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#when they were “saved” temporarily

so-bitya · 1 month

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thinking about how many characters are older brother coded towards o!ciel compared to how r!ciel was stubborn about only having one brother. the way that o!ciel has a more open attitude and befriends people in unconventional ways gives us a glance into his lonely childhood and how much he wanted to connect to others back then.

opposed to r!ciel who had to draw that line, who was served up to noble society at a young age, who never knew who he could trust, holding onto tightly to the people he considers his. because he was being served up as a meal! it was him meeting baron kelvin and other nobles presumably that got them so interested in him, and they devoured him first chance they got!

#thinking about the different reactions oc and rc gave #when they were “saved” temporarily #or how oc pretends he doesnt want friends despite letting his guard down around them #and rc deliberately keeps a strict distance towards everyone even his allies #kuro #o!ciel #r!ciel #b.txt

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oseike · 9 months

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The way Kim Dokja tells the world he isn't going to save anyone in his one press release, making himself probably wildly unpopular in the moment.

Then he saves everyone at the cost of himself. And when kimcom leaves to save him, by the time they get back, the public has banded together and built a statue to celebrate his return.

Someone (I would imagine Anna Croft) has turned public opinion in favor of Kim Dokja during those 20 years, to the point they see him as a hero. Honestly, it would also be the truth; Demon King of Salvation really did give salvation for everyone.

#it may have started before kimcom left actually #due to how public the group regression plan was #it's likely people who didn't know kdj at least heard of him at that time #and once he was at the center of attention #it wouldnt be too hard to start sharing the full story of what happened at the Ark #kdj refusing to let the constellations abandon the world line is the epitome of saving everyone #and to do it he was transformed temporarily into an outer god #aka tentacled body....aka squid. that should be why a squid statue ended up next to his own lmaoooo #this is only mentioned in passing but that statue means so much with regards to how the world sees kdj now #i wonder if there were fans around the world praying for him to get better after he collapsed #or if any were left to do it again 20 years later when kimcom returned and kdj was no better #just what was kdj's effect on the greater world i wonder #orv #orv spoilers

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k9wa · 5 days

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⟁ PLUMMET. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — “swoopin’ in to save me again, sugar plum?”

⚠︎ mechanic!reader (but it isn’t really relevant), i saw boothill trailer and ran to google docs, gn reader (ma’am used once at the end) wc 1k.

“your bounty has been completed!”

boothill could feel the explosion of the ship, even from the distance he was and against the strong winds from his high speed fall. a rush of heat slapped him in the face, leaving a thorough hunger in his gut temporarily quelled.

“how would you like to land?”

the cyborg kept his hat fastened to his head with his palm against the top, eyes briefly glancing down to the city below he was slowly getting closer to plumetting down into.

“…good question.”

the ground was steadily approaching, even if it was gonna take him a solid second or two to actually reach it. he’d never tested if his body could withstand smacking against concrete from— give or take— six thousand feet in the air, but he had a small hunch today wasn’t the day to try his luck. becoming a blue splat on the pavement wasn’t exactly in the cards of his itinerary.

boothill’s eyes looked left, looked right, fingers twirling the rope on his belt. he doubted it’d do much to really help, but it was a start nonetheless.

he eventually came up with an idea— a totally foolproof idea. loop his rope around one of the street lights when he got close enough, avoid hitting the ground, swing himself back up into the air, and land safe and sound on…wherever the hell he managed to land. hopefully on his feet.

super simple, super easy. lightwork.

and so he eyed the ground, wrapping one end of his rope taught around his right palm, his left getting the momentum of the other end ready in a smooth swinging motion.

“c’mon now boothill,” he muttered to himself, voice thoroughly drowned out by the wind. “ain’t nothin’ but a lil’ repositionin’.”

he kept falling, getting closer,

closer…

almost there…

boothill readied his hand to swing, but the motion quickly became unnecessary when something— or rather, someone— grabbed his wrist, and he was pulled upward with a shocked ‘muddle—!’ before he could test the success rate of his plan.

the cowboy snapped his head up, hat nearly tipping off his head. he was hung like a ragdoll from his arm, feet dangling down below him as his eyes met his apparent saviours—

of course.

boothill’s sharp teeth slowly shone in a wide grin, loud and scruffy laugh echoing into the still rather open air around him. because who else would it have been besides you, your brows slightly furrowed at him from the safety of your little hoverboard he remembered you tinkering with just a couple days ago.

“well fudge me!” he’d slap his knee if the position allowed. “look who it is— ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

boothill reached up for your other hand, you wordlessly met him halfway reaching down, leaving both of your fingers locking around the others wrist.

“swoopin’ in to save me again, sugar plum?”

you shake your head with a sigh, hoverboard beginning a steady descent down. it was a little harder to balance with boothill weighing it down, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“you’re lucky,” you half scoff. “i’ve got a sixth sense for you being an idiot.”

boothill’s hearty laugh echoed out again, the wind whipping around you leaving his hair tousled and a little tangled.

“ain’t that the fudgin’ truth,” he jostled your hand a little. he doubted he could really get adrenaline rushes anymore, but this was pretty damn close. “reckon i’d be flatter than a darn hotcake if it weren’t for yer timely intervention!”

his feet touching the ground were a welcome stabilisation, though the cyborg made no move to release your hand— instead he actually broke into a quick sprint, barely giving you the time to pick up your board as he tugged you along.

“you got somewhere to be or somethin’?”

you asked, stumbling a bit before you got your footing to keep up. you were just so cute when you pretended to be all sore with him.

“you bet i do— somewhere that ain’t swarmin’ with those sorry IPC shirtbags!”

it was a fair point— a giant explosion in the sky of one of their own ships made quite the beacon for attention.

running with him wasn’t so bad, at least. his grip around your wrist was surprisingly gentle, and the smell of him filled your nose in the wind as you trailed behind. some citrus, maybe cedar, and an unmistakable lingering of those phosphorus tracer bullets he chewed on so often.

you two dipped around a corner, backed against an old brick wall as some heavy footsteps kept running the other way.

“say, remind me to get’cha a drink later,” boothill gave a small tug to your wrist again, bringing you just a little closer. “as a thanks for all them times y’saved my sorry behind.”

boothill smiled when you chuckled rather than shooing his hand away or giving a smart response.

“you’re gonna have quite the tab going.” you carefully repositioned your hand with his, your fingers lacing together rather than him just holding your wrist. boothill’s eyes could have turned into cartoonish hearts.

“tell ya what,” his hand gave yours a squeeze. “i know a place. it ain’t too far from here, won’t have to worry about no one botherin’ us,” it was quite endearing, the way his voice still held that gentle rasp even as it softened. “i start workin’ off that tab, get a night with you, and heck we’re both winnin’ ain’t we?”

you hummed at that. it didn’t sound so bad.

“alright,” you nodded. “but let’s focus on you not having to gun down another dozen IPC workers first.”

it was your turn to pull him along with a swift tug of his wrist, resuming your sprint just in time to avoid some more heavy footsteps heading in your direction.

“you weren’t pullin’ my leg about that sixth sense, were ya sweetheart?” boothill fell into a natural step behind you.

“consider this added to your tab.”

“yes ma’am!”

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#boothill #boothill x reader #boothill hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail headcanons #boothill honkai star rail #hsr boothill #boothill headcanons #boothill x you #star rail x reader #UNEARTHLY

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notmyneighbor · 2 months

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count ~ 4.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor blood and violence, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You’ve only barely begun to recover from the wrung out feeling of ultimate bliss when you hear it: the warning klaxon, followed by the sound of tires screeching to a halt. The aggressive roar of truck engines. Doors opening in rapid succession. Loud voices and boots pounding on pavement.

The doppelgänger jerks upright, sliding off the bed and wrenching the curtains to one side to peer down at the scene unfolding on the street below. “They’re here,” he says, and for the first time you detect something like fear wafting from the imposter.

A flood of relief washes over you. Someone had alerted the disposal unit. It wasn’t too late to save lives after all.

You search for your discarded clothing, hurriedly sliding the retrieved garments back into place. Francis’ copy looks at you.

“They’ll know you let me in.”

“Yes,” you agree distractedly, hastily shoving the hem of your blouse back beneath the waist of your skirt.

“They’ll know,” he says again, more firmly this time, moving in front of you, one hand closing around the wrist you’ve yet to refasten the shirt cuff upon. “They’ll know about me.”

You stare at him, realization kicking in. The others were safe. You, however, had no such guarantee. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I should. You’re a liability.” His grip on you abruptly relaxes. He’s merely holding you now. “Your organization will punish you for this.”

You shake your head, trying to hastily tuck your hair back into place. “Not once they hear my explanation.”

The intruder scowls. “What defense will you offer? You knowingly let a replicant into your precious building.”

“I…” Your confidence wavers as you begin to consider how your actions will appear. He’s right. There’s no excuse for what you’ve done. You’ve not only failed at your assigned task, you’ve betrayed your own kind. An unforgivable crime.

He seems to read the slight panic on your features, his voice gentling. “Suppose we make a deal,” he says.

You look at him warily. “What kind of deal?”

“I make it look like you were attacked while you tried to fend me off. Make up some doppelgänger appearance when they ask you. Don’t tell them about Francis’ death. You get to live. I get to go down the fire escape, avoiding extinction.”

A life for a life, in essence. The elevator was temporarily disabled the second the alarm was pushed, but it won’t take the team long to sweep each floor. You were running out of time.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He turns your arm over so the underside is exposed, thumb pressing firmly just below the hollow of your elbow. “This will hurt,” he cautions. The only warning you get before you see it: that thing inside of the milkman breaking through, emerging. A sickly gray-green digit topped with a sharp yellow claw. He drags it right through the fabric of your shirt, right through your skin. It burns. A blossoming line of red appears, your lifeforce weeping out of the laceration. You feel lightheaded and nauseous.

“Don’t look at it. And don’t let it get on the carpet. We need to leave, now.” He steps back into the milkman’s shoes, not even bothering with the laces. You follow him to the front door, exiting the apartment. Locked again. You hear voices echoing in the stairwell, the heavy tred of the suited disposal unit pounding on the steps.

“Remember what I said.” The imitation’s knuckles graze your cheek, the touch almost tender. The injured arm cradled against your chest is throbbing. “I’m going to knock you out. It will help further disguise what happened.” The voices are getting louder. They’ve finished on the second floor, making their way to the third. The doppel’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, his mouth brushing yours hurriedly before your head is slammed against the wall, sending you hurtling into a void of darkness.

***

There is a debriefing after the incident.

No casualties. The residents were safe, excluding Francis, of course. You have a lie ready to account for his sudden absence. You say you’d heard him mention something about an emergency visit to a sick relative in a neighboring city as he’d dashed out the front door earlier that day. A phone call to his employer wouldn’t match this story, of course. You weren’t sure what family the man even had. None that would corroborate your fabrication, certainly. You were just hoping that your claim about him needing to leave abruptly very early in the morning without contacting anyone was convincing enough. It’s all you can think of on the spur of the moment.

The director, a severe looking middle aged man, frowns over the lenses of his glasses at you. You keep your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your stitched wound is slowly healing, the ache now a sort of dull throbbing that you’re consciously aware of from time to time. No apparent signs of infection, the surrounding skin clear.

“Your track record, up until now, has been impeccable.” The older man’s voice brings you out of your reverie.

“Yes, sir.” It’s true. For six months you’d performed your role as doorman perfectly. Never failing to detect a single doppelgänger. Protecting the innocent.

“Still, this is not a transgression that can simply be overlooked. The consequences of your misjudgment could have been dire.”

You’d stated that you’d realized the person requesting entrance was really a copy only after the door had been opened, catching an error on the paperwork at the last minute. Intervening, attempting to stall the intruder. Injured and knocked unconscious. You knew nothing more after that.

“It’s suspicious that none of this alleged false documentation has been retrieved at the site. Strange also that you’d been carried all the way to the third floor. We also have no record even remotely matching the description of the doppel you’ve given. How do you account for these discrepancies?”

“The replicant stated they were a new resident moving in to the vacant apartment on the third floor. It seemed plausible that there hadn’t been a chance for them to be featured on the day’s list yet. It’s hardly the first time someone’s name hasn’t been placed as it should be. The subtly incorrect DDD logo was the tip off I unfortunately picked up on too late, sir.” You pause, clearing your throat. There is virtually no moisture left in your mouth and you find it suddenly parchment dry. It’s difficult to speak, your nerves betraying you. “The replicant must have taken the paperwork with them in order to conceal the evidence. And I was knocked out immediately after being cut. I don’t remember anything after that.”

His lips press into a thin line. Your force yourself to maintain eye contact. This was your explanation and you could not falter. “Even so. You failed to follow protocol. And you failed to contact the disposal team.”

“There wasn’t time to dial the phone number. Not even time to sound the alarm. I simply reacted on instinct. I was hoping to…”

“To what? What did you think you would accomplish? You, a mere unarmed woman?” He drapes the last word in contempt. You flush, squirming in your seat at the insult.

The suited man sighs heavily, closing your file folder. “You’re going to be suspended without pay for one week. Then I expect you to return to work. Your temporary replacement is…less than ideal. Let me be clear, though: if anything else happens, you’ll be terminated. No debriefing. No excuses. Understood? This is your final warning.”

You nod, saving your sigh of relief for when you’ve exited the office. The air departs your lungs in a loud rush. You’d done it. You’d actually managed to talk your way out of it.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Francis’ doppelgänger.

He was out there, somewhere. The safest move would be to travel, to just flee the area entirely, but you doubt he’ll leave. He’s still here.

You can feel him.

