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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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In Abstract 1

A sequel no one asked for. First Series: Portrait of a Dangerous Man

Warnings: noncon/rape, some violence, blood, alluded murder (for now?), grief, confusing, criminal allusions, some untagged extreme events.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You adjust to life with Clark, thought the past won't seem to let you go.

Character: mob!Clark Kent

Note: I don't know where this came from.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :) I appreciate your comments and enthusiasm! Reblogs help and are like candy, so please, feed me.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

A speck of red. A speck of red in a sea of blue. From the observer's eye, one would not notice. But the creator, the artist, the start error is obvious. No inadvertent, but entirely deliberate. A reminder of what it cost you.

You close your eyes and the fleck of blood sears in your mind. Like the site of your boyfriend gasping his last breaths. Ex, now. For a while. It feels like yesterday yet no time at all.

You shiver and hug yourself through the white cashmere. The sweater offers little warmth in the cold house. The glass doors look out onto the white lawn, a fresh dusting of snow trims the covered pool and blankets the landscape. It would be beautiful to any who did not know the sinister secrets of this place. The crimes witnessed by these walls alone.

You turn away from the portrait hung above the gaping fireplace. Even the crackling flames cannot warm you. There is no comfort in this house or the man who resides there. A warden, a maniac, a murderer.

You near the glass doors, eyes drawn to how the snow gathers in corners. The thin sheet of frost that cakes the panes and the fog of your breath as you stand close. The world outside is obscured by your own existence.

Silence. Stillness. Distance. Isolation. The vast grayness of your small world trapped behind a transparent wall. You touch the handle, feeling the cold metal, gripping it tight. A sudden urge to run out and dive into the heaps.

"Dinner tonight?" Clark's voice claps like thunder through the lull.

You gasp and recoil from the door. You turn to him, hugging yourself as much out of fright as the temperature. You step away from the door and your yearning for escape.

"Dinner," you repeat, your hollow voice echoing off the high ceilings.

"Yes, your mother is coming to town? We'll get her from the airport and take her to Elliston's?"

"Are you asking or telling?" You mutter as you drop your arms, tucking your hands up the cuffs.

You sweep away, crossing to the archway that opens into the spacious kitchen. You go to the counter and flip up the lid of the coffee machine. You focus on the rack of pods. It's habit more than anything, often you let your cup go cold, basking in the scent but too numb to taste it.

He follows. You sense him. Like you always do. Always hovering. Always watching.

"Don't be like this. You've been looking forward to her visit."

You grumble as you pick out the cinnamon cookie pod and shove it in the top. You shrug. Not really. You only ever play the part he wants. Move your brush to his whim, streak the paint by his word, lay on your back as he gets what he wants.

"And I have been too. I can't wait to meet your family. All of them."

Your chest winds tight. You can't tell if it's a threat or genuine. He is always hard to decipher. If you had ever been able to see through him, you wouldn't be standing there, trapped in his house, in his grip.

Five months. Five months in your cell. Five months with Marcus' blood on your soul.

"I'll get a room ready," you put a mug under the spout and hit the brew button.

He lurks closer. You stare and wait for the drip to begin. He puts his hands on your shoulders, the fabric turning course beneath the weight of his grasp.

"Nina's already working on it," he growls into your crown, "don't act so hard done by…"

"I'm not," the trickle spits out and hits the porcelain sharply.

"I give your more than he ever–"

You tear away from him, sliding along the counter as you spin to face him. He clucks and tilts his head, slowly pivoting towards you. The anger cordons in his cheek.

"I told you…"

He scoffs. "You're right, he was nothing. Not worth talking about. Sweetheart, it was always going to be me."

You clamp your lips shut as your eyes sting. He doesn't wake up every day in horror, he doesn't sink into sleep like a stone in mud, he doesn’t know what it is to live in black and white when the world used to be painted in a million colours.

"I'll confirm what time she gets in."

He sighs and crosses his arms. You look down at the white sweater and unroll the crumpled hem. You didn't wear cashmere before, no silk, no satin. Just cotton and tweed. Now you wear what he tells you to.

"Find something to wear for dinner," he demands, "and after."

He crosses the pristine tile and you look at him in the face, eyes glossy and pathetic. He kisses your forehead as his hand comes up to your chin, his thumb stroking your lips. He inhales your scent and lets out a growl.

"Wear the diamonds," he demands.

He lets you go and leaves you there. You watch after him as he stalks off, checking the time on his wristband. He clears his throat as he turns out of your sight. Your vision blurs to a muddy blur.

The coffee machine dings and brings you back. As much as you love your mother, how do you explain this to her? Lies are easier on the phone, but face to face, the truth is clear to see.

🎨

Your mother pulls you into a hug, her suitcase forgotten at her side. It's been almost a year since you last saw her. You and Marcus made a rare trip down for her birthday. As solitary as she prefers her life, she cherishes your rare company.

"Tweety bird, it's been so long," she hugs you, swaying you with her. She releases tou and holds you at arm's length, "don't you look like a dead mouse?"

"Ha, yeah, I was up late… painting," you smile thinly.

"Never change," she chides as you sense a shadow approach. Clark grabs the handle of her suitcase and rolls it towards him as he puts his hand on your back. "Oh, who… is this?"

"Clark," you try not to show your frustration. Your mother's always been a touch flightly, "I told you about him."

"Ah, yes, oh, that Marcus," she tuts and shakes her head, "couldn't believe it when you said he ran off but then again, I wasn't unhappy."

"Mom," you sniff.

"Well? He always left his dirty socks on the couch."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You'd rather not talk about him. You fear she'll see right through your story. Clark takes his hand off your back.

"Nice to meet you–" he begins.

"Don't be silly," she pulls him into a hug, an impressive feat as she is rail thin, "you must be the one saving my gal from heartbreak."

"Um, sure," he snorts, "you're Janine?"

"That's the one," she pulls back and fixes her wild waves, "I'm afraid she hasn't given me more than your name."

"She's been busy. Commissions and all," Clark puts on that perfect act. The gentleman with all the charm. The one you fell for. "We hope you're not too tired, I suggested a reservation for dinner…"

"Oh, yes, please, I'm starving. That airplane food is better avoided," she trills, "besides just ask Tweety, I'm mot much of a sleeper."

You shake your head in confirmation and she grins wider. Clark rolls her bag around and waves his arm ahead of him, "ladies."

"Oo, finally got yourself a gentleman."

"Mhmm," you hum as you start forward, "something like that."

🎨

You watch the wine flow into the glass, filling the belly with a rich burgundy colour. Your mother looks around emphatically as Clark gives a curt nod of dismissal to the server. You're left to peruse the menu.

“Wow, this is a fancy place,” your mom comments as she opens the leather folio containing the menu, “where was it Marc would take us? Denny’s?”

You give her a look. It’s strange, you’re mother was never one to turn her nose up at simplicity but there were some very specific sticking points when it came to your boyfriend. Ex. Or maybe money really does corrupt all.

The wine is stringent. You don’t like it. You take a hefty swig and set the stem down heavily. Clark gives you a look. Right, he has his curated image, you have to fit into that.

“So mom, how was your flight?”

“Ah, it’s fine. But I was sat next to this skinny fellow. So nervous. Jittered the whole way. I had to close the window because it made him sick. So I took a nap.”

“I hope you don’t mind shacking up with us. I thought of a hotel but we have more than enough room,” Clark suggests, “after a long day, I’m sure you’d like to just relax.”

“With us? You live together?” Your mom raises her brows.

“You knew this. Remember?”

“No, you said you moved out of your apartment, I don’t remember a where or with who. This is moving fast,” she says, “definitely not a rebound then?”

You cringe. Clark is a better actor than you. He laughs. Or maybe it is really that funny. Laughing at your dead ex and the ensuing predicament. You take another gulp of the disgusting wine.

“Well, the salmon looks interesting, “but I do prefer halibut…” she mulls over the listings, “oh, prawns. Tweety, don’t you remember when you drank all my vodka and puked up seafood all night?”

“Mom,” you swallow.

“Tweety, that’s an interesting nickname,” Clark says, opening the door for further humiliation.

“Ah, yes, well, funny story.”

“Not really,” you intone.

Your mother ignores you as she closes her menu and rests it on the table in front of her. “Her aunt used to give her Tweety Bird everything. Pajamas, stuffies, notebooks… she hates Tweety Bird. Always has but she was too nice to tell my sister so she had this little collection. I bet it’d be worth a bit now. Vintage and all that.”

“Oh, Tweety,” Clark echoes, “interesting. Cute.”

“Yellow did always suit her.”

“Anything suits her, doesn’t it?” He puts his hand over yours, “I tell her all the time. She makes paint stains look incredible. You wouldn’t believe it, at the end of the day she walks out of the studio looking like, uh, what’s that artist that does the splashes?”

“Pollock,” you answer dully.”

“She was always obsessed with men with too much time and not enough talent,” your mother remarks, “art, I’m just happy she isn’t still working at the coffee shop.”

“That was like six years ago,” you retort.

“Still, you have a degree, you should use it.”

“And she does,” Clark assures, “she’s wonderful at what she does.”

“Aw,” your mother almost fawns, “you’re such a sweetheart. Where did she find you and where do I get one?”

You barely restrain from rolling your eyes. Clark basks in the praise. You empty your glass and feel the slosh in your mind. It might be a bit too much but the wine makes the nights go quicker.

You decide on a salad. You’re not hungry. Your appetite is scant at best, food is a necessity, not a joy. Like much of your life now. It makes you miss those numbers you thought were so dire. The easy life of putting numbers in boxes and putting frozen lasagna in the oven.

The server returns and you turn your attention to his convenient arrival. You need the distraction. He nods to your empty glass and you see how Clark takes notice as well.

“Did you require more, mademoiselle?” He offers.

“One will do until we have our entrees,” Clark insists, “no good drinking on an empty stomach.”

You smile and take the stout glass of water from beside the stemmed glass, “thank you. He’s right.”

“Do we know what we’re having?” The server asks.

Clark defers to your mother with a gesture. She orders first. Halibut with the seasonal vegetables. Clark has his usual filet mignon, and you get the cobb salad. You hand over your menu and sit back, twiddling your fingers in your lap.

“Salad,” your mother comments, “when she was a teen, I couldn’t pry the onion rings out of her hands. Now look at her. It’s catching up, isn’t it?”

“Nothing wrong with being mindful,” Clark comments as he brushes his fingertips along his thick beard. He’s let it grow out, his hair too, the curls spiraling past his ears. “It’ll save room for dessert, they have a delicious creme brule.”

“Mmm, amazing–” your mother’s voice catches and she looks past you.

You don’t react right away as another serve sneaks up on you. Clark reaches behind him with one hand, covertly as if trying not to give himself away, and brings it forward as you peek up at the woman all in black. She giddily grins and backs up.

Clark takes a breath and pushes back his chair as he rises. He turns and kneels as the server hovers nearby, hands clutched together. Several other tables hush and servers look up from their work. You feel time halt as your ears ring.

Clark presents a red velvet box as your mouth falls open. For those strangers all around, those who don’t know about you or him, it must look like shock, even glee. But it's thrumming, crashing terror. No. No. Your eyes pinpoint on the large diamonds as he reveals it, three rings of smaller ones around the large.

You look up over his head then over at your mother. She dabs her eyes and covers her mouth in disbelief. You wobble as you turn back to Clark. His voice rumbles in your ears but you can’t make out the words. You blink. And blink. And blink. Gaping like a dead fish.

“...marry me?...”

His question hangs before you. You could keel over and shrivel up. You could stand up and flee. Run until you can’t stop. You close your eyes and see the blood spurting from Marcus’ chest. The image of your mother’s face flits across your mind, replacing his. You won’t let him hurt her too.

“Yes.”

The voice is not your own. It can’t possibly be because you can’t feel it on your tongue but it tickles in your ears. Clark snatches your hand and forces the diamond on, standing as he tugs you up and pulls you into an embrace. He tilts your head and kisses you. The fairy tale he writes for the onlookers is nothing more than a cautionary tale.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #au #mob au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #in abstract #series #dcu #dc #superman

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starry-bi-sky · 9 months

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part five of "clone danny"

Danny returns home later that night with a dislocated shoulder from Skulker and his fair share of scrapes and bruises after facing off with a handful of ectoplasmic animal shades. (All of them stuffed inside his thermos with Skulker that he'll toss in the Zone tomorrow after school.)

He shoves his mask back into his pocket, and hides his bat in the bushes at the side of his house under his window, then rounds back around the front to go through the door.

...Mainly because if Bruce Wayne was still awake, it'd be suspicious if Danny made it home without ever using the front door. He sneaks back in, and slooowly starts closing the door.

"You're back late." Says a surly, young voice that startles Danny into slamming the door instead.

"Fucking--!" He cuts himself and breathes in slowly, trying to slow his elevated heart rate before looking over his shoulder to see who the hell scared him.

Glaring at him like an upset parent would, with eyes cutting like sea glass, is Wayne the Sequel... or perhaps he was the seventh sequel. Danny is silent for a moment. "...You're up early." He says, maybe a bit petulant. "Does your dad know you're up this late?"

"Father permitted me to stay up and wait for your return, actually." Damian sniffs, and if anyone could make 'scowling' into a vocal tone, Danny would have thought it'd be Sam. But Damian beat her to it.

Danny turns around slowly to face him, arms crossing. "Yeah, uh-huh." He nods slowly, "Like I'm gonna believe that. Do you normally sit in a random stranger's kitchen and interrogate them when they get home?" He tilts his head for good measure.

"No." Damian says. (He is, in fact, lying.) His eyes narrow at Danny as if he had committed a terrible crime by being in his presence. He looks down to Danny's hands. "Father said you left with a bat. Where is it?"

"I lost it." Danny replies, biting the inside of his lip to prevent himself from smiling.

"You... lost it?"

"Yup." He says blandly. "Whoops."

-------

Danny goes up to his room immediately after that and collapses on his mattress to pass out for the next three hours until his alarm goes off.

Much to Danny's luck, Bruce and his son are literally only there for a few days, and he spends as much time during it to avoid them like a plague (while also dealing with his dislocated shoulder, which should reliably heal in half the time thanks to his ectocontamination). Damian does whatever during the day since he doesn't go to Casper High.

Something to note as we get out of the 'fic'-y part of this post -- Daniel J. Fenton was, largely, the sexual awakening to many people in his grade in Casper High School, including many A-Listers. However he is still "Daniel Fenton" so many of his classmates will take that fact to their grave. And to their personal friend groups.

Does this have any impact going forward? Not really so far, no.

Dodging a Wayne-sized bullet doesn't mean that Danny can dodge the Wes-sized bullet, and finds himself nearly nose-to-nose with an irate Wes Weston who demands to know where he was last nice.

Of which Danny, not needing to drop his smartass comments in front of the guy who already knows his ID, responds by calling him a jealous ex and sidestepping him completely. following up with if Wes isn't careful, then Danny might just think that Wes has a crush on him

(Wes does, in fact, have a crush on Daniel J. Fenton. He will take this secret to his grave.)

Ellie shows up in his kitchen, sitting on the table with her legs crossed while chatting amiably with Bruce Wayne a few days later when Danny returns from school. When Danny asks how she got inside (the door is typically locked), Ellie smiles toothily and fangily, and happily tells him that she came in through the window. And that he needs to tell his parents to invest in locks. She has long hair the same length as him. It's like looking into a mirror, one he is welcome to see into.

It is endearingly Ellie-like to know that she all but broke into his house, and seeing his sister-clone-twin relieves some of his tension. Only a little though when Bruce Wayne was still in his house.

Normally he sits and talks for hours with Ellie. But instead he takes it to the stairs, telling Ellie that he'll be in his room when she's done talking to Mister Wayne. He is a stubborn ass who doesn't even bother to ask where Wayne the Sevquel is.

(He runs into Wayne a one or two more times the following nights. Wayne asks him where his bat is on the second night, his son says he lost it. Danny agrees with him, and Wayne asks with a touch of concern what he'll do if he comes across a ghost.)

(Danny shrugs and says he hasn't before. And comes back home with a bruise the size of a large cat on his hip and a couple more along his torso and legs. his knees hurt from rough jumps with poor landings. Damian is waiting when he gets home. They exchange a few barbs and Danny hightails it up to his room.)

(Danny's face is obscured by the lack of lights and the shadows in the corner. Its the only reason he feels even a modicum of comfort in exchanging a few words with Wayne.)

(Ellie is waiting outside for him the day she meets Wayne, and asks him if Wayne knows. Danny says he wouldn't be avoiding him if he did. Wayne probably wouldn't be as nice as he was now if he knew.)

