#except with deepest intention

[ainulindaelynn]

Extremely random thought for your Wednesday (or Thursday, depending): I just encountered the term alexinomia for the first time and now I'm so so fascinated (and also laughing about the fact that there's unintentionally a name in the term for apprehension of speaking names).

But I've always felt that way? I RARELY use people's names. Rarely. It effects both talking to people and talking about them, but usually only the former. And its more pronounced with people I care deeply about - the more deeply, the less likely I am to use it. As an example, I don't remember the last time I said my partner's name to them and I think the total instances could probably be counted on one hand in the entirety of our ten year relationship.

It's not always a good indicator of affection though, because sometimes I'll push past that deliberately as a mark of emotion. But that's like.... terrifying lmao

There's just something so bizarrely intimate about names??

Since reading it I've been confounded by that element of it being more difficult the closer the person is. I read a few articles and it seems like there are widely ranging opinions on the topic as a whole (wide enough to toss the lot out imo) and for me at least, I don't think it's social anxiety. It doesn't feel trauma based. It's not my shotty memory. It's just... very specific. And it feels about connection.

I was explaining this to my partner and I think I figured it out, at least for me:

Names (any name a person feels intense connection with, given or chosen) feel intimate to me. Period.

And using one feels like striking that intimacy intentionally.

And I'm careful about that.

But I also think (and maybe in weird for this), the way you feel about a person is usually evident in the way you say their name. Not necessarily the inflection or circumstance, although sometimes. Something about the syllables? I don't know. It feels transparent most of the time.

Which, if true for other people, means saying someone else's name is revealing about my own feelings toward them and however much affection is (or isn't) behind it. Which is why people who are closer are often harder. It's more vulnerable. It's easy to say someone's name when, in my mind, they are at arms length, when I don't care about how they receive or how much they reciprocate.

Idk, that's such a strange social phenomenon and now I'm curious if other people experience this too and if it's for the same reason?

Such a bizarre thing.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Some people fall apart quietly. You were one of them. The weight of existence had always been relentless, pressing down on you like an unseen force no one else could feel.

A lifetime of existential crises, quiet detachment, and numbness that never truly faded—it all led you here. To your quiet space, where the world was silent, where you could exist without pretense, without expectation. But solitude was never yours to keep.

Not when they noticed.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

soooo, Is it bad to turn to my "middle school” playlist just to feel something? I’ve been staying positive and relaxing on spring break; I need to be in my feelings when writing stuff like this. T-T

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 

Jericho has a way with words to make you feel better.

You sat in the deepest part of the library, a place so tucked away that even the dust seemed undisturbed. It was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but that was the point. No one came here. 

No one except, apparently, Crowe.

"You're only here out of pity."

You didn’t bother looking up when you said it. You didn’t need to. The sound of his footsteps had already told you it was him before he even spoke.

There was a beat of silence. Then a soft exhale as Crowe dropped into the seat across from you, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. You knew that exhale—it was the same one he let out whenever he was frustrated but trying not to show it.

"You’ve been avoiding me." His voice was steady, but there was an edge underneath.

"I’ve been busy."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "That’s bullshit, and we both know it."

You clenched your jaw. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need him looking at you like that—like he saw right through you.

Crowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His eyes, usually so unreadable, had that sharp focus he got when he was putting the pieces together. 

"You stopped showing up to class. You dropped out of clubs without telling anyone. I damn near had to get our friends to track you down, because no one knew where the hell you were."

You flinched, just barely. So he had noticed. Of course, he had.

“Thier, not my friends—I don’t see why you care so much." You finally looked at him, your expression blank. "You don’t have to play the role of the concerned friend, Crowe. You can go back to your life now. I’ll be fine."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap at you. But instead, he just ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s what pisses me off," he muttered.

"What?"

"You think I’m here out of pity."

You scoffed. "Tell me I’m wrong, then."