***

You drive to your house, to the home of your childhood. An inheritance from your great grandparents, passed down through each generation. Outside of the city. Quiet. It’s a relief to see green again. The air smells clearer, too. No waste from factory smokestacks or concentrated exhaust from automobiles. A light scent of grass and summer wildflowers. You roll your window down, inhaling deeply. It’s the best you’ve felt in a while. Since before the incident.

Francis. Your good mood departs just as quickly as it had arrived. How terrible a person you are. Lying to save your own skin. To protect the doppelgänger that had killed your beloved milkman. Putting innocent lives at risk. You had no right to feel anything even resembling happiness or contentment. You should turn the car right back around and return to the office. Confess your sins and receive whatever punishment would be decided for you. Imprisonment, certainly. Perhaps a life sentence to match the life that had been stolen from the third floor resident.

You trudge up the steps of the porch, sinking down onto the topmost stair, your head resting against the post of the railing. There are strips of paint peeling, you notice. You’ll need to sand them down before you apply more stain. Something to occupy you during your week off. Distract you from your own misery.

You close your eyes and listen to the hum of insects. There is another scent in the air now; something damp. The sky’s clouds were white and fluffy looking, but you know those can change in an instant. You think there is a storm approaching.

Perhaps you will wait it out. Just rest here and see what happens, studying your surroundings. There are birds singing in the vacant field that hasn’t known crops for many seasons. You only tended a much smaller one close to the house. Some vegetables. That was all. More often than not the local wildlife took a sample, but you didn’t mind sharing. You should have a look before you head back inside later on, see if there is anything to harvest.

It’s comfortable here. The sun is at the perfect angle. You still have plenty of shade. Warm enough to warrant rolling your shirt sleeves back. Catching sight of the scabbed, sutured line marring your forearm. You trace the mark. You think about the copycat tracing your cheek. That final kiss before he’d knocked you unconscious. It made so little sense to let you live. Had some remnant of Francis’ psyche influenced him somehow? Urging him to spare you?

Your eyes slide closed and you drift off to sleep still mulling this over.

***

In the dream you are standing in the nearby orchard.

You know it is a dream, because in reality these fruit trees are no longer tended. Yet here you are, standing beneath the crooked branches of one peach bearing specimen. The many smooth emerald leaves shield you from the sun.

Francis is beside you.

Or not-Francis. You cannot say which it is. The smile is as you remember. The perpetually tired eyes. He reaches for one of the velvet skinned fruits, plucking it easily and handing it to you.

The texture is exactly as it should be. Not too firm and not too soft. Ripe and ready to take a bite from. You do so, your teeth sinking into the soft yellow flesh. A burst of sweetness on your tongue. The excess juice drips down your chin. You offer the peach to the milkman but he doesn’t accept, instead moving to take a taste of it from your face, first doting on your lips before he laps at the dribbling trail. You clutch his shirt and his kisses become rougher. Pushing you gently to the ground. You drop the fruit and your hands become full of his shirt, his hair, the soft earth beneath you. His mouth plants kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Hand dragging down through the floral patterned button front dress you’re wearing.

“Francis.” You reach for his face. It’s wrong. Something in the structure of the nose. So subtle it could easily be mistaken. The teeth suddenly bared in a smile that’s unfriendly. A grin of triumph. It isn’t Francis. You’ve been duped by an imposter.

The skin ripples. His eyes become bloodshot. You struggle to move. Your wrists are pinned at your sides. Sharp teeth nipping at the skin of your throat. A wolf ready to destroy its prey.

The thunder awakens you.

You jolt upright, massaging your stiff neck as you glance around hurriedly. The sky is a mass of gray clouds now, the natural illumination of the heavens notably dimmed. The air is laced with the scent of petrichor. You rise and the first drops of rain fall, pattering on your bare arms, sinking into you hair. Another disgruntled warning rumble, louder this time. The interval between that and the next shortening. You’re about to turn and enter the house when you see a figure standing nearby, on the outskirts of the side yard.

It’s him. The imposter that took over Francis.

The normally pristine, starched uniform is dirt stained, collecting souvenirs from the unpaved road leading to your house. The bowtie around his neck is loosened, draped around the unbuttoned shirt collar, the first several buttons of that work shirt similarly unfastened, revealing the white undershirt beneath. He’d never bothered retrieving the hat, the uncovered thatch of thick chestnut hair now tousled. Your fingers curl around the railing for support as he begins walking towards you with determined strides, closing the distance rapidly. The thunderstorm’s namesake harbinger sounds again. A flash of lightning. The rain is no longer a faint scattering of drops, now falling in an earnest deluge.

You both manage to escape being drenched, finding shelter beneath the porch roof in the knick of time, the imposter halting just in front of you. His chest is rapidly rising and falling, as if that brief exercise he’d just participated in was taxing him. You know that’s not the reason for those panted gasps for air, your own body mimicking that movement.

“Francis,” you say, but the name is drowned out by the growing ire of the storm.

He moves then, pressing you against the weathered clapboards near the living room window that overlooks the front yard. He cups your face between his hands and his lips crush yours. You respond without hesitation, kissing him back. Not giving yourself time to think about what you’re doing; to recall the dream you’d just had where you’d been destroyed by one of his kind.

“How did you find me?” You gasp when you part for air.

This utterance is barely audible, threaded between the next two bouts of thunder, muffled by the sound of the downpour. He slides his fingers against the harsh furrow on your arm. “I could sense where you were. Tracked you…” The words drowned out once again. His mouth moves close to your ear. “What did you say to them? What happened?”

“They bought it, for the most part, I think. The director is suspicious, though. I got suspended for a week.”

Another flash of lightning. It was foolish to remain outside any longer. You invite him in, struggling to fit the key in the lock, your trembling fingers not cooperating. His hand closes over yours, steadying you. The door surrenders, swinging inward.

It’s dark in the living room. You switch on the nearest lamp and toss your keys on the table.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know if you still do that, or…” It was unknown what the doppelgängers consumed for nutrition. Perhaps it would be different now that they could occupy a human body and not merely disguise themselves as one.

“I do. But that can wait.”

“Did you know that would happen? You being able to trace my whereabouts when you cut me?”

“No. It’s uncharted territory. Like so much of…this,” he murmurs.

“You need to call Francis’ workplace. Explain to them that there was a family emergency. That’s the excuse I gave for the sudden absence. The DDD has been looking for you. Well, for him,” you correct yourself.

“They’ll expect me to return at some point.”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll let me in. To dwell there. And what of my brethren?”

“I can’t let them in. You know that.” You swallow nervously. “You can’t harm anyone. If I let you inside, you have to promise me you won’t. You got what you wanted. You got to be one of us. There’s no reason to hurt anyone else.”

A large clap of thunder makes you jump. The doppelgänger moves closer to you, tipping his head to one side thoughtfully. “You think I’ll cooperate?”

“We had a deal. I let you escape. I lied to protect you.”

“And I let you live. Both ends of the bargain fulfilled. There is no obligation beyond that.”

“You don’t want to hurt me.”

“Are you quite sure of that?” One arm circles your waist, drawing you against him. His fingers sift through your hair, tugging your head back slightly. “These hungers for the flesh are so distracting. How your kind manages them…” His voice trails off and his lips touch yours.

The light flickers and dies. You’ve lost electricity, now standing in the darkened room cradled by the deceiver.

“<i>The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep</i>…”

You inhale sharply, thinking of the Bible on Francis’ nightstand. Reading scripture like any good devout soul, learning verses by heart. That memory resurfacing now.

“Francis.” You know it’s no longer him, not in his purest, human essence, but this evolution still holds traces like this that you can’t help but hold dear.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” His hands slide down over the curve of your buttocks as he kisses the corner of your jaw. You guide him towards the nearby couch, watching him sink into the cushions before you climb into his lap, your shoes sliding off and falling to the hardwood floor. You run your fingers through his hair, your mouth ravaging his. It’s the parts of Francis that you love that you’re adoring, you tell yourself. Not the pretender, but the fragments of the man inside he still carries with him. That is what your fingers caress and your mouth cherishes. You unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, then reach for the belt buckle, jerking the leather strap free from the metal, all while your lips and tongue work in a frenzy over his.

The rain and the thunder becomes white noise, a nearly muted sound in the background as you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper, the metal teeth parting to reveal white briefs. You touch his erection through that thin material, feeling the hard, thick line of it and he hisses, then groans somewhere near your neck.

“Yes, love, that’s what I need…”

You shove your hand beneath the elastic waistband and you make contact with feverish flesh. Another groan from the imposter. You sweep over the head of his cock, realizing he’s circumcised, smoothing leaking precum over the dome before you wrap your fingers around the shaft and begin stroking up and down. He moans into your mouth. It’s not the best angle, your hand a bit squashed awkwardly between your bodies. You slide off his thighs to sit beside him, never breaking contact, still pumping his prick, rolling your fingers over the crest as you reach the top, thumb dragging over the frenulum with each pass. Your tongue dances over his and you feel the arousal leaking from your own sex, soaking your panties.

Another glob of clear fluid oozes from the tip and your mouth waters. You want to taste it. Want to feel him in your mouth.

Your lips abandon his and he frowns, confused until he sees your head bowing over his lap, your body shifting as you engulf his turgid member. Another hissing sound of pleasure as the slightly musky flavor hits your taste buds. You haven’t fully taken him inside yet, only reaching close to halfway, applying suction as you move across that shallow expanse, allowing yourself to become accustomed to the length and girth of him. His fingers touch your head, not applying force, just resting there. You release his cock with a wet popping sound, stroking your saliva over his erection before taking him into your mouth again. You push deeper this time, forcing your lips closer to the base of his cock, to the nest of dark pubic hair. Your throat protests and you gag, the fingers on your head now tightening, pressing, urging you on.

“Sweet girl, that’s it, you can take it. All the way. Fuck.” The curse is something you’d never imagine coming from the milkman’s lips, but you find yourself aroused by it, the depravity of what you’re doing erotic. Your head bobs, dipping lower each time, eliciting an obscene wet squelching sound as his prick collides with your throat. There’s a higher pitch to his sounds of pleasure now. His hips lift to meet you, shoving him in as deep as he can reach while your nostrils flare, searching for a greater air supply.

Your nails dig into this thigh. The loosened belt buckle jingles with each thrust into that moist cavity you’ve provided. The fingers in your hair loosen, allowing you a brief respite. You withdraw and cough. A thick trail of saliva connects your lower lip to his glistening cock. Your fingers massage through the slick and he hums appreciatively. Your lips feel slightly numb, tingling from the stretch. There’s a burning sensation in your abused throat, a soreness when you swallow. But the discomfort is bearable. You want to do this. You want him to feel good.

You suck in a lungful of air and then begin again. You hear the replicant’s breathing becoming shallower, more rapid. He’s getting close. You redouble your efforts, moving fast and deep.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to make me…it’s so fucking good…”

His hips snap up and an acrid spill of semen floods your throat. It catches you by surprise and you choke around the pulsing erection. It’s a copious amount of seed that spills over your retreating tongue. You swallow down the last of the bitter fluid, straightening, dragging the back of your hand across your spit drenched chin.

“That was…you…” The creature is speechless. You can’t help but feel a little pride over that. He captures your lips, mulling over the taste he’s left there. “I want to taste you,” he says, and your pussy throbs. “I want you to cum inside my mouth.”

He moves off the couch, kneeling in front of you. Shoving at your skirt. You hurriedly hook your thumbs over the edge of your panties and drag them down, feeling how wet the crotch is as they drag across your legs. Scooting closer to the edge, spreading yourself open for him.

His face moves forward and his tongue parts your folds. Laving down to gather a sample of your arousal. Humming with approval at the taste of you as he focuses on your clit. A long, slow drag over the sensitive nub. You whimper. His thumbs wedge along either side of your sex, stretching the pink flesh further open. His mouth covers your cunt and he sucks and your thighs try to close, the sensation overwhelming.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re delicious.” Slurping on your clit now. You thread your fingers through his hair, caressing his head as his tongue flicks across the hooded button. He doesn’t need guidance this time. Everything is the way you like it. Dividing attention between your clitoris and the entrance of your pussy. Pushing that muscle inside, fucking you with his tongue, alternating with lapping at your bundle of nerve endings. You wish it wasn’t quite so dark. You want to see his eyes. You know he’s looking at you even if he can’t discern much in the dim gray light filtering in through the windows. Watching your reaction even as he feels it in his mouth. Hears the pleading, the needy gasps and moans, the whining that begins the closer you get to coming apart in his mouth.

He moans, too, and the vibrations of that sound add another layer to your pleasure. A finger makes its way inside you. Violated by a second soon after, thrusting while he sucks your clit. You climax, panting his name over and over, your fingers frantic in his hair, your pelvis quaking as your grind yourself against him.

Eventually your movements lessen. He eases back and your quivering legs draw closed. He rejoins you on the couch, his mouth on yours, gifting you a taste of yourself.

Then you sit quietly, listening to the diminishing storm outside. The rain drums on the roof and taps along the gutters with a soft metallic sound. Your face is tucked into the doppel’s shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his arm curled around your shoulders.

You shouldn’t enjoy this. Any of this. You should be afraid, disgusted. Instead you feel oddly calm. Safe in his arms, even though you certainly aren’t. These alien beings were masters of deception and manipulation. You know better. It was foolish, what you were doing. Dangerous—for you, for everyone else.

But you’re convinced more than ever that some part of Francis is still buried within. The goodness of him negating the evil of this imposter.

“I’ll make the call in the morning.” The first words spoken in a long time. Your head lifts. “And I’ll move in to the apartments.”

“Just you. And you won’t harm anyone.”

“You ask for too much.”

“I’m giving up everything for you. Risking my job, my life, the lives of the people I’ve sworn to protect. My heart. My soul,” you finish with a whisper. “I don’t think you understand how many things I’m sacrificing.”

