demon standards. He rubs at the spot on his chest where your head hit and he glances down at you in surprise.

“Huh?” he begins speaking, “there’s not supposed to be anyone in this wing of the castle, much less a human.”

Asking this demon, a servant of the castle, for help is a risky gamble, but one that you’re willing to take, “Please, you have to help me! I’m being held captive by Diavolo. Please, I need your help!”

The servant nervously glances around him, looking for any listening ears or prying eyes. He takes a shaky breath before saying, “You… you’re the reason Young Master has been acting strange.”

He sighs and looks like he’s contemplating something, “I shouldn’t. My Lord will have my head if he finds out I am helping you.”

Your gut drops, this is the first living being you have seen since you were brought to this wretched place! Is he really going to just… ignore you?

In a fit of desperation, you reach out and grab his sleeve, “Don’t leave me! I have to get out of here! I need to escape!”

Your outburst startles the demon and he shakes his head, “I didn’t say I was going to leave you. Follow me, and be quiet.”

Your heart leaps and you have to fight the urge to thank him, who knows if there is anyone listening. Turning on a dime, the servant walks through the decorative halls, making a number of right and left turns down other hallways. The two of you approach a ‘T’ shaped corridor and he seems to be attempting to remember something. Several seconds pass before he turns to the left option.

The length of the hall is uncharacteristically dirty, with dust coating the vases and paintings. The only light present comes from the moon peering through the occasional window. The few paintings that have been long neglected seem to follow you with their gaze and you hurry to keep up with your guide’s long strides.

Soon, the two of you finally arrive at a large, hardwood door. The demon quickly glances down the hall where you two just came from before flicking through his keyring. Finally, he stops once he finds a small, bronze key that matches the delicate hardware on the door and slides it into the keyhole. The key is twisted and you hear a dull click as the door is unlocked. The door creaks ominously as it is swung open to reveal a dusty, sparsely decorated room.

The unnamed demon enters the room and motions for you to follow him inside. Once you do, he relocks the door and quickly walks towards a tall painting that hangs on the wall.

The servant glances back at you, “Help me move this painting. There’s an old passageway behind here that leads to the courtyard.”

The sound of his voice brings your attention and you hurry to help him. As you approach the demon, you notice the painting is a portrait of a very young Lord Diavolo and his father sitting together. Something about this painting doesn’t sit right with you, but you choose to ignore it in favor of helping the servant move the large painting. The two of you lift in tandem and he guides the heavy frame to the side, leaving an opening just wide enough for you to fit.

“This is where I Ieave you. The rest of your escape is up to you. I will do my best to cover your tracks.”

As you slip between the wall and the frame, you glance at the demon and whisper a gracious, “Thank you, for everything.”

The demon nods and shifts the painting back over the entrance to the passageway and darkness engulfs you. It seems more like a tunnel than anything, but it is wide and tall, clearly made for much taller and broader demons. The lack of light wouldn’t phase any demon who enters due to their superior vision in the dark, but you? You’re nearly blind and depend on the feeling of the wall at your side to guide you.

As you maneuver down the pathway, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You know it’s silly and chalk it up to the paranoia resulting from Diavolo’s constant hovering. Regardless, you pick up your pace, opting to ignore the burning sensation of the stone wall dragging against your hand.

You don’t know how long you walk for. Luckily, the secret tunnel doesn’t seem to have any alternate hallways and consists of a single, winding one that leads to your destination. The chilly air and cold stone walls seem to sap all the heat from your body and you begin to shiver.

You finally see the moonlight beaming down at what you assume is the end of the tunnel. Glee fills you and you break out into a run as you grow closer to the light. The moonlight drifts down through a metal grate in the ceiling of the tunnel. It looks like it should be big enough for you to squeeze your shoulders through to get out. You stand under the grate and investigate the hardware. You don’t see any bolts or hinges on the grate that might hold it shut to your surprise.

The only thing that poses an issue is the height of the exit. The tunnel was not constructed with human height in mind, leaving the only exit a great deal above your head. With your arm stretched straight up as far as you could go, you still aren’t able to touch the metal. Even rising to your tiptoes the piece of metal is just too tall for you to touch.

With your heart pounding, you jump and swipe at the grate. The tips of your fingers brush against it. You jump and hit it again, and again, and again before the grate is dislodged far enough for you to be able to get your hand between the edge of it and the opening. With one more jump and a hard shove at the metal covering, the hole is completely uncovered. You mentally cheer, not wanting to give away your location to anyone who may hear.

It takes a couple more jumps for you to grasp onto the ledge securely, and at this point your arms and legs are exhausted. But you can’t give up, especially when you’re so close to being free! Just the feeling of the fresh air and cool breeze on your fingers is enough to spur you on. You bring your feet up against the stone wall as extra leverage to push yourself up and out of the hole. Adrenaline is one hell of a motivator.

The breeze caresses your face as you roll onto the grass surrounding the outside of the hole. You want to laugh, cry, yell, whoop and holler at the feeling of finally being outside. How long has it been since you have smelt dirt? You never thought you would miss the stuff, yet here you are.

“Have you finished having fun? I must say, you made it quite far.”

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots up to find the voice.

You see the one demon you are trying to escape. Diavolo, in all his glory, is crouching down a mere six feet away from the hole you just pulled yourself out of. The smile on his face doesn’t match the disappointment in his eyes.

A metallic stench fills your nose and brings your attention to Diavolo’s hands. Even with the moonlight projecting his silhouette and hiding most of him in darkness, you can still see the deep, ruby blood staining his hands. In the back of your mind, you know who it came from, but you don’t want to believe it. Lately, you find yourself not wanting to believe a lot of things.

Diavolo chuckles when he notices your eyes fixated on his hands, “It’s a shame, he was such a hard worker. To think such a dedicated servant would go behind my back to help you run away from me. Though, I do have several demons eager to replace him.”

No, no no no no! This can’t be happening! You didn’t even know his name, yet you find yourself grieving for the demon you just met.

Diavolo stands and a large, bloody hand wraps around your upper arm. He hauls you up like a sack of potatoes and ignores how you flinch and squirm at the feeling of the still warm blood seeping through your shirt. You can tell he’s furious as he moves to guide you back towards the castle.

“No, please, I just want to go home!” You panic, you can’t go back. If he gets you inside the castle again, you’re never getting out.

“Your home is here, MC. It’s here at my side where I can keep you locked away, where I can keep you safe!”

Anger surges through you and you kick and writhe, doing anything to get out of his grasp, “I’m not some object for you to own! I don’t belong to anyone, and certainly not you!”

Diavolo’s eyes narrow, and the aura he gives off is oppressive. Your brain screams at you to run, to get away, that Diavolo was dangerous. After all, he killed a demon in cold blood just because they brought you to an escape route.

“You were mine the day you arrived in the Devildom.”

#tw yandere #yandere diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me fic #om diavolo #omswd

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thenightling · 4 months

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Demisexual and Queer language

There's been some heated "debate" about the word demisexual and if it is necessary.

I admit there are certain words I don't really think are necessary but I sort of like the sound of, like Pansexual.

First, to be clear, Bisexual didn't originally mean "excluding nonbinary and trans." It wasn't a strict attraction to the binary. It wasn't transphobic or nonbinary-phobic. And most self-identified bisexuals, even now, do NOT heed these newly added restrictions.

Bisexual was a third option when, once upon a time, there were only two options.

Late into the 90s (and even now) there are still some gay folk who think bisexuality is a myth and you have to be attracted to one or the other, men or women, but cannot be potentially attracted to all genders / either gender.

For a lot of bisexuals the term means attraction to your own gender and all other genders. And that's what the "bi" actually means. I only like the term pansexual because of its connection to the Greek Pan.

There was even the weird stigma and notion that bisexual meant you were horny for everyone. Into the 2000s you saw this in pop culture even with beloved characters like Jack Harkness in Doctor Who and as recently as the AMC Interview with The Vampire TV show version of Lestat, where bisexual felt like code for "Horny for everything" and even physically abusive and dominating. Odd that the 90s movie depiction of Lestat felt less... negative-stereotype-y.

Anyway, for a lot of older Queer folk "bisexual" was still a new term as recently as the 90s. When David Bowie came out as bisexual in 1972 a reporter mistakenly took that to mean he had the sex organs of a man and a woman. (Source: the 1993 book "Bowie: In his own words.")

Bowie was so stigmatized by America's obsession with him being bisexual that he walked back into the closet until the mid-2000s when he came back out and admitted he had only gone back into the closet because he was sick of American reporters asking him about it. And he admitted it felt like no other country did that, just America.

And when Vincent Price's daughter found out that her father had been bisexual she ran to Roddy McDowall and confronted him by asking "Why didn't you tell me my father was bisexual?" and Roddy responded with "We didn't know the word. How can you deny something when you don't know the word?"

Based on Roddy McDowall's response about Vincent Price, there are probably a lot of older and historic Queer folk who were actually bisexual but the moment they had any same-sex attraction the title of "homosexual" was pinned to them.

Language evolves for a reason. The acceptance of the idea that someone could be attracted to more than one gender is why we have the word bisexual. Demisexual has always existed, we just didn't have a term for it. Yes, there are a lot of new terms in the LGBTQAI+ spectrum. And change can be scary. This is why a lot of folk have started to positively use the term Queer, to keep things simple while also taking back a word some used to slur-like capacity. The 1963 novel The Man who fell to Earth by Walter Tevis had a line "He walked like a queer." and in the 1970s that line was changed to "He walked like a homosexual." I half-imagine that if Walter Tevis was still alive he would acknowledge the character Nathan Bryce's internalized homophobia (the character whose internal monologue uses the description) or drop the description entirely but it is interesting to note that the original wording would be more accepted today than back in 1963 when it was first published.

#Demisexual #Bisexual #Pansexual #Queer #LGBTQAI+#LGBTQ #LGBT

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noodledesk · 2 years

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update: FREE habit tracker template (with new progress bars!)🌱💗💞

i've received a few questions about how i track habits, which honestly changes often, but i thought i'd share how i do it right now.

other posts that may interest you: making a dashboard in notion (with template) | my notion tag | my other free notion templates

this is a pretty low-maintenance and simple way of tracking habits, while still using the wonderful database feature. i hope it helps you ✨😋

post text in alt text and also under the cut:

title: how i track my habits on notion (an illustrated guide + free template)

habit breakdown: every year i take some time to define exactly what my habits are first (i like to use icons for simplicity). this way, i know what i have to do to check off a habit on a day

how i use it: every day, my dashboard has a habits section that updates daily. when i practice the habit, i just check it off. this refreshes automatically so it’s convenient.

how i use it: at the end of each month, i can see how consistent i was with specific habits. i do this by looking at my monthly percentages and looking for patterns: did i burn out on a particular habit? why? and i think about how i should adjust these to my current reality every month, because life happens!

how i use it: then i jot down these numbers so i have a general idea of whether or not i’m being consistent with the intentions i set at the beginning of the month. i ask myself, why or why not? and then i make adjustments to my new interests and priorities.

benefits

benefits — an easy habit tracker helps you see what you’re doing each day so you have an idea of what you want to practice more, practice less, and gives you a better idea of how your habits are affecting your wellbeing, instead of just relying on vibes, which can make you hard on yourself.

encouragement — checking it off gives me a sense of accomplishment. i had a tendency of thinking i wasn’t ‘doing enough’ each month, but when i write things down, i have concrete proof that i did things that were important to me. you also get to look back on your month and be like, look at all these things i did for myself! and have a little celebration :)

how it works: calendar view: of course i’ve created a template for you to use (yay!), but it’s worth learning how i set up the template so you can adjust it to your needs. basically, each habit is a property, and each page corresponds to a day, which has all the habits on it like a checklist. every month i duplicate the page each day for a month (it sounds cumbersome, but actually only takes about a minute total). this allows me to review every month if i want to keep my habits the same, set habit intentions each month so i can reflect and consider, what habits should i continue? what should i stop? it keeps it flexible. also, if you’re going on vacation, need a break, or anything comes up, you can take days off and that way your statistics won’t be skewed by stretches of time where you aren’t planning to practice your habits.

tip: hold alt + drag your mouse to duplicate pages super quickly for this step

how it works: count page: all you have to do here is filter the date to the interval you’d like to see your habits summarized in. i keep mine as calculated per month, but you can set your interval for a week or year or something more specific.

how it works: daily view: i create a linked database and set the view to gallery, filter to “Today” and make sure that all the properties for habits are enabled so they appear in a little task list. then i just check them off each day. it updates automatically.

closing: and that’s it! for me, simple is best. i change how i track stuff all the time, but for now, this works just fine. i hope it can help you too.

#study #productivity #notion #notion template #habits #tips #advice #organization #time management #studyspo #graphic design #mine

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fluffywings13 · 5 months

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So a lil JJK something lol!

Keep in mind that Itadori is around 6 years old in this one and that's the reason for the childish nature he has.

Ler Sukuna, Lee Itadori

“And what game, my fiery little sprite, are we playing today?” Ordinarily Sukuna wouldn’t be caught dead treating a human, his Vessel or not, in such a familial manner. But this was no simple human, no typical Vessel, and he carried him back to his Throne secure and cared for in his arms. This is his Little One, not simply his far too young Vessel, Sukuna never fathered children and not for lack of the desire but for who would bed with him and carry to term and delivery willingly–even if one could birth half cursed children and survive–the notion that this is his son is not on the mind. But he can’t help the paternal nature their relationship began to take along the way. “What silliness do you desire this night?”