Crowe’s fingers tapped against the table—a small habit of his when he was thinking, calculating. Then, without warning, he reached forward and grabbed your wrist. His touch was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over the edge of your sleeve where the fabric was just slightly worn from being pulled down one too many times.

"I don’t do pity," he said quietly. "I don’t waste my time on people I don’t give a shit about. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care."

His grip wasn’t tight. 

You could pull away if you wanted to. 

But you didn’t.

"You keep pushing people away," he continued, his voice softer now, almost tired. "But I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you try to make me."

Something in your chest ached at his words, but you shoved it down, deep where it couldn’t touch you. You didn’t want to believe him. Because if you did—if you let yourself think, even for a second, that someone actually cared—what would happen when he eventually got tired of you? When he realized you weren’t worth the effort?

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even. 

"You’re wasting your time, Crowe."

He studied you for a long moment, then let go of your wrist, leaning back in his chair.

"Maybe," he said simply. "But that’s my choice, isn’t it?"

The worst part? He said it like he meant it.

Crowe didn’t move from his seat, didn’t take his eyes off you. He let his words settle between you, filling the heavy silence. You hated it—hated the way he just sat there, like he wasn’t going to leave no matter how much you wanted him to.

Or maybe, deep down, you hated that part of you didn’t want him to leave at all.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward again, arms resting on the table. His voice softened. "You really think that little of yourself, don’t you?"

You opened your mouth to argue—to throw back some cold, dismissive remark that would push him away—but you hesitated. Something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t an accusation but just… sad, made your throat tighten.

Crowe didn’t wait for an answer. He just shook his head, like he was trying to figure out how the hell to get through to you.

"You act like you're nothing, like people only keep you around because they feel sorry for you. But that’s bullshit. You’re the smartest person I know, and not just in that textbook way—you're sharp. You see things other people don’t. And you're not just smart, you’re…" He exhaled, searching for the right words. 

"You’re strong. Even when you don’t feel like it."

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. "That’s a nice way of saying I’m stubborn."

Crowe let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, you are. But that’s part of it. You don’t just roll over when things get hard. You keep going, even when you think you don’t have it in you." He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. 

"And I hate that you can’t see that. I hate that you think so little of yourself when I—" He stopped himself, sucking in a sharp breath.

You stared at him. "When you what?"

Crowe hesitated. His fingers tapped against the table again, a steady rhythm. Then, finally, he met your eyes. "When I think the world of you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"You matter," he said, and he said it with such certainty it almost hurt. "You’re not some burden. You’re not some pity project. You’re—you’re you. And that’s enough. That’s always been enough."

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. You didn’t know what to do with the warmth creeping into your chest, didn’t know how to process the way he was looking at you—like you were something worth holding onto.

"Crowe—"

"I mean it," he cut in before you could come up with some excuse, some way to dismiss it. "And I’ll keep saying it until you start believing it yourself."

Crowe’s eyes softened as he watched you, but there was something else there too—something unshakable, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready for. 

You looked away, focusing on the grain of the wooden table, on the faint scratches left behind by years of students who had sat here before you.

You weren’t feeling those feelings anymore. Not really. Not the way you used to. It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere along the way, like something inside you had just… shut off.

And that scared you.

Because even the pain, the hurt, the exhaustion—at least it had been something. At least it had been real. But now? Now it was just numb. Like you were watching your own life from behind a glass wall, unable to reach through, unable to touch anything.

Crowe must have noticed something shift in your expression because, before you could pull away, he reached out—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Hey." His voice was quiet, careful. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he said the wrong thing. "Where’d you go just now?"

You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. "Nowhere."

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, the warmth of his touch grounding in a way you weren’t used to. Crowe never pushed, never forced his way in—but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be.

"You’re lying," he murmured, his grip steady but gentle. "And I get it. I do. But whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let the words sink in, to let yourself reach for the warmth he was offering—but the weight in your chest was too heavy.