“I’m not human. It’s impossible for me to. There are no words for them in our language because they simply don’t exist.”

“But you want to be us. You should understand…”

“I will make the call and I will move in. Beyond that I am not promising you anything. Except…I do not want you harmed.” He reaches for your arm, tracing over the healing wound he’d inflicted. “I will try to prevent that, at least.”

A small concession, perhaps, but an important one nonetheless. If he was willing to spare you, maybe you could convince him to spare others.

Teach him the value of a human life while taming the monster within that wears the face of the man you love.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor

1K notes · View notes

togenabi · 7 months

Text

the promised knight

knight!roronoa zoro x princess!reader

♡— after a lifetime apart, zoro finds his way back to you

word count♡— 8.7k (screams into the void)

genre♡— royalty au, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, slow burn bc a lot of things happen, but there's fluff bc I need there to be

content notes♡— fem!reader wears dresses, mentions of death and grief, very plot heavy, kuina and mihawk are here, canon-typical violence, original side characters, no use of y/n, proofread(ish), inaccurate royalty things, inaccurate chemistry/poisons/acids, yes I got the name florentia from ill be the matriarch

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— quick explanation!: a regent has no right to the throne, they're just someone stepping in temporarily while the next monarch is absent or unable to execute their powers. happy reading!!

Your happiest years were when everyone was together.

Those were the days you’d sneak out of your lessons to go play in the training grounds. You’d find your best friends arguing about something or other, fighting with wooden swords and chasing each other around.

Kuina and Zoro did their best to include you in whatever game they were playing. You found it all good fun, even if you were mostly being rescued or hidden away somewhere. The proud smiles on their faces when they saved you always made the wait for them worth it.

“Why do I have to play the bad guy?” A young Zoro whines, frowning deeply with shoulders slumped. His wooden sword hangs lazily in his hand, pointed to the ground.

Opposite him, Kuina’s blade was up, stable and correct with proper posture. “Because we agreed I would save the princess today!”

You remember sending Zoro a small smile, trying to reassure him, “You can save me next time, Zoro. I promise.”

Zoro complained, but gave his all acting as a bandit out to rob you. You and Kuina would run into the meadow—hands held in each other’s—squealing and laughing. You’d always end up collapsed together; among the grass and the flowers. They would cheer and scream into the sky, happy that the great knights protected their princess once again.

But that same meadow is now covered with a blanket of melancholy. The colors aren’t as vibrant as they were back then. Flowers no longer bloom like they did. The children’s laughter has been replaced by a deafening silence.

Everything changed when Kuina died.

She was hit by a stray arrow, they said. They called it a tragic accident.

More sadness only seemed to follow after she was gone. Zoro left without a word, abandoning his training, and you along with it. Your mother, Queen Florentia, passed due to an illness a few months after that. In a blink of an eye, you lost everything back then.

The large doors to your chambers slam shut, breaking you from your train of thought. The thud echoes into every corner before fading into noiselessness once more.

A maid rushes in, completely out of breath and practically stumbling towards you. “Your Highness!” She gasps. Waving a hand, you gesture for her to calm down.

“Selma,” You pour her some water in a glass. It’s strange to see your personal maid so distressed. “What did you find?”

Practically inhaling the water, she places a hand over her heart before explaining, “You were right, Your Ladyship. The commander informed me that several knights had poison hidden in their quarters.”

Her eyes trail to the glass she’s holding, then to the pitcher. Selma’s face becomes appalled as it sinks in that you had poured her a drink. You cut her off before she can make a fuss about it.

“Never mind all that.” There are more pressing matters than decorum right now. “What else did Mihawk say? Have the knights been apprehended?”

“No, my Lady.” Selma retrieves a transparent vial from her pocket. “The commander said there's a chance the poisons were planted. Trustworthy men could have been framed… He discourages you from trusting any of them at all.”

The vial is small, barely larger than your thumb. To an untrained eye, it looks like nothing is there. You hold it up to the window, letting the sun’s setting rays shine through the glass.

There it is. A near-invisible, lavender sheen in liquid. The queen regent’s signature poison.

“Damn it all.” You sigh, falling into an armchair.

It’s common knowledge that most of the people are loyal to Queen Regent Cassiopeia. Not to you, the rightful heir to the throne.

Ever since she took the position after your mother’s death, she’s been doing everything in her power to discredit you. Though she's not in the official line of succession, her goal is to become queen by any means necessary.

You’ve only been able to hold on for so long because there are still people loyal to your mother, like Commander Mihawk. However, it will take only one slip up for your standing to collapse. Cassiopeia knows this, and you suspect that she plans to completely ruin you at the upcoming knighting ceremony.

On a paneled wall in your room, encased in an ornate golden frame, hangs a portrait of Queen Florentia. The gold reminds you of the gilded dagger she gave you as a child.

Subconsciously, your hand moves to rest over your pocket; where the dagger is hidden under your skirt. What would your mother have done in this situation?

You scan the painting as if the image would respond. It doesn’t, but your eyes settle on the necklace she’s wearing. It was her most prized possession, and she had promised to give it to you when you were older, but it’s sadly lost to time.

The vial grows heavy in your fist. Your mother would stop at nothing until Cassiopeia is defeated, so that’s what you’ll set out to do.

“Selma, get me some ink and parchment.” You order, feeling more determined. “I have a plan.”

Dracule Mihawk burned the note as soon as he finished reading it. Your idea was brilliant, if only a little complicated to execute.

Cassiopeia will demand you choose a personal knight during the ceremony. Assuming all the knights are loyal to the queen regent, none of them would be a safe choice.

So, you asked Mihawk to hire a skilled fighter to pose as a knight. Someone whose loyalty cannot be bought. Immediately, he knew who to recruit. Though he warned you that you might not find the man… agreeable.

“I don’t care.” You replied stubbornly. “I can’t afford to be picky. Just make sure that he won’t kill me in my sleep.”

Mihawk muses that he might be killed by you in his sleep. Because in a shady, run-down tavern, he sits beside a familiar green-haired swordsman nursing a drink at the bar.

“Fancy seeing you here, commander.” Zoro spits out the title in disgust.

“It seems that some things never change.” Mihawk hums. “You’re still in the same place as you were when we last fought.”

“And your legend ends with you kissing up to that false queen.” Disappointment practically drips from his tone.

“And here you are,” There’s an amused glint in the knight commander’s eye. “...still not able to beat me, Roronoa Zoro.”

Zoro’s jaw clenches in frustration. He breathes out deeply, “What do you want, old man?”

“Join my knights.”

Scoffing, Zoro can’t believe his ears. Is this guy serious? “I’m no knight. Not anymore.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mihawk tests. “The princess needs someone not easily dissuaded.”

At the mention of you, Zoro freezes. He squints at the commander as it dawns on him, “You don’t serve that Cassiopeia bitch.”

“Obviously.”

“But why did you become commander only after Queen Florentia died?” Zoro asks. “Everyone thought you were bought off.”

“That’s besides the point.” Mihawk hisses. “I know you’ve been wanting to make it up to the princess. I’m giving you a chance to do that on a silver platter.”

Zoro stays quiet, eyes watching the alcohol ripple in his glass. He’s not drunk enough for this discussion. And he meant what he said, that he’s not a knight. That dream died with Kuina, and he chose to pursue less honorable ways to become stronger.

It’s funny how Mihawk, who was an outlaw, traded his jacket for a suit of armor. And now, he's trying to act righteous. But some things are just—

“It’s not too late to change things.” Mihawk attempts to persuade him, calmer this time. “Something tells me you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Shaking his head, Zoro can’t believe this man is talking like he knows him. “What do you know about regret?”

When the commander doesn’t respond, Zoro turns to see Mihawk’s face, a grave expression marks his features.

“I know far too much, I’m afraid.”

Zoro studies him for a moment longer, curious as to what he meant—but he doesn’t dare ask. Only an idiot would test Dracule Mihawk.

This master swordsman, whom he’s looked up to for so many years, has changed drastically. Perhaps everyone has. It makes Zoro wonder how much you might’ve changed in the years he’s been gone.

You. He’s—there’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to ask… but does he have the right to?

Who is he kidding? He doesn’t.

And yet, Zoro can’t help but wonder if he passes on this opportunity and regrets it, would he spend the rest of his life wishing he could make up for it?

After downing his drink, Zoro slams the glass on the bar counter.

“What do I need to do?”

Selma assists you with your hair and makeup on the day of the ceremony. She’s practically buzzing as she flutters around you. It’s nice that she’s still enthusiastic about things like these, even when dangers lurk in the shadows.

“You look stunning, Your Ladyship!” She gushes, adjusting the different layers of your dress so that it falls on you perfectly. “A vision, you are. Just like Queen Florentia.”

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, despite not feeling as sure and confident as your mother was. Would that change, if you were to become queen?

A knock sounds on your door. Selma rushes to answer it, and lets Mihawk into your chambers. He steps in, but remains by the entryway.

“You look lovely, princess.” The commander bows to you in greeting. “I was instructed to escort you once you’re ready.”

Nodding, you approach him and hold onto his arm. “Let us be on our way.”

Keeping your face carefully neutral, you whisper to Mihawk under your breath, “Will you really not let me know the knight’s name? How am I supposed to know who to appoint?”

“You’ll know.” Mihawk pats your hand reassuringly. “Without a doubt, you’ll know. I just hope you’re not too hard on him.”

You side-eye him. “He’s not a convict or something, is he?”

Mihawk presses his mouth shut. This bastard, is he trying not to laugh? “You might actually prefer a convict over him.”

That pulls a frown out of you that you cannot contain. What on earth is that supposed to mean? Is the man that bad? How are you supposed to mentally prepare with such vague warnings?

All thoughts of the mystery knight fade into the back of your mind, however, when you and Mihawk make your entrance at the throne room.

The extravagant hall is decorated to the nines. Flags of different family crests hang from the ceiling. Flowers bloom at every window sill. You smile at it all, at your people—but it fails to reach your eyes. It’s difficult to truly smile when Cassiopeia stands dangerously close to your mother’s throne.

You curtsy when you reach the steps, one hand still on Mihawk’s arm as the fabric of your skirt dips onto the floor. You hear murmurs of approval from the ministers in the front row, pleased to see the good relationship between the princess and queen regent.

But they don’t see through your gloves, how your grip on your skirt is tense and far too tight. They don’t see how Cassiopeia’s smile is truly a smirk when you lower your head to her.

“Lovely to have you here, darling.” She says, and you fight the urge to laugh. ‘Lovely’ would be if she accepted her place and let go of her greed.

Mihawk guides you to the smaller throne on the left. This has been your seat since you were born. If Cassiopeia had her way, it would be your seat until the end of your days.

She glides to the center of the dais, the train of her excessive dress flows like a river after her. She stands; graceful, powerful and smiling—but she will never be happy until she can sit on the throne and wear your mother’s crown.

Whatever it takes, you will find a way to stop her.

“Welcome to the long-awaited knighting ceremony.” Cassiopeia addresses the audience. “It is an honor to have the kingdom’s finest pledge to serve and protect us.”

The ceremony proceeds to speeches from several dignitaries. Mihawk delivers a short yet intense declamation about the knightage being the greatest honor; and hands the queen regent an elaborate, bejeweled sword.

“These warriors before us today are hereby called forward to receive Knighthood. The kingdom will forever be grateful for your service.” Cassiopeia proclaims.

Attentively observing the knights lined up, you keep an eye out for the one Mihawk recruited for you. One at a time, Cassiopeia announces their name before tapping their shoulders with the ornamental blade.

You grow restless as the line dwindles. Frustrated, you throw questioning looks at the commander’s direction. He skillfully avoids your gaze. The nerve.

When only about five men are left, you begin to study them all and weigh your options. Perhaps you should pick someone with a smaller build, so that you can have a better chance of escaping? You also spotted someone who appeared clumsy. If you were to outsmart him, your odds of surviving weren’t so bleak.

But then—dramatically, as if in slow motion—the great doors to the throne room opened with a loud, booming sound. Everyone turned as light poured into the hall.

A swordsman makes his entrance. His armor is unassuming, but the three blades at his side demand attention. He wears a helmet over his head, but even after so much time, you’d know those eyes anywhere.

Mihawk was right. You would have preferred a convict—or maybe some rogue, or a thief who would rob you blind. You would have preferred anyone over Roronoa Zoro.

You thought you’d never see him again, but he’s here, marching towards the end of the line. You gape at him, feeling too many emotions all at once. Why is he here? Why now?

Mihawk intercepts Cassiopeia before she can question Zoro’s identity. “Forgive me, queen regent. This young man ran late due to an errand I sent him out on.”

How brilliant of him. Cassiopeia hates unexpected interruptions, but would never express her frustrations openly with so many people watching.

It’s amusing to see her grin and bear it. “That’s… quite alright, commander. I’m glad he made it before the end of the ceremony.”

When only Zoro remains to be appointed, you stand and call for the queen regent’s attention.

“Should he accept, this man shall be my personal knight.” You declare as Zoro’s gaze meets yours.

“What of your decision, knight?” Cassiopeia asks. Zoro nods, and the queen regent’s gaze sharpens. She understands that something is amiss, but passes the decorated blade to you without a word.

Back when you were children, you used to dream of this moment together. Kuina and Zoro would kneel before you on the grass beneath a shining sun, pledging their unwavering loyalty as you tap their shoulders with a stick.

You’re no longer children, but as Zoro kneels before you now, you still feel like a child all the same. Your clothes feel too big. The throne room is too vast; the ceiling too high. The sword is too heavy in your hands as you raise it.

“Roronoa Zoro. I hereby dub thee into the honorable order of knights as my chosen protector.” The blade lands on his shoulder—his right first, then the other. You pray to the stars that no one notices your hold quivering.