“Silly Smoochies!” Yuuji is far too elated at the ever kept promise of Friday nights post supper time has concluded and he’s returned to his room for the evening being their time to be silly and play together. “The kissy game!”

A rather tactile game, it was one of the boy’s most asked for playings between them, because he knew Sukuna wouldn’t deny him. He hasn’t denied him any of these rather touchy games in nearly an entire year. “Gotta lose the shirt then, cub, we’ve played this game before. You know the night shirts gotta go.” The boy shrieks with laughter as they whirl around dramatically, Curse body sharing with him falling back on the wide seat of his throne with an overdramatic flop, they’ve long since passed through any disdain for the other. “You gonna take care of that problem or am I gonna have to do the extra work in doing it for you?” Little Yuuji shrieks with even more giggles when fingers spider up his sides. “Gotta make your choice quick, little guy.”

Yuuji’s well aware of what’s going to happen next when he says– “You!” He lives for these times, for these moments, he never got to really have them with his own mama or papa. They got taken away from him by strangers he vaguely remembers certain random features of before they could really get along. Mama and papa had been fighting for a long while before they left forever, but they had just started getting along again, things were slowly starting to get better.

Then they were dead. He remembers seeing them. Their bodies. Crying. Wailing between them soaked in their blood screaming his demands to know why the strangers had hurt mama and papa so badly before he was dragged away.

That’s when he met Sukuna. Well, shortly after, there was a lot of pain. Even more pain. Abandonment that leads to even more aches and pains. Then he’s waking up in a strange place with a tall man standing above him.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

Sukuna never tried to replace papa, never once indicated he intended to do so, they had a distinct relationship in that they shared similar affections that a papa would to their son and a son would in return to their papa. But the Curse never took on the title of papa, not truly, he remained Sukuna and ‘Kuna, sometimes when Yuuji was in big deep trouble or the King was being a big mean tickle monster he’d become papa because he was weak to the term and the brat knew as such. But they knew where the other stood in each others lives and saw no reason to change or adjust accordingly.

Yuuji was an Orphan due to Unfortunate Circumstances that Sukuna knew the finer details of but refused to divulge and found his hand forced into action when the boy kept badgering about the matter to the point of a Tantrum. He’s not so Old Fashion to find all such childish outbursts needing to be met with harsh firm reprimand, Yuuji was young and has gone through far too much in such a short time leading to Tantrums to be expected of him, it had been when the boy had dared to have slapped him that he’d been promptly draped over his knee and his bottom felt the wrath of the real only true Parental Figure he had in his life for such a poorly made decision on his part.

“You want me to take care of the little shirt causing issues for your favorite of our games?” Of course, Sukuna knew that the request was going to be made before it was even said, he’s most happy to oblige as a benevolent Spirit. “What is it the elder brats are saying these days?” Yuuji squeals when long fingers crawl just under the hem of his nightshirt. “I understood the assignment.” Nails likes claws skitter up his sides slowly and the boy squees in a fit of giggles, the feeling like tickly bug legs creeping and crawling all over, it drives him crazy as it usually does. “You didn’t bring any nasty insects into my Domain, did you now, squirming like you are as if they’re crawling all over you.”

Tickly bugs work their way around his torso, keeping the child in absolute stitches, and then the night shirts torn off and the real desired silliness for their pre-scheduled Silly Time Night is to begin. Yuuji screams loudly when they roll over, the Curse settling him safely at his side, he’s laying completely on a soft duvet and the man’s kimono with Sukuna half rolled over with him.

If anyone, absolutely anyone, says anything about what the King Of Curses did next….

The adorable scamp wanted to play the game he so aptly entitled ‘Silly Smooches’ and who was he to deny his unspoken declared Prince Of Curses such a simple request from him. One word about the actions on his part that had the child at his wits end trying to declare which of the kisses ‘Kuna gives him he favors most as the King unashamedly burrows into that little left underarm with an undetermined number of kisses until he gets the answer to the inquiry that had been posed and it would be the last word that the fool ever spoke. He’s eaten plenty of humans in his lifetime so consistently pressing his lips to the little one’s little armpit is next to nothing on the level of what most others might consider to be of the upmost disgusting sort.

For inquiring minds, the most favored of Sukuna’s kisses, as spoken from the giggly breathless recipient of them himself. Those given to his lower tummy are the most favored of his kisses.

#ler!sukuna #jjk itadori #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #jujutsu sukuna #ticklish!itadori #ticklish yuuji #jjk tickle #jujutsu tickling #secretly soft sukuna

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posletsvet · 8 months

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Some further chapter 235 thoughts

Alright, a little disclaimer before I get carried away: this may and chances are will in some ways contradict my thoughts from when I last talked about it here. Right after the spoilers came out my thinking was driven by emotion, and before I got a chance to sit down and shape my opinion properly, the emotion was what defined it. I guess I shouldn't have written it down in the first place, as all I really did was allowed my feelings to get the better of me and judged the situation biased. My bad, really,,

With that out of the way, my opinion has shifted since, and as I've come to see it, there's at least one important thing that Sukuna vs Gojo fight did, and that is precisely cementing Gojo's position as the strongest. It's already a pre-established truth when we enter the story, but it's put into question with Sukuna finding a way out of his seal through Yuuji consuming that finger. Sukuna merely being brought back to existence is already enough to challenge Gojo's title. Is Satoru Gojo rightfully the pinnacle of Jujutsu, or is he, as Sukuna brags, just somebody who is considered the strongest when the King of Curses wasn't around to provide a contrast? Is he the most powerful sorcerer of all eras, or is he simply the one of his time, comparatively mild and peaceful? Two characters getting to be named the only honoured one throughout heaven and earth is an explicit contradiction, so how could both statements be true at the same time? These were the questions hanging in the air from the beginning, looming over both the audience and the characters' heads, and Gege undoubtedly has been laying the groundwork for Gojo and Sukuna's confrontation since the very start. So as much as I or anybody else may dislike it, the purpose of this fight was never solely to rescue Megumi. The debate over who should claim the title of the all-time strongest had come into question long before the necessity to save Megumi entered the equasion, it's been a thread unravelling itself throughout the whole narrative. If Gojo's arc is about to reach its conclusion, that could only be possible with this uncertainty dispelled. Now that we have a concrete answer, the narrative can move on from there.

What's also been a reappearing idea in the manga since the outset, is the notion that the strength positions individual's value in Jujutsu society, brought to us from perspectives of various characters. However, it's not the strength alone which defines one's place, or rather it's not all kinds of strength that are accepted as valuable and deserving of admiration. In actuality, what really matters is how well the person in question fits into the conventional image, which is backed up by centuries of tradition followed by those in charge. Otherwise the instances when extremely powerful in their own ways individuals are driven out to the outskirts of society just because they don't fit into the mold of traditionalistic beliefs enough wouldn't be present in the narrative, we just wouldn't have characters like Toji and Maki. The moral of their stories is, essentially, that in order to be recognized as an individual and have at least some singnificant say when it comes to making decisions in the Jujutsu world, you need to uphold a standard.

And by whom is that standard set?

My thoughts keep circling back to what Gakuganji once said regarding the defining forces in their society which Grade 1 sorcerers are, whereas Special Grades are rather 'something of a misrepresentation'. I guess those who are assigned Grade 1 really do have a greater influence on the world around them, and that is not due to their strength, but rather because they're setting an ideal for those below them in the hierarchical order. They're better fit to serve as role models, and in society where climbing to the top is a way to ensure survival, younger and less experienced sorcerers have no choice but to look up to those who thrive, seeking a way to achieve it, too. The strong get to dictate the standard, yes, but it's still essential that they uphold said standard themselves, providing an example. This even finds a reflection in the procedure of promotion. One needs to be deemed worthy upon receiving recommendations, and that requires having characteristics which fall in line with what is conventionally approved of. So while Gojo is considered the strongest of his generation, he is not, paradoxically, the most powerful player in the field, not in terms of political and influential significance. Not when he displays a mindset that is a stand-alone against traditional beliefs held by the absolute majority. That is a contradiction pointed out by Sukuna in early chapters: he finds it amusing that someone so strong plays by somebody else's rules.

How is all that relevant to the importance of Gojo winning the fight?

As we know, Special Grades tend to be lone wolves, too vastly outnumbered for their voice to be heard clearly. For instance, who in the Jujutsu world knows of Yuki's research and what fruit it bears, what insight into the nature of cursed energy her investigation provides? She's stigmatized for being a delinquent (I think it's no coincidence that the only thing Geto heard about her was how she didn't carry out her duties as a sorcerer), the work of her life going unnoticed with her death. It might be a complicated way for me to get to the point, but what I'm trying to say is that Gojo, as recognizable within sorcerer's society as he is, probably isn't that different from Yuki. No one really remembers his goals when asked to describe him. He's the strongest, and that's the only lingering impression of him. By coming out of this fight triumphant and therefore cementing his position on the top of Jujutsu society, Gojo makes sure he will be remembered -- just like Sukuna is still remembered, even though centuries have passed since he was at the peak of his power. With surpassing the King of Curses under his belt, Gojo's name is now set in stone, and so is his example for the future generations. This means Gojo's ideology will outlive him, and even if his beliefs might seem delusional as of now, it doesn't mean this won't change in the years to follow. Because the adequacy of one or the other set of ideas can only be measured by the context of society they exist in, and now that society has a stimulus to reconstruct itself, adapting to the views of someone who's proven himself ultimately superior judging by its own standarts. So yes, in the end Gojo and Sukuna both fought for the sake of proving they could win, but while Sukuna was after personal gain in terms of self-affirmation and growth, I'd argue that for Gojo it was rather about setting an example.

Now, to once again address my previous thoughts and how they've changed, I no longer think it's Gojo's loneliness that should be breached in order to bring about change. Gojo's being lonely is converted into somewhat of a symbol by the narrative, and, using a little bit of metaphor here, symbols should remain static, unchanged in order to carry meaning. In that sense Gojo still represents the flawed past which the main characters of the manga need to break away from, making him the last strong sorcerer forced to fight alone and trapped in his own position. Gojo as a side character needs to stay at least in some ways inferior for the protagonists of the story to outshine him, claiming the spotlight back. After all, it's all about giving way to the new generation, and Gojo himself acknowledges it well. He as a sorcerer of the previous, older generation is too well-ingrained in that very society which the whole narrative focuses on deconstructing. It's about surpassing your predecessors, and if anything, making sure his students will do so is Gojo's main goal as a teacher.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk meta #jjk analysis #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #jjk 235 #twelve hours long working shifts do funny things to my brain #i spent the whole day alone with poor internet connection yesterday #and brainrot crept back in #i've been thinking a lot recently about what gege plans for the next chapter #and in what direction the story will go from there #the thing is #something as significant as gojo and sukuna's fight cannot end in vain for the story #so it got me thinking #and as a consequence i ended up reconsidering almost everything i had in mind before #but anyways i really hope we'll get back on with kenjaku's shenanigans now #and what uraume's been up to this whole time #and stick to the main crew's perspective again #i miss my darling boy yuuji #and nobara #and megumi...#arguably it's not gojo's job to bring megumi back #it's what the main characters are for

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yarnnerdally · 2 months

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Title: Blind Date Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh/Iris (OC) Tags: modern au, minor blood, alcohol mention, hurt/comfort, blind date, original female character, arthur being a little shit. WC: just under 2k

“Iris! Did you hear the brilliant news?” The bright, shit eating grin on Arthur’s face was plenty cause for concern. What was more concerning was the brief panic that washed over Theo’s face before he began glaring at the novelist.

“Brilliant news, you say? I haven’t, no,” she replied coolly, her hands not slowing as she diced the vegetables to go in their dinner that night. A balled up piece of paper connected with Arthur's head and he laughed.

“Arthur, don’t-”

“Our Theo is going on a date tonight! Isn’t it the sweetest?”

Theo. On… a date? Everything seemed to slow down for a moment; Iris' mind whirred with thoughts of the situation. She quickly snapped herself out of the spiraling thoughts that would no doubt leave her feeling utterly depressed and focused on schooling her face to keep a neutral expression. “Well, that’s quite the development! So, who is this mystery woman?” Theo’s own features soured at her words and he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting heavily on the sofa.

“That’s the crux of it, Iris! She is a mystery woman! You see, I learned what a blind date is and decided that was just the thing our Theo needed!" The ice that filled her veins nearly made her shiver. He agreed to this? She looked to Theo, working to control her breathing as her heart pounded hard in her ribcage. The world was shrinking, collapsing around her like a dying star and he couldn't even look at her? Her lungs hurt from the controlled effort. 'Stay neutral. Stop it. He's not yours . This is what you get for putting it off. You should have told him you should have told him you should have told him you should have-'

"I only agreed to get you off my back, klootzak." The words felt distant as Iris listened to them arguing lightly with one another. Theo was going on a date. He was finally interested in dating. She recalled a conversation around the time they first met. Vincent teased him, wishing his little brother would settle down with someone. Theo had rejected the idea with the clause that he would consider it when Vincent himself found someone. And, to the extent of her knowledge, Vincent hadn't started dating. So why…?

"Ah! Shit." Too caught up in her thoughts, she cursed lightly as her attention to her knife skills had all but disappeared. A small gash of blood bloomed on her finger and she dropped the knife in the sink, immediately putting her hand under running water. She didn't notice just how quickly Theo had raced to her side and helped her to bandage her finger as cleanly and quickly as possible. She did still live with vampires, after all. Theo seemed completely unaffected by her blood as he helped her which only solidified the notion that anything she thought was flirting before was that and only that. None of it had been serious. Theo was cool as a cucumber as he helped her and neither noticed when Arthur had slipped out of the kitchen. She felt a resigned sort of sadness wash over her but still looked at him with a smile. "Well. If all goes well with this mystery woman, she'll have someone very capable when it comes to emergencies," she said lightly, unable to keep the teasing lilt from her voice.