"I don’t feel it anymore," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t feel anything."

Crowe’s fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening just slightly as if grounding himself in the moment. A flicker of something unguarded passed through his eyes—raw, desperate, something he couldn’t put into words. It was brief, barely there, but you caught it.

And then, before you could pull away before you could disappear into yourself again, he leaned in.

His forehead hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath. He wasn’t forcing you, wasn’t taking anything—just waiting, holding steady, like he’d stand there forever if that’s what it took.

"Then let me feel it for you."

His voice was hoarse like the words physically pained him.

"Let me hold it until you can again."

Your breath hitched, something inside you cracking at the weight of those words. You weren’t sure what broke first—your resolve, the numb wall you’d built, or the illusion that you could keep pushing him away forever. But in that moment, something shifted.

His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing you—like he wanted to make sure you were still here. His hands weren’t trembling, but there was a tension in them, a silent plea he wasn’t voicing.

"You don’t see yourself the way I do." His voice was rough, edged with frustration, and something deeper, something almost unbearable.

He let out a slow breath, his forehead dipping against the side of your head, like the weight of what he said was too much to hold upright. "And that pisses me off."

That alone almost made you laugh. A quiet, breathless sound—more disbelief than humor.

Your throat tightened, and your chest ached. Your eyes burned. But you didn’t cry. Not yet.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, someone wasn’t just telling you that you weren’t alone. 

Crowe just proved it.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol had never thought it would be this hard to find you.

He’d skipped his own classes to track you down, not bothering to tell anyone where he was going, not caring that the clock was ticking and he was supposed to be somewhere else. But when he’d gone to your usual spots on campus and asked around, there was no sign of you. 

His heart had dropped lower with every dead end. When he reached your apartment, his gut twisted—he’d thought, maybe hoped, that you'd be somewhere else, somewhere safe, surrounded by other people. But you weren’t.

Sol knocked, but there was no answer. His breath came out in a frustrated puff. His instincts told him to push through, and he did. He twisted the knob, relieved to find the door unlocked, but he froze when he stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

The only sound was the faint hum of an old air conditioner, the muffled traffic from outside the window. Everything felt still as if the space itself was holding its breath.

He moved cautiously through the small apartment, eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. There were books scattered across the coffee table, dishes piled up in the sink. It looked like you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. Not for a while.

He moved down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, as his gaze landed on the bathroom door—half-open, as though you hadn’t bothered to close it completely.

He stopped, instinctively bracing himself before stepping into the room.

The scene before him stopped him in his tracks. 

You were sitting in the bathtub, your knees drawn up to your chest, your arms locked around them as if you could hold yourself together that way. The water was still—too still. It was clear, untouched, yet it seemed to be drowning you all the same. Your hair clung to your face, soaked, strands matted and heavy. You hadn't moved for so long that the water had become cold against your skin, but you didn't care.

Your face was hidden, your eyes closed, and for a brief moment, Sol couldn’t tell if you were asleep or… if you were gone.

A cold panic surged through him, piercing through his chest like ice. His heart stuttered in his ribcage as his breath hitched. He didn’t care about anything else—he just needed to know you were still there, still breathing.

Sol rushed forward, reaching for your shoulder, shaking you lightly at first. But when you didn’t respond, the fear in him began to twist, hard and tight. He shook you again, harder this time, his fingers gripping you with urgency, his voice raw with anxiety.

"Hey." His voice was a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of his panic. "Hey, you okay?"

You jerked awake with a startled shout, your body stiffening in alarm, and immediately you pushed away from his touch. Your eyes flashed open—wide, but unfocused. The fear in your voice was sharp, raw, and you barely registered that it was him standing over you.

"Stop! Go away!" You snapped, your voice thick with exhaustion and frustration. It was bitter, the kind of bitterness that had been accumulating for days, weeks, months. 

The weight of everything you were trying to hide, trying to bury, came spilling out with those words.