“Arise, Sir Zoro, and be recognized.”

You’re no longer children, but you’re still here. Playing a different sort of game.

Mihawk, the wise man that he is, makes himself scarce after the ceremony. You’re left to awkwardly journey back to your chambers with Zoro in tow. He doesn’t speak a word the entire time, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of your head.

Selma is there when you get back, your usual afternoon refreshments prepared. She approaches you, but stops short when she sees Zoro.

“Leave us.” You tell her. She obeys, albeit reluctantly—looking back over her shoulder more than once as she exits.

After the door closes shut, the outside world feels a million miles away; making the air feel tense. You hastily take off your gloves, the fabric suddenly feels constricting against your skin. Every fiber of your being wants to scream at him.

Roronoa Zoro. Your best friend who had left all those years ago. You don’t even know where to start.

Maybe throwing something at him will make you feel better.

You throw one of your gloves. The fabric hits his chest before falling pathetically.

“Seriously?” Zoro frowns at you, unimpressed. You throw the other one. It meets the same fate.

Grumbling under his breath, Zoro takes off his helmet. It vexes you how you subconsciously hold your breath until you see his face.

You huff skeptically, “Why are you here?”

“Mihawk said you needed help.” He answers with a shrug, causing his armor clink.

After a breath, he speaks cautiously, “I didn’t know things had gotten this bad.”

“How could you have known?” You bite back, “You left, Zoro.”

In a sense, you understand why Mihawk chose him. You asked for someone who wouldn’t kill you in your sleep, and Zoro—at least, the one you knew—definitely wouldn’t.

Some (rational) part of your brain is telling you to keep quiet and accept his help. With Cassiopeia planning a mutiny, time is something you don’t have a lot of.

But your heart still feels angry and hurt when you see his—stupidly handsome—face. The years just had to treat him well, didn’t they?

“I’m thankful for your help,” You admit disgruntledly. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Zoro calls your name. It makes your heart ache a bit, but you hold a hand up to silence him.

“Please, just—I need time to process this, Zoro.” Turning away from the knight, your eyes find the window. The sunset paints the meadow in deep oranges and blues. It doesn’t make you feel any better.

“...We’ll talk tomorrow.” You promise, your tiredness evident from your tone.

Zoro lingers, hesitating. But he doesn’t push you. You hear his armor shift as he bows before he leaves.

That night, Zoro stands guard outside your door. It’s good that no one else is around, it allows him to think in peace. About you.

The last time Zoro saw you, you were a small thing, getting dirt on the edge of your skirt. When he saw you today, sullying even the path you walked on felt like a crime.

He knew you would be mad. He had prepared himself to be yelled at. Maybe he thought you would cry. How much you went through didn’t really sink in until he saw how exhausted you were.

All the things he wanted to say, every apology and excuse, fade into nothing. The first thing he wants to tell you is how thankful he is that you’re still alive. It doesn’t matter that you stay mad at him forever, he’ll protect you for just as long.

Footsteps sound through the dim hallway. Zoro rests a hand on his blades, ready to fight back anyone who poses a threat. A knight he’s not acquainted with approaches, his steps staggering just a bit. The man carries a bottle of alcohol.

“Hey! New guy!” The stranger bellows. “This ’ere is a little something we prepared for ya, since yous didn’t eat dinner with us.” Zoro makes a mental note that they’ve been watching him.

“Take it, take it.” The knight tries to shove the bottle into Zoro’s hands. At the last second, Zoro spots a knife the man hides behind his back.

Quick on his feet, Zoro jabs the man’s neck, causing him to stumble. The knight charges at him, but Zoro effortlessly dodges. Grabbing the knight’s shoulder, Zoro slams his head onto the stone wall.

The bottle clatters to the floor as his opponent collapses, looking up at him in fear. Picking up the glass, Zoro sniffs at its contents. It’s laced with some sort of sedative.

Zoro pries the knight’s jaw open before pouring the drugged beverage into his mouth. The amber liquid spills. The man coughs, gurgling and struggling in vain until he slumps onto the ground.

Observing the bottle inquisitively, Zoro shakes his head before dropping it again. What kind of amateurish attempt was this? Is the queen regent testing his skills?

If anything, all this managed to do was—Zoro starts, turning to your door in alarm—…divert his attention.

Not a second later, he kicks down your door. The elaborately carved wood falls from its hinges, dust clouds billow once it crashes on the previously spotless tiles of your room.

You’re fighting off three large strangers clad in black, a dagger in your hand. Zoro tries not to think about how your eyes softened in relief when they landed on him as he cuts down one of the intruders. Maybe you still care for him a little.

“Took you long enough!” Or not.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He grunts back, slashing his sword at someone charging towards you. Zoro only realizes the deeper meaning to his words when you make a face.

“Don’t make being late a habit, Zoro!” Stabbing an intruder’s side, you quip at him, “You and your dramatic entrances, I swear.”

Zoro bites back a grin. He missed you more than you’ll ever know.

After taking down one of the intruders, you hide in your wardrobe as Zoro deals with the rest.

It would be smart to lock the door. Barricade it, so that no one can get to you on the off chance Zoro is defeated. But you don’t. You keep the door ajar to watch everything unfold. The way he fights is a captivating sight.

Look at him. Your knight in lackluster armor. Protecting you like how you always talked about as kids. He’s wielding two blades, one for each perpetrator still standing. You blink in surprise when you make out the third, sheathed blade. Kuina’s.

The more you examine him, the more you see how different he seems. He carries himself more confidently, unlike that boy who whined about roles, responsibilities and challenges.

You also see how gruff he’s become. He’s grown stronger, for sure, but you get the sense that he’s closed himself off from the world. Perhaps the years weren’t as kind to him as you'd thought.

The last intruder lets out a pitiful cry as Zoro knocks him unconscious.

“I’ll tie them up and let Mihawk deal with them in the morning.” Zoro says, pausing to breathe for a moment before dragging the men out by their feet.

Emerging from your wardrobe, you become dismayed at the sight of your room in such a state. “Did you really have to kick down the door?” You groan.

Surprisingly, Zoro blanks, appearing sheepish. “...I didn’t know it would break like that. I just—you should get a damn better door.” He mumbles, heaving the doors up and resting them against the wall outside.

When he comes back from restraining the intruders, he stands before you awkwardly—like he doesn’t know what to do when he’s not fighting or cleaning up bodies.

No one says anything. You both just take each other in, not completely recognizing the person that looks back.

You don’t feel so angry at him anymore. When all’s said and done, everyone has different ways of dealing with grief. Your heart only grows conflicted, wishing you had been there for each other instead of being apart. Goodness knows you could have used someone by your side. You’re sure he did as well.

“I—” Zoro falters. “...I’m glad you’re okay.”

‘Okay’ isn’t how you would describe your current state, but you nod anyway.

“You too, Zoro.”

In a secluded alcove in the royal gardens the following afternoon, you invite Mihawk for tea on the pretense of thanking him for your newly sworn knight. The story that spread was that you would have been done for were it not for Zoro. You don’t want to think about how true that might be.

“The queen regent is furious you were able to secure a knight loyal to you.” Mihawk informs you as he helps himself to some pastries. “We should avoid meeting for a while, lest she suspect anything of me.”

“Alright.” You agree. “Selma also informed me that we can gather statements from mistreated staff.” You show Mihawk a list of names. “If enough of them support us, and if we can prove Cassiopeia orchestrated what happened last night… We can take her down.”

“She will be busy attending a gala this evening. I’ll make sure no one is near her office while she’s gone.” Mihawk turns to Zoro, who is standing guard behind you, sending him a fearsome look. “Those men got a tad too close last night—”

“Mihawk.” You warn him to drop it. He doesn’t.

“Ensure that it doesn’t happen again, young man.”

“It won’t.” Zoro replies icily. The commander only huffs in response.

‘It won't happen.’, he said. But trouble finds you when Zoro steps on a tripwire in Cassiopeia's office. Arrows soar, launching from scattered, hidden contraptions. Zoro shoves you into a bookshelf, covering your frame with his.

“So much for her not finding out we were here.” You remark sarcastically, waiting for him to step back.

But then, as they cage your head, Zoro’s arms tense up. His expression contorts in discomfort.

“...Zoro?” Raising your hands, you cradle the sides of his face.

“Damn arrows,” He growls. “I think they’re poisoned.”

“What?!” You gasp, ducking under his arm to check his back. You find a wound where an arrow grazed his skin. “Of course you get injured when you don’t wear your armor.”

“Why don’t you try sneaking around in that thing, then?” Zoro argues, but you’re startled when the wound begins to bleed.

“We need to get you treated.” Panicking, you grab his arm and pull him along. He doesn’t budge. “Zoro, we should go.”

“No.” He refuses, hissing in pain all the while. “That bitch won’t let us find a way in here again. Let’s just be quick.”

“...Fine.” You cave, still worried, hating that he’s right. “At least stay still, search the desk. I’ll handle everything else.”

Zoro relents, opening every drawer and scanning every document in them. You turn your attention to the shelves, trying to find hidden compartments or anything that looks remotely suspicious.

It's not long before a loud crash makes you wince. Zoro found something.

A panel beneath the desk detaches, revealing an ornate box. Studying it, you hum, “It looks like we’ll need a key.” Zoro unsheathes one of his blades, cutting through the lock until it cracks open.

You shake your head. “Or we could do that, sure.”

However, instead of the nefarious plans or blueprints you were hoping for, you find old papers. All of them yellowing with age.

“It’s your handwriting.” Zoro points out, picking up the first document.

“What?” You lean in, reading the file over his shoulder. It’s a letter written to acknowledge a transfer of money. But the amount is astronomical, and you don’t remember signing anything of the sort.

“Look at the date.” Pointing to the corner, it reads more than ten years ago. And then it clicks, “My mother wrote this.”

“There’s more than one.” Zoro sifts through the papers, counting over ten.

“All of them are addressed to… Shimotsuki Koushirou?” He reads the name slowly. You look at each other, confused. Why would Queen Florentia be sending payments to Kuina’s father?

A tall longcase clock chimes to signal the hour. If you clean up now and review the evidence later, you can make it look like you were never here. You instruct Zoro to pack up the box.

“We should head out soon.” You say, moving to pick up the arrows scattered on the floor.

“Be careful.” Zoro reminds you.

“I am.” You show him that you’re holding the arrows by their tail ends. “You can go ahead, if you want. Get that wound treated.”

“Do you really think I would leave you?” You can’t help the incredulous look you send his way.

“...Forget I said anything.”

Back in your chambers, you twirl an arrow you decided to keep as evidence while examining the documents sprawled out on your carpet.

Zoro grabs it from your hand. “I thought I told you to be careful with that.”

You think aloud as he sets the arrow to the side, “I just can’t figure out why my mother gave Koushirou so much money.”

“Maybe she felt bad about the accident.” Your swordsman suggests. “We all did.”

“But why did she have to keep it quiet…” Mumbling in thought, you read the last receipt Queen Florentia signed. It had been penned the week of her death.

The sky grows darker, and it becomes more difficult to see. Zoro strikes a match to light a few candles, bathing the room in a subtle, warm light.

Beneath the dim, flickering flames, the sharp arrow on your tea table glints ominously.

It took you a long while to get over spacing out whenever you saw an arrow. It was one of the things that affected you after Kuina’s passing.

Sometimes, you think of how much better everything would be if she was still here. If it weren’t for that—

…accident?

“Zoro?” Your voice is unsteady, “...What do you remember about Kuina’s death?”

“It was some new guy at the training grounds.” He answers, frowning as he recalls what happened. “He misfired, and his knighthood got revoked after that.”

“But,” Memories come flooding back as you try to piece things together. “If the archers were practicing that day, what was Kuina doing in the grounds?”

“Kuina wasn’t in the grounds.” Zoro corrects you. “She was in that meadow we always went to.”

He points to the view outside, raising a finger to trace the horizon. “The arrow flew through the fence, but it was really dangerous, even—”

Zoro turns back to you with wide eyes. “Even the queen was almost hit! Holy shit, she was there to observe that day.”

You blink at him in disbelief, “My mother was the real target.”

“And she didn’t want the culprit to know she realized, which is why she kept quiet about the money.”

You collapse into a chair as you run your hands over your head. “Did anyone ever check the arrow for poison?”

“No.” Zoro’s face crumples. “She was hit straight in the heart... She wouldn’t have made it even if it wasn’t poisoned.”

“Oh, Kuina…” You choke back a sob, covering your face with both hands. “I’m so sorry it took us this long.”

“Wait.” Zoro calls out your name, taking your hand and kneeling in front of you. The strength of his grip hurts, but you don’t mind it. You need to feel that he’s with you right now; especially when his next question makes your heart fall through the floor.

“How did your mother die?”

“She—she got sick. A lot of our people got sick that year.” You answer shakily, not liking where this is going. “Do you think…”

“Queen Florentia could have been poisoned.” Zoro whispers. “And I bet that fake bitch was responsible for it. For Kuina’s death too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You counter, “Cassiopeia deals with poisons, sure, but she wasn’t even in the kingdom yet then.”

“...Someone must have betrayed your mother so Cassiopeia could be queen regent.” He suggests, rubbing circles into your palm. “Because isn’t it convenient, how she was there to bring the people together after Her Majesty died?”

It’s confusing how the world seems to have slowed down, and yet your mind is spinning so quickly, you can’t process anything. You squeeze Zoro’s hand to anchor you, but you shatter all the same.

“I hate everything.” You cry, tears streaming down your face. “I hate how I didn’t know—but we were kids! How were we supposed to know? And, I hate feeling so powerless. What—how, are we going to fix this?”

“We’ll find a way, I promise.” Zoro moves to embrace your form, but you glare at him.