("You don't know he won't be nice after finding out." Ellie points out while he's digging his bat out from the neighbor's bushes this time.)

("He's not me, Ell." He says, frowning. "We don't know that.")

(Ellie sighs sadly, and Danny feels a tinge of guilt. "You can tell him if you want," he offers, "you don't have to hold back on my behalf.")

("I want to tell him with you, though. C'mon, we're twins.")

(That night Danny avoids breaking his other arm after a run in with a large ecto-serpent. Ellie nearly rips out its tongue for it. She's more ghost-like than he is. Possessive and violent and very, very passionate. As if he wouldn't do the same if pressed.)

(Ellie gives Danny a piggyback ride home, the wind filtering through the grills of his mask and force-feeding him the taste of freedom. Damian is there while they sneak back in, stifling their laughter under the meat of their palms.)

(Danny may or may not have reached out and ruffled his hair in his joviality when he passed him by. Grinning painfully when Damian bats at his hand like a disgruntled kitten. His hair feels like feathers and the sensation sinks itself deep into Danny's star-in-the-sky sized core-obsession like a suggestion.)

(He might regret it in the morning. It will fade in time after the Waynes leave.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #danny phantom au #dpxdc #dp crossover #no funny tags rn folx #masterpost when #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton #ellie having the scary dog privileges is top tier choice on my part personally

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fancyfeathers · 2 months

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Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Five, Not All That Glitters is Gold

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

When you were young, still a child in the standard of a god, you remember the feeling of the water going up to your ankles as your younger self reached into the waters to pick up shells, sand dollars, and sea glass. You help your skirt out to make a makeshift basket of the bits and bobs you found, but the sand that came with them would be a pain to clean up later. Your sister sat on the sand flying a kite and watching it soar up into the air, one of your older brothers at her side helping her guide it and keep it from flying off if she let go. The sun bore down on the island today, to mortals you suppose it would be far too hot but to you it was a perfect summer’s day.

You could hear the sound of your other older siblings chatting behind you, laughing and enjoying the day. It was rare the days you could see each other like this, most of your siblings had their own duties to tend to and even a few of them made their homes in other nations. You and your sister were still so young and you still had yet to figure out your places in the world, you were not like your siblings, not yet anyway.

“(Name), come here.” You heard the voice of your eldest brother call out to you from where he sat on the sand. You walked over and stood in front of your brother who was sitting by your other siblings. You felt him reach his hand up to brush some sand that you had gotten on your cheek. “Don’t want to get sand in your eyes, now do you?”

“No.” You shook your head and you felt his hand guide you to sit down in the sand, among your family. As you sat down your hand slipped from your skirt and all the hidden gems you found were laid out before you for all your siblings to see. You heard one of your older sisters laugh and grab you and picked you up and sat you on her lap, her hands coming to brush through your sandy hair with her delicate hands.

“Oh dear, it seems like sand has ruined your hair as well and I spent so much time on it before we came out here.” You heard your older sister give a heavy sigh before it faded into a light laugh. “Well I suppose it can’t be helped.”

You heard your eldest brother hum in thought before he stood up, collecting all your treasures you collected from the sea in his arms. “Well, I think I know just the place to keep these safe and get that sand out of your hair so our dearest sister will stop throwing such a fit.”

“Osial!” She spoke with a gasp while the rest of your sibling laughed at his words and her reaction. Your brother held a hand down to you, his other arm cradling your treasures. You took his hand and he pulled you to your feet and he walked forward, guiding you to the ocean.

You dove down into the salty water of the sea, the refreshing wave of coolness hit your skin. It has been so long since you have roamed freely in Liyue Harbor, let alone the sea. Your husband always hated you stepping into open waters in “fear” that something would attack you or that you would drown, both were physically impossible for you but your husband somehow had the constant belief that you must have been made of glass. Or what you thought was really the case is that you would have attempted to run away.

You swam to the depths of the sea, the wish coming to rub against your skin, almost like a cat seeking affection. You pushed away the seaweed and the algae that had grown here in your brother’s absence. You remember when your brother used to take you here, a temple hidden under the ocean’s surface. You and your sister used to use this place as your playground before you moved along to find your home, like baby birds leaving the nest, except you didn’t fly forever, your wings were clipped.

You pushed down that thought, he was dead now, he could not hold you down any longer. You swam into the ruins that were once a beautiful spectacle of art, now partially destroyed in your brother’s battle with your husband. You swam past rooms full of gems and gold of all sorts, your siblings’ treasures. Your childhood treasures took a different form, your little cove that your brother made for you was full of your seashells, sand dollars, and other precious little things you adored as a child. You dug through the piles of your treasures, looking for something, something you had left of your family that you had hidden away here as a child so as to not lose it, it was the last thing your father had given you before you and your sister came of age, and your parents disappeared.

You felt your hand wrap around the hilt of a dagger, you pulled it out from the pile. In your hand was a beautiful dagger made of coral. It seems a silly thing to have, but if you knew what it could do, it was made by a god to kill other gods but you could remember your father’s voice telling you...

“Be careful with this my dear, while this dagger is powerful it should only be a last resort for it can be used once. You must learn how to lean on your own power and learn how to hone it to protect yourself and others around you.”

It was something you wish you did not hide away because if you had it you might have avoided your fate. Having what you came for, you tucked the dagger away and began to swim back to the surface, trying to avoid looking at anything else, this was a graveyard of memories now, abandoned, forgotten. Some of them you heard stories about, being painted as villains in the history of Teyvat, but they were no such things. You knew who they really were, they were brother and sisters to you, husbands and wives to their spouses, sons and daughters to your parents, wherever they might be. They were your family, and because they did not win, they were painted as villains. That made you thin, you did not win, but Liyue adored you…

Wait…

You forgot…

History is written by the victors.

You returned to the harbor after changing out of your sopping wet dress, into a set of spare clothing you brought with. You heard Lumine and Paimon had returned from the abodes of the Adepti early yesterday but you have not seen them yet. After your encounter with Childe you discussed the terms of your deal with him, this dagger was the first of his requests but you had to remind him of the warning your father gave you, which he only nodded off. Under normal circumstances you would not have given such a thing to him but given recent events and Childe’s end of the deals, the risk was worth the rewards.

You climbed the stairs of the builds of Liyue Harbor, heading towards the Northland Bank where Childe told you to meet you, but it was later than expected, the swim took far longer than you remembered but perhaps your memory has slipped you in these last few thousand years or perhaps the waters have changed with the appearance of Liyue Harbor and the ships that came with it, far different from your days when much of Teyvat was the wilds.

As you approached the Northland Bank the attendant outside nodded and opened the door for you. The building of the interior of the back felt off putting as always, but this was something you could shrug off for the most part. You walked up to their counter and the woman behind it. “Excuse me, but is Childe here. I have an item he requested of me.”

“No, I’m afraid not but he did tell me to expect you, so I can give that to him upon his return.” The woman spoke to you politely, and based on her words it seems the Harbinger figured you may be late. “Unless you would like to give it to him personally in which case you may find him at Liuli Pavilion.”

“Oh no, that will not be necessary, just see to it that this gets delivered to him upon his return, and do be careful with it. Whatever you do, do not touch the blade.” You took out the dagger, the blade wrapped up in cloth and you handed it off to her which she seems to place in one of the compartments behind her with the most delicate movements. “Oh and do let Childe know when he wishes to speak with me again he may most likely find me at the docks, down by the water.”

“I will and do take care.” As you were about to give your farewell to her, you heard the door to the bank open and close. You glanced over your shoulder, just to catch a glimpse of who it was and you smiled when you saw who.

“Hello Lumine, Paimon.” You spoke to them so kindly but the moment they saw you, their smiles dropped. It took you a moment to piece together why but when you realized your smile faded as well. “I take it that you went to the place I spoke to you about?”

“…yes.” Lumine pressed her lips together, deep in thought of what to say to you next, and you could understand why. “…what was that place? Those chains?”

“Well…” you glanced over at the Fatui agent behind the counter and then back at Lumine. “Meet me at the docks when you are done with your business, I’ll explain everything to you there.”

“Alright.” Lumine gave you a nod and you turned to make your way outside, ready to spend the day to just relax. “Miss (Name)…”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

After what Lumine saw, it was the least she could say after seeing that…

—————————

Lumine and Paimon had just met with the two Adepti on Mount Hulao and Mount Aozang and were ready to head out to the Wangshu Inn to meet the last she was told about. She hiked through the tall grass of the karst. The grass tickled her legs as she traversed the landscape of Liyue.

“The place Miss (Name) told us about should be around here somewhere.” Lumine’s floating companion spoke in her high pitched voice. Lumine ran her hand along the stone that formed the base of the mountain, feeling past the vines that hid the stone from their eyes. “It has to be- ahh! Lumine!”

Lumine’s hand that was tracing the stone found what they were looking for, her hand met no stone and she fell back, past the vines, finding the entrance of the cave. Lumine fell flat on her ass upon her surprise entry into the cave, her floating friend flying down to join her in the dark place. The cavern was completely deprived of natural sunlight, the only thing lighting the carver were the large crystals of cor lapis that lit up the place. Lumine led them deeper and deeper into the cave, looking around as she did so, being cautious of her surroundings.

“Paimon wonders why Miss (Name) would have us come here, seems creepy.” Paimon was holding onto Lumine’s scarf, almost scared to let go.

“I don’t know, but she wouldn’t send us here if it wasn’t important to see.” Lumine replied as they made their way down the tunnel. Soon they came to the main area of the cave, a massive empty chamber but unlike the rest of the cave there was no cor lapis to light the way, only the light in the distance from the tunnel. It also felt painfully dry in the cave, like all the moisture was being sucked away. The dryness and the dustiness of the cave nearly sent Lumine into a coughing fit, Paimon was a different story with the dust who could not stop coughing after breathing it in. “It’s so dry in here, are you alright Pai- huh what’s that?”

In the center of the cave Lumine spotted something glowing that was thrown on the ground in the center of the chamber. She got closer to it and soon began to make out what it was, chains…

“What is this?” Lumine spoke, looking down at them in confusion. She kneeled down to get a closer look, they were chains of cor lapis, made with shackles that were clearly intended for something or someone. She also noticed how the ends of the chains seemed to meld into the stone so that if someone was locked up in here escape would be impossible. When she reached down to touch them a large pulse of energy spread throughout her body, sending shockwaves that immediately knocked her back onto the ground, flat on her back. Lumine sat up, looking down at the chains with even more confusion, but then it clicked for her. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

You were kept here.

“Are you alright Miss Lumine?” Childe had set up this meeting at Liuili Pavilion with Lumine and “the one who could break this stalemate,” as Childe referred to him as. It was over food since that was apparently common for business meetings in Liyue. “You look quite pale, are you ill?”

“Hm?” Lumine was snapped out of her thoughts by the man’s question, she was thinking about what she saw in that cave. Was that truly for you? If so, what did you do to deserve it? You seemed so kind, so generous to her and Paimon. Was this what you were referring to when you said this place holds too many painful memories for you? Lumine picked up her tea cup, looking down at the hot liquid that reflected her face. “I’m alright, just lightheaded from my travels.”

“That is good, I am glad you have nothing serious.” The man took a sip of his drink, his golden eyes closing slightly as he blew over the sip he was about to take.

“Yes I’m fine.” Lumine looked up at him and smiled before taking a sip of her own and setting the tea cup down on the table. “But thank you for asking, Mr. Zhongli.”

—————————

You sat at the docks once more, your feet dangling over the edge, your toes dipping into the water below. You hummed, folded your hands on your lap, and closed your eyes, enjoying the setting sunlight that hit your skin. You heard footsteps approaching you, but you recognized these. You opened your eyes and glanced over your shoulder at Lumine, she wore a smile but still looked frazzled probably after what she saw there. You patted the spot next to you, gesturing for her to sit. She sat down next to you but kept her legs pulled up so as to not get her shoes wet.

“I am guessing you want to know the story of that place?” You asked, watching her expression and you saw her eyes narrow a bit on the waters before the two of you. She nodded but did not say a word, probably not knowing what to say. “Very well, our story begins in ancient Liyue. I had many siblings, but one twin sister and the two of us took to a village, becoming its protectors. We lived there for many years, taking care of it, and avoiding the other gods of Liyue by pure chance. We became forgotten gods but we were content with that. One night when I was looking over the village, I met a man and we talked and he told me that one day Liyue will know who I am even if I was a forgotten goddess. Then one day, my sister left to explore Teyvat and I did not go with her.”

“You told me about that before, so your sister was a goddess?” Lumine asked, politely cutting in.

“Yes, she was or rather is I hope, if she is still alive. I did not wish to leave but without my sister there was no way I could protect the village alone, so without thinking I prayed and asked the god of Liyue to help protect my people, without thinking on the consequences. Many days passed before that came into being, my home was attacked and when I was almost killed he appeared.”

“Rex Lapis?”

“Yes, he defended this village, making good on his side of the contract, then there was mine. He asked…” You paused on your words, asked was not the right word for what happened. “… he said it was my duty on my end of the contract, since I said I would do anything that night when I prayed, to enter a life long contract with him, marriage. I refused, but Rex Lapis once said ones who break their contracts shall suffer the Wrath of the Rock, and that is what happened to me.”

“So that cave…”

“I was there for hundreds of years, five hundred years alone, that was my punishment. I remember the pain of those chains everytime I moved, the pangs of hunger, I may be immortal but one of the downsides of taking a human form is that you can feel the pain you just cannot die from it, and then there was the dryness of the cave making a fitting prison for the goddess of rain and moonlight.” You looked at Lumine’s face to see it one of pure horror, she actually looked like she was going to be sick. “You asked me why I did not mourn him, and to that I say why would I? I will not play the grieving wife and lie saying that I miss him. People praise my marriage to him, saying how devoted w e are to one another, my devotion was out of fear. I did not sit at his side as his equal, I sat at his feet, the equivalent of a pet. The only difference is that I was called wife.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere rex lapis #yandere rex lapis x reader

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marlynnofmany · 4 months

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Walkway Aesthetics

The door opened from the spaceport to the city proper, and I couldn’t help saying, “Oh wow.” I’d expected a regular walkway, maybe with a moving sidewalk or hovercarts, probably with ads and decorations. The last few big cities we’d visited had all been pretty bland in terms of entrance-way style.

This one was an aquarium. The long tunnel curved away under a domed ceiling with vast sea creatures undulating by overhead, and others darting about in flashes of scales. Subtle blue-and-purple lighting lit up both the benches alongside and the water above. Specks of phosphorescence danced everywhere like fairies under a starry sky. The effect was breathtaking.

I ventured out into the purple-blue wonderland. “Wow, this is amazing.”

Three of my coworkers followed, and were less impressed.

“Eh, it’s not very original,” Kavlae said with a flip of her frills. Under the lighting, her sky-blue skin was a shifting purple. “Water scenes are pretty tiresome, honestly.”

“You said it,” agreed Mur down from floor level. He tentacle-walked along like the opinionated squid alien he was, blending with the bluish shadows. “Once you’ve seen things swimming past, you’ve seen them all.”

I asked, “Are you serious? This is beautiful.”

Paint huddled close beside me, her orange scales turned an indistinct brown. “I think it’s scary.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

She clasped her hands, shaking her head. “That’s a lot of water, and a lot of creatures. What if the barrier broke?”

“Well yeah, that would be bad,” I admitted. “But it’s not going to.”

Paint walked faster. “Still scary. Look at that one! It’s so big!”

The alien whale or whatever that coasted past had bioluminescent swirls along its underside, and a cloud of the glowing water-pixies flitting along after it. Beautiful, and awe-inspiringly close.

“Ah, that’s so cool!” I said, turning in place as I walked to keep it in sight.

Paint just squeaked and scampered ahead, followed by Kavlae and Mur.

“C’mon, we’re leaving you behind,” Mur told me.

“I’m coming,” I said. There were glowing eels or something up ahead, and I jogged to get a look. The other three continued turning up their various noses the whole way down.

When we finally reached the other end, a family of humans were just entering the tunnel. Their awestruck expressions were vindicating.

“Ohhh, wow!”

“This is lovely!”

“Look at the size of that one! I can almost touch it!”

“Don’t smudge the glass, honey.”

“But it’s so cool!”

I joined my coworkers at the exit with no small amount of smugness. “See? They get it.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “That just shows that your entire species has poor taste in decor.”

Paint shuddered, stepping into the brighter light of the station. “I would feel much safer with solid ground on all sides instead of all that water.”

I laughed. “See, that would make me worry that it was about to fall down on me.”

“A proper burrow would never!”

Kavlae walked past us both. “You planet-born folk have the silliest ideas about these things. I’ll stick with my windows into space.”