Sol froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shook as he stood over you, watching your form curl into itself. Your clothes were soaked, clinging to your skin like a second layer, and your hair dripped onto your shoulders, wet strands sticking to your face. 

He couldn't bear to see you like this—this distant, this unreachable.

"What’s going on with you?" Sol demanded, his voice firm but laced with the underlying concern he couldn’t hide. His brow furrowed, and there was a weight in his tone like he was pleading without saying it. 

But you didn’t answer. 

You just turned your face away, pushing your hair back with a dismissive motion, trying to rid yourself of the mess both in your mind and around you.

The silence stretched between you both, and Sol’s patience started to wear thin, a hint of frustration creeping in despite his worry. He rolled his eyes, not at you, but at the situation itself. He couldn’t stand the way you kept pushing him away, pretending that you didn’t need help, pretending that you didn’t need someone to care.

Without waiting for an answer, Sol turned on his heel and went to the linen closet. You barely noticed his movements at first, too lost in your thoughts to even register that he had left. 

When he returned moments later, however, he had two freshly folded towels in his hands.

You blinked, your mind foggy as you tried to piece together how he had found them so quickly. You were lost, disconnected from everything but the fog of your head.

You sighed, exasperated, the weight of everything suddenly pulling at your chest again. "Go away." The words were barely more than a whisper, but they felt heavy on your tongue.

Sol didn’t budge. He took a step closer to the tub, his brow set in determination. But before he could say anything, you pushed him away, your hands weak but insistent.

"I don’t want you to touch me."

His expression softened, but the concern was still there, etched into every line of his face. He stood still for a moment, allowing you the space you wanted. 

You were pulling further into yourself, retreating, and he hated that. But he wasn’t leaving—not until you saw he wasn’t going anywhere.

Sol stood there, his gaze hardening as he watched you pull away, trying to retreat further into yourself as if you could escape the moment. That familiar edge of anger sparked in him—the kind that always flared up when he felt helpless. 

When he could see you falling apart right in front of him, all he could do was stand there and watch you push him away

"Try me," he growled under his breath, his voice low and controlled, but the roughness in it was undeniable. It was like he couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore, the pain of seeing you like this, watching you destroy yourself without any help, without any sign that you even wanted to fight it.

He took a step closer, his heart pounding louder with every second. 

The sound of it was deafening in his ears, but it only pushed him forward, closer to you.

You turned your face away, but Sol wasn’t having it. He reached out with firm, purposeful hands and grabbed your wrist, not roughly, but with a hold that wouldn’t allow you to pull away. His fingers brushed over the raised scars on your skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

The reality of it hit him harder than he was prepared for, like a slap to the face. He swore under his breath, the anger shifting to something darker, something he couldn’t fully express.

"Why?" he asked, quieter now, almost afraid of the answer but still needing to hear it. His voice wavered with a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he wanted to show, but it slipped out anyway. He couldn’t help it—he needed to understand. 

Why did you keep doing this to yourself?

You remained silent, your lips pressed into a thin line, a stubborn refusal to give him any of the answers he was desperate for. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, as though he was trying to tether you to him, not letting you slip away.

"You can talk to me," Sol said, his voice softer, more pleading now, despite the cold anger still simmering under the surface. "I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care how bad it’s been, or how bad you think it’ll sound. Just—don’t do this. Not alone. Not anymore."

His words hung in the air, fragile and thin, like a thread that could snap at any moment. And for a fleeting second, you almost wanted to reach for it. 

Almost. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

 The thought of letting someone see you like this, letting them truly see the mess inside—you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let anyone in.

"I don’t need saving, Sol." The words came out cold, clipped like you were trying to freeze everything between you both. But even as you spoke, your voice trembled, betraying you.

Sol didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on your wrist tightened just a little more, like he was trying to keep you anchored to him, trying to keep you from disappearing into yourself.