“You. I hate you too.” You push him away weakly, but he doesn’t let you go. “I—I hate that you left, Zoro… You have no idea how lost I was.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “I was lost without you too.”

Zoro feels you melt into his arms. Your strength just vanishes, and you slump forward until your forehead touches his.

“...Don’t leave me then.” You whisper. You beg.

He holds your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb. “Never.”

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Zoro pressing the softest kiss to your temple as he tucks you in bed.

Selma barges in the next morning, slamming the (newly repaired) doors open. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you’re starting to feel sad for the abuse your doors have been going through lately.

“Princess! Your Ladyship! Your Highness—” She stops abruptly, covering her mouth, looking scandalized. What is she so flabbergasted by—

Only then do you see Zoro sleeping on the floor beside you. He’s leaning on the bed, using his forearms as a pillow. One of his hands is intertwined tightly with yours.

“Your Highness!” Selma gasps playfully, gesturing to your mother’s portrait. “Right in front of Her Majesty!”

“Selma,” You sit up, letting go of Zoro’s hand. “Did you have anything important to report?”

“Ah!” She exclaims, face becoming worried once more, “The commander has been imprisoned!”

You curse, shaking Zoro’s shoulder to wake him. “Couldn’t you have told me that first?”

“Forgive me, princess. It’s not everyday I see you holding hands with a man. May I ask who confessed first, Your Highness?”

“Oh my god, Selma.” You groan. “Just go prepare my clothes.”

“Shall I dress you, or will Sir Zoro—”

“Selma!”

If Zoro heard any of Selma’s ramblings, he’s excellent at hiding it. You both get ready in record time. After which, he leads the way to the dungeons; careful to make sure you don’t run into anyone.

“We can sneak him out through that secret passage we used to play in.” You whisper, your knight nods.

“When we get to him, break the lock with your dagger. I’ll stand guard in case someone comes over.”

But someone already beat you to Mihawk’s cell. Zoro pulls you into a shadowed corner to hide.

The queen regent paces in front of the bars, her extravagant dress and cape out of place in this gloomy dungeon.

Mihawk is on the ground, his wrists chained with heavy shackles. Yoru is noticeably missing from his back. Seeing him like this is heartbreaking.

“I should have known you’d help that wench.” Cassiopeia sneers. “You’ll regret not siding with me soon enough, Dracule.”

“Now that you’ve found me out, I can finally ask you to stop calling me that.” Mihawk yawns. “My name always sounded revolting in your voice.” Crazy bastard, will it kill him to try to stay alive?

“But Florentia called you that, didn’t she?”

Zoro squints at how something about Mihawk changes at the mention of your mother. It’s almost imperceptible, but the air shifts dangerously. The queen regent should watch her mouth.

“Her name sounds revolting in your voice too.”

Cassiopeia scoffs. “You’re just like her. Thinking you’re better than everyone else.”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” Mihawk leans back, crossing his legs. “That’s not a good habit, Cassie.”

The queen regent kicks the cell. Mihawk doesn't flinch as she snarls, “I’ll deal with the princess and that knight... I’ll make you watch as the light fades from their eyes.” Gathering her skirt, her heels clack loudly as she stomps away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you and Zoro run to the commander.

“Mihawk!” You call out as you stab the lock with your dagger. It crumbles to the ground after a few strikes. “What happened? What did she charge you with?”

“Treason, apparently.” He shrugs, the chains holding him rattling together.

Mihawk goes on as you break his shackles, “This kingdom should be grateful we’re trying at all. We could easily leave them to their own devices—” You frown at him.

“...But of course, we won’t do that.”

Sneaking into the library, you regroup with Selma; who passes on vital information.

“The queen regent has the palace on lockdown. Everyone has orders to take you in.” She tells you. “But I’ve rallied the staff. We're going to plead your case to the ministers, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. Do you have my mother's letters?” She nods. “Good. Use them well. I'll make sure your efforts will not go to waste.” You say, giving her hands a firm squeeze.

“Where’s that fake queen now?” Zoro looks eager for a fight.

“One of the butlers said that the queen regent disappears sometimes, and no one knows where she goes.” Selma explains, passing you a note from her source. “There are rumors that she smells like grass when she returns.”

Mihawk lets out a disbelieving laugh, “She must be at the secret garden.”

“The what?” You ask. That sounds exactly like something you would have loved as a child, but why haven’t you heard of it before?

“It’s a place reserved for queens. Only crowned monarchs should be allowed in there, or even know where it is.” He says. “That woman truly doesn’t know her place.”

“Why do you know about it?” Zoro asks.

After a pause, the older swordsman deflects, “I’ve been called a queen once.”

“Mihawk,” You urge him to be serious. “Can you take us there?”

Before he responds, Mihawk looks at you with something you can’t fully discern, as if he’s recalling an old memory.

“Of course. It’s your birthright, after all.”

The entrance to the secret garden is hidden in a passageway beneath the greenhouse. You imagine your mother walking along this path, to a sanctuary she could truly call her own.

But the vision darkens when you think of how Cassiopeia has been using the space all this time. You hope you're still able to recognize traces of your mother when you get there.

An iron gate stands at the end of the path. Vines tangle through the metal spirals and flowers. Mihawk holds a finger to his lips, carefully opening the gates without a sound except for the rustling of leaves. You all crouch behind a large plant that fans out, over your heads.

And then, you see it. You see what your mother left for you.

The centerpiece of the garden is an intricate pedestal, Yoru is propped up against it. On top of it, however, is a glass case displaying your mother’s most treasured golden necklace.

You almost want to run to it, but Zoro grabs your arm, warning you not to take another step. He nods towards where Cassiopeia stands in front of oddly shaped vials and strange devices containing diff chemicals. She douses a sword with an eerie purple liquid as she speaks.

“Three against one... That hardly seems fair.” She kisses her teeth. Looking over her shoulder, she glares. “Why don’t we fight on even ground?”

Out of nowhere, a large cage falls towards the three of you. Mihawk pushes you and Zoro out of the way, but isn’t able to avoid the cage himself.

“And I just escaped. What a shame.” Mihawk fusses, but you can see that he’s relieved you’re alright.

“Maybe you’re meant to be in a cell, Dracule.” Cassiopeia remarks. “I’ll have your kids join you shortly.”

There’s only one of her, this should be easy, right?

She throws a bottle at you. Luckily, you’re able to dodge it. The bottle shatters, its contents spilling over the bystanding greenery. The liquid turns out to be acid, burning through the foliage and leaving a smoky trail.

Well, fuck.

Zoro also seems to realize how serious this fight is. For the first time since you’ve reunited, he unsheathes Kuina’s sword, placing the hilt in his mouth.

You brandish your dagger as you yell, “Really? You bite it? What would Kuina say?” He sends you a look. You try not to laugh.

And in the next second, you charge at Cassiopeia together.

It’s difficult to get close enough to land a hit. The queen regent leads you in a dance of acids and poisons. You dodge one bottle only to be met with the toxic end of her blade. It seems that your mother’s dagger won’t be enough in this fight.

“I didn't get this far to be stopped by the likes of you!” Shrieking, she lunges at you.

“You will never be queen!” You roar back.

Behind her, your eyes spot Yoru leaning on the pedestal. The blade is large and intimidating, and you’re not entirely sure if you can wield it correctly… But you might not have a choice right now.

As you were distracted, Cassiopeia’s sword almost cuts through your side. Panicking, you stumble backwards. Zoro slashes at your enemy’s wrist. Her hold on the poisoned weapon falters. It plummets with a clang.

While she’s occupied with Zoro, you rush towards Yoru. From behind the bars, Mihawk watches, holding his breath as you wrap both hands around Yoru’s hilt—but the damn thing is too heavy.

“Dear princess, you should have learned from your mother!” Cassiopeia smashes a bottle on Zoro’s head. “Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!”

The glass explodes into countless glittering shards. A red gas escapes into the air, and your knight inhales far too much of it.

He falls, and for that moment, the entire rest of the world vanishes until all you see is him. Your ears start to ring. His grip loosens on his swords.

No. Please. Not him. Not anyone else. No more.

Mihawk calls your name. You turn to him, on the verge of breaking down. But then, he nods once, slowly. The action reminds you to breathe—filling you with an overwhelming sense of strength. You can do this.

Screaming, you attempt to brandish Yoru again.

You swing the legendary greatsword in a perfect arc. Once it collides with the ground, the air ripples. Power surges through an invisible force headed straight for the queen regent. She tries to run, but the hit lands.

Her eyes don’t stray from yours as she collapses. In her final moments, she falls from grace, howling in agony and rage.

As a last ditch attempt, she throws one last vial of acid at Zoro. You’re about to curse the world all over again as you run to stop it.

Mihawk throws a tiny sword like a dart, miraculously breaking the container before it lands on your knight. Your knees give out, and you pull Zoro into your arms as you gasp for air.

It’s done.

Zoro wakes up to the feeling of you checking his temperature. Your hand is warm against his forehead, making him want to reach up and hold it. He should probably wake up and check on you now.

“Oh.” He hears Mihawk speak, “I didn’t realize your relationship took a certain… turn.”

On second thought, another minute of sleep won’t hurt.

“Not you too, Mihawk.” You groan. “I get enough of that from Selma.”

“Ah, yes. I heard.” The swordsman deadpans, “Hand holding. How scandalous.”

“Alright, if you’re not going to be of any help whatsoever, please just go.”

“If you wanted time alone with him, you could have just said so.”

“Goodbye, Mihawk.”

Zoro hears you escort Mihawk out, and he takes the moment alone to open his eyes. He’s in his quarters, which is a few doors down from yours so that he can easily get to you.

Not that he stays here often, Zoro prefers standing guard outside your chambers. It’s strange how he lasted years without seeing you, because now that you’re back in each other’s lives, he becomes restless whenever you’re not around.

Like right now. What’s taking you so long?

The door opens. Zoro perks up, but deflates when he sees that it’s Selma bringing in a pitcher of water.

“You could’ve at least hidden your disappointment better, Sir Zoro.” She huffs at him, taking full offense. “I’ll go get your princess.”

“Oh!” She yelps excitedly, “My bad, it’s queen anointed now, isn’t it?”

Zoro smiles, his voice raspy with sleep, “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Indeed, it does.” Selma nods, bidding him farewell.

He doesn’t have to wait long to hear your rushing footsteps. The door opens again to reveal you, this time. Your eyes shine in that really pretty way they do when you’re happy. He’s glad that’s among the things that didn’t change.

Zoro opens his arms, inviting you, “Come here.”

Not needing to be told twice, you fall into his arms, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re okay.” You murmur.

“I wasn’t about to miss your coronation, Your Majesty.” Zoro pokes your nose. He did that a lot when you were kids, you forgot how much you liked it.

“Thank you for being okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his cheek softly.

Zoro brushes his fingers through your hair. He holds your face in his hands, tracing your features as if that will help him memorize the happiness he feels in his heart. The sort of happiness he thought was lost to him forever.

“Hey,” Zoro speaks your name with care. “I love you a lot, you know.”

He always envisioned confessing to you in some dramatic, elaborate way that you’d deserve. There could have been a beautiful sunset. He would’ve brought flowers.

But he was wrong. All he needs are the words themselves, and you—smiling the way you’re smiling at him now.

You laugh, “I might love you more, I think.”

Zoro shakes his head, sitting up so that he can bring his face to yours properly. “Doubt it.”

The kiss tastes like magic, like you were always meant to find each other's lips. His heart starts doing something funny, and he has to pull you closer—hold you tighter. You respond eagerly, kissing him back so intoxicatingly that he’ll remember the softness of your lips for as long as he lives.

Later that week, your coronation is a grand and extravagant affair.

When Cassiopeia's misdeeds came to light, the people banded together to celebrate her downfall. Those loyal to her either surrendered or tried to escape. Although none of them were able to get away, since Zoro and Mihawk were ruthless towards those involved in the attempted mutiny.

The crown on your head will take some to get used to. It still feels like you're borrowing something of your mother's; but instead of shying away from it like you had before, you step into it openly. You're ready to become a successor worthy to carry on her legacy of kindness and strength.

Uncharted these waters may be, at least you have Zoro now, who would dive into any perilous sea right after you.

Escaping the celebratory banquet and the revelries, you visit Queen Florentia and Kuina's graves with Zoro. It's only right that you pay respects together.

You leave flowers on your mother's headstone, thanking her for everything she did. You're startled when Zoro takes one of his swords, holding it in front of him as he kneels in front of the previous queen.

“Your Majesty, Queen Florentia,” He speaks, his tone steady and sure. “I, Roronoa Zoro, vow to never leave your daughter’s side. I will protect her until I draw my last breath. I swear to cherish her, and to love her even in my next life.”

What is he doing, making you cry like this? It turns out that emotional boy you knew is still somewhere in there. Your heart feels full, knowing your mother would have appreciated the gesture.

As you're about to move on to Kuina's grave, Zoro motions for you to go ahead without him. You look at him strangely, but do as he says to give him some space.

Mihawk emerges from the treeline when you've gone far enough.

“You look like you’re about to leave without saying goodbye.” Zoro remarks.

“Of course you’d know how that works, hm?” Mihawk challenges, raising a sharp brow. “Try even thinking about leaving and I’ll return to make sure it’s your last thought."

“Didn't you just hear the oath I made to the love of your life?” Zoro turns to Florentia's tombstone again. “Your Majesty, back me up here.”

“She would have approved of you.” Mihawk’s frown is unimpressed, but his gaze is unmistakably caring.

“...Take care of her, Zoro.”

“Of course. I promise.”

As Mihawk walks away, Zoro asks him one last question, “How are your regrets now, old man?”

The former commander’s shoulders shake in a mixture of amusement and relief. “I suspect they'll heal, with time.”