The rest of us immediately jumped in to agree that the risk of a hatch blowout was scarier than any cave-in. But the view of stars and galaxies could be pretty dang beautiful, so it was worth it.

~~~

Inspired by this art by @ellohcee.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#short one today so I skipped the readmore #just a bit of interaction about something beautiful #to human eyes at least #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #my writing #The Token Human

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rorywritesjunk · 6 months

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Master Post

Hullo! I am Rory. I write about Buggy from One Piece and One Piece Live Action. I decided to cobble a list of things. Unless otherwise specified, the fics can be read as either Anime Buggy or Live Action Buggy. Also I really like using song lyrics as titles so that's a thing. (Also my main account is @thehohwitch) *I take requests, but I won't write about s-xual assault, *ncest, cheating, or age big age gaps (at least within a five year difference) things like that. I primarily write F reader with Buggy but I'm happy to write male as well, as well as nonbinary and trans. My turn around for requests is at max ten days (unless something comes up). I get them written in the order received. Works are under the cut! (Updated 2/2/24)

For Chapter Fics, please go here! *Fics in that link feature my OCs Sunny, Cupcake, and Birdie, as well as anything that is several chapters.

For one-shots, look below the cut!

Buggy is the Ultimate Girl Dad Headcanons Headcanons pt 1 Headcanons pt 2 (More indepth) Headcanons pt 3 (More!) Lil Buggy's Big Adventure (One-shot) One Shots "Pampering Buggy" PG-13 A fic of you pampering Buggy after he has a frustrating day.

"I won’t treat you like you’re oh so typical" Soft R Buggy wakes you up to help him with his makeup and he sometimes get grabby.

"All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me" Soft R, sequel to "...oh so typical" It was Buggy’s turn to do your makeup.

"I will never ask you for anything, Except to dream sweet of me" PG-ish Look, everyone has some kind of secret. You just didn’t want Buggy to find this one out. "We’ll cry later or cry now, but baby, Heartbreak feels so good" PG-13ish Buggy messes up, there’s a fight, and he realizes how much you mean to him.

"So let’s set out to sea, love, ‘cause you are my medicine" PG-13ish Buggy has another frustrating day so you cook him some comfort food.

"I have seen no other Who compares with you" PG-13. Buggy decides you need your own ‘look’.

"best be prepared to get all that you bargained for" PG to PG-13. Buggy isn’t used to the gentle touch you give him since you joined his crew three months ago.

"there’ll be space for you always in my harmony" PG. Buggy finds out you have a hidden talent. "Home is wherever I’m with you" PG-13ish. You wanted to keep your relationship a secret but Buggy just wants you to join his crew.

"And all of my wildest dreams They just end up with you and me" PG. Richie is a pretty boy, yes he is, but so is Buggy. "I know it’s just a number but you’re the eighth wonder" R-ish. Buggy loves that you have a pair of glasses for every day of the week. "breathe the freezing crystal air, watch my baby crack a smile" G-PGish. You and Buggy agreed on exchanging just one gift for the Winter Solstice, but he’s a pirate and doesn’t follow the rules.

"Suppose I never ever let you Kiss me so sweet" PG-13ish Your healing powers are limited to one person a day but that doesn’t keep Buggy from demanding you heal him. "Dancing kisses on my cheek, it’s the wonders that I seek" PG-13 Buggy just wanted your birthday to go smoothly.

"So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you my dear" PG-13ish It’s the three year anniversary since everything changed in Buggy’s life for the worst.

"Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen" PG-13 You decide to ask Buggy an important question but he has major doubts. "Close my eyes for a while Force from the world a patient smile" PG Buggy says something he regrets to his older sister.

NSFW One Shots

"I’m aiming for full control of this love" NC-17. Buggy has a fantasy that you decide to try involving Mihawk and Sir Crocodile.

"Like lighting when I’m swimming in the sea" R. Buggy never made time for sex until he met you well into his 30’s.

"You’re the only thing I wanna touch" NC-17. Buggy only comes up for air every so often and it’s a beautiful sight.

"You’ve got to promise not to stop when I say when" NC-17. Buggy’s been a bit of a brat today and you’ve had enough. "The stroke of your fingers The scent of your lingers" NC-17. You meet Alvida and get a bit of a crush, and Buggy is a rather supportive boyfriend with that.

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tojigasm · 1 year

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Raw

Authors note: another Sam Worthington fic for you, sweet angels!! This one can be read as a sequel to the first Sam fic I posted but can also be read as a stand-alone. This one is very much weird!reader coded and deranged <33 i hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: nsfw 18+, minors DNI, smut, fluff, Dilf! Sam worthington, heavy obsession with one another, angst, reader is #weirdmanicpixiedreamgirl type beat, mentions of hurting oneself (not Self harm though), picking at scabs, petnames, Sam being very sweet and a good boyfriend

Synopsis

"I want you to eat me." You sob into the blankets, and you can hear Sam chuckle lightly behind you.

and God, you both want to consume one another. a dying urge to crawl into each other's arms until you mesh into one. he wants to bleed from you and run down your thighs and pick at your scabs until they burn and run rivers of velvet.

he doesn't question you. "How?" You feel his hand rest on the soft of your shoulder, turning your cheek to the duvet and you sob. "How would you like to be eaten?"

"Raw."

The air smells of wheat and lavender, and the lace tablecloth tickles the tops of your thighs in the gentle air.

"You have this look about you." Sam smiles, dimples soft against his cheeks. "Like you've seen everything and anything. Like you've lived too many lives to count."

His shoe toes at your Mary Jane, and you hum, taking a sip of your drink. Sea glass eyes focus in on you, and you flush under his warm gaze.

pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you turn away bashfully, focusing on the breathing trees and soft pillowy clouds that wave by.

The cafe Sam had picked was secluded enough for New York's standards of celebrity life. Tucked away in a quiet park that awarded a moment of gentle peace for the two of you.

Sam's hand cups your cheeks and turns you back to him. Sea glass eyes trace over you again, his lashes drooping in a gentle gaze.

"Where do you go in that head of yours hm?" His voice draws in his accent, lips pulled into a smirk.

shrugging, you pull back to take another sip of your drink. "Off to one of my past lives, I suppose."

he doesn't say anything, gently wrapping his hand over your chin again. He runs the knuckles of his other over your soft cheeks before tracing you features with the tips of his fingers.

You look up at him under your lashes before biting into his palm with a giggle. Sam pulls away in faux hurt, hissing through his teeth before settling back into the seat of his chair.

Sam takes you in – the soft of your hair, the glow of your skin under the sun. Your vanilla slip that rides up your thigh, leaving wake to your lace stockings.

"You're staring." Your voice pulls him back to you.

"I was."

Sam gives you a look that you can't quite make out. Not entirely confident that it's something in the way he responds or a separation in the age between the two of you — either way, he doesn't explain it to you, and you don't ask.

You blame it on the gap of maturity between the two of you.

There's a moment of pause before you hum, taking another sip of your drink before standing up and grabbing your purse.

Sam takes a wad of bills from his wallet and places them on the table. Linking your hands together, he lets you guide him.

—

In the park, Sam settles down near Birchwood and guides you to sit between his legs. Your back to his chest as he pulls your shared novel from your purse and begins to read.

It's soft and quiet in the meadow as spring circles round. Purples and yellows and baby blues are scattered around the soft tufts of grass.

A bird sings, and you let your eyes flutter shut as a plane hums overhead. The sun warms your cheeks and arms, decorating your lace slip in a halo glow.

"What do you say I shall do? The man asks. He speaks sadly, as though he knows the answer already, and it wears Oedipus' soul thin." Sam's voice, thick in his Australian drawl dances around you, chilling over your arms and the small cut on your knee and your hair and the glow of your dress.

There's a soft moment where you can hear Sam fold a page and set the book down before you're met with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"You're my world, sweetheart." Sam mumbles against your cheek, nuzzling himself into you.

You hum, "tell me," Reaching back, you loop your arms around his neck, letting your head fall back to his chest.

"Sometimes I wish I could take you away from all this — all this bullshit celebrity life." He gestures around, "all those fake people with their fake lives and their fake everything. Y'too good fr'em."

You turn in his hold, unraveling yourself from his arms, sitting on your knees between his legs.

Your fingers tickle over the rust of his beard and upwards into his thick hair, letting roan slip through your fingers.

"I like my life." You smile with a hum, kissing him softly.

He nods in your hands, and you pull your sunglasses off to put on his head.

"I do." You tickle his side, "I like that they wish they were me. That they look at me and have half the mind not to kill themselves over someone so pretty."

Sam thinks of you as sickly beautiful. You're so smart and so goddamn beautiful. But you're sick and you're deranged and you're evil in the way you watch and pry and steal.

And he loves you for it. Loves the way your eyes light up when a horror film comes on or the way you get giddy when questioned at award ceremonies by those who are oh so above you - It's all the same to him.

Sam watches as you sway gently, lashes soft to your cheeks and your tongue rolling over the plush of your lips in a smirk.

"You wanna get out of here?" he cups your chin, and you nod.

—

in the cool of your apartment, you sway through the auburn halls. Pulling Sam by the hands as Tchaikovsky echoes throughout the flat in a hazy song.

finding yourself on the foot of your bed, you fall to the duvet - flashes of rainbow and amber dance about your ceiling in a ballet, jumping from wall to wall by the glass prisms Sam had gifted you for your birthday.

he watches you like this. lost in your own mind in a bout of giggles that fall past your lips and absentminded humming.

kneeling to the floor, he begins to unbuckle your Mary Janes, kissing your knees through your lace stockings as he slides them off.

the tips of your white slip are stained with green from the meadow - trickling through the threads like a root.

Sam sits beside you on the bed, relaxing into your bed frame. he watches you, notes you, takes you in, and absorbs you.

you meet his eyes and crawl to your hand and knees, sitting back on your haunches to plant both laced feet to his chest. you trace the tips of your toes over each button of his shirt.

"You're naughty," his hand grazes the sole of your foot.

"And you pretend you don't like it." you sneer, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

the arch your feet press into the thick of his bulge beneath his pants and he hisses.

"Hands and knees." he directs.

the cream duvet is cool under your hands, rubbing and burning at your knees as Sam sits behind you. his eyes wander over you before his hands do - he likes to take his time.

he kisses down the backs of your thighs to the soft of your calves and the gentle arch of your feet. And when he slides into you, he kisses a line down the dip of your back, tracing shapes and poems and words of love he'll never speak. you do the same to the sheets below you.

the way you love is not kind, nor is it all encompassing and gentle. You destroy and you devour, and you exist as nothing and everything in the time it takes for Sam to enter you and for you to finish.

the stretch of his cock makes your head fall between your shoulders and you cry. your hand reaches back to his own that digs into the plush of your ass. His thumb traces over a scab that's been long healed and picked apart again, and it repeats.

"I want you to eat me." You sob into the blankets, and you can hear Sam chuckle lightly behind you.

he doesn't question you. "How?" You feel his hand rest on the soft of your shoulder, turning your cheek to the duvet and you sob. "How would you like to be eaten?"

"Raw."

—

It's creeping up like a weed inside of you. It's rotting, and it's tearing you apart.

And it unsettles you so. As though it seeps into your skin and rots you just as it rots your mind and thoughts and seeps from your skin like a thickly sickness.

it must be a sickness you deicde. for what else could it be?

You'd begun to dig into the skin of your hand earlier during, freshly manicured nails scraping and cutting. It's almost pacifying. something to take your mind off the insufferable crowd and the creeping reminder of the fans and media outlets that will ultimately tear into you until there's nothing more of you left.

your skin is raw and it burns. You think of it sickly as you sigh under your breath, eyes falling shut.

"Y/n."

It's Sam. his thick brows cinched with worry and his hand gently soothing your thigh.

"Are you okay?" you nod. You think you might throw up.

"Yes, I'm okay."

Sam studies you for a moment. Searching in your eyes, almost pleading for you to tell the truth and have him pull you out of the building, have him drive you home and soothe your aches and worries away. Have him save you from the stupid fucking award show you hadn't even wanted to be at to begin with.

his hand squeezes your thigh, and he nods solemnly before turning back to the stage. And a part of you is relieved he doesn't push on the subject more; over time he's learned to let you come to him on your own.

A shrill scream rings among the crowd before an eruption of applause echoes throughout the room.

"I think i'd like to go home now." your lips bitten raw to match your hand and your pretty nails.

Sam turns to you, you feel his hand to your back before you hear him. Running gentle circles over your shoulder, your eyes flutter open and he leans forward to whisper something to you.

—

"M'sorry," you sob into the warmth of him. he coos, soothing you as his cock fills you.

"Theres nothing to apologize for, sweetheart." Sam traces his knuckles over the soft of your cheek.

the ache of the stretch pulls you thin, and you sob into the warmth of Sams room. his cock bruises your walls, his thumb circling kind strokes against your clit.

"Shhh, you're okay." Sam whispers to your cheek as you sob. and it almost as if you cant stop, as if a backlog of tears roll up into your throat and choke you and deem you unworthy until the tides swallow you whole.

"Do you think im wrong?" you can hardly recognize your own voice. its distorted and raw and raspy and comes past your lips in cuts and scratches.

"No, no you're not wrong. you're okay." Sam continues to roll his hips into you, and you dig your nails into his shoulders, looking to his ceiling as your orgasm rides itself through you.

you moan and cry - you bite into Sam's shoulder and pray his skin tears open.

—

you wake to soft chirps and the gentle roar of traffic. Sam still asleep next to you, his freckled arms wrapped over your hips and his roan hair dishevled.

careful not to wake him, you unravel yourself from his hold, pulling on your clothes and grabbing your purse.

You leave his house and head to your car, pulling out onto the road. you aren't sure where you're going.

the sky is a pretty pink and blue that chills over the morning mist and trickles in dew drops.

you feel sickly, you feel skinned, like the rotted and dead root that's been growing and weeding as finally sprung its ugly deformed petals, like its stupidly unaware of how painfully sick it its.

you feel raw.

The soft hum of 'Hearing Damage' circles throughout your car and you begin to feel the sun on your skin as it rises over the mountains of the plains.

Sam's profile appears on the screen of your dashboard. He's calling you. The phone icon pulses on the screen.

You don't pick up.

#sam worthington #dilf sam worthington #avatar #sam worthington x reader #avatar x reader #sam worthington smut #avatar smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully

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blueparadis · 7 months

Text

╰┈➤ ANIMAL ✦ KAEYA ALBERICH.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ In the search for hauls Kaeya stumbled upon something greater, something divine that could revive him and his Khaenri'ah.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ fem!reader x pirate!kaeya,non - canon divergent lore, hints of supernatural powers, subtle mention of stockholm syndrome, dub-con, ( non-consensual to consensual ) somnophilia. read the part one here ( just the back story. they are not connected but you can consider this as a sequel. both can be enjoyed as a single oneshot. ); 1,2k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

There has been a vague series of events that have been frequenting your mind lately. It starts with a well-built person standing at the entrance of the room, perhaps a man; His face is blurred as he walks into your room, watching you, standing near you, touching you, your face and hair— you could even hear the floorboard creaking, feel the cold of the wind from the sea chilling your skin with goosebumps and the flame in the lamp dying as the man leans towards your face. That is when your slumber disrupts and you sit up but seeing everything around you as it was in your dream does not help.

But seeing Kaeya sitting outside the room with his goblet full of wine soothes your erratic heart rate a bit. Every time you wake up from this particular bad dream, he is some where near you— either outside on the deck or inside the room busy at his study desk. Many a night he has helped you go back to sleep by telling you various stories about his homeland, about the people he knew there.

Does he never sleep? You had thought every time you had found him awake in the dead of night. Kaeya had incorporated another bed in his cabin because the one he used to sleep in is now yours. It has been like that since the day he rescued you. You do not know why he kept you so long and under such protection even though he could have killed you after using you as a tool of pleasure.

Generally, you would get up from the bed, have a glass of water and walk up to the deck asking him to come inside, to keep you company till you fall asleep again. But tonight it is different. The door is locked and Kaeya is in his bed, at an arm's length from yours, possibly awake. You can only see his long strands of copper-blue hair, his nape, and a part of his shoulder. Everything else is buried under the quilt.

You smile to yourself thinking about the first time you opened your eyes in his cabin, lying in his bed like this and saying “Map maker, I’m a map maker” when he asked about you; that is the only thing you could remember.

And with a bright and warm smile, he had admitted, “Great. we could use a map maker.” A unified cheer from his crew followed him and you knew from the bottom of your heart that you are safe, you are okay here.

As you get out of bed, you notice a part of your dress as well as the bed wet. It had red stains so you assumed that your month's cycle had commenced. But the next morning you came to the conclusion that it was nothing but red wine, you knew it was a little early for your red cycle. Letting out a laugh you slipped out of your dress thinking how Kaeya can be clumsy sometimes but the thread of suspicion snapped when you noticed some bruises in your inner thigh, and around your taut nipples as your dress dropped on the floor.

Your legs gave up, your body froze and your skin burnt with goosebumps. You crouched down in cold agony. A stifling sob escaped your mouth thinking of who could have done this to you. Thinking who dared to touch you against your will despite sharing rooms with the master of this ship. So that night, you planned to pretend to be asleep, waiting for the person to show up in the cold dark night.