Iris felt Theo’s eyes studying her intently as she went back to cooking. ‘For one less now that Theo has a date,’ she reminded herself bitterly. The tension in the air was palpable and they both felt the suffocating weight of the past five minutes. Thankfully, best friend and brother Vincent entered the kitchen; the painter now there to the unknowing rescue. Theo pardoned himself with the excuse to walk Prince. "I should walk him before going… excuse me." His words were stilted and awkward and he left, leaving the other two behind. Vincent watched her intently and she knew that he could see every emotion running across her face. She sighed and put the knife down, looking at her best friend. She hated the look she saw. His smile was so sad and she did her best to not crumble. Iris composed herself quickly, determined to not give in to the waves of emotion she was feeling. It wasn't fair to anyone, including her, to feel sorry for herself. She refocused on cooking dinner for the night, attempting to double down on her concentration.

"Zusje." Iris pointedly ignored Vincent's call to her as she continued about the kitchen, making herself busy. He called to her again and frowned as she ignored him. He resorted to stopping her as she walked by, taking the bag of potatoes from her. "Iris. Stop and talk to me." She frowned and went to take the potatoes back, scowling lightly as Vincent kept them out of her reach handily.

"There's nothing to talk about. Now, if you'd be so kind as to give me those potatoes back." Vincent shook his head, his eyes melancholy for his friend.

"You should tell him when he gets back."

"Like hell I will."

"Why not? Better you than a mystery, no?"

"Because if he already thought of me that way, he wouldn't have agreed to go on the blind date in the first place." Iris' tone was sharp but her eyes betrayed that with the soft sadness that was behind them. "I'm not going to take advantage of the situation. If he agreed to go on a blind date, that's his choice and we need to be respectful of that." Vincent frowned lightly at her words.

"Do you not believe you deserve happiness, too? What if he's just as much a klootzak as Arthur and just didn't know-" Iris cut him off, getting a large pot out and filling it with water.

"He knows what he wants and he goes for it. He's not some shy school boy with a silly crush. Vincent, I'm not saying I've given up hope but I can't tell him not to go on that date just because I want him. It's so… selfish. What if he ends up being really into whoever she is?"

"Exactly. Iris, if he falls for her, what do you do?" The words hit her like a (figurative) sack of potatoes and she froze in place for a moment. Vincent came over and turned the tap off, sighing as he handed over the previously stolen bag of root vegetables. "Just… think it over, zusje. I love you both and I want to see you both happy." He put a hand on her head and gave her a small smile in hopes of encouraging her. She looked up to him and gave a small sigh.

"I'll… consider it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here, doll. It’s on the house.” Another half-water whiskey was placed in front of him by the waitress. Theo tried not to bristle at the thought that any of the staff was pitying him because his blind date had stood him up. He was going to absolutely throttle Arthur the next time he saw him. When he said Arthur had been pestering him, it was honestly an understatement. Every day. For two months. He gave the waitress the smallest smile in existence before she left. Sighing, he picked up the glass and sipped at its contents. He berated himself silently as he stared out the large front window, vowing to never listen to Arthur again when the current subject of his ire came into view. He was perilously close to crushing the glass in his hand when he saw Iris trailing just behind. A sense of dread washed over him and he quickly assessed just how quickly he could get out without being seen. That, however, was not going to be feasible.

“My dear, chin up! You’ve been moping since dinner and I am nothing if not determined to cheer you up!” Arthur stated proudly, earning a half-hearted glare from Iris as they walked into the cafe. The author picked a small table only one away from Theo’s and Theo knew the moment they walked in that his every move was calculated. The couple between their tables was leaving any moment now. He took another sip of his drink before sighing and pushing his hand through his hair as he contemplated murder.

“I have not been moping ,” Iris protested, pouting. Arthur chuckled a little and brought up the menu of drinks available, humming as he thought of what to order. “I’ve just… been a bit tired.” Arthur tilted the menu forward so he could look at her disbelievingly.

“I’ll believe that the day Vincent stops painting,” he scoffed. Iris huffed indignantly before lifting up her own menu. To any outsider it looked as if Iris and Arthur were on a date that was going poorly, but Theo was picking up the pieces. There was no date that had stood him up. His date had just picked up a menu. He swallowed thickly, his jaw tense as he kept his low profile. “Now, darling, pick out what you’d like. It’s on me tonight.”

The next five minutes were easily the most tense of Theo’s entire life. The waitress had taken Iris and Arthur’s drink orders. Arthur had excused himself to the restroom. He watched as the couple between them got ready to leave, leaving a clear line of sight between himself and Iris. He averted his eyes to his drink as he contemplated leaving still (not that there was a chance to do so now). Any moment now…

“Theo?” He looked up from his drink as Iris called for him and he acknowledged her briefly. It didn’t take her long to realize he had been ‘stood-up’ as far as she knew and, as he predicted, she got up from her table to go to his and sat across from him. “Your date didn’t show?” She asked, seeing the lack of any other beverages at the table except for his. “I’m so sorry.”

Theo shook his head and frowned. “Don’t be, hondje. This is the last time I ever let Arthur set me up on a date,” he vowed, pushing his hand through his hair again. He felt his tension waning as she looked at him with her kind-hearted worry. He smirked before nudging her foot with his gently under the table. “Seriously. He just didn’t tell me my date was running late.”

Iris opened her mouth to say something as the waitress came by with her wine. The waitress wore a knowing smile and told her that her ‘friend’ had taken care of payment before leaving. Theo let her process the information for a moment, his smile widening as a blush crept its way across her freckled cheeks. “I…” she trailed off, swallowing thickly as she realized she didn’t know what to say.

“I suppose he was tired of neither of us taking initiative,” Theo filled in aloud, smirking when she tried to hide her blush as she sipped from her glass. She bit gently at the inside of her lip as she met his gaze again. “And… as much as I was contemplating murder earlier, I think I owe him one.” Iris’ smile slowly began to grow at the further implication that he was happy for this turn of events and a small laugh escaped her lips. She gently nudged his foot back.

“I’m glad to be here, too.”

Taglist: @mllorei and I honestly don't remember who wanted to be on my taglist T.T this is fine and I know it was only like 1 other person.

#my writing #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #theodorus van gogh #ikemen theo #theo baby #oc #Iris (oc)#blind date #cw blood #alcohol mention #sfw #fluff #h/c #we're not going to talk about the issues I had with trying to post this nonsense lmfao

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underscar · 1 year

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SHAMELESS

Pairing: Himeno/Male Reader

Summary: Public safety devil hunters are walking hypocrites with morals all over the place like a messy puzzle. That's what they live up to as clichés and stereotypes. In spite of this, Himeno has only come across a few who stand out from this stereotype. You are one. You were the ideal man: married, sickly faithful, and ambition. And Himeno wanted a piece of that, and she typically gets what she wants. It was difficult to keep things on the down low when Himeno openly flirted at work, despite your efforts. You were ashamed of your actions at first, but as time went on, you began to realize and accept how crucial it was to have this affair while you still had the chance.

CHAINSAW MAN MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

A/N: I was really nervous writing this as i’m im not overall confident in my portrayal of a male reader so it shows a bit in the writing, not my best, but never my worst.

WORD COUNT // 2561 words

WARNINGS: Infidelity/Unfaithfulness

CSM TAGLIST: @loveydoveydouche

Devil hunters lack morals.

They are individuals who, as their name implies, fight against Devils whenever a threat associated with them arises in the world. In this profession, contracts are made with thus Devils. Morals and even self-respect are exchanged for diabolical leverage for the chance to thwart the next beast. The last straw, in the eyes of the public, is these devil hunters buddy up with bloodstained fiends. Unlike police officers, firefighters, or soldiers—public safety devil hunters are not viewed as noble or selfless; despite public safety in the title. Ironic, isn’t it?

The foremost duty of devil hunters, private or public, is to vanquish and kill the never-ending spawn of Devils and fiends. Not explicitly to protect the general public.

Therefore they’re seen as kooks and replaceable beings. Otherwise no good for society other than to fall for the Devil's playtime. Just there to capitalise on the job’s benefits or the ultra-violence of it all. No matter how many of these workers die or many are employed, nothing ever changes in the eyes of the masses.

They have no sympathy for these devil hunters when there’s continually another Devil or another killing spree from some wild fiend, and ultimately, another sum of dead folk.

Due to these viewpoints, devil hunters are quite shameless and venomous in their thoughts and actions. Hemeno was no exception to this; however, she felt that you were one of the exceptions.

You were around three years older than her and close to thirty. Younger in devil-hunting expirence though.

You two were more so acquaintances than buddies to anything else. Himeno has always seen you around, saying brief hellos and asking how the weather is doing over the past few years. Mindless chatter that mostly went in and out. You had often hung around your partner, Nikola, an older Russian man, on smoke breaks. She recalls that anytime the divisions went out drinking, he would force you to tag along.

Himeno would make flirtatious advances, frequently while drunk, but your response were unwavering:

You’d chuckle. “I’m married. Thank you.”

And she would smirk at that. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

Again, the job you all possessed was to kill devils; not protect the public.

However, you didn’t view it as cynically. You rejected the stigma that surrounded devil hunters and found your profession to be just as respectable as law enforcement or the army; the army being a part of your family's legacy for generations and you, yourself, formerly being enlisted, if Himeno’s memory was doing her any good.

You were not a rookie with lofty aspirations and notions that vanished within days on the job. No, you were righteous. Almost like someone she knew. You wanted to protect people and end the Devil’s reign.

And Himeno was charmed by that.

Nowadays, Himeno frequently saw you lingering near the coffee maker when you were taking brief breaks; typically typing away on your phone. After the death of your long-time partner, you lingered at the workplace longer than you did before and took fewer smoking breaks. Since Nikola isn't there to be with you, she assumed it was too nostalgic for you. She felt compelled to approach you since you were now always alone.

Today you were currently lounging once again close to the pot and occasionally sipping from your thermos that steamed even from a distance. And today was the day that she was going to approach you.

“Hey! Any extra Joe in that pot?” she asked.

Lowering your phone, you looked up and noticed Himeno approaching you, alone. She was typically beside that Hayakawa guy so you kind of just expected him to be at her side.

You removed your right ear bud since you didn't fully understand all she said; however, her fixation on the coffee maker allowed you to put two and two together.

Your shoulders slouched. “Oh. My bad, Himeno. I only made two servings for my cup.”

Himeno leaned her upper body onto the counter. She childishly pouted. "Aww, man,” she uttered.

She laid her chin into her folded arms that almost acted like a pillow. Her lip protruded and briefly attracted your attention before you spoke up, simultaneously lifting yourself up from against the counter.

You sighed before pocketing your phone and earbuds. “I’ll cook you up a pot real quick,” you offered; you moved yourself to begin cooking up the coffee.

Himeno winked up at you, a lazy, smug smirk on her face. “Thank you~” she sung.

She was motionless as she leaned her weight across the countertop, in front of the coffee maker, may you add, and also in your way. So while cooking up the coffee, you had to get a bit too up close and personal to her; however, she didn't appear to notice or have a problem with it. She just giggled like a school girl. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought she was intoxicated.

Her hip every now and then would bump yours whenever you reached over her, one of those subtle but imposing touches that made you jolt.

Your concentration was strained as you cooked the coffee, trying to distract yourself from Himeno. You refused to look at her curving form underneath you, but you could still hear her nonetheless. She hummed some song, sounding familiar, a nursery rhyme you heard as a kid perhaps, when you offhandly listened to her. Though you were too ambivalent to ask her or to even make a conversation.

You shook the thoughts away as you focused on pouring the beans into the filter. You then poured all of the water into the corner of the machine and reached to close the lid. In the next moment, after securing the lid closed, you span out to press the start button. However, the sound of Himeno's voice stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, ______. What was your wife’s name again?”

All of the Himeno-induced disorientation disappears when your wife is brought up, slapping you back to reality. Himeno's form was still beside and below you, and you shifted your head to look at her, for the first time in this encounter. Instead of returning your gaze, she fixed her attention on the counter as her elbow rested on it and her cheek rested in her hand.

After a brief moment of almost startled silence, you realized you hadn't spoken a thing, which just made you continue to look. She didn't appear uptight or uneasy at all during the awkward pause that followed her awkward inquiry. Simply put, you questioned why she would even bring up your wife.

You cleared your throat. “…It’s Emiko. I don’t…think I ever mentioned it before anyway.” You went over for your cup from beside you and took a sip to distract yourself. For some strange reason, the coffee burned your throat almost as much as the words you said did

Himeno didn’t respond; she just nodded.

That's the first and only time she ever outwardly mentioned your wife.

“Hehe, _____. You got a smoke?” Himeno asked.

It was a stupid question. You had a cigarette in your mouth and were outdoors in the smoking area at the back. You sure would be out of place if you didn’t.

Himeno kept popping up in your life after the awkward incident at the coffee maker a month earlier. Because of Himeno’s first appearance, you had began moving your breaks from the coffee machine back to the outside smoking area. It was your safe haven for two days before Himeno found you there and has been there ever since.

Though now, Himeno begun joining you for smoke breaks, replacing Nikola, and timing her breaks with yours. At first, it was nice. It was nice to get back into the habit of smoking, well, at least it felt nice.

It made everything feel like it went away for a moment as smoke punctured your lungs in a embrace.