When Zoro catches up to you at Kuina's grave, you're grinning at him. He can picture that same grin on Kuina's face if she were here.

“We were just talking about you.” You jest, “All bad things, too.”

“You had nothing to talk about, then.” Zoro sits on the grass beside you. “I’m perfect for you.”

Appalled, you scoff and turn to Kuina's headstone. “Can you believe this guy?”

That day, you talked for hours, even after the sun had set. And on the trek back to the palace, a soft breeze caressed your skin. It felt like Kuina encouraging you, sending you off onto the next chapter of your lives.

Zoro becomes Captain of the Royal Guard once Mihawk leaves. He's teaching you about weapons and self defense when he picks up your dagger to inspect it, turning it this way and that curiously.

“Is there something wrong with it?” You ask, observing it too.

“This pattern and material.” Zoro says, tracing a certain swirl on the weapon. “I feel like I've seen it before.”

“Ah,” He says in realization, tracing a finger down your neck and making you shiver. “It’s the pattern on your necklace.”

“My mother must have had them made together.” You say, unclasping the chain before handing it to him.

There's a gap in the center of the pendant. Thin and barely noticeable, but it looks like it can be opened by something sharp.

“Do you mind if I,” Zoro gestures at the dagger.

“Just don't break it.” You say. “Treat it like my heart.”

Zoro makes a face that pulls a laugh out of you. “I would never do this to your heart.” Aw. You might have melted a little.

The tip of the blade slots perfectly into the pendant. After twisting it slowly like a key, the metal clicks to reveal: a locket.

Handing it over to you carefully, Zoro lets you open it the rest of the way. Inside, there are images drawn on two panels. You, as a child on one side… and Mihawk on the other. Now you understand why your mother treasured this so much. Tearing up, you sigh.

“You’re not surprised.” Zoro notes.

“...I think a part of me always knew.” You respond. “And, I definitely felt something when I held Yoru. No wonder why.”

Treading carefully, Zoro wraps his arms around your waist as he asks, “You’re not upset that he left?”

“But he didn’t. He’ll always be there for me, and so will you.” You smile up at him. “I’m happy I found my family again.”

Many years ago…

The grass on the meadow bristles gently in the wind. Dusk bathes the land in a dreamy, gold and purple hue.

After a day filled with imaginary adventures, two children wave their dearest friend goodbye. The princess smiles at them fondly before returning to the castle.

Kuina grins, face eager as she points her training sword to the sky. “I’ll be her knight someday. I’ll be commander and everything.”

Zoro jolts, immediately expressing in protest, “No, I’ll be the one to protect her! I’ll be commander!”

“Oh yeah?” The girl’s smile turns knowing. She pokes Zoro’s waist with her sword. “How will you do that? Aren’t you going to marry her?”

Stunned, Zoro can only stare at her in response. A blush creeps up his neck, reddening the tips of his ears. Kuina seizes the opportunity to make a run for it.

“Princess, wait up! Zoro wants to tell you something!”

“Kuina! Get back here!”

read the companion piece / my notes / the timeline of this story (in mihawk's perspective) here : "the taste of ale"

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @ay0nha @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @murnsondock @starszns @msmisasoup @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @appalost @commanderfreethatdust @onebatch--twobatch @rebeccawinters @gunslxtz @akakaze @lownna

2K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 8 months

Text

enduring love

- nanami kento x reader

love is kind. love is patient. Nanami Kento taught you all that—love and the absolute durability it brings.

genre/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—in the form of soft sex, pregnancy

notes: based on a whole package request an anon sent me a while ago. there isn't much i can say without spoiling... just that i love soft loving nanami :( check out a very recommended track for this piece!

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Nanami Kento was not your first love, but he was the one who taught you about love that endures, even against the worst of odds.

Haibara Yu was your boyfriend when he died, giving his life in exchange of yours and Nanami’s. And his death destroyed you, leaving you devastated, as you not only lost your childhood best friend but also a significant part of yourself.

And he made Nanami promise something to him—taking care of you. And of course, Nanami would. Even if Haibara didn’t ask for it, he would. Because when it came to you, he was willing to do anything.

He couldn’t say it back then, that he was already and utterly in love with you.

You were so grateful for his sheer presence. With Nanami by your side, you felt a sense of security and comfort, which helped to fill the void left by Haibara to some extent.

“Thank you for checking up on me. I’m fine,” you had said to him with a soft smile. You remembered it clearly—it was Haibara’s second death anniversary. You still shed tears before his picture at the columbarium hall, but you meant it when you said you were fine.

“That’s... good then.” Nanami didn’t look like he was convinced, but he nodded regardless.

“You can stop doing it now, you know,” you mumbled with a sigh. It wasn’t fair to him, you realized it from the get-go, but unconsciously, you too needed him to cope with your dearest’s death. “It’s never your responsibility in the first place. I’m… thankful that you’re always there for me.”

At that time, Nanami was already in love with you, but he was also a coward. A coward who had decided to leave the jujutsu world behind, and so he took your words and left with a broken heart. But unbeknownst to him, you would never forget how he looked—downcast eyes, clenched fist, as if you had told him to begone altogether.

In the years that he spent away from curses and the sorrow that followed, he did try to forget about you, but in the end, he just couldn’t. You were like sunshine that brightened his younger, happier days. To him, your existence helped him to get past Haibara’s death too. And his love for you was already engraved in him by default, even if he couldn’t act on it.

Nanami’s departure hurt you more deeply than you thought. You were incredibly lonely. Gojo and Shoko were there, but it hardly filled the void left by his absence. They say life goes on, and so you continued to live the life Haibara had saved for you, with the hope that someday, Nanami would return.

Life is funny because no one can predict how it turns out. Nanami found it ironic, that he left only to come back.

But when he saw you again after four years, still the same but even more beautiful than ever, with tears in your eyes as you welcomed him back, he thought it was all worth it.

“I’m… glad,” you muttered amidst the flowing tears, trying to wipe it away in embarrassment. “Sorry, ugh… I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just that it’s been so long…”

And Nanami only laughed at that. A genuine chuckle. Your heart soared at the sight.

He was different. He no longer sported that geeky haircut. Now he was suave, neat and of course—handsome. You never realized how attractive he was until now.

“I missed you too, Y/N,” he said with a warm smile. To him, the fact that you cried at his expense was enough to make him happy. It signified that you regarded him as an important presence in your life, and that was enough for him.

“Are you doing this temporarily?” you asked warily afterwards.

He responded with a thoughtful hum. "I believe... no, I've concluded that this is way better than my previous banking job. At least here, I can fully utilize my abilities."

Your eyes seemed to glimmer with something at his response.

“Then, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Can you…” Your cheeks flushed with warmth as you asked, but you brushed it aside. “Can you promise me that you… won’t leave again?”

It was as if everything he had known was nullified with that question. Nanami had always assumed he might hold significance in your life, but he thought that to you, he was dispensable.

"Yeah, I won't," he said resolutely. "I won't leave again, Y/N."

On that day, he came to the realization that it was perfectly fine for him to express these feelings for you now.

To outsiders' point of view, it was bound to happen anyway. Gojo had always known that Nanami held this not-so-hidden affection for you and wholeheartedly supported him when he witnessed the effort he put into pursuing those feelings. It was comical really, that you heard it first not from Nanami himself but rather from him.

You remembered that day too—he was so furious at Gojo that he kicked him out. He looked so embarrassed. Granted, this was not at all how he had envisioned confessing to you.

"I won't hide it any further. I... have been harboring these feelings for you." He couldn't even look at you in the eyes. The two of you were no longer those teenagers in Jujutsu High, but oddly it was hard to say it out loud. "You're free to reject me, of course—"

"Nanami Kento." It bugged you, how formal he was acting around you, and no, you were done with this too. You returned his feelings, had been for a while now. "We should just get together."

And just like that, you were finally in a relationship. It was long road to reach this point, and yet it was only the beginning.

Nanami was supportive, affectionate, and ready to shield you from any harm. You loved him with all your heart. Whenever you two visited Haibara's memorial, he would grip your hand tighter and reassure you of his presence, and if there was one thing you were certain of regarding Haibara, it was that he would have complete trust in Nanami to care for you.

Birthdays, anniversaries, and other milestones, you two celebrated it together. It was almost picture perfect—you were so happy together, as if you were made for each other.

"Kento," you gasped when you opened the gift box he had gotten for your birthday, discovering a pristine watch inside. "This..."

"Do you like it?" he asked softly, smiling, brushing your hair aside. His eyes crinkled with delight when he saw your elated expression.

"I love it!" you exclaimed heartily. And normally you wouldn't be this impulsive, but since it was your birthday, surely you could afford a whim or two.

You kissed him on the cheek, making a playful smooching sound that left him pleasantly reeling and flustered.

You dated him for two years. In those two starling years, Nanami proved to be an exceptional boyfriend. You were confident that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, and he felt the same way about you.

Regardless, when he dropped down on one knee with a ring box in his hand, you still couldn't help but tear up.

"Will you marry me?" He knew the answer already, but he was determined to make it the most memorable day of your life, with him promising his undying love for you.

Through tears, happiness and everything else, you laughed. A free laugh that conveyed your love for him. "Yes!"

The two of you were married for three years, and Nanami was the best husband you could ask for, and being his wife was the honor you'd never turn down no matter how many times you were asked. If there was one thing you'd rather see less from him though, perhaps it was his tendency to rush headfirst into danger.

Once, he went back home with bloodied side and you immediately rushed and fussed over him with concern.

"What sort of cursed spirit did you face?" your hands were shaking as you dabbed alcohol to his wound. He wasn't usually injured, so this came as a shock.

Nanami winced, but he still smiled, trying to convince you that he was fine.

He didn't want to tell you about it, because frankly, even he didn't know that much. He only knew that his attacks weren't effective against that sadistic cursed spirit with stitches all over his body.

"It was an accident, love," Nanami brushed it aside. "I just made a mistake is all."

"Still!" you lips quivered at the possible worst scenario. "Couldn't you just run away?"

"It was not that easy... I had Gojo's student with me too, I couldn't just leave him to face a special grade alone now, could I?"

Your expression turned horrified, and he regretted his slip. "Special grade...?"

You were like a flower, and Nanami cherished you greatly. He hated seeing you in distress, especially if it was caused by him.

You had to understand eventually, because you were a jujutsu sorcerer too. In this line of work, nothing is guaranteed. So you looked down and let out a sigh. "Can you promise me something, Kento?"

"Of course. Anything for you, love."

"If it ever gets too dangerous—if you sense that your life is in danger," you locked eyes with him, your gaze filled with determination and hope. "Please. I beg of you. Just run. Come back to me."

And he nodded, pulling you to his bare chest, as you sniffled against him. "Yes, dear. I will. I promise. Don't cry now, okay?"

Witnessing your tears never sat right with him, and he was willing to do whatever it took to erase that sadness.

The way he caressed you so fondly and gently was how he proved the extent of his love for you. A love that had been brewing for twelve years, ever since he was a first year in this unforgiving jujutsu world, only able to keep his crush hidden away at the furthermost corner of his heart as he saw you with someone else, until now, much later, as your husband who was yours as much as you were his.

Your body reacted with each of his tender touch. Your cheeks lighted up with the most adorable color of red, and lust was evident in your eyes. As Nanami towered over you, shushing you with soft words and asked you where you wanted to be touched, he was trying his hardest to be patient.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he whispered in your ear. "Tell me how I can make you feel better."

You were too shy to tell him, so you guided his hand to where you wanted to be touched the most, and then before you knew it, you were letting out several moans, unable to hold them in.

Nanami was always well in preparing you. He had to at least make you cum once or twice before actually inserting himself in you. Because your needs and comfort always came before his.

His thrusts were slow but deep, with your legs wrapping around his waist. He kissed every inch of your body that he could reach, worshipping you, reveling in your blushed face.

And when he came inside you, filling you full and warm with his seed, you felt nothing but sheer relief and bliss. The aftercare was wonderful too, as Nanami made sure that you were comfortable—cleaning you up and tucking you in, kissing your tears away.

Shortly after, you became pregnant. It wasn't unexpected, with all your intimate activities. It was a whole new experience entirely, and the two of you were looking forward to it, as the baby inside you grew day by day. You wanted a son, whereas he wanted a daughter who looked just like you.

You wanted this life with him. You wanted to grow old together with him, along with your baby too. And that was why, when Nanami was about to leave for Shibuya, you were sick with worry, a hand on your noticeable bump.

"Do you really have to go?" You wanted to cry, yell, and drag those in headquarters to see you—a wife carrying a child. How could they separate a vulnerable wife from her husband?

Nanami pulled you into his arms, consoling you. "It's going to be okay, Y/N. I'll be back once all of this is over."

"They named Gojo already. And for a curtain of that density to be pulled down—" your voice hitched painfully. "Kento, it must be a well-thought plan. I'm afraid for you, please."

To be honest, he didn't know how it would play out. This was a large-scale attack and every jujutsu sorcerer in the country was summoned in response. As much as he feared for himself, he had to, because it was his responsibility, and doing this would keep you safe.

With the tearful farewell and final touch on your belly to feel his baby kick him, Nanami left you to march towards the battlefield.

Life is funny because you never know how it turns out. Nanami once again came to see just how unforgiving this jujutsu world was when Gojo was sealed and half of his body was burnt beyond repair.

He wouldn't be able to make it back home now.

His chest constricted at how he wouldn't be able to go back to your arms again, or see you give birth to his child. Even though he had planned everything—in his dream, he would take you to Kuantan, away from jujutsu and live the rest of your lives there in peace.

This world was cruel to him, but all he could hope now was that it would spare you. He was sorry to leave you again. He was sorry to break his promise. He was so sorry that you would go through the anguish of losing someone precious again, because this time, it was even greater than when you lost Haibara.