"Good," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with an honesty that almost took your breath away. "‘Cause I’m not trying to save you."

He stepped even closer, his breath shallow as he dropped down to sit beside the tub, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even with the chill in the air. 

His face was just inches from yours now, his gaze locked on yours. 

"I just don’t want to lose you." His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, it almost felt like everything else stopped. His words were simple, but they hit deeper than anything else he could’ve said. 

He wasn’t trying to fix you. He wasn’t trying to save you. 

He just didn’t want to lose you.

Sol let the silence stretch between you, the weight of his words pressing down like a hand around your throat. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his fingers ghosting over the scars with an almost reverent touch. His breathing was slow, controlled—but you could feel the tension radiating off of him.

Then, without warning, he moved. Swift and sure, like he had already decided what to do before you could even react.

He grabbed the towel he had brought earlier, shaking it out before reaching for you again. You stiffened, instinctively trying to shrink back, but Sol didn’t give you the chance.

"Enough." His voice was firm, brooking no argument as he pulled you forward, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. The fabric was thick and warm against your soaked clothes, a sharp contrast to the chill in the room.

You didn’t protest when he dragged you up. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you didn’t want to fight him on this anymore. The moment your legs wobbled from the sudden movement, his arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his chest.

The warmth of him was suffocating.

"You’re shaking," he muttered, tightening his hold. His fingers dug into the fabric of the towel, pressing into your back as though he could physically hold you together. "Jesus, Pumpkin… what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

You swallowed, your throat dry. You could feel the steady thud of his heart against your ear, and could hear the controlled breaths he was forcing himself to take. But it was the slight tremor in his voice that made you feel like the worst person in the world.

You didn’t deserve this.

You didn’t deserve him.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or hold on. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. His warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness you had wrapped yourself in for so long, and for once, you let yourself feel it.

"Why are you here, Sol?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.

"Why the fuck wouldn’t I be here?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You think I’d just ignore this? Ignore you?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? That he should have ignored this? That it was easier that way?

Sol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before cupping the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. His fingers wove into your damp strands, grounding you with his touch.

"Hey now," he said, voice firm, unwavering. "If you think for a second that I’m gonna sit back and let you drown in this—" his grip on your hair tightened slightly, quiet desperation seeping into his words—"you don’t know me as well as you think you do."

The guilt hit like a punch to the gut.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing against the back of your neck in a way that made you shiver.

"I don’t need saving," you repeated weakly, but it felt like a lie now.

"Yeah?" Sol’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a frown. "Then tell me—if I leave right now, if I walk out that door and don’t come back… are you gonna be okay?"

You opened your mouth to snap yes, to shove him away and tell him to leave you the hell alone. But the words caught in your throat.

Sol’s eyes softened, but there was something sharper lurking beneath. Something calculating. He saw the hesitation, the way your lips parted but no words followed, and he seized the moment.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your forehead.

You clenched your jaw, hating how easily he could tear through your defenses. Hating how right he was.

He sighed, his grip on your hair finally loosening as he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I’m not going anywhere, Pumpkin." His tone was softer now, almost tender—but there was something unshakable beneath it, something that made it clear you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

"So stop trying to make me."

You hated how much you wanted to believe him. How much you wanted to fall into this warmth, this safety he was offering. But deep down, you knew—this wasn’t just concern.

This was possession.

And Sol had no intention of letting you go.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo wasn’t the type to care about people’s problems.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It was easier that way—easier to stay detached, to keep his own peace intact. But you?

You made it impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t anything obvious. You still showed up, still spoke when necessary, and still wore that same carefully constructed expression that kept everyone from prying too deep. The others didn’t see it—they weren’t looking hard enough.

But Geo? He noticed.

The way your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. The way you lingered at the edges of conversations, only half-present. The way your shoulders carried just a little more weight than usual.

It pissed him off. Not at you—but at whatever had put that weight there in the first place. And the fact that no one else had noticed? That made it worse.