And each time she showed, if it wasn't already difficult to maintain professionalism due to the way Himeno is naturally, you began to feel as though she was seducing you. Considering how naturally flirtatious she is, you really couldn't tell if this was done on design or by accident. Perhaps you were the issue because of your deteriorating level of loyalty to Emiko, your wife. Yes, your wife. You kept reminding yourself of Emiko.

Though you hate to admit it, the thought of her nowadays brought you dread.

“None to share,” you said. “Sorry.”

Himeno leaned against the wall beside you. “How about I win it from you, huh? In a good ole game of p.o.k.e.r!”

After she made you download poker to your phone, you two had made it your thing. She became irritated when you idly browsed on your phone and didn't talk to her, therefore the game was meant to get your attention on her. You shared an interest in smoking and playing poker. You would both often place bets to keep things exciting. Small bills were the initial phase, followed by promises, then other things.

Nikola was never as nagging. Though he wasn’t as attractive as your new smoking partner was either.

You sighed. “Sure.”

Himeno beamed and whipped out her phone. You unconsciously followed behind her, removing the dwarfing cigarette from between your lips.

She giggled as she set up the match on her phone.“Arencha gonna ask what you’ll get if you win?”

As you had drank with Himeno before, you heard this a lot and had a idea of what she would offer. While a portion of you was irritated, another aspect of you—one that was as powerful as your dominant hand—was interested.

Himeno grinned as she grabbed your arm, and dragged you down to her height in response to your silence, her phone down at her hip in the other. She whispered, and you could feel her smiling on your neck.

“If you win, you’ll get a kiss~”

This you responded quickly to. “…I’d rather just win.”

Himeno saw that despite your words, you did not push her away. “I’d rather just kiss you.”

You had actively avoided Himeno since and haven't seen her for a few days now.

During breaks, you stayed away from the coffee maker in the office and instead headed outside for the nearby cafe. Even though your wife disliked it when you smoked in the car, you would just flee to it when you wanted a puff of smoke. You didn't care what she thought at the time; rather, you just wanted Himeno off your mind because she had crossed the line of separation once again.

These days, you didn't generally wasn't sent out on devil-hunter assignments; waiting for your new partner's assignment. Given that Nikola had been your partner for such a long time, you weren't sure if the length of time you had been waiting was customary.

“God, Nikola,” you whispered to no one but yourself.

With the exception of you and a few vacant desks, the office was empty. Everyone else was sent off to catch some wild fiend, or something. So you were left here to file some paperwork for Makima; though you got distracted with everything conquering your mind at the moment.

Although each of you was given a cubicle, nobody really used them. More so since people were changed out so frequently and it was too much trouble to add and remove names every day or so. If someone passed away, nobody even bothered to clean them out unless the family wanted to do so themselves.

It was beneficial for you that Nikola had left his cubicle uncleaned and untouched, and had no family, as you found comfort within the four thin walls. Everything was precisely as he had left it, from the battle metals on the walls to the lighter in the corner. This cubicle had been him home away from home. Wherever that was.

“You missing Nikola?”

Himeno was standing behind your old partner's desk as you turned around. She had a skirt on; smaller and tighter than appropriate. She was playing a trick on you and luring you once more. The skirt was both figuratively and literally, inappropriate. She was supposed to be out tracking down a devil with Hayakawa and the rest of the division, but judging by the skirt, there was little chance of that. In that type of pencil skirt, you couldn't defeat no Devil.

You turned back to Nikola’s metal on the wall. “What do you want, Himeno?” you grumbled.

“I want you to talk to me.”

You huffed; laughing without the humour. “Yeah. As if that’s all you want from me. Bullshit.”

Himeno was silent for a moment, and you simply waited for her to depart before you took any action rashly. Himeno, though, was unwilling to give in. She walked up to the desk, sat down on it, and crossed her legs. You maintained your gaze on the wall of metals but in the corner of your eyes, you could see her thinking. She looked up at the ceiling in thought as the words escaped her lips.

“I don’t deny…that I want more, _____.” Her lip quirked a bit at the clicheness of it all, but she restrained it.

She adds. “But I’m a little shy, you know?”

She was bullshitting you and you knew this. Himeno was the least reserved of the group, so you knew you should have let her know you didn't buy her bullshit. You knew she wasn’t being genuine but, nonetheless, when you were with Himeno, you forgot about all the stress in your life.

The death of your partner,

the arguments with family,

and your pregnant wife at home.

When Himeno was nearby and willing to satisfy your desire, none of it mattered. Your life was made more exciting by her. Work ceased to be challenging and started to serve as an outlet for you. Even if it was just for a little moment, life wasn't all that difficult. She took to the nicotine you allow inside. And your poor wife, whom you love so dearly, was hardly visible through the blissful stupor.

“…Bullshit.”

And you decided you had wanted her too. And you were no longer a little shy in this affair.

You glanced at her figure.

You didn't understand why you two continued to play this game when everyone in the division was aware of your illicit relationships. You knew they knew that Himeno had got you stuck in her trap. That this relationship got beyond professionalism months ago. None, however, gave a damn enough to inform your wife; due to the fact that devil hunters are vile individuals. Nevertheless, the world did not end as a result. The world won't end if you cheat on your wife if the option is there.

You already dropped the package. The least you could do now is preserve this blunt.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

PLEASE JOIN THE TAGLIST

© UNDERSCAR 2023 - All rights are reserved to underscar. Do not repost, copy, change/modify, plagiarize, translate or screenshot my work: this will also include not reposting my writing on other social media platforms and writing platforms.

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socheckitout-mikey · 2 years

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heey y’all! (‘: i don’t usually write smut, but this was a request from my old blog. it’s taken my ass like deadass three years to write it. ik it’s super long and i got carried away, but i’m proud bc i haven’t written smut in a very long time. originally it was meant to be semi nsfw but i went the whole nine yards instead!

also i’d like to give credit to @brideofcthulhu10 for helping me with this one. she helped co-write the beginning, whilst also giving me amazing pointers and keeping me on track when it came to marko’s character. so deffo give her blog a look through bc she’s such an amazing writer! <3333 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

(GIF credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs)

Title: The Dilemma

Pairings: Marko x Fem!Reader

Summary: As any high-school senior, end of year exams encroach upon you, which results in your disappearance from the infamous Boardwalk. Marko, your vampiric boyfriend, feels awfully neglected and sees the strain that boring old studying is causing you. After being a gigantic nuisance in your time of need, Marko decides to aid you with your dilemma by getting you to to unwind. An innocent massage turns to much more. (READER IS 18/19 YEARS OLD IN THIS PIECE!!!)

Word count: 9,916

Warnings: SMUT AHEAD SO 18+ ONLY!!! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!! READER IS 18/19 IN THIS PIECE!!! Anxiety, angst, mentions of tension with parents, mentions of reader throwing things at Marko (mainly bc he scared her and also a plushie), established relationship, argument, make out session, massage, oral (female receiving), sexual content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, marking, depictions of blood, blood drinking/feeding and Marko being a sex God v.v Lemme know if I missed anything.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Finals had encroached upon you and the rest of your senior class like a throttling bitter conclusion. An immense pressure had settled upon your slumped shoulders in a complex manner. It all gave you an uproarious migraine. Perched upon those shoulders of yours was a Devil and an Angel, reciting an exhausting, unanimous monologue you had encountered fervently with frustration and exhaustion for the past few weeks. The Devil enumerated vividly about how the stress of hunching over your books would only cause your spine to permanently warp, whilst grey hairs would prematurely appear on your head. It whispered of the sincere notion that you would be able to seek vehement pleasure by kicking back and relaxing with your boyfriend Marko; who currently laid sprawled out against your cushiony pink covers in an absurdly bored fashion behind you. He was the poster child of, “Are you finished yet?”

His only purpose was to grate on your nerves that much more viciously.

The Angel held up its own assertive chant with the utmost conviction. A soothing lullaby that frankly lulled you into boring hibernation, as if you were a grizzly bear entering its cave for the tundric winter months to come. You were well aware that it spoke of knowledge, reason and logic. The qualities that were dwindling — yet with its vibrant torch, it led the way to the future you so desperately had dreamed of since you were in middle school: A good job meant a good home, and so the domino effect would hopefully follow you in a cascading positive effect. Yet passing wasn’t everything, right? Well, the Angels’ lustrous song seemed to disrupt the already choppy sea wrecking the ships in your mind, pointing the way to salvation. However, you felt as though the Devil latched on, shoving you under the bartering force that the School District whipped into your back. You were merely a slave to the formidable system.

And thus the Angel and Devil fought their daunting battle amongst who could lead you quicker to each destination they desired for you to propel towards. The truth of the matter was that there was no balance within the chaos. You either went all in or did nothing at all. You were only battling with the Yin and Yang within you, but you didn't quite realise that. You needed someone else to obtain that truth and light it up in a firework festival. That someone was unfortunately your bouncing boyfriend Marko.

The sudden weight upon your tired shoulders felt like an angsty teen drama — unbearable. They slumped down with a force as you looked at the Math equations before you with contempt. Your mind was playing tricks on you because now the algebra seemed to be written in some bizarre language you swore was only known by extraterrestrials. Never had you experienced such affliction quite so potent in all of your young years of living until this very moment in time. High school, fortunately, had come and gone like the spring’s floral breeze, allowing for the stuffy summer heat to bound through the atmosphere like a blundering bull in a China shop. Great, now you were sweating too.

Despite your immortal boyfriend, Marko, having intermittently insisted that you hadn’t needed the extra education, you had graciously swung your bat in a conflicting vicious fashion. Your battered old baseball had leapt its last journey, landing into the lap of a comfortable Community College here in Santa Carla. Your original aim and hope had been to apply for greener pastures, such as the university in the nearest plush city. Yet you knew it was too far away from the Boardwalk. Your painfully vampiric boyfriend would kick up a putrid stink at the mere notion of you being so far away. Especially since daytime already kept you both apart, creating such a colourful apprehension to course through your very mortal veins.

You’d miss Marko too much as well, and slumming it under your bed in the dorm room all day and night just wouldn’t cut it. It wasn’t going to be the ideal move for any party involved. Familiar sunny Santa Carla would just have to do before you surfed your last wave, ticketing you straight to The Immortality Club.

“College?!” Marko sputtered out like a dying steam engine.

His hazel eyes blinked several times in absolute bewilderment as his body froze. The brown fuzzy teddy bear he had been carelessly chucking up and down in the air in a mindless fashion missed his right hand entirely. Its furry, soft backside flopped with a tender bounce atop his chest.

“Why would you go back to school baby?” He inquired desperately, “You’re already done.” His words hung in the air, thick like an uncomfortable smog riddled with consternation.

His nimble fingers swatted the bear off of him and he sat up straighter than a plank. The tender plush bounced off of your floorboards, tumbling into your open closet.

The same fingers suddenly danced restlessly to your dusty, cluttered nightstand where he aimed for that prized purple pen with the fluffy pom-pom dotted on the end of it: His digits fiddled with it fruitlessly, eyebrows creased together. Boy was he all sorts of twitchy tonight since boredom had taken hold of him by the balls. He felt as though he was going crazy. Especially with the apprehension at your announcement to further your needless education. Who needed books and crammed study sessions when you could be a youthful undead being for the rest of eternity? You’d never grow old, never die — this was a total blessing sitting right in your lap! Yet you shoved it off to the side without another thought. All of the previous discussions you’d had with him about turning meant nothing to you now, or so it seemed. Poofing into thin air, therefore to Marko, it meant you’d been replaced by some other worldly ghost that reeked of crippled anxiety; which, by the way, was akin to the rotting scent of death itself.

He had lazily propped himself against the headboard of your bed now, eyes not meetings yours — almost as if he were too meek to look up at you. He already knew the answer to his question from interpreting the blurry, chaotic dance of your thoughts rattling in your brittle skull. One more thought and your head would come blowing off! After all, he’d also noticed that physically you were in a frenzied stupor of stress and inner turmoil. You reeked of palpable insecurity and rotting angst, just like a teenage drama on screen. Blegh! It caused the blond boy to crinkle his hooked nose wryly, warping his angelic gestures.

Part of the reason why Marko alluded to the opportunity of peering up at you was due to the simple fact that his visit had come to be a frightening ordeal on your behalf. One that led to an abundant earful of curses and a book to have been launched at him — almost knocking his head clean off his shoulders. Right, you had the reflexes of a rabid raccoon startled by a rat when you were snuck up on. He knew better than to do such a thing. Luckily he had ducked just in time, smartly remarking that you should have gone for sports instead. He regretted the witty quip instantly by the displeased look on your face. So he was cast upon your frilly bed to pass the time like a woeful jester sentenced to imprisonment for not having entertained his Queen accordingly. The tragedy of it all!

And although you were aggravated at his unexpected visit — more salty over the fact he’d frightened you —, you did not have the slightest of hearts to kick him out. It felt too heart wrenching for you to do so. In fact, it was like kicking a stray kitten out into the rain. His damn bulbous eyes whenever you’d get close to the notion would appear like round, quivering rain drops — the pupils heavily swallowing the earthy iris. So you sighed instead, turning back to your work whilst Marko made himself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as his bored self would permit.

“I don’t want just a job, Marko.” You muttered irately under your breath from over your complex Math equations that were scrawled in their dreadful chicken scratch language upon gridded paper.

“I want a career! I wanna hone a craft.” You explained further with a nonchalant wave of your wrist. Your tone was curt, attempting to balance out his boredom that apparently began to increase the longer he remained there.

You paid no heed to his insistence, scribbling your notes with a vengeance for the paper you carved it into.