But fate had other plans, soon the exhaustion and dizziness due to the salty breeze took over your urge to be awake and your eyes lulled to sleep. When you were awake again, you felt something in between your legs, something wet. You felt a sting around your pussy before it was soothed with a sweet lap of the tongue. Irregular breaths and pants hit your clit as you managed to pull up your head to see the face of the culprit.

A knife in your hand and the clustered bed sheet in the other as you opened your eyes but alas! None of that mattered anymore. His face was not blurred anymore, you could see him as clear as a day. Springing upright on the bed you looked at him with dilated pupils. It was Kaeya.

“tsk, thought you were awake tonight.” Kaeya crawled towards you, his lips and nose stained with your arousal as he stopped inches away from your face. You could smell yourself on him.

His mouth opens ajar as his lips latch around your clothed pebbled nipples. He suckled on them while his fingers had slowly slid up your thighs. You did not feel the emotions that you thought you would feel — rage, disgust, hatred, dirty and unholy. Rather a sense of relief had washed over you knowing it was none other than Kaeya, your rescuer.

Under the guidance of his arms, you lay down again. He grazes his nose against the column of your throat inhaling your scent, feeling your light speed heartbeats. It makes him high in adrenaline and hard for some reason. He can not let you spiral now. So, with his honey-dewed voice, he whispered, “Don’t you think you owe it to me? For saving your life? Hmmm?” before diving back in between your legs,

“Don’t you think you owe it to me, for saving your life? ” It rings in your ear, till now when the sun has come out, and Kaeya stands in his deck busy with his morning chores. Everything else has been sedimented at the back of your mind except that question. You were up earlier than Kaeya for the first ever. The sea is awfully calm tonight while your heart is full of chaos. It took a few raw shots of vodka to gather the courage to do what you are about to do. And that was not even the worst part.

You liked it, every bit of it, that was the worse part. To think that Kaeya wanted you in more ways than just a map maker illuminated your body with desire and hunger. So, when you are all on your fours on his bed, barely clad, and Kaeya’s quilt is on the floor you do not know if it is the seed of vengeance, gratitude, or desire that sprouted into something else, that made you kneel in front of him.

As you fidget with the strings of his trousers Kaeya wakes up due to the cold and is shocked at first seeing you in front of him like this, desperate and drunk.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

“Why?” you drawled. “I’m here to return the favor,” you muttered kissing his navel and then looking up to him.

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projectionistwrites · 3 months

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EQUIFINALITY | SUMMER

PART THREE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (2.4k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, discussions about murder & death, age gap (not mentioned), allusions to smut DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. this part is genuinely upsetting, i’m sorry in advance. NOTES: this part takes place after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson. also, apparently i don't believe in happy endings! (or do i? stayed tuned for the final installment...)

← previous part | next part →

The edges of Joel’s vision were somewhat fuzzy, his head pleasantly buzzing with slight inebriation as he stood against the bar in the Tipsy Bison, trying his best to keep his head low and presence unnoticeable.

The party was in full swing, and the wooden tiling of the dining area had been cleared to open up a makeshift dance floor where the inhabitants of Jackson mingled and chatted. Maria jumped on any excuse to plan jovial gatherings for the town in order to boost morale and encourage strong bonds between neighbors in the small community.

In this case, the occasion happened to be Joel, himself—or rather, his and Ellie’s return. Although they had arrived back in town about three weeks prior, the weather had been tumultuous, and the spring demanded strenuous hours of labor on behalf of everyone who was capable. But now that the springtime was melting beneath the sweltering sun of summer, Maria figured it was time to welcome the two newcomers and provide a much-needed break to the overworked members of the community.

The man lifted his third glass to his lips once more, taking a long, slow sip of his liquor as his eyes skimmed the endless sea of somewhat unfamiliar faces—he spotted Ellie across the room, chatting with some kids her age, already coming out of her shell; there were younger children in another corner of the room, corralled by a few women who were idling gossiping with one another; the other adults spread out throughout the building, the air sticky with the stench of sweat and booze. Even within the mass congregation of townsfolk, all dressed in their nicest apocalyptic attire, Joel felt deeply, deeply isolated. The faces of strangers all blurred together, their voices blending into a dull hum in the background of his awareness.

“You’re sulking.”

Tommy's voice cut through the ambience, pulling Joel's attention to him. He turned his head to face his brother, scowling deeply at him as he took another swig of whiskey.

“M’not.”

He grumbled, and Tommy threw his head back with a bark of a laugh, lifting his beer bottle to his lips with the shake of his head.

“Jesus, you can be a real fuckin’ dumbass sometimes, you know that?”

Joel’s nostrils flared with frustration as Tommy smirked at him teasingly, one brow lifted in silent challenge. Joel’s eyes flickered to his left when Maria sidled up next to him, sitting in the stool across from her husband, cradling her swollen belly.

“He’s right, Joel.”

She nodded softly, eyes scanning over him carefully, and he clenched his jaw.

“What is this? Y’all drag me out here just to corner me and berate me?”

Tommy choked back a laugh, but his wife shot him a glare before turning back to the man beside her, who was looking sullen and wounded beneath his guise of anger. She sighed.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot all night, waiting for her to walk in. She’s not here, Joel. She left before you came by.”

Joel eyed Maria warily, his brows furrowing as she attempted to comfort him with the gentle tone of her voice. The man was slightly startled at her admittance—it wasn’t a secret that his sister-in-law wasn't his biggest fan, and it certainly wasn’t a secret that she wasn’t the biggest fan of his reemergence in your life.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks. Not since that day in the examination room, when you’d almost kissed him and he’d pushed you away—again. You hated him. Surely, you must.

Maria must’ve been able to read his mind—she reached out a careful hand, laying it gently on Joel’s forearm in an effort to save him from his self-deprecating spiral. She offered him a small smile.

“You should go find her.”

“You don’t want me to do that.”

Joel quipped flatly, dropping his gaze down to his boots. He heard Maria scoff incredulously, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

“Actually, Joel, I do.”

Tommy cut her off quickly, jumping in to save the conversation from Joel’s dismissal.

“She’s right, Joel. I mean, shit, you look like a fuckin’ kicked puppy, standin’ over here all by yourself, waitin’ for her to come find you. You should go find her, man. You’re bein’ pathetic.”

Joel whipped around to shoot a glare at his younger brother, but Maria raised her hands up to gesture for him to calm down.

“Look, Joel. I know I haven’t exactly been supportive of rekindling this old twin flame or whatever, but all I really care about is that she’s happy—and lately, well...” She trailed off, and Joel felt a pang of guilt erupt in his chest.

When he elected not to respond, Maria sighed slowly, lowering herself from the stool and gesturing for Tommy to follow behind her.

“I can’t force you to do anything, but just—think about it, okay?”

The man felt the corner of his lip twitch downward in annoyance, but nonetheless he let out a grunt of acknowledgement. After sharing a knowing look with one another, Tommy and Maria finally left Joel to wallow in his own self-pity.

The night was balmy and humid. Joel’s t-shirt clung to his chest from the stickiness in the air, and the streets were eerily quiet as he trudged home alone.

He would’ve asked Ellie to join him, but she was enjoying herself at the bar, surrounded by joyful faces and a general atmosphere of positivity. He wished he could let himself indulge in the simple pleasures of community, but the gaping hole in his chest refused to heal.

Music. He heard it as soon as your house entered his line of sight. As he walked closer, he could hear the familiar guitar riffs of a Johnny Cash song echoing in the distance, just within earshot. Light flickered on your front porch, and as Joel approached his own door, he caught sight of you—reclined on your porch swing, head tilted backwards with your eyes closed, a blissful smile on your features.

He didn’t want to disturb you or your relaxation, but his legs betrayed him—his feet carried him past his own stoop and towards the concrete steps leading up to you. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots caused you to jump, body tensing briefly until your eyes landed on the perpetrator—as soon as you saw him, your eyes softened.

“Cowboy.”

Joel paused on the second step at the sound of your voice, his fingers white-knuckling the railing in an effort to ground himself.

He didn’t speak—you seemed to anticipate his silence, because wordlessly scooted towards the far end of the bench, gesturing with a nod of your head for him to join you. Hesitantly, he obliged.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You started after awhile—Joel’s brows furrowed at the statement, tongue peeking from beneath his mustache as he wet his lips.

“No, no, I—you’ve been avoiding me.”

He clarified, and you let out a humorless laugh.

“My schedule has been the same every single day for ten years, at this point. I’m at the same places at the same time every day. Hardly seems like a coincidence that our paths never crossed.”

He’d never considered that before. Of course he hadn’t intentionally been avoiding you, but then again...had he been?

“Was lookin’ for you. At—at the Bison, I mean.”

He turned to look at you, and he met your gaze, your eyes darted away.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to miss your big night, or anything. I helped set up, I just—wasn’t in the mood for mingling.”

Joel hummed at that, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. His eyes skimmed over the row of homes in front of him, shrouded with pine trees and lowly lit by a few streetlamps—picturesque.

He cleared his throat. You clearly weren’t throwing him any bones, today. You sat in the silence, shoulders sagging low, eyes misty with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to speak, but—what to say?

“Overheard Maria tellin’ Ellie a story.”

His heart fluttered when you looked at him, curiosity successfully piqued.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ about you savin’ her from a bear attack?”

For a moment, you froze, and Joel feared he may have unknowingly struck a nerve, but then you let out a bright, bubbly laugh, your eyes crinkling with amusement.

“She’s still telling that story?”

You could barely speak through your fit of uncontrollable giggling, doubling over as you drew in a long breath.

“What? S’not true?”

Joel teased, a brow quirked as a smile tugged at his lips, and your eyes were sparkling when you gazed up at him.

“Oh, it’s true, it’s just—I saved her from a taxidermized bear in a fucking Bass Pro Shop.”

His expression pulled into one of disbelief.

“I—you what?”

You giggled again, eyes turning glassy with nostalgia.

“Yeah. That’s where I ended up, at least for awhile. The day I left, when everything went to shit, my car ran out of gas right near a strip mall, and I figured Bass Pro Shop would be as good a place as any to hole up until things settled down—things never did settle down, of course—but I was lucky to be stuck where I was.”

“You never made it to a Quarantine Zone?”

Joel questioned, slightly bewildered. The idea of you, out in the big wide world, all by yourself, terrified him. You laughed coldly.

“No one was looking for me, Joel. No one knew I was out on the backroads driving to Cali. I was lucky. Ran into this older couple at the mall, we—we made due, at least, for as long as it lasted.”

Your tone grew bitter.

“They went out to go hunting one day and never came back. So it was just me in that big department store, surrounded by moldy fish tanks and hunting rifles that I didn't know how to use.”

Joel risked a look at your face, and there were tears forming under your lashes. He let himself lean in closer to you, an attempt at providing comfort, a reminder that he was here with you, that you weren't alone. Not anymore.

You didn’t pull away.

“Been meanin’ to ask.”

He started hesitantly, and when you glanced at him, he lifted a hand to his face, gesturing across his eye in a downward stroke. Oh. The scar.

“Not a glamorous story. Saved a family from some Infected, but the eldest son—he got bit. The middle daughter shot him to save her younger brother, while the mom was unconscious. When she came-to, I told her I did it so she wouldn’t have to know it was the sister, and she attacked me. Punched me right across the face, and the diamond on her wedding ring ripped into me.”

“What did ya do?”

You shrugged, sniffing indignantly.

“I sat back and took the hits. What was I supposed to do? I can’t imagine that sort of grief. Losing a kid...”

Joel felt something twist in his gut as you trailed off, and this time, he felt you lean into him, your shoulder brushing his own.

He didn’t pull away.

“You know, I was never mad at you about my dad, Joel.”

He blinked, his chest tightening at the casualness of your tone. He stayed quiet, as he wasn’t even sure any sound would come out if he opened his mouth to speak.

“I don’t care that he’s dead. I don’t care how he died. I tried calling him the day of the outbreak, to tell him I was coming to California—only person I could reach was his fucking secretary. He never cared about me, and I never cared about him.”

The bitterness in your tone was startling, but that’s not what shook Joel. What made him falter was when you turned to look at him.

“I was mad at you because you thought that the right time to tell me about it was when I was leaning in to kiss you.”

Again, you were met with silence. It didn’t come as much of a shock to you, Joel’s lack of response, but it still made your face flush with annoyance.

“You will do anything in your power to avoid being vulnerable with me, Joel. Always have. I just thought, after all this time—maybe things would be different.”

“Why would you think that?”

A knife to the gut is what his words felt like. He knew it as soon as he said it, how your face would fall and you’d flinch away from him.

But you didn’t. Your face remained stoic, unchanged, unwavering.

“Because I’m different now, Joel. I’m not a little girl anymore. The only thing that hasn’t changed it what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

You huffed out an indignant laugh, turning to face the view of the street again. Inside, your record player scratched to a halt, casting the two of you in silence.

“’ve never been shy about what I wanted, Joel. Even after all these years, it’s always been you.”

The words settled on his chest, heavy and suffocating. Surely, you were bluffing.

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You sayin’ that even after all these years, there’s never been anyone else?"

You sighed, rolling your eyes at his brashness.

“Yeah, Joel, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He felt his mouth run dry at your confession. Twenty years, a whole lifetime, and you’d never even moved on. Was it out of stubbornness, spite, or something else entirely?

“The thing you don’t seem to understand, Joel, is I’m fine on my own. I’ve waited twenty years for a person that I thought was probably dead, or at least a person I never thought I’d see again, and I was fine with that. I’m never gonna settle for less than what I want, Joel, and that goes for you, too.”

Joel’s brows furrowed.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

There was a twitch in your brow, a crack in your impenetrable facade. You shook your head wryly.

“It means that I believe you when you say you’re not the same person anymore, Joel.”

You looked over at him once again, but there were tears in your eyes. One slipped down and traced the line of your scar as it fell.

“It means you’re not the one I’ve been waiting for anymore.”

Anger suddenly welled in the pit of Joel’s chest.

“What’dya want me to say? That you’re wrong? That I am the same person?”

You sniffled, shaking your head at his outburst.

“I don’t want you to say anything, cowboy. I just want you to realize that I’m not the same girl that fell to her knees and begged for you to love her. And I never will be again.”

You were practically snarling at him, and it was in that moment that Joel realized he might have lost you for good.

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guacamoleroll · 7 months

Text

— 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.

this is a sequel! read the first part here.

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x fem!reader

content warnings: child abuse, childhood trauma, discussions of class disparity, embezzlement, alcohol, panic attacks, implied/referenced attempted drugging, implied/referenced loss of parents

author's note: i'm back! first, if you want to get updates surrounding this series, follow me here on twitter. and if you want to listen to some music while you read, might i suggest looking at some of my spotify playlists? enjoy!

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

It's funny, isn't it — to find similarities in two lives that seem to contrast on the surface, only to find matching melodies written throughout their pages. You know what they say. Don't judge a book by its cover.

An infiltration mission concludes with a realization. They smile at one another, knowing that they were never truly alone.

Unlike the everyday citizens of the bustling city of Yokohama, forced to chip away at their lives in their dismal office jobs, the affluent elite escaped into the idyllic countryside of its borders, seeking refuge from the watchful gazes of their employees and underlings while indulging in their superfluous, leisurely pursuits. Nestled amid the lush, green forests, an opulent estate stood, its pristine white concrete contrasting with the muted vegetation. Majestic frosted glass doors glistened in the warm embrace of the midday sun, beckoning visitors along a sprawling cobblestone pathway that stretched across the well-manicured lawn, where sleek limousines inched their way toward the entrance. Delicate planter boxes adorned with vibrant blooms scatter petals onto guests, adding an enchanting touch of natural elegance to the festive gathering.

Each one of these blue bloods was dressed in their finest brunch clothes — ladies swathed in flowy calf-length dresses that bounced with each step, gentlemen coated in strapping two-piece suits as their waxed loafers clopped behind them. Rumors whistled betwixt the lips of each cluster, tittle-tattling about the latest paltry fling or dalliance of the week. People glided in and out of each room, sipping on fine champagnes and rich wines, giving into debauched pleasures without thought of consequence. They slipped into conversations with ease, not bothering to remember names but feigning knowledge of other's affairs all the same.

A man entered through the threshold, eyes flickering from person to person. No one paid him any mind, unknowingly allowing the serpent with a silver tongue to slip inside, masquerading as a witless bachelor amongst a sea of dozens. The unforeseen mask of death entered the party without a second thought, his intentions concealed behind a manufactured smile. It only shifted when he looked towards his companion, a woman who stared with dazed, wistful eyes as she froze upon stone steps.

"Моя милая."