He wasn't ready to leave you, but when he saw Itadori Yuji sprinting towards him, suddenly he was certain. Because when he saw his face, all he could see was the fact that he could trust him with everything.

Perhaps it was what Haibara felt when he trusted you to him.

"You've got it from here." He smiled at Yuji, as the boy looked towards him in pure terror.

Was it a figment of his imagination? Because he could see Haibara in front of him now, with that energetic smile of his.

A bloodcurdling scream escaped your lips when Yuji arrived in front of your doorsteps to inform you of Nanami's death. You were wailing and utterly inconsolable, especially when he told you that not even his remains were left.

You didn't know what to do. You just sat there, sobbing your heart out in Yuji's arms until you passed out. The next thing you knew was that you were in your bed, with the boy sleeping on your bedside table in a very awkward position.

You recalled the envelope from your husband that Yuji gave you last night. You scrambled for it, and found two plane tickets and a letter.

Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm not sure why I'm writing this either, but I can't leave you with nothing in case I didn't make it. First and foremost, I want you to know that I love you. So much more than you can imagine. Ever since our first year, and up until now and forevermore. I love you. With this, I'm letting you know that I've booked a flight for Kuantan for you and Itadori-kun as well, but I have a feeling that he wouldn't come with you. Even if he doesn't, I beg of you, please just go. I want you and our baby safe and away from all of this. Lastly, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for leaving you again. I'm sorry that I can't see and raise our child with you. You don't have to forgive me. Know that I'll be doing my best to come back to you, but if fate doesn't spare me, then please know that with all of heart, I love you and I won't leave you if I can afford it. You have changed the course of my life, and I'm grateful for it. Falling in love with you is my greatest joy, I want you to know that.

A bout of tears overcame you and woke Yuji up. You felt your insides churn with dread and your baby kick you with such fervor that it hurt. He was gone, really gone, leaving you in this perilous world alone.

And yet, to his last breath, all he could think of was you. It hurt so much, and yet you were glad, that you could light up his world the way he described it. His greatest joy.

Nanami Kento's love for you, the one he once endured and then held for years, reached you deeply. It is love unlike any other, more pure and heartfelt than you could ever imagine.

did I cry while writing this? yes.

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bonchobrick · 8 months

Text

DCxDP Fic where the Batfam gets an item/ability which allows them for just that day, to temporarily be able to what someone best accomplishment(s) were in their lives. Little do they know Danny has just settled into their city (and that they were about to get the shock of their lives)

---

At first the Batfam decides to have fun with it--theres not much titles can do to help them with cases unless theyre particularly lucky. So they take a walk together in disguises to observe the passerbyers, curious of what civillains of gotham have done in their lives.

One gruff guy who grumbles shoving Bruce's shoulder as he walks by has the title 'KITTY SAVIOR' adorned above him and the batfam are greeted by the knowledge he had saved a cat from getting hit by a car

A kid in his pteens whose been shoving pamphlets into peoples hands has 'ADVERTISEMENT SUPERSTAR' above his head as he apparently managed to save his family's resturant with his intense marketing prowess (remind Bruce to try hiring him in the future.)

And lastly they faux browse a store trying to scope out someone else interesting and are greeted by the title... 'OPENER OF PICKLE JAR' and they decide to head home as Jason nearly crying trying to muffle his laughter.

At the manor they all cant help but agree, walking has made them hungry, and theres no harm ordering a pizza or two. It's been a long, mildly interesting day, though they weren't expecting much from thing ability.

Imagine their surprise when they open the door to see a black haired blue eyed child, pizza boxes in one hand, the other hand out awaiting a drop of money–completely missing the fact the title 'DEFEATED THE MAD KING WHO HAS TORMENTED THE AFTERLIFE FOR EONS' was placed innocently above his head

"Your total is 23.11!" The fucking 'Ghost King' kid (APPARENTLY) cheerily states????

"Uh," Bruce says blankly staring at this kid's title as his mouth blurts out, "Could you give us a second?"

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 month

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Hiii can i request jamil, idia, riddle and leona have to fight with their s/o that been brainwashed (like a gas that brainswash ppl in a gas mask yk srry i cant explain things ;-;) by unknown enemy so they have to fight each other

Idia Shroud:

Horrible situation. Idia hated this trope. That’s not entirely true, watching the MC feel conflicted about fighting their love interest actually added a bit of interest into a story, but reality wasn’t the same. Idia didn’t feel anything ‘fun’ about this situation. Ortho was ready to take you down in an instant but Idia had stopped him, worried about him going overboard and potentially hurting you more than he needed to. He had already started to formulate a plan to overcome the brainwashing to at least subdue you, the only issue is mustering the courage to potentially hurt you himself during the process.

Idia has to tell you about how annoying that situation was after. He started ranting about games that just fell back on popular tropes for the sake of torturing their characters but eventually sighed, saying he had enough for an evening. He didn’t want to leave your side as much as he did want to disappear back into his room, wondering if there was a way to have you just stay in his room with him while you recovered.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil is tired of his bad luck, tired of the only things that brought him joy being taken away from him and then thrown back in his face like it was no big deal. His surprise is clear and for a moment he does think he’s pushed you away too much, that you truly were sick of dealing with someone who would never be able to go after what he wanted. It’s your choice of using magic against him rather than your words (which would cut deeper than any physical wound to him) that showed him there was something more going on, with you being a puppet on strings for some other being. He wondered if his unique magic might steal you away from them but it would be a shot in the dark, since you were aware of his ability (while the ‘you’ in this brainwashed state might not be).

Jamil is frazzled but relieved the situation is over. Looking out for both you AND Kalim was an exhausting feat, and he didn’t know why he added to his never-ending workload. He’s glad you’re back to your normal self, which still seemed to regard him in a positive light, allowing him to push down his worries for the future of your relationship a little bit longer.

Leona Kingscholar:

There’s no one who knew your weaknesses better than Leona but he couldn’t assume this would be a walk in the park. He didn’t intend to hurt you but he’d do what he had to for the sake of this situation ending sooner rather than later. Apologies could always be given after but there’s only so much he could take, seeing you like this, invisible strings attached to your limbs as you’re forced to turn against him. If he had been quicker he would’ve saved you from the invasive feeling of having your body controlled while your consciousness is present, and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand rather than the hell you might be living in as it would only make him angrier.

Leona didn’t want to talk about it when you were back tomorrow. He hit you with an ‘it is what it is’ and moved on to your wounds, minor as they were there was still some scrapes you couldn’t get away from. You didn’t blame him and he didn’t blame himself, but he’s still not happy about having you turned against him. You were his, after all, and losing your loyalty even temporarily dealt a blow to his ego that he was desperate to keep hidden.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is alarmed at how quickly the situation escalated, flinching when his words don’t seem to be reaching you. He’s not used to being on the other side of you in a fight, even if you were to practice magic with him it was never with ill intent. He finds himself fighting against being distracted, trying to think of you as a simple misbehaving student who needed to be collared. His unique magic did make it a little easier to wrangle you in but he’s wracked with guilt cutting you off from your magic when it’s not really your own actions that caused you to be punished.

Riddle is wary about talking with you after, until he knows the brainwashing is gone and you’re back to normal. He shuffled around the actual topic he wanted to bring up which was incredibly unlike him, a fact you pointed out before telling him in the kindest words possible to spit it out. He admitted seeing you brainwashed was disconcerted, and that he’d rather never see you as an enemy again. He knew it wasn’t your choice but he’d prefer you stick close to him in the future, just so he could stop the problem before it even began.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Riddle Rosehearts #Leona Kingscholar #Jamil Viper #Idia Shroud #Riddle Rosehearts x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Idia Shroud x Reader

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jromanoff · 1 month

Text

Pink Jeeps and kittens II R. George

Pairing: Regina George (2024) x Reader, Karen Shetty (2024) x Reader (platonically)

Warning(s): none

Authors note: I haven't written anything in two years, so please bear with me :)

Summary: You damage Regina's pink Jeep when you swerve to avoid a kitten

Word count: 1.5k

It was an accident.

You didn’t mean to drive into some garbage cans on the side of the road with Regina´s pink Jeep, but you couldn´t just hit the cute black kitten that sat in the middle of the road.

After successfully evading the kitten you quickly jumped out of the Jeep and walked over to the kitten, which was in the middle of the road. In fact, you were so focussed on the kitten that you failed to look both ways for traffic when crossing the road. As you put a step on the road a car approached, honking. You quickly jumped back on the pavement in fright.

When you calmed down a little, you crossed the road to the kitten again, this time looking both ways for any traffic. You leaned down and picked up the kitten. “Hi buddy” you spoke to the cute kitten in your arms, petting its head as you walked back to Regina’s pink Jeep. Not only did you scratch her beloved Jeep; moreover, you brought a pet inside it. If Regina discovers any of this she might even buy a new custom car, you thought. Besides that, Regina will probably be angry at you and would never allow you to drive in her Jeep again. You were determined to not let that happen.

You got back behind the steering wheel and put the kitten on the floor on the passenger side of the vehicle. Now you just had to make sure Regina wouldn’t find out about any of this. The first step to ensure this was to temporarily get rid of the kitten in a pet-friendly way, but who would take a kitten in without a second thought? Karen, you thought, and immediately turned the car around to Karen’s house.

It was a 5 minute trip to Karen’s house. When you arrived you quickly jumped out with the kitten in your arms. You rang the bell, hoping it was Karen who would open the door and not one of her parents. Your prayers were answered as Karen opened the door. “Hi-“ Karen started, but gasped as she saw you standing there with a kitten in your arms.

“Is that a kitten? He’s so cute! What’s his name?” Karen said excitedly as her eyes widened at the sight of the small animal in your arms.

“Yeah, hi Karen. He doesn’t have a name yet. I kinda wanted to ask you something…” you answered her questions and immediately got to the point. Karen looked at you, curious as to what you were going to ask her. “Could you perhaps keep this cute kitten at your house today? I know it’s a big ask, but I just saved him from being ran over by a car.” you continued, waiting for Karen to say yes.

“Why?” Karen questioned as her eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Well… I’m on my way to Regina’s house…. And I’ll pick him up tomorrow to get him checked out at the vets, but you know how Regina is with animals” you explained to Karen who still wasn’t entirely convinced, but you had one last trick up your sleeve. “You can even name him if you agree, you know” you told Karen and her eyes instantly lit up. “Deal” she said with a big grin as she made grabby hands at you. Rolling your eyes you gave the kitten to Karen, who immediately hugged it to her chest.

“Thank you” you grinned at Karen. Part one of your plan was complete. Now you just needed to make sure Regina wouldn’t find out about the scratch on her Jeep.

Feeling relieved that you’ve successfully placed the kitten in Karen’s care, you hopped back into Regina’s pink Jeep, your mind racing with ideas on how to fix the scratch. As you drive away from Karen’s house, you can’t help but worry about how Regina will react if she finds out about the damage to her beloved custom painted pink vehicle.

As you arrived at Regina’s mansion, you took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves. You carefully inspected the scratch on the Jeep, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it had seemed at first. But alas, it was quite noticeable. Trudging to the front door, you summoned all your courage to ring the doorbell and waited for your girlfriend to open it.

When your girlfriend eventually answered the door, she took in the sight of you standing there with an apologetic expression.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Regina said, her perfectly manicured eyebrow raised as she leaned on the door frame.

“Why would there be anything going on?” you said, nervously looking around and trying to evade your girlfriend’s gaze.

“You’re looking guilty about something. Spill,” Regina demanded, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Okay, fine. I messed up” you admitted, “I was driving your Jeep and I… accidentally scratched it”

Regina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You scratched my Jeep?” she exclaimed, her voice hardening.

“I know, I know” you hurriedly responded, feeling the need to explain yourself quickly before Regina unleashed her wrath on you. “But it wasn’t entirely my fault; there was a kitten in the middle of the road, and I swerved to avoid hitting it. I couldn’t just run over that kitten”

Regina’s expression softened slightly as you explained what happened, but there was still a hint of frustration in her eyes. “So, what are you going to do about it?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She wouldn’t let you get off so easily, she had that Jeep custom made for her after all.

“I’ll take it to get repaired” you promised your girlfriend. “I’ll find the best auto body shop in town to make it look as good as new again.”

Regina nodded, seeming to consider your proposal. “Fine” she finally said, this time without any annoyance present in her tone.

“I’ll pay for it, too,” you offered your girlfriend.

“No need. I’ll pay for it with my dad’s credit card. He lets me use it for whatever I want anyway,” Regina said, then smirked. “But I do expect you to make it up to me somehow…”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” you smirked back at your girlfriend.

“Oh, I have some ideas,” Regina spoke, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she pulled you inside the house and up to her room.

The dimly lit room was filled with the scent of massage oil. Regina sat in front of you on her king size bed with her upper body bared as you massaged her shoulders. At first you assumed Regina bared her upper body for… other reasons, but unfortunately for you she just wanted a massage.

“This was not what I had in mind” you groaned.

“Too bad. Shouldn’t have scratched my car then” your girlfriend snickered. “Now stop complaining, I’m trying to relax and enjoy my massage”

“Unbelievable…” you muttered under your breath as you continued to massage your girlfriend dutifully.

“Did I just hear something?” your girlfriend teased you.

“No” you quickly denied her accusation.

“I thought so” Regina said smugly. “I also called with Gretchen and Karen before you arrived, you know?”

“Sounds fun” you offered, confused as why your girlfriend would mention this to you in the first place. She called with Gretchen and Karen often to discuss all of the rumours that went around at school, that wasn’t new to you.