“That’s what I mean though,” Marko huffed out a hefty sigh, sitting up straight suddenly with his legs criss-crossed in a half lotus position. “Why do you need to work, anyway? Just one bite and BAM! All your problems would be gone, baby doll. I keep tellin’ ya!” He exclaimed animatedly, hands thrown up in the air in his own heated and wondrous stupor.

He’d even get David to teach you how to use compulsion so you could get whatever you wanted. It was so pathetically simple! He wondered now if you’d hit your head recently to have forgotten the simplicities of becoming a vampire. No stress would ensue, so long as you abided but the rules. Why couldn’t you just see that?

“Hush! I’ve already made up my mind about this. You’re not going to change it!” You quipped back sharply, grabbing a rusty coloured stuffed cat from your messy desk and hurled it half heartedly in his direction for the second time that night.

Damn, you really did mean business tonight.

The plushie cat managed (miraculously may I add) to bounce tenderly off of the side of his perky blond curls. A low laugh escaped from his sharp mouth. He was well aware by now that you were only attempting to push him away due to the draining stress of academics. The prospect of taking things too personally had been going really swell up until this point. He wasn’t going to afford himself to buckle now like he would from anyone else. Afterall, any other person who launched two objects at him would be decapitated and dead at his musty booted feet. You were getting off easy by a mile in comparison. You didn’t even know how much Divine Intervention had spared you at this point.

So instead he untangled his thin legs from their half lotus position, swinging them off the edge of the bed as he observed you nervously wind your fingers through your hair — tugging slightly at the roots in vexation. The sight made him feel sympathy for you, a feeling that was nearly completely foreign to someone like him. It caused his dead stomach to knot and twist uncomfortably because he just wanted to lend you a helping hand. He just wasn’t sure how he could. School work wasn’t exactly his forte and all, being as he never acquired much of an education when he was a kid at the end of the last century. Nevertheless, he was your boyfriend and boyfriends had to take care of their girlfriends, right?

With a defeated sigh, Marko pressed his strong palms on his knees and found the sudden energy to get to his feet. His chunky boots clunked noisily on the ground, an incessant irritance to you. It made your body visibly cringe in your chair with each step he took. It was as though he was dropping bricks of led onto the ground. Your boyfriend, lost in his own deep thoughts, remained oblivious, wandering aimlessly to your bookshelf in search of something to cure his doldrum. The shelves were coated in a peculiar thin layer of dust, a dead giveaway that you had not kept this space to its usual tidiness. His inquisitive fingers collected the fluffy debris similar to dust bunnies on the tips before swiftly rubbing them together, which disintegrated his fuzzy pals into mere nothingness.

‘Damn, when was the last time you cleaned this place?’ He thought. It wasn’t like you to just allow things to collect dust. At this rate, you’d end up having your own personal Cave that Marko didn’t want a hand in helping you clean.

His pesky touch ventured along, dancing across the spines of old tattered novels aged well with love. Reading wasn’t really his style, but he supposed he didn’t mind it when he’d lounge in your lap like a cat, bathing in the stark silver moonlight whilst you read ‘The Outsiders’ to him late into the night. The accents you pulled off were enjoyable, a husky hushed twang so your parents wouldn’t hear. You always did a spanking job at Matt Dillons’ Dallas Winston. He couldn’t help but snort at the times you’d tear up during said character’s devastating death. It had alarmed Marko the first time it had happened. Now he only ever teased you about it, equipped with the ability to wipe your tears away and give you a moment to settle before continuing. He enjoyed those memories a lot.

Marko’s marvellously silver tongue clicked in his mouth liberally to an unordinary beat he’d plucked out of thin air from many moons ago. It did nothing but sourly distract you from your work. Your body tense once more, knee jerking in a wild bouncing fashion, knocking the underside of your desk in time with his clacking tune. You chewed your pencil menacingly, the brittle wood splintering slightly in your mouth. It made astounding practice for future inevitable victims. Perhaps the School Board would be your first ones.

Still, the more you travelled down the mental highway, you felt nothing but guilt at the thought of kicking Marko out. Recalled his disheartened countenance that struck his handsome features at the mere inkling of casting him out into the bewitched humid night.

Just when you thought you’d lost your mind enough, Marko flicked the power switch of your radio as if on purpose. The speakers screamed to life, blaring out the belting introduction of You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi. The precipitous noisy intrusion throttled into the air, shocking your eardrums. It scared the living daylights out of you for the second time that night! Marko’s mouth spread into a harmless grin, mouthing the lyrics with the utmost enthusiasm; his hands scrambling to his abdomen to begin shredding on the gnarliest air guitar he could muster. His head and body hopped comfortably along to the hypnotic drum beat and flourishing bass, floating up on a mouthwatering guitar riff and husky vocals to die for. Edgy.

As if possessed by a formidable spirit, you whipped around in your seat, eyes wild with offence. All of the equations behind you were now abandoned. You were giving Marko the look that could surely kill even an immortal. He seemed to be on another planet, too deep in the rock n’ roll blaring boisterously from your speakers to take note of your inconvenience.

Prompted by a supernatural sixth sense, the curly blond turned to look at you — an honest inquiry over whether his air guitar appeared better than Paul’s ready on the tongue. It’s life, a premature one, slid back down his throat and into his voice box. Realisation hit him when the usual mischief in his facial expression fled his countenance entirely. He mimicked that of a child being told off by its raging mother.

“Oops!” His lips mouthed, turning off the radio instantly.

The stark silence built thickly in the air, only allowing the remaining orchestra of cicada’s outside to be heard. Your heart was pounding in your chest, that vein in your forehead bulging with every beat of your galloping heart.

“Sorry babe.” He stated sheepishly, hands held up in surrender by his head.

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” You gritted out twice, more for your benefit the second time around.

As if to solidify a semblance of being non-combative, you held your hands up on either side of your head. A silent plea for Marko to cooperate with your simple boundaries.

Perhaps he wasn’t entirely sorry about it, but that didn’t matter if you didn’t know it. Though with the way you tried not to glower at him, he understood, without a doubt, that you were more than aware he was only half apologetic. After all, he was fuelled by a thick smog of boredom, which only forced unease to burst from him like the flames of Hell. Nevertheless, he watched you with his widened gaze before settling on your bed once more. A couple more hours wouldn’t kill him, right?

“Just don’t touch anything, okay? As soon as I get through the rest of this chapter, maybe we can watch a movie together.” You suggested through gritted teeth.

An inkling of hope dawned across Marko’s features like The Gates of Heaven had opened for him. It felt like the sun was warming his ice cold flesh, the fuzzy memory from his mortal life in 1901 came to fruition in his mind. Refreshing to say the least. His back inched higher, attempting to obtain a good look at your bulky textbook.

“How much ya got left?”

You hummed, pondering whilst your stiff aching fingers thumbed the pages. It was an entire wad. Marko’s heart rocketed into the old floorboards under his feet, and he hung his head in existential dread. You wouldn’t even be finished by sun up.

“About half a chapter,” you commented with hope, but to him it was all a charlatan’s sham.

“Yeah, yeah okay…” he mumbled, cast to the cushiony abode of your bed.

The ambience of the room settled back to the mind numbing pace of planned study sessions. His only two forms of escape were to either cast himself into a premature sleep or leave without you noticing. Both were tempting. Nevertheless, he remained there, paralysed with indecision.

Soon misery encased him, your plush bed and messy surroundings incapable of quenching his need for attention. A sour trance gathered deep within his undead soul. Blasé eyes analysed the way that you seemed to slightly settle in your seat. The scratching of pencil on paper overcame the atmosphere like a thick infestation of utter disinterest. Though he wasn’t alluded by the fact your muscles were still taut underneath your baggy black shirt and baby blue pyjama shorts. The sight made him pity you once more, because you were slaving away.

Suddenly a nagging urge told him to just burn all of your textbooks so he could have his damn girlfriend back!

From his stance on the bed, he noted that complex algebra was what you were studying: The sight made his stomach twist sickly and his head throb, because with Paul rotting his brain ninety percent of the time, Marko couldn’t even recall what 2+2 equaled.

Eventually his patience wore thin.

“Babe, how long have you been studying?” He finally broke the long silence. A casual air to his tone.

Marko rested his elbows upon his knees with a hunched back once he sat up; unconsciously mirroring you. Fixated on your entire being. It was almost humorous the way you seemed to sink further into your stressful work with every equation you tortured yourself to complete. The inclination both distressed and astonished him. This wasn’t like you at all. In fact, he was willing to bet that you’d been switched out by a government clone provided by the CIA with the way you were acting. You despised math!

When was the last time you had taken a damn break? When was this ever going to end? Were you ever not going to throw ginger stuffed cats at him? God forbid if he had to endure you worrying when your exams were all said and done. If you so much as breathed a damn fear towards the notion of not passing, he was going to lose his damn mind.

It was almost nearing the mark of an entire month since you’d made your typical appearance at the Boardwalk. An unusual occurrence in itself. It had worried him to begin with, especially since it had occurred out of the blue. No notion communicated whatsoever of your educational predicament. Marko was usually rather patient with you, however, since he hadn’t ever exactly attended school himself (or graduated for that matter), he was honestly struggling to relate to the importance of it all. Good grades and whimsical desires to attend college didn’t hold the same meaning to him as it did to you. It frankly just sounded like a damn fairytale.

In fact, the whole ordeal just was a major waste of time to him. Afterall, he held the potent magic of immortality in the palms of his hands; brandished like the forbidden fruit that Adam himself consumed. There were sneaky tricks and enchanting gifts that he — along with every vampire — possessed. All that temptation didn’t seem to tickle your fancy in the current moment. Marko couldn’t deny the truth that if it (college) made you happy in the long run, he didn’t have the heart to cut in and stop you. He wanted you to be content at the end of the day. So long as you also cared about his happiness too. It didn’t really feel like you did — not with you pushing him away like he was some diseased fleabag.

“Uuuuhhmmmm shit,” you began with a flourishing fluster encapsulating your countenance. You used the end of your chewed up pencil to scratch the side of your head vigorously, “I dunno, three days?” You shrugged.

It sounded as if you were asking him for clarification, but Marko sat there just as clueless and waiting for your answer.

To be completely transparent, that was only a guesstimate thrown to the stuffy air with no refreshing breeze to carry it away from you. You were utterly fried; all for very different reasons. Meals consisted of take-out or quick instant snacks so the remnants could be discarded easily. You went from a daily shower to one every three days; dishes had been piled up so high in your sink, because you didn’t possess the luxury known as time: All until your mother lost her mind and dove in infuriatingly to maintain downstairs her spotless domain. Completing these simple tasks designed to keep your living quarters in order were overwhelming now.

Marko wasn’t the only one feeling the absence of your chipper presence. As just mentioned, your dutiful mother took up your chores to accomplish with disgruntled agitation, because she had limited time too. Yet no matter how much she may have resented you currently, she found some compassion for you in your final weeks as a senior highschool student. She took it with a badge of silence, but you felt that heavy churning of guilt in your gut whenever she would impulsively huff and puff through the thin walls, as well as slam cupboards shut. Nothing went unnoticed by you, but it drove you further into the disorganised abode of unrelenting chaos. You were just glad your parents were out on a weekend trip. Sweet silence was yours.

Escaping was all you wanted to do. Yet you were bound to your desk by a hefty chain around your ankle with the belief that if you failed, you’d have let everyone around you down. There was so much pressure riding on your back that it felt unbearably hot. Scalding tears burnt the corners of your eyes and you fought to wipe them away with two quick slaps to your cheeks.

Oh how you missed the Boardwalk desperately! Longing for the nights out with Marko where the oceanic droplets dotted your skin when you paraded down it on his metallic steed. They seemed so far away now, so out of touch that you could barely recall what it felt like to be nestled in the musty, dusty caverns where the boy’s home sat within. Those nights were always fun, riddled with a peculiar perception of time that made them feel as though they went on forever. Frankly, you missed him and his brothers. However, even though you did, you couldn’t afford to burn out. If you could just squeeze out a little more, then maybe you could manage to get through with a hair length left of energy and patience.

Like a precariously challenging puzzle, the pieces finally clicked into place in Marko’s nifty skull. A lightbulb dinged over his head, illuminating everything around him and he saw things with virgin eyes. Once that had occurred, the relief he experienced was knocked viciously out of the way and replaced by a worry that he never had felt before. You’d always been splendid at managing yourself in a healthy manner. Balancing and pacing yourself was a natural instinct you possessed, crafted into an art during the academic year. Marko had sat back comfortably up until this point, just taking it all for granted, because you’d always been so self-reliant.

Yet as he stared at you from across your bedroom intently, he began to take note of the little differences surrounding you both. The space was riddled with disorganisation as its main theme, messiness spread out in all of its glory. A large pile of dirty clothes lay in the left corner of your room, making him silently plead with the universe that your socks wouldn’t start crawling out towards him with a mind of their own. Your pink bed covers he was perched upon weren’t made in their usual neat style; that stupid desk you had yourself rooted in front of was clumped together in a marinade of dirty food containers, pens, pencils and papers. A giant teetering tower of jagged books to the right looked ominous and shaky to him. The trash can beside it was overflowing with a cornucopia of crumpled bits of paper that looked as if Jason himself had hacked at them with his own chainsaw! What in the hell was going on with you?

“You shouldn’t sweat the exams, babe.” Marko stated without much of a rational thought.

The gratuitous comment seemed to startle you to austere stillness. Similar to a cat who’d grown enraged, frightened as its fur and tail zapped with pulsing electricity. Your aura resembled the frizzy taut hairs of said feline friend; and your head whipped to the side so viciously that it struck a literal nerve, causing your vision to blur. Paying little mind to the agony of the nauseating feeling, you pressed on.