(Name) barely stirred from her thoughts, a distant hum on her lips as he guided her inside. They floated like specters across the shining floors, becoming the prime subject of whispers as they gave the room a once-over. Fyodor could not help the way his eyes drifted towards the form of his companion, who remained unsuspecting to his gaze while at his side, arm-in-arm, as she tuned into the conversations around them. She had slipped herself into an alluring, satin sable dress that was curled around her calves, swaying with each step, and was sinched to create a silhouette of empyrean grace and charm — a divine treasure escorted by her devout attendant, not that he would allow her to know that.

He paid special concern to the tension lined underneath the textiles of her dress, kneading at the taut muscles as he settled a reassuring hand against the small of her back, watching with keen eyes as she melted with each stir of his fingers — she was both in her element and yet not at the same time. But he had to admit; she was a sight for sore eyes amongst the vibrant, ostentatious heirs and heiresses that continued to babble on and on. It was hard to imagine her comfortable in a setting like this, though he was well aware she attended these types of gatherings when she was raised as a socialite in Moscow. Not that she particularly wanted to.

They locked eyes, and she found herself unable to contain the hitch of her breath at the sight of his tempting, devilish smirk as he teased the curled cherubic ringlets of her styled hair between two fingers. He leaned closer, his warm breath prickling the shell of her ear, a tremor rattling her spine as she remained a stiffened statue, the only indication of life being the heat that radiated off her skin. He reveled in the subtle details of her face as if he were admiring a Renaissance painting — the way her pupils bloomed as she subconsciously toyed with her lips.

"Не забудьте пройти мимо за́ла," he whispered in hushed breaths, pulling away before she leaned too far into him, withdrawing himself.

She whirred out a deafened whistle, imperceivably stretching her limbs as she answered with a silent nod, fleeing from his carnivorous grasp as she willfully threw herself into the throng of equally ravenous guests, who were prepared to gorge on her body as if she were an unsuspecting, innocent lamb — the main course for the event. But she was already equipped with the mental tools to deal with such stifles.

Another mission. They had snuck into the estate of the illustrious Amaterasu family, which maintained a myriad of associates with the officials of both Japan and Yokohama's governments respectfully. To her, it was no shock to uncover that these nouveau riche elites had achieved their financial status through devious and shrewd methods. They were associated with several embezzlement schemes that funneled donations from public works projects into their personal bank accounts, which unashamedly reflected in the luster of their décor. It was almost impressive — they were close to rivaling the Port Mafia with their connections. In the last couple of weeks, the Rats had steadily scrounged up intel about the household, pinpointing the brunch event as a prime opportunity, manufacturing invitations to slip in and string them up with a noose created by their own secrets — and (Name), with her background, was the best choice for the job.

She glided into conversations with a practiced ease, moving across the entry hall with fluid grace, her laughter both enchanting and unattainable as she remained an undetected outsider. (Name) nodded at their queries, careful not to allow her own name to escape her as she dodged their prying questions. No matter the setting, whether in Moscow or Japan, socialites were always the nosiest people in the room. Her twisted smile quivered, finding an air of amusement in their meager attempts to squeeze out the truth. She had plenty of experience avoiding this type of attention as the black sheep of her family, accustomed to much more animosity than prodding from meager-minded gossipmongers. And through each word that left her lips, she only emboldened herself as an entrancing enigma — she hoped it would draw forth the curiosity of one particular member of the party.

Her heels clicked with each stride as she scaled the grand staircase, ghosting past oodles of guests sampling their bubbling beverages, leaning toward one other in a vain attempt to hide their unabashed whispers. The blinding spotlight wasn't new to her, but embracing it was a feeling she would need to get used to. There was such a powerful sentiment in captivating the attention of dozens, and instead of retreating from the brilliant light into the comfort of the shadows, standing proud and tall.

Her eyes drifted to the steps, recalling the marble stairwell she climbed as a girl. Each element of this house was a strange picture of perfection, like it remained completely unlived in. It unnerved her — there were no dents or scratches that could depict the elements of a family home. Even within the suffocation of her childhood manor, the outside stranger knew it was lived in. The walls steamed with stories of generations past, tales of triumph and tragedy. Her own story lingered in the mold that set in those foundations. She frowned. It was so much easier for these families to hide their greed and vanity behind the blank canvas of their homes, but it signified one thing. They were also so much easier to manipulate.

"Excuse me!"

Perfect timing.

The swift footsteps of a tiny, guileless woman approached with a mission in mind. She had crimped charcoal hair that was pinned near the back of her neck and was swaddled in a dress that could trap heat. Her winding, animated grin grabbed the attention of every man she passed — at least to the average eye. (Name) watched each turned head as they eyed her glitzy, loud gown, practically licking their lips at the shameless declaration of wealth. She also caught the imperceptible downturn through the corners of the young woman's overdrawn lipstick, a small smile appearing on her own face as she recognized her.

The infamous sole child and heiress to the Amaterasu fortune — Amaterasu Kana. Even if she had not been debriefed before the mission, (Name) would've had to have been living under a rock not to recognize her. She was frequently featured on the front pages of Yokohama newspapers, photographed shaking the hands of bureaucrats and cutting the ribbons of upstart foundations. Though (Name) knew that most of the money that was donated to those charity events suspiciously disappeared into the pockets of its organizers.

(Name) bowed her head, purposefully concealing her expression. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Amaterasu."

"The pleasure is all mine." Goosebumps crawled across her arms despite the sleeves that worked to warm her body — Kana had the intonation of a shrill songbird, and (Name) had to withhold a wince as if she was the sole audience for a children's recorder concert, except without the endearment of childish passion. And much like a child, the small heiress rang on like an unrelenting church bell, prodding (Name)'s mind with a complete lack of shame as she bombarded her with a breakneck amount of questions. She would make an impressive detective if it weren't for her brazenness. Wealthy socialites always did this, but she was one of the worst (Name) had experienced by far.

Out of the corner of her eyes, (Name) spotted two of the heiress' bodyguards, dressed in black from head to toe, mumbling into their earpieces. If she had to guess, they were most likely searching into her background as their mistress attempted to distract her — not that they would be able to find anything. Fyodor guaranteed that their backgrounds had been wiped across the continent, besides their obvious national origins, erasing and stealing records until nothing remained.

"I must say, dear — you look lovely. Like a sparkling jewel," Kana interjected, tugging at the skirt of (Name)'s dress. "And this fabric is divine. You must recommend me your tailor."

"You are quite lovely as well." (Name) beamed at the woman, a rhapsodic thrill tremoring through her nerves at the envious lilt in Kana's tone. She lifted at the ruffles of her skirt with her gloved hand, a disappointed pout exaggerated by the furrow of her brows. "I'm afraid the dress was a present. I am unaware of its original designer."

It was a half-truth; the dress was a gift. However, the designer was not a famous one who completed commissions across the country. (Name) had been unaware that a familiar casino manager designed clothes until he approached her with a timid smile and an offer — becoming his experimental model in exchange for the products. Sigma already had a tasteful eye for fashion, but she had only then realized that he had created his own outfits himself, hiding his talent behind a wall of mediocrity and humility.

CLING!

A hushed commotion halted their bleak conversation, murmurs rushing through the agitated room as both of the women peered their heads around other partygoers. Another woman had apparently tripped over her own two feet while she descended the stairs, tumbling into a man beside her and accidentally splashing champagne on her white dress, the rest smashed with glass shards as it hit the ground. She blushed, apologizing profusely as the man helped her to her feet, only for him to respond with a judgemental sneer as he turned back to his discussion, leaving the poor woman stuttering as tears welled in her eyes. (Name) frowned as the girl limped away, her foot twisted at an odd angle, practically feeling her pain reflecting from memories many years ago.

"Quite a hideous little thing, now, isn't she?" an insidious, slithering voice whispered into her ear, making her skin crawl.

She couldn't allow a sliver of that internal empathy to appear on her face, lucky that no one caught the shallow breaths she took in as she compelled herself to remain stationary, resisting the urge to walk over and assist the girl. The elites would eat her alive if she showed even a hint of compassion — be as lifeless and perfect as a statue. (Name) hummed at Kana's insulting sneer in mock agreement, eyeing the woman as she was forced to link arms with her.

"Come now." Kana pulled on her arm, squeezing it with a bruise-inducing grip. "I must introduce you to some of my colleagues. There are some fine-looking gentlemen amongst them."

(Name) nodded with a hum but lost her breath and forgot her place as she paused at the border of the second-floor balcony, gazing over the opulent guests until she spotted the familiar face of her companion conversing with a group of well-groomed gentlemen. No one besides her knew that the man had no ancestral experience with affluence and riches, his charm allowing him to blend in with ease, enticing the people that surrounded him with faux allure as he feigned interest in their daily struggles. She wanted to roll her eyes — it took years for her to absorb a facade of stoicism, but he was practically the master of that craft.

However, there was one part of this mission that bothered her.

In many cases, she would've been accompanied by one of her subordinates, acting solely as a precautionary aid — and likely a human shield — in case the mission went awry. However, instead of a member of the countless contenders that she had considered and submitted to Fyodor to review for the task, she was met with the looming silhouette of the Demon himself sitting inside their rented limousine, a deliberate gleam in the narrowed cavern of his eyes. She had paused but didn't bother to ask about the altered plan. He would never tell her, hiding the truth behind a variety of well-thought-out excuses.

At least she wasn't paired up with Ivan again. A shiver ran down her spine. The man was obsessed with Fyodor and in turn, was equally as obsessed with her.

Nevermind that. In truth, she was delighted that Fyodor had chosen to accompany her today. But a part of her couldn't help but notice certain small aspects of his attire, particularly in the way his suit ever-so-slightly opened to expose the pale, blank canvas of his neck, unprotected from prying eyes by the lack of his signature ushanka. Her gaze traveled further down, ogling at the way the clothes were tailored against his lean body, unused to the sight of him outside of his normal button-ups and coat. And without a second beat, he glanced up at her, vibrant irises boring into her soul, a huff of amused air blowing out of his lips before he held her in a somnolent stupor.

That stupid, handsome bastard. She couldn't help but smile.

"Are you interested in that man down there?" Kana broke through the trance, forcing the pair of partners-in-crime to look away.

(Name) merely hummed, not too bothered that she was caught staring. "I apologize. I must've zoned out."

Kana blatantly ignored her questionable explanation, looking through the crowd until she spotted Fyodor. "He is quite appealing to the eye." A smirk curled up on her lips, one that made (Name)'s stomach roll. She eyed the heiress with a dissecting glare, arms tense as her jaw clenched. "Couldn't say I recognize him. Perhaps I should introduce myself once we return."

"Shall we?" Kana batted her eyelashes up at (Name), remaining blissfully unaware of the way the other woman's fists clenched at her sides.

She grinned through gritted teeth, releasing a tense cloud of electrified air. "I'd be delighted."

A modern lounge room stood within the heart of the mansion, exuding a further air of extravagance. It blended styles of both contemporary design and classic luxury, adorned with sleek block-like furniture and plush geometric textiles. Large, panoramic windows stretched from floor to ceiling, providing an unyielding view of the lush outdoor gardens and the vast stagnant pool to each observer.

Guests shuffled in and out of the room, holding their fragile cocktails that were stirred and crafted by an expert mixologist — and (Name) knew immediately that she had made it to the true center of wealth. These weren't only people who flaunted their riches; they held a manner of sophistication and generational duty with each stiffened motion of their bodies. Conversations intentionally touched on in-depth topics, opening the door to global investments and brandishing several philanthropic endeavors. Fortunes were discussed amidst sips of aged wine, and business deals passed between shaken hands and tipsy laughter. Her father would've been delighted to know his daughter was able to achieve a level of finite poise and refinement, much to her chagrin. She had never cared about such things, but old mannerisms seemed to die hard.

One spotless, shining grand piano settled in the corner of the room, attached to a dignified middle-aged pianist who played countless classical compositions, flipping through his repertoire with skilled agility — but she could recognize the lust for money that radiated in every crescendo, his shifting gaze eyeing the fat cats as they came and went. Softened melodies emanated from ivory keys, an ignored background to conversations. (Name) zeroed in on the sound, her hands cramping at a familiar tune, massaging her aching palms as he rendered each stiffened note. She sighed, shaking herself out of her reminiscence as she refocused her attention on her one-sided, lackluster conversation with the Amaterasu heiress that clung to her side.

"Each one of my governesses claims that I'm a reborn genius. From Einstein to Newton, their compliments never cease to make me blush."

(Name) bristled her shoulders, adverting herself away from Kana's boastful grin. "I can certainly understand why. You are absolutely impossible to underestimate."

Kana's cheeks reddened with demure delight, hiding part of her face with a wave of her hand as the backhanded meaning of the insult fell on deafened ears. "You are far too kind, dear."

(Name) disregarded the murmurs of the bashful woman as they glided into the center of the crowd. Kana attracted most of the initial attention from partygoers, much to (Name)'s relief and luck — she was a wealth magnet. It opened up the best opportunity for her to analyze each guest, combing through them to capture the perfect moment. She almost felt bad for the man she chose to push as she wormed out of the rabble, constructing a domino effect as he knocked over several others.

She didn't feel too bad, considering he was attempting to slip a familiar substance into the drink of a woman who remained obliviously chatting beside him.

Through a series of unfortunate missteps and collisions that she couldn't have calculated better in any other circumstance — a misplaced foot here, an inadvertent push there — a chain reaction was set off at a moment's notice. Several of the other guests lost place of their footing, glasses of fine champagnes and pungent wines flying in beautiful arches into the air, perilously headed towards the pristine ivory furniture. Shrieks of dismay cried out as many were splashed in the following seconds, soaked in sticky alcohol as they griped and groaned.

And in that unforgiving spotlight, gawked at by all, was Amaterasu Kana herself, bathed in a mixture of red and beige. She shook like an irate pomeranian puppy, snarling at anyone who attempted to console her as she screamed in outrage, stomping her heals against broken glass as attendants swarmed her, trying to ease their mistress through their attempts to rectify the pastel fabrics of her dress, but it was entirely in vain. It was absolutely ruined. (Name) smirked, releasing a mischievous chuckle as she slipped down a lone, umbrageous hallway while a high-pitched shriek wore at the foundations of the house.

She shuffled down the hall, approaching an intimidatingly large door. It wasn't a surprise that it seemed to be locked as she fiddled with the handle, but that wasn't a problem. She reached into her hair, pulling out a slender, metal hairpin from amongst her styled tresses. With a smile on her face, she funneled years of experience in breaking into her stepmother's study, her younger self carefully prying apart the rusting lock to snatch a few rare novellas into her current situation. She summoned a deep breath, bending the pin with one end shaped as a hook, the other remaining to act as a tension wrench. It slipped into the keyhole, and she applied an expert amount of pressure, listening with her ear pressed against the wood as she engaged with the tumblers inside. Her delicate movements felt like it took hours, careful not to allow the stressor of time to affect her judgment, and she let out a huff once she heard a familiar click, the mechanism surrendering as the entrance was left ajar.

The office was quite frigid compared to the warmth of the rest of the manor and seemed to rot like a bleeding heart in the foundations of its furniture. She muffled a cough, the air thick with the scent of aged paper, tall bookshelves lining the walls with volumes that encompassed decades of knowledge. The desk held a myriad of scars from its countless years of use, her hands brushing the dust on its worn top as her eyes scrounged through the scattered documents. And that was when she spotted it — a couple of bank numbers and a list of recent transactions between the family and those so-called charities.

Money may be enticing in itself, but to the rich, blackmail is worth its weight in gold.

She scoured the room, a flickering light catching her eye from its place high in an upper corner — a surveillance camera. But she wasn't the least bit worried. The entire feed was currently being filtered into the headquarters of the Rats, monitored by someone at every hour, and completely disconnected from the major security unit of the estate. She snatched the papers, carefully folding them and slipping them inside a pocket enclosed by a zipper hidden underneath the folds of her dress — bless Sigma and his never-ending ingenuity.

Her cunning hands fiddled with the window latch, cracking it open with tactful consideration. She bundled the skirt of her outfit into her arm as she clamored out onto a dormer, shutting it with a click and a snap behind her. Adrenaline empowered her muscles, an experienced skip in her steps once she removed her heels to race across panels, ducking underneath windows before climbing up to the roof of an outstretched hallway, relieved that the office was positioned away from the prying eyes of outside stragglers — most likely on purpose. She relished in the brush of comforting misty spring air as it caressed her exposed skin and fluttered betwixt the fabric of her dress, a stark contrast to the unforgiving winters of her homeland, using her energy to balance from one point to another carefully. And with a thud, she slipped through a sunroof into a claustrophobic entryway, landing like a cat.

She frowned, scanning the space. Fyodor had only told her where they were supposed to meet, but he never specified exactly what type of room it was. She braced a hand against an ornate wooden door, prying it open with a huff.