“It was, Gretchen told us about a rumour that went around about Janis” your girlfriend snickered, “Karen also told us she got a kitten at home for a day,” she continued her story. You tensed up at this information, your hands stopping their movement at Regina’s shoulders. “Someone brought it to her house and asked her to pet-sit it.”

“How thoughtful of them to think of Karen to pet-sit. She loves-”

“Cut the bullshit. I know it was you” Regina cut you off. “She named him Orange, by the way”

“Are you serious? It’s a black kitten” you frowned in confusion. Karen was something else.

“Yeah, and you allowed Karen to name it. What did you expect?” Regina snorted.

“Fair. Then I guess I’m taking Orange to the vets tomorrow” you shrugged, you were the one that promised Karen she could name the kitten after all.

“And after going to the vets, you’ll get my car detailed on the inside too right?” Regina asked. She hated the mess pets made and doesn’t want it in her Jeep, of all things.

��Absolutely”

“If I see one cat hair in my Jeep when you come back tomorrow, we’re gonna have a problem. Am I clear?”

“Crystal” you spoke. You knew Regina wasn’t joking about that, she was very serious when it came to her custom pink Jeep.

“Now please continue my massage”

“Alright” you sighed out as you got back to massaging your girlfriend.

She may be bossy and mean sometimes, but you love her all the same.

#regina george x reader #regina x reader #regina george fluff #mean girls x reader #mean girls fanfic #jromanoff fics #regina george fanfic #regina george imagines #mean girls imagines

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am-i-interrupting · 3 months

Text

Reacting to You Hurt

For @aliceneedsphalis

Alastor

Hell is an awful place and you’re used to it at this point. It didn’t bother you when someone tried to jump you and managed to stab you while you got away. What did bother you was the fact that now you were late.

Every week you and Alastor met up sometimes at your place, other times his radio station, occasionally on his bedroom balcony, and every so often you’d venture out to a restaurant.

You met up to catch each other up on the going ons in Overlord business (in his case) and general populace activity (in your case)

You were grumbling to yourself as today you went to his radio tower.

They’d ripped one of your favorite tops because of course they did and now it would be stained!

You were not looking forward to the patching up process and cleaning but hey, it is what it is, right?

You knocked on the door and were let in by a shadow.

Alastor had beginning to get worried. It was unlike you to be late but he felt his worry fade when the knock sounded.

He stood and spun around. Arms extended in welcome. They immediately fell.

His eyes went to dials instantly.

He patches you up quickly and efficiently but his touch is unintentionally harsh before he gets ahold of his anger.

He begins to interrogate you for a description of the person who hurt you and a name of you have it as well as where it happened.

When you insist it’s nothing, his head turns, neck popping at an unnatural angle.

“Nothing? My dear, you’re injured. This is not a mere scratch at that. You’ve been stabbed and contracted or not, you are a soul under my protection. No one messes with what is the radio demon’s.”

Alastor is not above using intimidation tactics to try to get this information.

If he gets it, God can’t save the person who hurt you.

A special broadcast for a sinner who never stood a chance.

He will torture this person for hours on end.

Rosie

You blamed yourself, honestly. This was Hell. The extermination was not that long ago. Turf wars were rampant. You should have stayed home.

The molotov that went off nearby was not at all your fault but you felt like you should have known better than to go out on the streets the day after the extermination ended.

You stayed home until the turf wars died down but you did go home and stay home until they did right after.

For the most part, yeah, it hurt like a bitch but it wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

The skin would regenerate. The main thing was making sure you didn’t need to regenerate completely.

A couple days later, you managed to work up the energy to go to Cannibal Town.

You opened the doors to Rosie’s Emporium.

“Oh my lord! Sweetheart, what happened?!” “I went out after the extermination, got hit in some crossfire. I was wondering if these clothes were salvageable or am I going to have to plan an order for something new?” “Sit down!” “Yes, ma’am.”

She would redo all your bandages properly, put some top notch cream and ointments on you and send you with some to go home with.

Rosie may want to know who did this so she can go have a very stern chat with them but she cares about you being well more.

She does bring goodie baskets and restocks your entire wardrobe while she temporarily has you on bed rest.

She will fuss over you and you won’t have to lift a single finger because if she’s not there, one of her most trusted cannibals are and they are trusted because they will report back if you’re being stubborn and refusing their help.

She will check up on you every day until you’ve completely regenerated all your skin and you’re good as new.

Vox

When you got caught in the middle of a drug deal gone wrong and your eye got damaged, you did not want the annoyance.

You see, people would think that having your eye merely damaged would be better than having it gone but. . .

Your vision was iffy at best. You would get constant headaches due to the imbalance of vision. (I am not projecting with my imbalanced as hell prescription, fuck off.)

It just was not worth it so you went to a friend and got the entire eye removed.

So instead of a week’s worth of headaches and pain while going about your day to day, you got off with two weeks without an eye until it regenerated. May be twice the time, yes, but a well off trade.

At least, you thought so until you explained this to Vox when you brought him lunch the next day.

“You did what?!”

He was looking at you like you’d done something completely irrational. Claws digging into his desk, eyes wide and spiraling, a snarl curled on his face.

“Okay, okay, okay, let’s start off small? Who did this to you?” “I don’t know, some stranger on the street.” “Some stranger on the—“ *cue maniacal laughing—“okay. Where did this happen?”

You don’t go to work for the next month. Vox makes sure of it.

You are being pampered and holed up in the V Tower. You can’t leave by yourself ever again. He’s getting you a bodyguard.

“No, doll face, I’m not budging on this. You don’t have to talk to them. Hell, you don’t have to interact with them at all but you are not leaving alone.” “You think I don’t know you stalk me?” “Clearly I don’t do it well enough with my attention divided!”—his eyes would spiral before he takes a deep breath and places his hands gently on your shoulders—“I’m not budging so look over the resumes and choose one or I’ll do it for you.”

Yeah, say bye-bye to your privacy, not that you had much anyway but you did use to have the illusion of it. If you’re with the Vs or in one of their buildings, the bodyguard does not have to be with you but somehow they always know when you try to sneak somewhere yourself.

At least you have someone to carry your bags for you when your shopping now.

Vox absolutely checks all of his security footage and finds the people who hurt you.

Let’s just say they don’t regenerate for. . . a long while.

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin rosie x reader #rosie x reader

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 3 months

Text

Dumb idea but what if you were found after being MIA for five years

The task force were confident in their ability to get the intel they needed from their current mission. They had been following this cell for months, knew more about them than the people paying them for information and had slowly chipped away at their defenses without getting their attention.

They were on the cusp of getting the intel they needed.

They had infiltrated the base without issue. Having taken out the guards in the perimeter so efficiently it was as if they had never been there in the first place. With the coverage of nightfall, they were undetected as they came up to the base and soon they were sneaking through the halls.

With every hostile they encountered they took care of them swiftly, leaving the bodies in a pool of their own blood before they even shot at them.

They reached the main room of the base and began their work retrieving all of the information they could from the computers and papers spread about.

Just as they collected enough information, alarms began to sound off in the base and in the distance they could hear gunfire.

Soap quickly looked at the cameras and saw a different group to the hostiles they were stealing from. They didn't look familiar as they gunned down the hostiles with expert skill.

"Who the fuck-"

"Doesn't matter." Price immediately went into action, barely paying attention to the cameras. "We need to get out of here."

In their attempt to get out unscathed and undetected, they ended up in the middle of the firefight. The fight became confusing; it was hard to tell who was shooting at who and where the hostiles were coming from. Many of the hostiles the 141 stole the info from began to die in front of them at an almost frightening speed, leaving the other group to push up.

The task force was close to getting out, if they could get past the threshold and run to a rendezvous point they'd get out without further issue-

A car bomb went off.

The blast sent Price into the ground, mostly unscathed saved for the wind being knocked out of him and temporarily taking his hearing with it.

He struggled to get up the others continued the fight, unable to get to him as they held their ground. They called out to him but he couldn't recover as quickly as he wanted to.

Someone approached him from the dust and he attempted to fire at them before he was kicked in the head. He became even more disorientated, barely able to hold onto consciousness as the person searched through his vest for the USB he had taken.

Price couldn't see their face and as he tried to fight them off, they shoved him back once they got the USB.

They were gone just as quick as they appeared. The gunfire slowly stopped and the group had disappeared, leaving the 141 with barely any ammo left and scraped up, and confused.

The mission went from successful to a complete disaster in mere moments.

Back on their temporary base they were left confused and defeated.

"How did this happen?" Gaz huffed.

"A group that small taking them head on would've died." Ghost said. "They were waiting for us."

"You believe that, sir?" Soap wondered.

Price hadn't said much since they got back, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. He didn't like when things turned out like this, when things get taken from him so quickly without anyway to fight back. Usually an ambush never ended up with this much disaster...this had to have been planned.

"I do." He uncrossed his arms and looked to Laswell who was trying desperately to salvage this. "Can you find out who they are?"

"The cameras there recorded the incident but there's no identifiable markings or clothes that they wore." She explained as she sifted through her laptop. "I may have found our culprit."

The boys huddled around the projector, watching as the footage replayed from the security cameras.

The group walked out from the shadows into the cameras vision. They wore all black and all of them had their faces fully covered except for one, who looked at if they were given orders to put the bomb on the car.

Closer to the camera, it was easier to make out some of the features, but nothing looked recognizable until the person turned around.

"Pause it." Price's eyes widened and he felt his chest tighten. "Zoom in."

The others looked confused for a moment before they too felt their stomach drop. The air in the room became thick and every single one of them could only hear their hearts in their ears as it suddenly became hard to fight against their knees buckling.

Half a face they hadn't seen in five years, recognizable eyes that were darker and full of more hatred than they ever imagined to be possible.

The image was fuzzy but there was no mistake.

You were in the footage alive, five years after being confirmed MIA.

#wintersoldier!reader #anyone #idk i had the idea and had to get it out #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #it's been done before but oh well #here

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anqelbean · 6 days

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SHIZUN LBH AND DISCIPLE SY??? PLEASE TELL US MORE I'M FERAL

I, too, am feral over these two nonnie, so I shall continue cause you asked so nicely <3

So, the PIDW of this universe follows the immortal lord Luo Binghe, Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, Demon Emperor on the side (shhhhh, that part's a secret).

Binghe is (seemingly) righteous and noble, but in truth he's always 1 step away from destroying Cang Qiong Mountain. His thread of hope for humanity is about to snap, which is not at all helped by Xin Mo, who has almost taken his mind over completely.

Enter Shen Yuan, transmigrator extraordinaire, disciple of Qing Jing Peak. The person that's supposed to expose Luo Binghe's demonic heritage to the world and kickstart the conquering of the Human Realm by the Demon Emperor, leading to Shen Yuan's eventually becoming a human stick.

Well, he doesn't want to die like that! Who would! So thigh hugging it is!

Thankfully the System in this world isn't as strict as in canon, so he does have one way of saving himself: if Shen Jiu had become Head Disciple, he would not have wanted to expose Luo Binghe.

He tries his darned best to get close to Luo Binghe, although clumsily. He always ends up walking into things when he's around 'cause he was gawking at him. Which, he reasons, is a perfectly normal thing for a disciple to do! To admire his Shizun! Especially since his Shizun was THE protagonist!

Luo Binghe doesn't know what to think of him at first. Clumsy, starry-eyed, always with his nose in the books like he's trying to memorise all the characters, not just its contents, talented enough, but lacking in experience, perfect recipe for disaster. He needs to keep an eye on him if he doesn't want to deal with a dead disciple.

But. It's strange. No one's ever looked at him like that. He knows his disciples admire him, but all of them are so terrified of him they don't dare to get close, lest they end up doing more chores as punishment. But, this Shen Yuan. It's like. Like he's not scared? Like Luo Binghe is...someone worthy of hero-worship. He can't even admit it to himself, but he cannot help but preen under his clumsy disciple's adoring gaze.

Then, a candle accidentally falls in Shen Yuan's dorm, and there's no room for him left. All his roommates went to their friends' rooms, but Shen Yuan didn't have any close friends on the peak! Where should he go???

Luo Binghe…feels he needs to play the good Shizun. It's just an act, of course. He doesn't actually care for the boy. He needs to play the cool, distant immortal, kind enough to take in a stray. He has Shen Yuan move into his side room, BUT only temporarily.

And so it begins.

Luo Binghe finds himself enjoying having someone to cook for again. He himself doesn't need to eat, so he only really does it when trying to woo a demoness into his bed. But with Shen Yuan, it's different. He hasn't cooked for someone just for them to satiate their hunger since his mother. It almost feels…intimate. Seeing Shen Yuan not eat his food so much as inhale it, hearing the sincere praise from the child's mouth… It's all too much.

It doesn't help that the boy is actually quite shameless. Taking off all his layers except one the moment he's home, even his pants! He is just prancing around with all his skin for the world to see! It makes him want to scold him, to take his layers and dress him back up himself just so he doesn't have the image of those long, long legs of Shen Yuan's stuck in his mind. So he does, “Disciple Shen should be more mindful of his appearance,” he says, desperately trying to ignore Shen Yuan's pretty red face as he stammers 'shizun' while Luo Binghe ties his robes, “Anyone could walk in, it's indecent.” And incredibly distracting, he doesn't say.

Few months pass, Luo Binghe realises one thing: this boy is the only person worthy of respect on his entire peak. If something were to happen to him, he would raze the entire mountain to the ground, himself included.

He tries everything just to touch the boy. He fixes his robes, put his hands on his shoulders, picks him up during nighthunts when things get intense, and if he touches him a little more than necessary while correcting his sword forms, well, no one notices.

For once, something has moved his cold, dead heart and Luo Binghe is a hungry soul, bleeding for more, unwilling to let go of this new tiny light he's found, wishing to devour and devour, till no one else can steal it from him, like everything else good in his miserable, lonely life.