“What!?” You seethed through tightly gritted teeth. You were a festering beast. All the chipped pieces of fragile pottery you’d held together shattered. Patience was no longer your virtue.

Acting on impulse, Marko’s fingerless gloved hands sprang to the sides of his head once more, eyebrows raised. You really needed to chill out.

“Damn, hear me out!” He started, a little heat behind his words.

He was frankly pretty tired of the onslaught you shoved onto him. You were beginning to yank him into the depths of your own anguish. He never swung that way initially, but you were spoiling his night that had started off perfectly fine, thank you very much.

“All that I meant by that was you’re the smartest person I know, babe. You’ve passed everything so far. There’s no way you’re failin’ anything!” His words had intended to diffuse the bomb he’d set up from his previous comment.

Reassurance was what you needed right? Wrong. It only seemed to spread the shrapnel and vibrant inferno swirling violently within you. A snort dispelled,, forcing you to drop your pencil on your notebook. Disbelief rattled your expression, the fuse to a TNT’s detonator had been slammed down staunchly and rage encompassed you over the smallest of things.

“Yeah, like you know what it’s like to have all this pressure on your shoulders. You just bum around the Cave like you’re a damn king without a care in the world! The most you have to worry about is whether you get David the right kind of take-out when Michael’s lazing on the bed next to Star!”

The words were haughty, sturdy ammunition pelting Marko to a mushy pulp. The worst part was that you’d turned your back on him when you’d said it. Honing in on your unreasonable point. The world didn’t just revolve around you, you know.

There was a flicker of irritation that blossomed like a breathtakingly fiery rose in his chest. Hot electricity pulsed his eyes alight, though as soon as the burning rage had appeared, Marko settled it with a deep breath. Right, you were his girlfriend, he couldn’t kill you like some blundering drunk Surf Nazi. No matter how much of a raging bitch you were being right now.

A few minutes sauntered by, a tense silence stretching with its thick tendrils that imbedded themselves in your throat. Realisation hit you square in the chest and you dug the heels of your hands into your sore, closed eyes harshly at the thought of how stupid you were being.

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” There was a denseness to your tone, shame blanketing it like a sugar coated donut. If only it felt as sweet.

“Nah, don’t sweat it, babes!” Marko released with a heavy sigh, a passive manner taking over him. It wasn’t hard to do.

Afterall, the anger had been shaken out of every dead cell in his body. He lifted a cool hand, his fingers burying in his blond licks and pushing them out of his eyes, a simple motion that soothed him slightly.

“No, it’s not not!” You sighed out, tipping your head back in your wooden chair till it teetered a bit. You stared dreadfully up at the ceiling with bitter contempt. “I hate this! I hate all of this studying. If I look at one more number I’m gonna commit arson on the school so I don’t have to take my exam on Monday morning!”

“You know that can be arranged for you with the help of Paul and I? ” Marko grinned at you, the prospect of putting all this incessant studying to a grand halt really tickled his fancy; whether you were being serious or not.

“Not funny!”

“What? You wouldn’t be connected. Scouts honour, babes.”

Though from the expression you were giving him, Marko was certain that attempting to pull jokes with you so soon wasn’t in anyone’s best interests just yet. Not when you were wound up so tight. However there was the beginning of a smile working on the edges of your beautiful lips. It settled the tension a little.

“There’s my girl!” He replied proudly, patting his gloved hands on the thighs of his jeans habitually.

Suddenly another lightbulb moment zinged its fluorescent rays above his head. Jackpot! He knew exactly what you needed to relax. He did, afterall, have magical hands that were perfect for massaging. A little TLC and you’d be well oiled enough to snuggle with him as you both watched a movie. Just a little loving was all he wanted — he missed you.

Like a golden sleek mountain lion with prey locked in its predatory gaze, Marko crept stealthily towards you on surprisingly light feet with his paws out. Ready for the kill. Those icy digits were immediately welcomed by your clammy hot skin, and your affliction seemed to melt away in the heat of the humid air. This was precisely the reaction Marko had imagined in his wondrously gruesome noggin.

To begin with, you seemed tense at the idea of his touch gone foreign from the lack of his familiar presence. Frustration mixed with guilt at your own pitiful past actions as a girlfriend. The stress was making you crack on so many levels. His touch was comforting despite the fact your shoulders made a subtle attempt at shaking him off. Yet he had a firm hold on you — certainly not enough to cause harm. What didn’t he understand about this entire ordeal? This was extremely important to you. His candid words rung in your ears, a gong gone off to begin the journey of relaxation and release of pent up frustrations.

“You gotta take a break. Even just for five minutes.” He echoed your already persuaded thoughts. A wispy coo, hypnotic in nature.

You were incapable of resistance to his powerful abilities he reserved specifically for times such as these. Sure he wasn’t David, but Marko knew how to pull someone as stubborn as you into his lane, wrestling them into a relaxed submission of chill time. Damn him and his undead powers!

His fingers were possessed by black magic — working at the sore, aching muscles that had become strained by impeccably poor posture and a lack of necessary exercise. You lacked both the hefty bark and bite to fight him, it had disappeared with the energy and motivation to engage in anyone or anything other than what was currently going on in the present moment. Temptation wanted you to reap the rewards of Marko’s skilful ministrations. You swiftly ushered into the realm of utter selfishness, leaning into his touch wantonly the moment his pesky long appendages massaged down your shoulders in a taut yet tender fashion. A wince escaped your lips once he worked on a specific knot. You stirred and twitched in the seat like it had become unbearably hot.

With your face bunched up, a moan entailing slight anguish fluttered past your lips, Marko eased up on said spot, focusing on another area.

“Atta girl,” He grinned, “Relax…” an angelic whisper crept into your ear.

He sounded hypnotic, binding you under his blissful spell of ease. Though it was that specific spot in your sore muscles that caused you irritation. Marko left it happily because he’d worked the majority of it out. Now his long, thin fingers padded at the balls of your shoulders, solace in nature before returning up the valley of your neck for the second time. He simpered subconsciously to himself in a victorious fashion the moment you went completely lax under his touch. A pleasurable surrender to his beck and call. Your arms went limp, resembling the feeling and look of overcooked spaghetti. The rear of the chair and Marko’s light, yet secure grip on you were the only two things that kept you upright. There was an immature smugness to his motions that you could practically feel engraved into you.

“You like that?” There was audacity for him to whisper it against the soft shell of your ear. Such a seductive note.

Your response came to him through another throaty groan of approval and a swift, gentle nod of your head. So subtle that for a moment, he wondered if he’d dreamt up the consensual physical action entirely.

Mischief purchased him, a long lost friend. Sharp teeth nicked the delicate flesh of your earlobe, mouth finding a mind of their own to trail down the side of your neck. The feverish pulsepoint he’d grown to know well was peppered in an onslaught — each kiss and nip purposeful. Melting like the ice caps into his touch, the Devil suddenly pulled away after taking a step back. Your back was held up by the chair entirely. A pout formed your precious mouth, head tilted towards him. Your half hooded eyes unveiled a cheeky sight indeed: He was smirking with that Cheshire grin he was so renowned for. Not to mention that he’d propped himself like royalty on the edge of the bed, his head cocked to the side in amusement.

“What? You want more?” An arrogance wafted from him, sent on the hot summer breeze.

He knew you were hooked by the way you turned in your chair to finally acknowledge him fully. “Then c’mere.” He said simply, patting his lap.

Rising from your chair was methodical. Lots of attention had to be put into moving your stiff limbs almost gone numb from being in the same position for god knows how long. Yet you padded over to your awaiting throne, straddling his waist boldly. Hands floated to your hips, squeezing them longingly, and as if bound under his hypnotic spell from earlier, you found his lips in a mixture of rushed passion and want. Marko was cool, hanging back and letting you explore the excitement you’d been starving for for weeks. He was just happy to go along for the ride, seeing where it took you both. This wasn’t so much about him as it was about you.

Your tongue intruded his mouth, a sudden willingness to become as close to him as physically possible. He beckoned beneath you, chest tightening with the giddiness that felt oh so good to experience. Teeth nipped at your lower lip, a yearning to eventually get at the crimson liquid buried beneath your thin, delicate skin was intricate but controlled. Taunting and malicious hands wandered, pushing beneath fabric to clutch at the supple flesh of your breasts. You pulled apart for a breath, a gasp of alluring surprise fluttering from your mouth. Marko chuckled against the flesh of your delicate throat — not missing the sultry glow having engulfed you. It now permeated towards him. Frustration could be played out in more than one way, which he was happy to do.

The black tee you’d been sporting came over your head in a single tug, cast to the floor with his mix-matched jacket and crop top. He admired the rise and fall of your bare breasts, highlighted in the moonlight — embarrassing you in the way he deemed was the cutest. Yet he made no move towards influencing your next moves. Instead the icy tips of his fingers tickled up your sides, ghosted along your spine to entice goosebumps. Your gaze settled on his beautiful flesh , fair and adorned with muscles beneath his strong skin. He made your mouth water, the washboard abs and the strength that came from him in more than just the physical aspect set you on fire. Your staring amused him. Were you still too shy to touch despite this having happened in times gone by? He was all yours. There was no need for meaningless delays. The inevitable was bound to occur. You might as well just meet him in the middle.

Your warm fingertips settled upon his sturdy chest whilst you mounted him. A delicious expression of your needs being met flashed across your angelic features, but your lips twisted into such a devilish smirk. Some would title you as a promiscuous nymph, tantalisingly rocking your hips back and forth — creating much needed friction. Marko’s fingers smoothed up your sides, his own breath flustered out of his lungs. Yet he just watched you, hazel eyes deepening from the dilation of his pupils. A hunter was being fed under your seductive spell. Such a horny, pretty thing you were, rutting against him like a desperate bitch in heat. It caused amusement to tickle his senses, because he knew this wouldn’t suffice enough of your needs. Witnessed it dawn frustratingly upon your countenance. You needed more. You wanted more.

“Atta girl.” He winked, grinning impishly up at you. A seductive golden halo flowed from his head as he laid there admiring you.

Before long, his patience wore thin. His back arched upwards then, lips trailing along the swell of your sensitive breasts. They glistened deliciously with sweat in the moonlight, inviting his tongue to taste the salty liquid. You sighed, hips faltering, thwarting your efforts to get off. A pathetic whimper of dissatisfaction escaped you, rumbling in your chest. He felt it against his sinful tongue, sucking sweet little marks into your skin. And silently, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging down gently. You manuevred yourself over him, eager to get any remaining clothes off and have him take control. You never knew what to expect with him, which was all the more exciting. Yet all he did was clasp his lips around your right nipple, suckling on it firmly, though not enough to hurt. His teeth nipped at it, tugging ever so slightly in the way you always approved — all whilst he stared up at you. Man was he a tease.

As soon as it had started, the pleasure ceased. Gone in the blink of an eye. You stared down at your boyfriend, your hips twirling in rebellion. Already you were quivering, at his mercy whilst your fingers tangled in his beautifully curly locks.

“What?” He inquired with an innocent tilt to his head.

Distinct symptoms of embarrassment clouded your features — your skin felt hot. The only thing you could do was nip your swollen bottom lip and draw your eyebrows together in the centre. So cute. Why was he doing this? It was simple, he wanted to.

“Hmmm? Use your big girl words, baby.” He added with a breathy laugh meant to mock you. His large palms smoothed against the softest parts of your body reassuringly.

You gulped, throat dry and hoarse. Your hips rutted on his hardened cock concealed beneath the rough denim. It’s roughness dampened by your sopping cunt. You whimpered as he guided your hips, looking hungrier than ever. Silently pleading for him to touch you the way you loved it the most. However, he did not play into these silent games. You knew that, but it was always worth a try. Sometimes he was forgiving and lenient. Tonight he seemed to be holding back, admiring your handiwork until you begged him with delirium to give you what you wanted.

“I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me. Hmm?” He cooed up at you.

“I want more,” you began pitifully, eyes unable to meet his heavy gaze.

“More of what?” He was milking this, enjoying the way you twitched.

“More of you.” As if that could answer his blatantly insistent inquiry. Yet before he could open his mouth to prod further, you’d beaten him to the punch, “I want your mouth.”

A diabolical sexy grin spread across his face. Sharp pearly whites glinted in the argent glow menacingly, but only for show. To intimidate you into the correct position. The air in your lungs caught in your throat at the sight, forcing you to shiver. He was going to force you into helplessness with your limbs unable to hold you up afterwards, all accompanied with a mushy mind with him at the centre of it. Duties and resilient responsibilities were a thing of the past. Well, at least for tonight. What you were asking him for was something he was more than qualified to provide. A god-like tongue that made your head spin in a volatile tornado and your thighs squeeze deliciously around his head. The thought began thawing out the embarrassment coiled in your gut and latched into your flesh like barbed coils. Marko managed to pull them out effortlessly and painlessly. Thus, fueled by a fire in his own belly, he flipped you over at the flick of a finger. The cool sheets beneath you were welcomed because of the clammy air. The wind momentarily knocked out of you due to a lustre of giddiness. You laid there, breathless and bothered, watching him slither down your body like a ravenous serpent. Attentive nips and open mouthed kisses pressed along the way. You sighed with contentment, legs parting to fit him between them.