Her mouth gaped as she entered upon a verdant landscape, bathed in the mellow midday sun. Its grandeur was unmatched by any other element of the estate, an oasis of life and vibrancy. The glass walls, kissed by the sun's golden rays, glistened with a radiant luster — an invitation to all who adventured it. Its sheer size was awe-inspiring, a lush tapestry of luminance. Sunlight filtered in between cracks in the canopy, creating patterns of blossoming vitality as she gazed at rows of assorted plants, ranging from towering trees to delicate orchids. She was partially saddened to see that no one chose to traverse through its stone pathways, breathing in a deep breath as she closed her eyes, listening to the deafened beauty of nature, even if it was encapsulated in such a finite space.

Her feet pattered against the foliate corridors created through flora, pausing to look upon the radiance of a noble, granite gazebo. It wasn't the structure itself that caught her eye but the object inside. Underneath the dappled shade of its roof was a breathtaking, anachronistic piano, standing as a testament to time. The instrument, with its darkened, polished wood and ornately carved legs, remained as a silent guardian of past melodies. Its keys, weathered with age, held a timeless allure. Its wooden lid, left open ajar, revealed an ancient interior, an intricate trove of resonant strings and felt hammers tuned to perfection.

Her aching hands loosened as her dread transformed into nostalgic longing, eyes sparkling as she found herself mindlessly drifting to perch on the piano bench, arms floating above the keys with euphoric anticipation. The greenhouse went silent with her first keystroke, hearkening attention toward the woman at its heart, who caressed the instrument in the delicate folds of her fingers. With every passing sound, she melded into a statuesque mold, back straightened, and muscles strained as she gritted her teeth, a familiar melody rousing the granite columns. Each crescendo is intentional; each note is intentional. Her face faltered as her hand tumbled with a cramp, the noise coming out sharp.

SMACK!

A metal ruler smacked against her throbbing wrists, which were now smaller and thinner.

"Again," a sharp, cacophonous voice pressured from behind, forcing the tiny girl to straighten like a stick out of dread. A decrepit woman dressed from collar to ankle in billowed clothes as black as midnight — the widowed Akilina Kozakov, her governess — towered over (Name) with a striking gaze, lips pursed tight into a perpetual snarl. The child formerly adored music; faint memories of ancient melodies and creaking lullabies whispered into her ears as a babe as she was held in the arms of her late mother. But that was only until she turned five and was pushed into taking lessons.

She had previously revered the piano with wonder, tuning into the barrage of pianists that entered her home, dollar signs illuminated in their eyes as they sat to play for guests during gatherings. Through the shadows, she would remain hidden behind the wooden banisters as she hummed along to the tune with a shallow smile, tapping the softened skin of her fingers onto the floor. But they only remained bruised and calloused — she would've never imagined something that could sound so freeing could restrain her in her place on the ground.

Play perfectly, not passionately — that was the Yeliseyev motto.

She suppressed the exuberance of mellifluous spirit in her mind, the action becoming easier with each passing lesson — the passion seemed to dissolve from between her fingers whenever her hands floated above the keys. With every scream and slap, she felt the love she had for the euphonious instrument dissipate, muscles locked in a tense position, the only emotion surviving being never-ending dread. Like a grizzled falcon, her governess eyed her subtle motions, repetitively smacking the ruler against her palm to the tempo.

(Name)’s hunger-ridden body trembled as she approached the keys once more, picking up from the previous section that she had messed up, swallowing her saliva as she forced herself to play. She blinked back tears amidst shallow breaths, rocking with nausea as the room spun around her, shivering as illustrations of her ancestors stared at her from above, bounding closer and closer. Her eyes dug into her hands — too light, too heavy, too fast, too slow, too loud, too soft, too—!

SMACK!

Her knuckles pulsated with immense pain, and she choked down a cry. No one would permit her sobs, so she remained still.

"Ms. Yeliseyeva!"

"I'm so sorry, teacher. I—" Ms. Kozakov silenced her with the slap of the ruler against the lid of the piano, running the straightened edge amongst the dozens of scratches in its wooden top. (Name) withered into herself as a daisy shuddered by a blizzard, sniffling into clothes that overwhelmed her body, the hems surpassing her arms and legs as they rolled down more with each motion.

"Be quiet."

The woman crossed her arms with a humph, her sleeves swaying like bat wings. "Your older brothers were brilliant pianists when they were your age, even while multitasking their other studies and the affairs of the estate."

(Name) wobbled in the ginormous piano seat, breathing between gritted teeth as she bit back a sob. The comparisons had been a tiresome charade, paralleling her to brothers she would never relate to. She was nothing like them, who were born with a silver spoon nestled inside their mouths, the handle cradled by tender hands. They were beloved. Each of her brothers received praise and affection for their efforts, while she was expected to be their equal with none of the benefits. It wasn't a challenge to turn them into perfect, charming young heirs — it is easy to be perfect when you are loved beyond reason, but it is so difficult to be perfect when your flaws are pointed out with every struggle and strife.

(Name) did not miss the repulsed sneer on her governess’s face, knowing that it was hardly a fraction of the disgust the woman felt towards her. No one enjoyed acknowledging the aristocratic lineage of (Name)'s paternal line, but it was rarely ignored in conversation — sometimes, she wished it was. (Name) often found herself preoccupied with daydreams, basking in thoughts of daily grandeur — a life spent far from the eyes of the bustling city and into the lush forests of the Russian countryside, cradled in unrelenting adoration as she nuzzled into the warm embrace of her mother. Perhaps they would've planted a garden, the flowers bursting into full bloom with unmatched vibrancy as they occupied their days relishing life's simple pleasures. They didn't need anyone else as long as they had one another. But that was only a fantasy, only to remain in her mind as she tossed and turned at night.

"You are only expected to be perfect." Ms. Kozakov broke from her thoughts with a sharp kick to her shin, her pointed heels breaking the skin. "Perfect is the least you can be, and yet you are not."

(Name) bobbed her head only to feel another familiar smack against her spine. "Sit like a lady, Ms. Yeliseyeva. Not a penniless pauper. Play from that measure again."

So she took a deep breath, preparing herself to leap back into the fray.

Every key she flattened underneath her fingertips unlocked another fragmented mirror of her memories and, with them, the sorrow and anguish she had tried to bury beneath vivacious smiles and whispered assurances. The melody, originally composed to be smooth as a lake's shining surface, gradually grew more intense, reflecting the resurgence of her emotions. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, hands moving with a sense of purpose like a mouse scurrying into its hole, racing away from the shadows of her nostalgia. Perfection — those aristocrats always expected perfection from her. She was primarily too focused on the composition of her measures to relish in an end product. To the members of the Moscow elite, it did not matter if a song itself was beautiful as long as the instrumentalist was a pretty little possession for them to pocket. Pain intertwined with each chord as she tremoured through the bars. The gazebo echoed with rushes of raw despair and fleeting flashes of hope before it silenced in one sweeping motion, as if her past haunted the buzzing air into submission, weakening the plants as they remained stationary at their roots. Exhaustion overwhelmed her; the woman wiping her eyes and removing her gloves, only to find her palms pooled with sweat in every crevice, trembling with each breath.

And it was only in the wake of her calamitous concert that she noticed the pair of blinding tyrian eyes that stared at her from a distance, partially hidden behind a bundle of flourishing greenery.

"You play."

If she did not know any better, she would say his voice had escaped him in almost complete silence, a contrast to his constant assuredness and self-confidence. It wasn't a question. He knew that she played — she had mentioned it in passing conversations many years prior. But he hadn't realized that she truly played. She smiled at him, a melancholic smile that held a world of sorrows.

"I do."

His eyes softened their everlasting, piercing gaze as he stepped underneath the shade of the gazebo, eyeing the stains of tear streaks that sparkled as they cascaded her puffed cheeks, welling into pools of anguish. He withheld the urge to wipe them away, brushing back the ghosts that clouded her flourishing spirit, experiencing a sense of empathy that his words could never manage to capture properly. But he also couldn't help but notice the sputter in her fingers as they morbidly danced across the keys, elegance and grace summed in a single keystroke — imperfectly seraphic. He sighed, an amused quirk on his lips as her finger prodded one of the higher notes.

FLICK.

Small, calloused fingers flipped between bins of dusted and peeling record sleeves, a strangely inscrutable, world-weary expression drawn onto the face of such a young man.

"What're you looking for today, Федя?" a gentle voice broke into the muted atmosphere of his foraging. The adolescent, scrawny form of a teenage Fyodor didn't bother to turn around, regarding (Name) with a pointed look as she stood on her tip-toes, perusing into the bin from above his shoulder. They were currently nestled inside an old record store, which was run by a sweet, older gentleman who doted on both of them without restraint or care, slipping them small candies and allowing them free-range of his collections — they had proven to be remarkably responsible for their ages.

The devilish pair had crept away from their weekly church service while families and their associates indulged in lunch, knowing neither would receive even a crumb. They burrowed into the thin fabric of their coats, traveling arm-in-arm through back alleys and sidewalks as they scaled the Yakimanka district. It had become a frequent rendezvous point for them whenever they had the time to escape, sorting the containers of the store's collection as they hummed to the classics, reveling in a brief absence of thought or toil as they repeated the same task over and over.

"I need to find a Bach piece," he muttered, slipping the aforementioned record out from between the others. (Name) stared at the grime-coated cover, grimacing, but chose not to speak on it any further as they continued to browse. The orphanage had some of their more talented children partake in a youth orchestra directly funded by the church — and Fyodor, with his quick skills and sharp mind, picked up on several stringed instruments throughout his transition period from his childhood home. She had only learned about his melodious gift when they had run into each other at a charity banquet — or rather, she had spotted him there. If she hadn't been too embarrassed to approach the stage and draw attention to herself, one judgemental scowl from her father would've been enough to hold her back. He was formerly dressed in the finest the clergy could afford, which was surprisingly a lot, but somehow still remained so out of place. She had basically gawked at him the entire night and prayed he never noticed.

She was unable to pinpoint the exact reason she watched him for so long, entranced. Perhaps it was because of the way he played — so perfect, yet somehow strained. The entire orchestra seemed to be tuned to prime excellence, at least in the eyes of an outsider or an ordinary socialite, untrained in the art of true music. But the weariness was evident, each member slaving over the notes on the staff, mastered chords blaring between half-wrapped bruised and blistered fingers.

She abandoned those macabre thoughts, her hands exploring a section of more recent records, grand Tchaikovsky compositions, and brilliant Chopin arrangements reflecting the overcast sun on each rivet of their silvery surfaces. One sparkled in the faded beams of midday, the vivid palette of the sleeve clashing with the doleful paint of the store's walls. (Name) tugged the ravenette by the edge of his jacket without a word, guiding him along into the cozy lounge area stationed in the back, which rouged from the light of an ancient, crafted glass lamp — and underneath that was an arenaceous record player. She plopped down onto the floor, striking the boy with a knowing smile as she patted the spot beside her, slipping the disk out of the sleeve and delicately settling it on top of the platter. Fyodor sat carefully beside her, ensuring he didn't stumble due to his weak constitution, watching as (Name) settled the tone arm on top of the record, their expressions completely contrasting as it spun to life.

"It's a 1942 Steinway," a soft-toned adult voice shattered his reminiscence, her face cleared of tears as she caressed the lacquered surface of the piano with maternal care. "I haven't seen one of these since a spring exhibition at the Naoumov's family estate. We didn't even have one."

He smirked, crossing his arms as his eyes trailed across the piano's reflective ebony veneer, having an equal appreciation for the splendorous ivories. "You know your instrument, милая."

She huffed, an amused quirk to her brow. "Of course I do." Wavering fingers tampered with the black keys, creating a dissonant chord. "The piano is such a lovely instrument. So versatile, despite being so stationary."

"My father preferred—" she started before cutting herself off with a frown, chewing on her bottom lip. "Never mind what he preferred. It doesn't matter."

Serenity enveloped the greenhouse, a calm hush settling over both of them. (Name) spun her head with a dazed hum as leather footfalls echoed closer, clasping Fyodor's outstretched hand as he helped her to her feet, ushering her outside through an unlatched window panel, noting her entranced stare at the gazebo as it grew smaller and smaller.

(Name) strutted through the expansive, narrow halls of the underground facility, a skip in her step as she practically danced in her swath of comfortable pajamas — the rest of the Rats had fled from the base to return to their civilian lives and homes, letting her release the precipice of her jubilation and energies. The mission had been a smashing success, with the Amaterasu family begging on their hands and knees for the evidence of the transactions to be erased. Fyodor drained their accounts as they bumbled sob stories on the other line, watching with amusement as all of their "hard-earned money" filtered down the drain and into the Rats' den. It was their fault, anyway.

But never mind that. Even through the exhaustion they both had faced in the events of the day, Fyodor had invited (Name) away from their routine twilight tea, emploring her to meet him in a spare room in the base's lower levels. She rubbed her arms with a shiver as the air became colder with each step, eyes sparkling as a door, identical to every other one, beckoned her with silent promises of mystery and allure.

With the tap of her signature knock, she twisted the knob, opening the door wide after a moment of silence. Her eyes squinted, adjusting the blurred shapes that stood stagnant in the dismal candlelight, filling her body with the smoky scent of jasmine. But once she could finally make everything out, a gasp involuntarily tumbled from her lips.

In the dead center of the room, surrounded by mirrors that enclosed the space as it reflected over and over, was a proud and tall but incredibly familiar grand piano. She remained standing in the doorway, lips pulled into indescribable awe, before being broken from her trance as wooden legs scraped against the tiled floors. Her gaze adverted to the other corner, where Fyodor was sitting on his chair, resting his signature cello between his feet as his eyes traveled across her face, reading her like a book.

That stupid, handsome bastard.

She shut the door behind her with a click, swiftly inspecting the instrument as she lifted the lid in disbelief. Every key and every string was identical to the piano from the gazebo. WIth her foot, she tapped at the pedals underneath it, raising her eyes from the floor to the man in front of her, one question remaining on her mind.

"...why?"

She knew from experience that there was no point in inquiring about the how or what of the piano's alarmingly sudden presence. He would never answer, and she was honestly too mindblown with the idea of such a large object being carefully snuck inside — without her knowledge, to add — to consider the process. She hoped that, at the very least, he would reply to that one question, even if it was in his own roundabout sort of way.

"It's about time we have our duet, don't you think, любимая?"

He chuckled at the obvious excitement in her eyes as she ignored his loose-ended answer, her body practically beaming as she plopped onto the piano bench with a sweet giggle. Her fingers experimentally thrummed to the end of the keys, masterfully creating a simple scale without looking down. He followed in her stead, gliding his bow across the cello strings, already aware that they had been perfectly tuned. And then he looked up.

"Rachmaninoff's Sonata in G Minor."

The same record from the little shop in Moscow. She smiled. He had remembered all this time.

"Andante."

Her hands raised, as did his bow.

"Ты некомпетентное дерьмо—!"

His adolescent body couldn't even muster a flinch as one of the orchestra attendants struck down onto the neck of a woodwind player with a thin metal rod — the comedic shriek of a piccolo almost sounded humourous, if not for the pained groan that followed from the instrumentalist's lips, wincing as a bruise bloomed on their skin. The tension was thick enough to slice through with a knife. For weeks, they had been the subject of the relentless regime marshaled by their conductor, a man who reigned a reputation for being, as the elite delicately referred to it, "strict." Their sugarcoating was a laughable understatement. He was a tall, imposing man whose brow was eternally furrowed, wielding his authority over the children like a dictator. His baton raised once more, prepared to unleash a storm of fury upon the trembling orchestra. There was no room for error, no grace for a missed note or a falter in tempo.

They had to be perfect.

The opening bars of Bach's St. Matthew's Passion flooded the room in a cacophony; the once expressive piece transformed into a living nightmare. The conductor's harsh movements pushed the orchestra to the brink, racing across the measures without care to the straining children, their fingers cramped as they attempted in vain to keep up. His eyes filled with a venomous mixture of disdain and rage, singling out individuals and humiliating them with a single glance.

"Громче, Достоевский!"

The nape of his neck bruised shades of violet and vermillion, mistakes met with a torrent of spinning insults, some of the more sensitive members sobbing silently in their seats. That despotic conductor would wave his baton, signaling for an attendant to strike at the offending musician with their metal rods, partially stained crimson from broken skin. It dragged on for hours, the music background to the relentless assault on their spirits. Most were only struggling to make money to take home to their families, not having a choice if they wanted to eat the next day — child-labor laws didn't extend to musical groups associated with the church. The children knew they were being taken advantage of, but they didn't have a choice.

Fyodor hid the prologue to his insidious thoughts through a carefully crafted glare, willing the conductor to drop dead from his eyes alone — he could easily kill him with a single touch, but not yet. It wasn't the right moment, people would see. But the man would pay in due time for his sins, corrupting such youthful passion, funneling it into a lifeless musical machine.