Gazes locked, he pressed your legs up towards your chest, spreading you open for him. There was little you could do to hide from him. His strong palms prevented such a shameful sin, the tips of his blunt nails digging into the supple backs of your thighs. The sting welcomed by you. Vulnerability was nowhere to be found — not even in your fuzzy brain. He liked it better that way. You were entirely enthralled by impulses and senses. The events of earlier ancient history he didn’t want to revisit any time soon. Wanton desire encompassed you. He’d incinerated all feelings of abashment from your being. You were tainted with a bold desperation. A one track mind that only Marko could read and satisfy.

“Just relax…” He breathed against the tender skin of your inner thigh. You could entrust him with this.

When he dove in, he had the enthusiasm of a starved man. The tip of his wet flickering appendage swiped your folds. Once, twice and a third time. On and on it went. The taste of you was salty yet sweet, the perfect addictive combination. You were perfect underneath him, letting his pretty gratified tongue serve blessings upon your clit. Faster and faster he adored you, suckling and nipping upon your sensitive bundle of nerves at the right intervals. It was all so perfect. Driving you further and further up the edge. You squealed under his onslaught, chest rising and falling as if possessed. Your limbs shook, eyes rolling into the rear of your frazzled skull. Yeah, you’d finally escaped. All of your inconsequential concerns fled from your body whilst you pushed Marko further into your sex. It was pathetic as you wantonly moaned his name, a repetitive mantra. So pitiful in fact that your hips rocked against his tongue, the tip of his nose catching your clit. Marko was just happy to drown in you. Your sticky essence dripping down his chin. All he could do was lap up what you offered, and none of it went to waste.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck!” You heaved into the clammy air, your eyes bleary by now.

Just one more stripe and he was going to ruin you.

You tumbled from heaven, rocketing down to Earth. Your descent imploring delirium. The ability to quit shaking was nowhere to be found. There was Marko, parting from your folds in a sticky and panting mess. His predator instincts lit aflame like a match in the dark, all because of your erratic heartbeat that had been palpitating under his skillful onslaught. You smelled so superbly delicious it made him delirious, rough hands settled on either side of your head to trap you in the cage he put you in. His glowing yellow eyes and slightly warbled features should have terrified you, yet they did not. You felt a love for the monster that mirrored your feelings in his own, demonic entirety. Your fingers were lazy, ghosting the tips upon his protruded brow bone. Despite his monstrosity, his features morphed back to that of a human’s with your enduring patience. A glow remaining in his perky eyes — an ardent aura surrounded the beast. Calloused fingers smoothed away the stray hairs to your face uncomfortably with sweat. Couldn’t stop the grin that came about from you looking so lost in your thoughts. You were fucked out already and he’d barely even begun. He decided then that he could’ve stared at you like this forever, because not a thought outside of him remained in your head. That’s what he appreciated the most. No competitions, just you and him. That’s all that was yearned for.

Lips crashed together, though your fight for dominance was easily overthrown by Marko, his pesky fingers pinching and pulling on your nipples. He rolled them between his fingers. A surge of gratitude took over you, hummed right into his mouth. Teeth gnashed together, it was heated, fueled by an endless amount of passion. Oh you were driving him crazy. Your hands fiercely clutched onto his strong shoulders, nails digging into the soft cool flesh of them. You were lost fully in the reality of ecstasy. Disoriented from the notion that once you started, you didn’t want it to stop. He was the incubus that tainted you, and he too could not stop himself from damning you once again. He’d yank you straight into hell with him. You were all his.

So his palms were strong, scrunching up the bedsheets beside your head, catching the strands of your hair within its hold. It stung, leading a pleasant hiss from you and into his mouth. Your own fingers pinging the button of his jeans before dipping into the waistband of his boxers. His lips broke apart, teeth nipping your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Yes, you were a promiscuous nymph, working him further and further until precum leaked languidly from the tip, trickling and spilling onto your knuckles. The impish smirk you gave him sealed the deal.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your ear, a breathy chuckle expelled when you continued. “This is about you, baby. I can’t do that if I’ve busted all over you.” He grinned.

He did have a fair point. Off the remainder of his clothes went. Now no barriers remain between the pair of you. Naked and vulnerable in an iridescent glow from the moon.

In typical fashion of your boyfriend, he possessed an impatient roughness to him. A single hand manoeuvred your legs apart, one hiked upon his awaiting forearm and the other snug around his hip. In one swell tug down, you were spread open for him, the tip of his glistening cock pressed into your soaked folds. The minimal friction had invited your hips to buck up rebelliously. Yet the beast watched you with heavy eyes, watching the mouthwatering way he sunk barely into your cute little hole. It was enough for his senses to snap entirely. The second he pushed in fully, a grunt tumbled out and against the shell of your ear. The size of him filled you up in a way that you never thought was imaginable. The intrusion was sudden but smooth, forcing you to whimper and tuck your face into his shoulder. Your legs twitched, tensed whilst your palms instinctively reached out to press themselves against his lower abdomen. You protested, softly pushing back and he obliged, but only to sink back in slowly.

Yet a sweetness prevailed, his mouth whispering encouragingly into your ear, “That’s it, babygirl. You take me so good.”

The praise led to your hands smoothing up his rippled abdomen, appreciating the body that belonged to a Greek God. Closer he leaned into you, your body relaxing from the sudden intrusion he’d worked in and out of you with a gentle rocking of his hips. All of it pulled that wolfish simper from your breathless boyfriend. Your hips had a mind of their own, twitching to meet his abundantly stuttering hips in the middle. A dull ache blossomed and pulsed in your hot cunt. You wanted him so badly that it hurt. He pined for you just as violently, enough to pull back swiftly and snap his hips roughly into you. Any semblance of patience eradicated at the weathering fray in the string, crashing over into a dominant nature he was renowned for. You were all too obedient and joyous to follow. The intrusion into your cervix was unexpected, drawing out a wanton cry from your parched throat. His movements were deliberate, gaze darkening substantially in the shade of luscious ecstasy. Every cell in both of your bodies bursting to life whilst Marko did all of the work.

“M-Marko!” You stammered and gasped. Nothing but a pathetic whimper against the edge of his mouth.

Your foreheads were pressed together lovingly, hazel eyes finding your watery gaze easily. Tears pricked the corners. The pleasure curling you into his body.

At this rate, if he kept up his onslaught of devotion, you’d be a mess all over again; shuddering and sighing underneath him in a pitiful fashion. It was his favourite. Watching you crumble under everything he offered you, and by god would he offer you absolutely everything. The mere thought tempting him into overdrive with his impeccable stamina and strength. You could hardly keep up.

Yet with all of his rough ministrations and hungry motivations, there was a loving twitch to his lips — an extra devotion in the roll and smack each thrust brought. The tip of him hammering home on the delicate spot inside of you. Witnessing what each pull and push built up inside of you. It was perfect, feeling you cream all over him thickly. Your perfect moans and hazy eyes only made him love you more.

The only response you’d acquired was a grunt gritted between clenched teeth and panting breaths. His calloused digits feathered into your hair, gathering it into his fist. Nothing about him relented. He could tell by your half lidded eyes that you were nearly there. Expression consumed by an ample amount of bliss. It seeped into the air, boasting an array of vibrant hormones and scents. You were bewitching him with your morality, your head toppling back when he tugged on your hair firmly. The notion only forced him to grow more sporadic. Your content mewls of mercy morphing into the sweaty, salty air. His cool skin warmed by yours alone. Yet deep inside, even you knew that you didn’t possess a desire for him to stop. You wanted this. Wanted it more than you had any other time, because you’d stupidly starved yourself of most of your needs.

Toppling over the edge didn’t seem too far away. You could feel every inch of yourself under the mercy of your painfully vampiric boyfriend. He nurtured you into a quaking mess with his ragged edges, but it was all so utterly perfect. Your throbbing heart thrummed against your rib cage painfully, warping Marko’s features for a second time that night. Though it remained hidden within the cosy crook of your beautiful neck. Each pounding beat synching with his sinful thrusts until everything felt like a hot and heavy blur. Higher and higher you went, rising into cloud nine. He followed behind you, your scent driving him to weakness. He was dizzy, fingers grappling upon your flesh; grasping what he could to both pleasure you and steady himself. Your hands held onto his shoulders, fingers slithering up into his damp curly mullet. Over and over he went, but you held on.

“Let go, babygirl…” he whispered in a strained husky fashion against your sweaty skin.

His elongated teeth grazed the palpitating vein of your sweet spot. They glinted threateningly unbeknownst to you.

A temptation too reckless overcame him. The ruby rushing rivers beneath the surface of fragile skin spoke to him. Sung seductively into his soulless chest. It’s sweet nectar coaxed him in until said sharp teeth grazed a little too harshly. One drop was enough for his tongue to burst to life. Inducing him to suck on the wound. A harsher one warranted more blood to ooze out, and thus you yelped in protest. Though now too delirious to feel much else than the driving force that brought you literally on the edge of your second orgasm of the night. He could barely stop himself, the edge pulling his hips more violently into that back and forth motion — just as harsh but clouded with sloppiness. All until you both spilled over the edge of the cup.

It was a viral shock, numbing your body into intense bliss. A chorus of heightened groans poured from your mouth. Quaking limbs wrapped around his rocking body, pushing his spilled seed further into your womb. A long, husky groan buried itself into your neck — forcing his brief blood drinking to come to a halt. A heavy ’o’ shape formed your lips, throat hoarse from your incessant whimpers. The crash back down to hell was something in itself. Just as intense whilst you both hurtled, twitched and panted down in the fiery centre of the earth. Both of you left joined together from sensitivity. Gazes locked together with a dopey satisfaction. You watched his mischievous grin on his features, gone slightly pink from your blood. Your boyfriend was high on your blood — no doubt because it felt akin to taking a hit of crack. Yet you remained jelly legged, arms unable to move and your mind fuzzy. You were relaxed as he pulled out, admiring his seed trickling from you before he prized his clean crop top from your floor to clean you up.

“You… bit me,” you pouted up at him.

Your own pair of heavy fingertips inspected the small, messy series of puncture wounds engraved into your neck. A form of marking Marko was infamous for implementing. It stung so you winced.

“My bad.” Was all he grinned out in a lopsided fashion.

But it wasn’t an apology. He’d never apologised for such an act — not even in his controlled feeding on you. You were his and he was yours. Maybe he was a little too possessive. Nevermind, because the post orgasm glow only invited him in on shaky forearms. The tip of his nose skimmed your collarbone, inhaling your luxurious scent. His tongue poked out, lapping up the rich droplets you offered him of no fault of your own. It tasted sweet, yet decadent, almost like spiced mulled wine. The coolness of his appendage felt relieving against the hotness of your skin.

“Thank you,” you mumbled sleepily, fingernails softly dragging against his scalp to hone in on the appreciation that swarmed you.

Your gratitude was humorous. It made him chuckle as he pulled back, towering over your fully relaxed body. He tilted his head, “For fucking your brains out?”

“Mhmmmm!” You nodded, adamant.

More laughter propelled from his mouth, because Marko was not quite sure how else to respond. You’d never thanked him for such a thing before, and it was a warrant for teasing that’s for sure. Still, it made his still heart swell a thousand times in size, mimicking the distant feeling of a pulse of his heart. His silent lips pressed ardent kisses to the wound on your neck, running his tongue over the wound only to watch it magically heal somewhat. Then his mouth travelled to your ear, just to hear your soft giggle in time, sleepily stirring beneath him.

“I love you, baby.” A smile evident against the shell of your ear.

“Love you too…” you sighed with your own mirrored grin, all dopey from exhaustion.

The tug of sleep won and you plummeted into the blackness your closed eyelids entailed. It was a warm welcome after weeks of choppy and restless sleep from rampant anxiety. Marko laid there beside you, his fingers hovering over your tired muscles to clean you up and smooth ardent circles into sore patches of skin from his rough handling. An arm of his draped underneath your head as you silently curled into him. Your relaxed breaths tickled the nape of his dewy neck. The dilemma was averted and now he had you back. A few hours was all he could spare before he’d be forced to bid you farewell. The need for the dank darkness of the cave would call to him before sunrise. Yet for now he admired your tranquility with a laboured inhale and exhale. He pulled the covers over you both, hoping that your relaxation would remain until the following night. He’d sweep you away from your work and into the exhilarating arms of a good time. Thundering down the Boardwalk and harbour, perched on the back of his metallic steed. The pair of you damned, left to unleash your sly delightful terror upon Santa Carla. Yes, your absence had been so missed by your boyfriend as he stared up at your ceiling with satisfaction.

“Crisis averted.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

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pascalispretty · 11 months

Text

The Poetry of the Body: Two

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3070

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, fainting, references to sex/implied sex, implied age gap, hurt/comfort vibes, AU where Emily doesn't exist.

Summary: You and Miguel discuss the possibility of expanding your family, and negotiate the details.

A/N: thanks to my beloved @misscharlielulu for all her love and support in getting this finished, and @bullet-prooflove for her Nestor advice. Title of the fic is from ’La llama doble. Amor y erotismo’ by Octavio Paz. Title of the chapter comes from 'Pedro Paramo' by Juan Rulfo, full quote on ao3. Written to fulfil the 'don't worry, I'll take good care of you' square for @storiesofsvu2-0 / @storiesofsvu's bingo! (ao3)

Two: The Pure Murmuring of Life (ao3)

It’s one of those days where nothing seems to go right. Miguel rose early in order to attend to some business south of the border, leaving you to wake up alone. Your whole body aches – another thing you blame Miguel for. Having sex on the kitchen floor certainly seemed like a thrilling idea last night, but you were paying the price for it today.

The day only gets worse once you shower and dress, and make your way downstairs. Any notion you have about taking Cristóbal out for breakfast abruptly shatters the moment you hear him screaming, a harried-looking Maria attempting to reason with him in Spanish. Still in his pyjamas, your son’s small body is wracked with sobs at the injustice of not being allowed to climb into the dryer and go for a spin.

It takes what feels like hours to soothe him, and it’s closer to lunchtime by the time he’s finally calm enough for Maria to take him upstairs and dress him. You stay downstairs, sitting on the couch to talk to Nestor. Starving, sore, and head pounding, you’re relieved to have a moment of calm.

“I don’t want to stay out for long; I just need to get out of the house. Is there enough security still here?” You have no concept of how many men have gone south with Miguel, but the fact that he left Nestor here tells you he’s not expecting any trouble. Nestor stands by the arm of the couch and nods.

“More than enough to keep a detail at the house while we’re gone. I’ll ask Paco to bring the car around.” He takes his phone out and begins tapping out a message, and even the sound of his phone keyboard clicking makes you rub your temples. Maybe you should take some ibuprofen before you head out. You’re so hungry you feel sick; a granola bar wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

Before you can do anything, you hear footsteps on the stairs again. Cristóbal is all smiles when he comes back downstairs, finally dressed and ready to go. He beams when he notices you on the couch and twists in Maria’s arms to reach out for you.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you ready?” You ask him, standing up quickly.

It’s a mistake.

Your vision blurs. The room swims in front of you, and you’re only vaguely aware of your knees buckling before everything goes dark.

Sounds come back to you first. Cristóbal is crying again, but he sounds oddly muffled. You’re too disoriented even to try opening your eyes. Instead, you focus on your breathing.

You’re on the floor, that becomes apparent quickly. The wood is pleasantly cool against your forehead. You don’t know how you ended up down here, but you try not to think too hard about it. After a long pause, you gingerly open your eyes.

It takes a moment for you to be able to focus on anything. The first thing you do see clearly is Nestor, kneeling beside your head. He has your wrist in his hand, you realise, his fingers resting over your pulse point. He must have caught you before you fell, lowered you onto the floor. An intense feeling of déjà vu sweeps over you; you’ve been in this exact position before.

The fainting was the first real sign that something was wrong last time.

You can vividly remember waking up on the kitchen floor to Miguel yelling at someone to bring the car around. Breakfast had been abruptly abandoned, the bacon smouldering alarmingly on the stove. You had only found out you were pregnant a week prior and the fainting spell had been written off as the result of your body simply adjusting to the new life growing inside it.

Then the vomiting started. You lost weight at a rate that alarmed your doctors, who kept you in for a flurry of tests. Hyperemesis gravidarum had been the official diagnosis; morning sickness so severe that you could barely keep water down on some days. Between the dizziness and the nausea, you had hardly left the house until after your son was born.

As soon as you realise that you fainted, you know that you’re pregnant again.

You stopped taking your birth control months ago, but your periods had stayed irregular; you have no idea how late you actually are. The reality of it hits you all at once, but you do your best to choke it back. Cristóbal is sobbing in Maria’s arms, desperately wailing for you, and you raise your head slightly. You need to take care of him first.

“It’s okay, baby, Mama’s okay. Come here,” you tell him. Nestor lets go of your wrist as you shift on the floor, trying to make yourself marginally more comfortable on the wood. Maria brings Cristóbal closer, eventually setting him down so he can toddle over to you.

“Do you want me to help you up onto the couch?” Nestor asks quietly, before your son can reach you. Cristóbal crawls into your arms, his cheeks damp as he presses his face against your collarbone.

“No, thank you. I just need to stay here for a minute.” You can’t fall again if you’re already on the floor. Nestor nods, wordlessly grabbing a cushion for you to rest your head on as he stands back up to his full height. In your arms, Cristóbal has settled slightly, though his voice is still thick with tears.

“Mama fell,” he says plaintively, and your heart swells.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. Did I scare you? I’m okay, Mama’s okay,” you whisper against his warm forehead, breathing in the smell of his hair. You rest your head on the cushion and look up to see Nestor and Maria sharing a meaningful glance. Cristóbal’s little fists grab handfuls of your hair, but you barely feel the pressure on your scalp. You know what that look is about.

“Don’t tell Miguel.” It comes out harsher than you mean it to. Nestor and Maria exchange another look, before Nestor sighs.

“Mikey’ll want to know.”

“And he will. I’ll tell him myself when he comes home tonight.” You hold Cristóbal a little tighter, rubbing his back. The last thing you want to do right now is argue with Nestor, but you can’t back down. “Please, Nestor. I’ll tell him tonight.”

He looks unconvinced; it’s hard to convey how serious you’re being while you’re lying on the floor.

“Maria, would you mind making Cristóbal something for lunch? I don’t think we’ll be able to go out today after all.” To your relief, she nods and walks towards the kitchen. One less person to deal with right now. The mention of food makes Cristóbal squirm in your arms so you let him go, watching him toddle off to the kitchen to ‘help’ Maria. Gingerly, you start to try to shift into a sitting position. Nestor notices, crouching back down automatically in case you faint again.

You manage to sit yourself up, your back resting against the couch as you take several deep breaths. All of this would be so much easier if Miguel was home. He grew up with housekeepers and nannies and security guards; he’s infinitely more at ease issuing them with orders than you are. Even Nestor, occupying that liminal space between employee and childhood best friend, does what Miguel tells him to do.

Orders don’t come naturally to you. Especially not now, when your head is a whirlwind of different emotions and needs, all pulling your attention in separate directions. Miguel would take care of everything if he were here, having conversations that need to be had and making appointments that need to be made. But you have no idea where he is or when he’ll be home, so it’s up to you.

“Nestor,” you start, swallowing thickly. “I need you and Maria not to say anything to Miguel yet.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you know I have to tell Mikey.” Him calling you ma’am isn’t a good sign. Miguel had half-stepped into the role of older brother for him since he was a teenager; you aren’t going to overcome more than twenty years of loyalty. He’ll never listen to you over Miguel.

“If you tell Miguel I fainted, he will want to know why. And he’ll know why, the same way that I’m sure you do. Miguel will figure it out the same way you did.” You know in your gut that Nestor knows. The same intense déjà vu that struck you must have hit him too; an echo of the six long months where he hardly left your side when Miguel wasn’t around. It had been a sign of how concerned Miguel really was about you, leaving his most trusted lieutenant to watch over you and the life inside you.

“...Mikey doesn’t know?” Nestor asks eventually, taking a seat on the coffee table - still close enough to catch you if you faint again. You’ll mention it to Miguel later, how seamlessly Nestor has fallen back into old protocols.

“No. I don’t even know yet, not for sure. But I don’t want him to find out like this, Nestor; hundreds of miles away, because something bad happened. Let me tell him myself tonight, so he can celebrate.” You watch him think it over, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Eventually, he nods, and you sigh in relief.

The two of you negotiate a little more - he’ll talk to Maria, he’ll do his best to make sure Miguel comes home at a reasonable hour tonight on a security pretext, you absolutely promise that you’ll tell your husband that the fainting has started again - and he helps you up onto the couch before he leaves.

You settle back onto the couch, closing your eyes as you get comfortable. From experience, you know you’ll need to stay put for an hour or so. The sound of Cristóbal’s uneven footsteps makes you open your eyes again as he runs up to the couch, his stuffed rabbit in his hand.

“It’s ‘kay, Mama. Make feel better.” He thrusts the stuffed rabbit at you, and you tuck it into the crook of your arm. Another powerful wave of emotion washes over you, and you will yourself not to cry; you don’t want your son to think his sweet gesture has upset you.

“Oh baby, thank you.” You whisper, stroking Cristóbal’s curls gently. “You know, Daddy had a brother too. That’s who you’re named after.” Your son brightens at the mention of his father, babbling the word ‘daddy’ happily back to you, looking around for Miguel. “No, Daddy’s not home yet, sweetheart. But we’ll have a nice surprise for him when he comes back, won’t we?”

****

You watch anxiously from the kitchen window as the cars are let through the gate, the convoy your husband took south arriving home seemingly without incident. Certainly, there’s no sign that Miguel came home in a panic, word having reached him of what happened today.

Since your fainting this afternoon, you’ve been relatively busy. Maria had kept Cristóbal occupied while you rested on the couch, planning your evening, and Nestor had gone out for the items you’d requested. You’d briefly wondered why he’d bothered to go himself for steak and sparkling grape juice, until he returned from town with two boxes of pregnancy tests stashed among the groceries.

You really needed to tell Miguel to give him a raise.

By the time Miguel walks through the door, everything is ready. You smooth your hands down your dress, stepping out of the kitchen to greet him.

“Hi baby,” he starts, his eyes widening slightly once he gets a good look at you. “Did we have dinner plans?” You’re overdressed for dinner at home, a green dress that clings in all the right places. He kisses you chastely in greeting, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back.

“No, I made us dinner. I thought you might need it, after your day.” You lead him by the hand to the table on the veranda outside. The fire and torches are lit, casting everything in a soft golden light, and music is playing softly from the speakers.

“Valentine’s Day was last month. Or is this you angling for a repeat of last night?” He asks teasingly, the fingers of his free hand finding the bruise he’d left on your wrist when he pinned you to the floor.

“Maybe.” He humours you, especially when he realises you’ve made him filet mignon, so rare that the knife glides through the meat with almost no resistance. That, and the pinot noir you’d opened for him, provide an excellent distraction. He doesn’t question why you’re drinking a different wine - which isn’t wine at all, but sparkling grape juice you’d decanted into an empty bottle - or eating a blander meal than his own.

The conversation throughout dinner is light; he doesn’t offer any details about what he was doing south of the border, and you don’t ask. You want the other world to be as far away from you as possible tonight. The mains finished, you tell him to stay put while you clear the table and fetch dessert.

You uncork the champagne in the kitchen and sink the bottle into the waiting bucket of ice. For a moment you wish you could take a sip, just to steady your nerves. From the cabinet, you fetch a single champagne flute, one of the Villeroy & Boch set that had been a wedding gift. You take the stem between two fingers and turn it so the base rests in your palm, allowing you to carry it at the same time as the stainless-steel bucket.

“I know that champagne is more of an apéritif than a digestif, but it seemed more appropriate for the topic.” You tell Miguel once you’re back in earshot. He turns to look at you, a faint smile playing around his lips. The firelight suits him; between the shadows and the golden wash of light, he looks like an oil painting—a study of some long-ago king, all easy authority and charm.

“What’s the topic?” He asks, leaning back in his chair so he can watch you.

“Celebrations,” you tell him, pouring the champagne for him. “It’ll be yours and Cristóbal’s birthdays next month.” It had felt like it meant something when Cristóbal was born just days before Miguel’s own birthday in April - the one silver lining to having to deliver him early. Instead of returning to your own chair, you sit in Miguel’s lap. His free hand comes up to your waist instinctively, holding you close while he reaches for the glass.

“Three already,” Miguel says, taking a sip of his champagne. You drape your arm over Miguel’s broad shoulders, taking a moment just to savour the closeness.

“I know.” Your fingers find their way into Miguel’s hair, combing through the thick black curls. He relaxes under you, a long sigh escaping him. He takes another sip of champagne and frowns.

“You’re not having one?” Miguel turns his head to look at you. “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” His tone is teasing, and he playfully pinches your side. His fingers land over a ticklish spot, and you giggle in spite of yourself.

“No. I can’t have one.” You bite your lip, waiting for him to connect the dots. “That’s the other thing we need to celebrate.” Miguel’s lovely dark eyes search your face, his expression softening.

“Really?” He asks, and you nod.

“I took the test today. I still need to go to the doctor’s to confirm but-” Whatever else you might say is cut off by the kiss Miguel gives you. He pulls you even closer to him, his champagne glass abandoned on the table so he can wrap his arms fully around you.

“Te quiero mucho, mi amor,” he murmurs between kisses. For the first time all day, you can relax and just let your emotions wash over you. You’re having another baby; it’s a thrilling and frightening prospect all at once.

“I love you too.” You rest your cheek against his shoulder as he pulls away slightly to take another sip of his champagne. You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in contented silence. The fire has dipped low, and the breeze rolling in off the hills makes you shiver in your thin dress. Miguel is immediately on alert, setting his empty glass down and looking at you with concern.

“Do you want to go inside?” Miguel asks, rubbing your arm. The pressure is just slightly too much on your sore skin, and you wince. “Baby?” He tugs the short sleeve of your dress up, exposing the already-forming bruises you had acquired earlier.

“Oh. That was my first clue I was pregnant again; I fainted this afternoon. Nestor caught me.” You try to keep the worry out of your voice, stroking your fingers down his forearm. Miguel fixes you with a searching look, those beautiful dark eyes carefully searching your face.

“How are you feeling now?” He asks. You know that tone; it’s one that brooks no argument, allows for no white lies.

“Physically? Fine. A little tender, maybe.” You begin, but Miguel’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Emotionally? I don’t know. Happy, yes. Scared.” Your voice breaks a little on the last sentence. Miguel smooths a hand over your hair, adjusting you on his lap.

“We know what to expect this time. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You turn your head into his shoulder, trying not to ruin the celebratory mood. For a long moment, you sit there like that, Miguel’s hand running soothingly down your back. Even pressed against him like this, you shiver again.

“Let's get you inside.” Miguel lets you go, and you slide reluctantly off his lap.

“What about the champagne?”

“I’ll take care of the champagne. You take care of you. You said you were feeling fine physically?” He asks, draining what’s left of his glass. You nod, and he grins, stepping closer to you. There’s barely an inch of space between your bodies, and he catches your chin between his finger and thumb, tilting your face up to look at him.

“Go and get yourself into bed. And then I’ll see what I can do to take care of you.”

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