The conductor lifted his baton once more, the orchestra members tensing as they straightened their backs to play. Perfect. That was all they needed to be. Absolutely perfect. The beaconing image of the results of the elites' generosity, who watched each child with eyes of feigned sympathy. Only one gaze ever stood out amongst the rest.

"Федя?"

The timid whisper of that childhood nickname cut into his memories, lifting his eyes from staring at his trembling hands towards his effervescent sweetheart, forcing him away from the pain with a small, empathetic smile — that same benevolent smile. Their wounds were identical in multiple ways, and she'd never let him forget that. He wasn't alone anymore; neither of them were — they would play together, unburdened by the narrow judgment of people who no longer mattered. She tapped her foot to an unheard rhythm, brow perked up with child-like wonderment.

"Ready?"

In their years together, they had found harmony in a profound and transcendent symphony, the intertwining melodies of two hearts creating a masterpiece of shared experiences — from clinging to one another on a weak window dormer, one a daughter beatified with the warmth of life and the other a son burdened with the frost of death, only loved by parents that had long departed from the surface of the living world, to cross the continent, hand-in-hand as they faced each new day with no fear, knowing they could surpass every challenge if they remained side-by-side. They had become a complex but wonderfully synchronized composition. And in this refrain, as they entered the next section, there was no need for a conductor at the reigns, easily harmonizing with empathy only shared between the two, seeking to comprehend their hopes, dreams, and fears through the other's lens. Melodies of lifelong laughter rang clear and true, circling a lightness into their lives that could be found nowhere else.

In their grand composition, harmony did not mean an absence of discord — that is not the way life is, but instead a divine interplay of differences and similarities. Like contrasting, dissonant notes, they retroactively complemented one another, enhancing their strengths while compensating for their weaknesses. It was no static composition but a work of living, breathing art, evolving and blossoming with each passing day. Notes were fed by the warmth and care that filled each rest and the tenderness that arose as they allowed each other to shine in the solos.

In their duet, they had found the transformative power that allowed two kindred souls to intertwine, and whenever they played in truly perfect accord, appearance no longer mattered, instead producing a deeply fulfilling lifelong bond that neither of them could've possibly imagined.

The Demon smiled at his divine treasure, forever devoted as she awaited his que. "For you, моя милая. Always."

(моя) милая = (my) dear не забудьте пройти мимо за́ла. = don't forget to pass by the reception room. федя = fedya любимая = darling ты некомпетентное дерьмо—! = you incompetent shit—! ��ромче, достоевский! = louder, dostoevsky!

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @hypocritic-trash-baby @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @kotysluny @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @aqigglewigglewoo

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#f!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [fyodor]#₊˚ ★꒰ the sun and the stars #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader

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comphy-and-cozy · 1 year

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can you please do something with “I’m going to ruin you” with the big boy, andrei svechnikov?

bestie, I knew this one had to be extra special for you - so it’s no question why this quickly turned into a mini fic bc what is a blurb anyway? I kind of combined this with a different request I got to make a sequel to sundress szn 😈

enjoy, my love!

Prompt: “I’m going to ruin you.”

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x teammate’s sister!Reader (f)

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Language, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (m + f receiving), brief choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The white tablecloth is thick, almost stiff against your legs. Flickering candles and dimly-lit wall lamps provide most of the light in the room, aside from the glow of the city outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day, you’re sure it’s probably a beautiful view of the skyline, but at night it’s even prettier, a sea of glittering lights amongst the darkness.

The waiters aren’t wearing white gloves, but they might as well be, their suit vests and red ties adhering to the high standard their clientele demands. The menu is small, prices not even listed — a sign that the bill will be exorbitant.

It’s far more extravagant than you would’ve wanted for a first date, but Andrei was insistent that if he was going to risk his life taking his Captain’s sister on a date, he was going to do it right.

And he did, pulling out all the right stops: arriving 5 minutes early, flowers in hand, opening your car door, offering his arm as you walked into the restaurant. He’s polite, a perfect gentleman, when he orders an expensive bottle of wine for the two of you, his eyes hardly leaving yours the entire time.

“Trying to get me liquored up?” you ask once the waiter leaves, a flirtatious smile on your face.

The glint in his eye that you love so much is back when he glances toward you, dimple exposed as his smile matches yours. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes dip down toward the shadow of your cleavage before quickly darting back up to your own. “Why? You need a little liquid confidence?”

“Why would I need confidence to do something I’ve already done?” you smirk, following his lead and letting your eyes slide slowly and blatantly over the buttons of his crisp dress shirt, already imagining the satisfying sound of them hitting the floor when you rip it open later this evening.

“There’s a few things you haven’t done.” He licks his lips, a subtle hint at what he’s referencing, and you feel a throb between your legs, debating if waiting for your food is even worth it. But, then a waiter walks by with a plate of hot, prime cut steaks sizzling in butter, the scent almost as intoxicating as the man across from you, and you think to yourself that you can wait for a little while longer.

“And you’re going to enjoy every one of them, aren’t you?” you ask with a teasing smile, gently running a hand across your collarbone.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, his gaze purely predatory despite the charming smile he puts on. To anyone around you, you’d look like a happy couple on a nice dinner date, the mounting sexual tension invisible to passersby. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

The waiter interrupts what is about to come out of your mouth, a secret that you’ll keep forever, but his words already have the desired effect. Your legs squeeze together, a desperate throb between them as your heart ticks quicker in your chest, and in some ways, you’re thankful for the interruption, unwilling to let your date know just how much impact he has on you.

Dinner is pleasant, but excruciating, watching the flex of his hands as he cuts through his expensive steak, his large fingers wrapped around the thin stem of his wine glass. It’s terribly sexy, his strength compared to the delicate fragility of the glass, surely some kind of parallel for what you’re anticipating as soon as he gets you home and the front door is locked.

Sure enough, he does, though you admit you aren’t expecting him to immediately pin you to the door you’re in the middle of locking, skirt hiked up over your hips before he’s on his knees behind you with a growl.

“No panties?”

“I’m wearing…” you trail off, your sentence punctured by a gasp when he rips the flimsy fabric in question from your frame.

“You call these panties?” he asks, though your terminology is hardly a concern now that there’s something far more tempting in his sight.

There isn’t much room for any retort, not with Andrei roughly tugging your hips backward in order to press his face against your center. He groans at the contact, the vibration traveling straight through your clit and into every single nerve ending in your body, heightened when his tongue begins to stimulate your dripping folds.

His voice is muffled by your ass, but you can make out a distinct fuck as he tastes you, the way he’s been dying to from the moment you opened your front door looking sinfully beautiful. It’s your eyes he loves most, but your legs are a close second, the skirt you picked for the night teasing him just enough to drive him insane. He couldn’t deny that he’d spent half of dinner dreaming of pressing his head between your thighs underneath the table, remembering the all-too-brief taste he had of you, wondering if he could get away with it — ultimately he’d decided against it, but having you in your entryway is a pretty close second, he thinks.

Andrei doesn’t let up until you’re two orgasms deep, legs shaking as you clutch desperately at the door for support. Offering you some reprieve, he sits back on his knees and sucks your essence off of his fingers, the ones that brought you to your latest demise, a dark glint in his eyes.

“Taste extra sweet when you’ve got some wine in you,” he jokes.

“As good as that expensive steak you bought?”

“Better,” he hums. “It doesn’t even come close.”

It isn’t long before he’s got you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, your discarded panties long forgotten near the vase by your door. His lips are attached to yours, giving you a taste of yourself, and you’re so distracted that it takes a moment before you realize he’s walking blindly, no idea where your bedroom is located.

With a giggle, you detach yourself from his lips and give him instructions, down the hall and on the right, and his bashful smile has your heart melting. The butterflies whoosh away the second he plops you onto your bed, looking down at you with a look that’s hungrier than before. Something tells you that the sight of you on a mattress is something he’s been dying to see.

You move to tug your knee-high boots off, stilled with a quick hand and a dark glance. “Leave them. Been thinking about fucking you in nothing but these boots all night.”

His words, as always, make you shiver, the lustful promises from his lips something you’ll never grow tired of. Normally, you might make some kind of quip, a snarky comeback, but you’ve been dreaming of having him inside of you from the moment he slipped out weeks ago, leaving you leaking his cum in the middle of your brother’s half bathroom. It’s all you can do not to rip his clothes off along with your own, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion like he promised.

Andrei’s hand wraps around your throat, engulfing it with ease, pulling you up to kiss him again. Blindly, your hands fumble with his dress shirt, working it open until he’s taking matters into his own hands, tearing it down the middle and sending buttons flying across the room. You barely notice your prophecy come true, instead captivated by the cut, stark lines of his muscles, like he’s been carved out of fucking clay, sculpted like a piece of art that you’d find in the Met.

“Like what you see?” he teases, muscles flexing as he shrugs the tattered shirt off his form.

“Didn’t get to appreciate it in full last time,” you say, cheeks hot from the call out — but how can he blame you? — before your eyes drop a little lower, to the expensive-looking black slacks that hang on his hips. “Just like something else.”

The sight of you on your knees, your tits pulled haphazardly out of your top as you work on his zipper is a sight Andrei knows he’ll never forget. But the feeling of you taking him in your mouth, your eyes gazing up at him while brimming with tears, pressing further and further until he touches the back of your throat? A feeling he’ll spend chasing for the rest of his life.

With a curse in Russian, his hand threads through your hair to clear your way, not wanting anything to impede his view of his cock sliding between your wet, pretty lips, disappointed he can’t see the way your tongue works sinful magic on the vein that’s throbbing on the underside. But goddamn if he can’t feel it.

He waits until he’s twitching in your mouth, body thrumming with desire and desperate to spill into the back of your throat before he ends your experiment, unwilling to release the contents of his balls anywhere but inside your cunt. Because as good as your mouth feels, he also knows what it feels like to have your snug, warm walls milking him for all he’s worth, and it’s something he wants carnally.

As promised, he rids you of all of your clothing except for your boots, though he is tempted to leave your skirt bunched around the swell of your hips because of the way it makes you look so slutty, so needy for him you couldn’t wait a second longer. But, he thinks, there’ll be another time for that, instead wanting to see you bare, fully, since he didn’t get the pleasure the last time.

“Andrei,” you whine when his strong arms pin your hands over your head, settling himself between your legs. Your body arches into his, desperate. “Please.”

“Such gorgeous legs,” he groans, ignoring you, moving one hand to nudge your thigh up over this hip, then the other. “Perfect fucking body you have.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna ruin me? Seems like all bark and no bite.”

His eyes, normally so warm and kind, darken at your sass, and he smirks. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he loves that you can match him step for step, challenging him with your attitude that intrigues him like no other girl ever has.

The sound you make when he presses into you is near enough to make him bust right then and there; similarly, the groan he emits once he’s buried to the hilt makes you gush, feeling yourself clench tightly around his length. He’s warm, and you swear he’s bigger than before, stretching you entirely around his delicious girth. Every movement he makes is perfect, starting slow and building his pace, different from before now that he has time and space to truly ravish you. You don’t have to ask him to keep going, to move faster, to go harder, because he knows exactly what you need before you do.

You’ve lost the ability to speak, though if you could, you’d only be able to moan out his name. His pace is brutal, hips slapping against the back of your thighs, and the rough movement of his body has the cross hanging around his neck brushing against your chest with his rhythm. It’s a filthy thing, the desire to have his chain hitting your face, an inexplicably sexy detail that somehow cranks the temperature up to scorching levels.

When he lets your hands go in favor of cupping your face, your hands slip around his muscular shoulders, clutching onto him as you hang on for dear life. He wants to kiss you, to get his mouth on you, but he can’t bring himself to stop looking at your face, in awe of the way your brows scrunch together and how your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot just right.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs, his accent thicker now that he’s exuding more effort with his hips instead of his English, determined to stay on pace and bring you to your high. “So pretty.”

This time, when you come, you’re in the comfort of your own home and don’t have to stay quiet for fear of your brother walking in at any second, so you’re free to cry out his name when your legs shake as your climax hits you like a fucking train. A white hot blur of pleasure blinds you, taking over every single cell in your body with everything Andrei.

He’s not far behind you, shooting thick ropes into your eager and waiting center, greedily accepting everything he has to give you. His head falls in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, hair tickling your jaw as he pants, breath hot against your already molten skin.

“I’m never gonna be able to look Staalsy in the eye ever again,” he says. He’s joking, of course, but there’s a part of him that knows everything is different now, and not just because of the pussy that he’s pretty sure was crafted in heaven specifically for him.

Andrei Svechnikov is falling in love with his captain’s little sister, and there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it.

#c does requests #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov blurb #andrei svechnikov smut #andrei svechnikov fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic

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frozen10fanzine · 2 months

Text

Frozen Through the Years

Yearly Spotlight: 2019

Written by @toriofthetrees

After six long years, 2019 saw the release of the long-anticipated sequel, Frozen II.

The lead-up up to the release was intense to say the least.

The first teaser trailer premiered in February, opening with Elsa on a black-sand beach stripped down to her bare essentials, barefoot, ready to take on a raging sea. She attempted twice to cross the torrential waters before the trailer turned to Anna’s shock of hundreds of diamond-shaped glass covered in strange symbols, taking over Arendelle. Following closely behind were several moments of Elsa, Olaf, Kristoff, and Anna taking on dangerous challenges, and a show of strange, foreign magic. All of this was centered around this new, mysterious setting known only at the time as an autumnal forest.

It gave just enough of a preview to hook millions.

The trailer was viewed and downloaded several million times on Twitter and YouTube within a short amount of time. In the fandom, a storm of news, posts, speculation, and discussions broke out over several platforms, too chaotic to keep track of. The months that followed the teaser were absolutely brimming with excitement! Across cinemas, television, and the internet—both in the US and internationally—came many trailers, sneak peaks, and posters about the upcoming movie. Alongside this came leaks as well, all of it sparking speculation in the fandom over what the plot of the movie could be.

Countless books about Frozen II came onto the market before the film was even released, notably without the end of the film printed within their pages. This lead to fans in many locations to protest the shops selling these books, wanting their money back.

Most of these protests lead to no results.

Success for Disney Studios, specifically. contributed to the exposure for Frozen II. ~In March, Disney invested billions of US dollars in company acquisitions across the film and TV industry, creating the most powerful media company in the world in the USA. ~This was the year of the 6th Disney D23 Expo, the biggest Disney fan event of the year! It was held on August 23–25 at the Anaheim Convention Center in California, showcasing news and pictures around all the new Disney parks, resorts—and movies! Including Frozen II! ~On November 12, 2019, Disney launched its streaming platform Disney+ in several countries ~2019 ultimately proved to be Disney's most successful cinema year to date, regardless of which new film was released!

All of this led up to the release of Frozen II on November 20, 2019 in most countries (unfortunately some countries had to wait until the beginning of January).

This new installment to Elsa and Anna’s story saw the sisters and their found family making a long trek away from Arendelle… in order to save it. Mysterious magics send them up north to the Enchanted Forest, that is covered in an impenetrable mist. Yet, it parts for them. The deeper they go into the forest, the more they discover about themselves, their family, the spirits, Arendelle… so that only one thing can be said for certain: Nothing will ever be the same again.

This film was polarizing.

In the cultural zeitgeist, it was a massive success like its predecessor, exceeding Frozen as the highest grossing animated film of all time. It received mostly positive reviews and it would go on to be nominated for multiple awards, including an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song. The Disney merchandising machinery was running at full speed and earned the company many more millions within a short amount of time. The limited edition dolls were sold out on the same day as release! However, it notably did not have the same cultural reach that its predecessor had. “Into the Unknown,” to many, was not comparable to “Let it Go.” And the film was nominated aplenty, but never actually received any awards.

However, it was within the fandom that this polarization was seen the clearest.

Frozen II made good on its promise that nothing would ever be the same for these characters. The sisters, though still as close as ever, no longer lived under the same roof by the end of the film. Elsa abdicated her crown for her duties as the Fifth Spirit and Guardian of the Enchanted Forest, while Anna took over as Queen of Arendelle. This separation, whilst to some was a step-up for the sisters, others saw as a step back. This debate rages in the fandom to this day, and many, many fans on Tumblr, Reddit, and other social media prefer Frozen to its sequel.

The fandom did gain some new content, including the addition of multiple ships. There were two that were rather popular. The first was Agduna (Agnarr/Iduna), which came about because of the major focus Frozen II had on them, the sisters’ parents. The second was Elsamaren (Elsa/Honeymaren), which came about because Honeymaren had a minor, but important interaction with Elsa in the film that sent her on the right path to Ahtohallan.

Just as Frozen II’s main theme—change—impacted the sisters, so to it did the fandom. The polarizing effect of the film lead to quite passionate arguments over its content. However, the fandom did not get any smaller or lose any passion. People continued to create, debate, discuss, and post about Frozen and Frozen II. In interviews, the cast and crew said that Frozen II was made to grow up with the audience who were there when the first film was released in theaters. With that in mind, the fandom no longer looked like it did when Frozen first came out.

Things change.

But we can still all agree on one thing: We love Frozen 💕

Stay Tuned For More

👆🏻 Click above if you want to celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Frozen. The due date is April 12, 2024.

We look forward to seeing your memories ❄️

#frozen #frozen10 #frozen 2 #anna #sven #elsa #olaf #olaf's frozen adventure #ofa #water has memory #frozen fever #frozen 10th anniversary #for you #fyp #tumblr fyp

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merakiui · 6 months

Note

For the fanfic writers directors cut:

Could you give some commentary on sea glass? Particularly, why azul and the tweels had such an obsession with the main character and not her brother as well?

Thank you for asking!!! I will gladly give Sea Glass commentary.

(ask game)

To begin, the man who was keeping Reader captive is not their brother. The two figures from the man's diary are himself and his (presently deceased) sister; they aren't blood-related to Reader. Reader is just the unfortunate soul who happened to become entangled in this years-long scheme.

In the story, this is noted:

And that was how it began. Grand wishes were to be granted with grand payment. It was decided that every two years the house would provide the trio with a human and in return they would grant the boy’s wish regardless of how outlandish it might have been. He could have anything he wanted—riches, health, or power—and all it took was one person’s sacrifice.

The deal Azul arranged with the man is, essentially, one in which the man benefits at the cost of a human life. Azul needs humans because he's experimenting [redacted for Moonbroch spoilers] (which he cryptically touches upon in the fic when he says his research has concluded), and the most feasible way to attain humans is to get them from another human (i.e. the man). The man keeps one human within his home for two years, caring for and conditioning them according to what Azul instructs, and by the end of the two year period he must relinquish them to Azul and the twins no matter what, as per the terms of the contract. In exchange, Azul grants the man's wish.

Normally, the exchange is emotionless, but this time the trio took special interest in Reader. Most of the reasoning for this will be explained in Moonbroch (the sequel), but I will note that they have all grown obsessively fond of Reader after a few very important events in the story's plot prior to the murder and what follows in Sea Glass. The trio have something of a business partnership with the man; they never cared much for him (or his sister) to begin with, but they do care a lot for Reader. >:)

Additionally, for further context, the story (and hints of the deal) are told from Jade's pov in these tiny snippets, which may just provide more background into the situation from an objective perspective:

i. the house on the hilltop is curious. two bipedal creatures enter, but only one ever leaves. as for us, we are confined to the shadowy depths of the sea, bearing silent witness to the tale of unwilling coexistence. ii. every other year we receive a gift from that peculiar house on the hilltop. when the debt collector makes his biennial trip to the surface and collects what’s owed, we are permitted to relish in the scraps of what’s left behind. as per the agreement, we grant a single wish to those who can pay the steep price. iii. humans often throw coins into wells and fountains, but such beliefs are rooted in false hope. the house on the hilltop is devoid of such hope, yet its human comes to us with materialistic wishes every two years. perhaps his own fruitless ‘hope’ began when the price for a single wish became the life of his kin. iv. the house on the hilltop is blood-stained. a caged angel exists within, hiding claws and fangs. we are not strangers to the food chain, but the carnivorous nature of a once domesticated angel is certainly a curiosity to behold. v. the house on the hilltop sits serene and abandoned. there is no business to be found inside and we no longer watch from a distance. having freed the angelfish from devious clutches, there is no reason to regard an empty, hopeless place.

#twisted chit chat

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kidstemplatte · 7 months

Text

shattered pt. 2

pairing: terzo/ fem! reader summary: terzo seeks help for his struggles with addiction. warnings: alcohol, drugs, addiction this is a sequel to this fanfiction i wrote. message at the end as usual. please enjoy. ♡

He didn’t remember.

You wished you didn’t.

The morning after your violent dispute with Terzo, you woke up on the couch feeling nearly as sick as he had been been waking up recently. You were so exhausted from the night before that you didn't bother to clean up the absolute wreck he had caused. But to your surprise, there was no glass on the floor, no staining from the liquid on the hardwood. The items that Terzo had carelessly thrown out of the drawers and shelves during his were placed neatly where they belonged. For a moment you wondered if it was all a fever dream. Until you saw all the bottles of liquor on the counter were missing and were snapped back to reality.

You opened your phone and checked the time: 11:37 am. Much later than you usually slept in. There were no messages from Terzo, which you had conflicting feelings about. You decided to go find him, assuming he was still in the bedroom. You entered your shared room carefully, but did not see your husband, rather than a large suitcase sitting by the closet.

Where was he going?

After getting dressed and dragging yourself through your daily routine, you decided to gather up some courage and look for him. When you opened his office door, you were not only faced with your husband sitting with his head in his hands at desk, but a sea of familiar faces surrounding him. Sister Imperator and his brothers, Primo, Secondo, and the new Papa: Copia.

Terzo looked a mess. Clearly last night was one of the worst nights he’d had, if not the worst. His hair was disheveled, he was free of makeup, the bags under his eyes were heavy and nearly a scarlet color.

The room became silent when they caught sight of you anxiously standing in the doorway. Sister Imperator gestured for you to come in, politely stepping aside to make room for you by his desk.

“What… what happened?” he wearily croaked, looking up at you. “They… they can hear.” he stammered.

Wow. Terzo was really trying to take accountability for things he didn’t even know he had done. That was a bold but needed and heartfelt move.

“Um…” you mumbled. “How much should I say?”

“Everything.” Terzo weakly responded, not even able to look you in the eyes.

“… You really don’t remember?” you winced.

Terzo, riddled with shame, shook his head.

You then described everything he said and did, not leaving out a single word. Not a single bit of it was censored out by you, even the most graphic of moments. As you continued enlightening the room on the events of the previous night, your words quickly turned into sobs, and your voice a painful cry.

You weren’t the only one who cried. Terzo’s beloved half-brother, Copia, couldn’t help but shed a few tears at the tragedies you were describing, and for a second you swore you saw a tear fall down Secondo’s face. Primo’s eyes were covered by his hand as he kept his head low. Sister Imperator shocked you more than anyone, though. She did not attempt to conceal the tears that welled up in her eyes, but still kept a strong face and demeanor. Terzo was utterly mortified by the things you were telling him, his face painted in pure shame.

“I… I am so sorry. I can’t-“ Terzo cut himself off with a hiccup and a broken sob. “I am so sorry, Y/N.” He was utterly humiliated, and more importantly, furious with himself for treating something as precious as you so horribly. “I didn’t- I didn’t-“

“I know you didn’t mean what you said. You don’t even remember.” you interrupted.

“I know, but still, I’m… I’m so sorry.” he cried.

“We’ll give you two some space.” Sister Imperator spoke, leaving the office as the other men nodded and followed. The door was shut. It was just you and your husband. You took a seat across from him and looked into his tired eyes. “You are right. You have been right this whole time. I have a problem. I am going to get help.” He stated, breaking the silence. “You mean like a treatment program?” “Yes, it’s not too far from here, I’ll be gone for four weeks.”

You nodded. Finally. He was seeking help.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I love you so much. Everything I said last night was so far from the truth. You’re everything but a burden. I love you for so much more than your body. You’re the light of my life. I have been so horrible to you recently. I would do anything, anything in the world, to take it back if I could.” He paused, as if the next thing he was about to say would physically pain him. “I understand that my mistakes have left scars that won’t heal. And I understand that I have to let go, even though I do not want to.” he uttered.

“Let go of what? Substances, you mean?”

Terzo shook his head solemnly.

“Of me? Why would you have to do that?” you questioned.

Terzo was completely shocked by your response. “Why would you stay with me after I’ve done such unforgivable things?”

“Because I know you, Terzo, I’ve seen you at your best and worst. I know who you are, and it’s not whoever you’ve been for the past few months. We can fix this, Terzo. You’re the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me. There is nowhere to go but up from here.” you explained, placing your hand on his.

Terzo was utterly blown away by your never ending support, experiencing graciousness at new heights he had never reached before.

“Y/N. If I ever do anything like this ever again, which will not be the case, but still- I’m begging you- please, leave me. Please do not settle for this.”

“I know it won’t happen again, Terzo.”

“Still, promise me. I want you to be happy. I want you to understand you deserve better. Please, I want you to be happy.”

“I’ll promise you, Terzo. If you promise me you’ll never mess with that shit again.”

“I promise. I promise.” He said, taking your hand in his trembling ones, and kissing it after each promise.

“Thank you. Thank you, amore mio. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” he wept. “I love you.” He professed, not even expecting the sentiment to be returned.

“I love you too, Terzo.” you replied. “We’ll get through this together.”

❥

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You reassured Terzo, standing in the waiting room of the large treatment facility. Truthfully, you were reassuring yourself just as much as you were him. You knew he would come back, physically, but you were worried he still wouldn’t come back Terzo. Your husband that you missed dearly. The man who made you laugh, who made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, showed you things about the world you didn’t even know were possible. You were anxious to be separated from him, and anxious for his stay, praying he would have a positive and beneficial experience.

“Very soon. I love you so much, tesoro.” He said, leaving you with a quick kiss on the lips, something he hadn’t done in ages.

That night, as you entered your quarters, a lonely feeling began to sink in. Even though Terzo had been a menace recently, you couldn't help but miss him. You almost went to pour yourself a glass of wine, quickly realizing that wasn't an option in your current location. It felt a little ironic considering you had just dropped your husband off at a rehabilitation center, but you really needed a break. You decided to send a text to the one other person you knew you could count on.

"hey, would you wanna have a glass of wine?"

"Yes please"

And within a few minutes, you heard a knock at your door. You paced over and opened it, and were faced with none other than Terzo's half-brother, Copia, a bottle of wine in hand.

"Please, take a seat." You welcomed him, gesturing to the couch.

There was an awkward silence from both of you, as you weren't quite sure how to tackle the topic at hand.

"So what did Terzo tell you before I came?" you asked, pouring him a glass of wine.

"Well, he texted me very early this morning to meet him in his office at 11, and that Sister Imperator and the other brothers would be there. He did not say anything else until we got there. He was clearly in distress, and then, just- word vomit. He told us he'd been struggling recently and that last night was bad. But he couldn't remember what happened, he only knew something went wrong when he woke up and saw what a disaster the place was. He told me he needed help and he couldn't bear to hurt you ever again."

You nodded.

And in the blink of an eye, you and Copia realized you had a bit more wine than you initially intended, experiencing the highs and lows of drunkenness: the serious conversations, existential and solemn, and the silly things, laughing and holding onto your stomachs as you struggled to sit upright. On his way out, you thanked him,

"Thank you, Copia. It was nice to spend some time with you, you saved my life tonight. Goodnight."

"No worries, Y/N. Always a pleasure." he said, waving goodbye as he exited your quarters.

You checked the clock. 3 am. Damn, it was late. You walked into your room to get changed into some pajamas and as you opened the drawer, made a shocking discovery. Your clothes were folded just the way you liked them. The only other person who knew of this preference was Terzo.

So he was the one who cleaned up the place.

Rummaging through the drawer, you noticed a small piece of paper underneath a pair of shorts, with handwriting on it belonging to no other than your husband.

Amore Mio,

I find it difficult to express my gratitude for you in words throughout any language. So I am going to do so with my actions, my progress, and my dedication. I am going to get better. And even on the harder days that are bound to come, when I don't feel like it is worth it, I will think of you. And you are always worth it. You are a blessing, the greatest gift Satanas has ever brought me. There is no title I long for more than that of being your lover, and I will wear it with pride for as long as I live and even after I have passed on. I owe everything to you. You are the most compassionate person I have ever known, stayed with me by my side even when I am at my lowest. You piece me back together, make me whole again, even when I am shattered and I feel unfixable. Thank you. Not just for helping me, but for being you. That brings me more joy than anything. Focus on yourself for these next few weeks while I am gone. I will see you very soon, cara mia.

I love you so much.

-Terzo

You fell asleep with that note under your pillow that night, like a little girl making a desperate wish, hoping a magical being would visit you and make his words come true.

❥

Before you knew it, 28 days flew by. During those 28 days, you found yourself forming new relationships with people you least expected. His brothers, Copia especially, became your rock during his absence, listening to you cry, rant, or simply giving you a laugh. You found out that the brothers all shared the same humor, though some hid it more than others. They made you feel closer to Terzo despite his distance. You also found out that Sister Imperator had a caring heart, and was able to provide you with thoughtful insight during your times of need.

Terzo sent you many letters. 28, to be exact. You smiled each time you received a purple envelope in the mail, your name written in his distinguishable handwriting. He told you about the things he processed in group therapy as well as one-on-one counseling. The facility sounded like a very nurturing environment, one he had needed for some time, containing lots of opportunities and activities. You got to call him a few times a week as well, and as time progressed, you heard his voice grow lighter and lighter over the phone. You heard his laugh for the first time in what felt like centuries when he told you about “Equestrian therapy” and a particularly rude horse who wanted nothing to do with him. Although it sounded silly, that moment was so magical, and you felt a joy you had been deprived of for quite some time. You were so impacted that you wanted to drive to the facility and shake the horse’s hoof, personally thanking it for its impact. But instead of praising the horse, you praised your husband, providing him words of encouragement and love as he powered through the ups and downs of the treatment process.

“Thank you for being my everything. I miss you, amore mio. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.” He’d say at the end of each conversation before he had to hang up.

To that, you responded, “You don’t have to thank me. I miss you too, Terzo. I love you. Goodbye.

Those 4 weeks weren’t just about Terzo’s healing, they were about your healing as well. There was no doubt that though his issues with addiction were a battle within his own mind and body, they scarred you as well. You scheduled several extra meetings with your therapist to work through your trauma, as well as discussing options regarding couples’ counseling, which Terzo agreed to.

Before you knew it, the twenty-eight days had passed, and you were driving to the treatment center to pick up your husband. You walked into the common space, gazing around the room to find Terzo. And there he was.

He looked so much better. So much better. He looked clean and well-kept, the color in his face had returned, his posture improved, and he was smiling.

Immediately, you dropped your purse and sprinted towards him, a reaction so triumphant people might think you hadn’t seen him in years. You crashed into his strong arms, holding him tighter than you had ever held anything or anyone in your entire life. There you two stood, in the middle of the building, while you wept into his chest, not caring who heard you.

You pulled away from the hug, and placed your hands on each side of his face. Your heart was pieced back together again once you saw the glimmer in his eyes had returned.

“You’re back.” You whispered. “You’re back.”

“Yes, I am. I wouldn’t be without you. Thank you for being my everything. I missed you, amore mio. I love you.” he said, similar to what he had ended your phone calls with, except this time, there was no goodbye.

There he was.

Terzo was back.

And he was there to stay.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

AAAAA😭 i’m so glad we have a happy ending now!!! if you take anything from this let it be that even though addiction and mental health issues in general feel impossible to deal with, it is possible to get better! you are not defined by your mental illness and you are a good person!!! don’t be afraid to reach out for help because so many people love and care for you! (including me!) more fics coming soon, the next one coming up is super fluffy (there is a new addition to the emeritus family!!!) and the one after will be one of two soft terzo/reader fics im working on 🥺❤️ and another copia fic im thrilled to get to work on! thank you so much for reading, it seriously means the world, you all make me feel a little less alone in this weird world. i love you! 🤍, alice

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa emeritus #papa terzo #papa emeritus x reader #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader

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