So when you weren’t in your usual spots after classes, he felt it. The unease settled into his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and no matter how much he wanted to brush it off, he couldn’t.

Fine. If you weren’t going to say anything, then he’d figure it out himself.

The library? Empty.

Your club meetings? No sign of you.

Geo’s jaw tightened, his annoyance growing the longer it took. But then—then he found you.

The university greenhouse.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh blooms, the warmth of the sun filtering through the glass ceiling above. And there you were, sitting on a worn stone bench, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed in a way that felt almost unnatural.

For a second, he just watched.

You looked peaceful. Or maybe… maybe you were just pretending to be.

Geo hated that he couldn’t tell.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped forward, his footsteps quiet against the greenhouse floor. He didn’t say anything at first, just standing there like he was waiting for you to notice him. When you didn’t, he clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Didn’t think you were the type to nap in the middle of the day," he muttered, his voice just loud enough to cut through the stillness.

Your eyes flickered open, but you didn’t look surprised. Like you had already known he was there.

"Not napping," you murmured, voice slow, distant. "Just… thinking."

Geo sighed. "Yeah? And how’s that going for you?"

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly. "Too loud."

Geo frowned at that. The greenhouse was silent—just the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the fans overhead. But he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

He moved closer, his gaze sharp as he took you in. The way your fingers curled slightly against the stone bench. The way your shoulders were tense, even if you were trying to look at ease. The way your eyes had that tired look—the kind that sleep wouldn’t fix.

Yeah. Something was wrong.

And it was worse than he thought.

"...You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge beneath it.

You huffed, shaking your head. "Nothing’s going on."

"Liar."

That made you pause.

Geo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don’t do the whole ‘prying’ thing. But when someone who’s usually pretty good at keeping their shit together suddenly starts falling apart under the radar? Kinda hard not to notice."

You tensed, and he caught it immediately. He was right.

"...You’re imagining things," you muttered, but it was weak.

Geo just scoffed. "Yeah? Then why are you out here, alone, sitting in a greenhouse like some tragic main character?"

You shot him a glare, but he just raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"Thought so," he muttered.

Silence stretched between you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixated on the greenhouse floor, tracing the cracks between the stone tiles like they held answers you couldn't find anywhere else.

Geo wasn’t the type to comfort. He wasn’t the type to pry, either. If you wanted to talk, you would. If you didn’t, fine—he wasn’t going to beg for your feelings. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see what was happening to you.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

"Listen." He exhaled sharply, his voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience, but not with you—never with you. More like he was frustrated at the situation itself, at the fact that he even had to say this.

"I don’t care what it is. I don’t care if it’s stupid, or if you think I won’t get it, or whatever excuse you’re using to keep your mouth shut." He leaned back against the bench, just close enough to remind you he was here, but not close enough to smother you. "Just don’t sit here acting like you’re fine when you’re clearly not."

His voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. But it was real.

And for some reason, that made it harder to breathe.

Your throat felt tight, something hot building behind your ribs, but you forced it down. You were good at that—at shoving things so deep inside yourself that they didn’t exist anymore. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Geo let out a slow, heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as if this whole thing physically exhausted him. "I don’t like worrying about people," he muttered. "Kinda hate it, actually."

His words shouldn’t have stung, but they did.

His eyes flickered toward you, sharp but unreadable as if debating whether to say the next part.

"But you?" His voice dipped lower, quieter, but somehow heavier. "Yeah. You make that shit real hard to avoid."

That did something to you.

You weren’t sure what exactly, but it hit deeper than you wanted it to. Deeper than you expected it to.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap, gripping at the fabric of your clothes like you could anchor yourself there. "I don’t mean to," you murmured.

"I know." Geo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice softened—not in the way people spoke to you with forced pity or careful concern, but in a way that felt... real.

"...Doesn’t change the fact that I still do."

And then—plink.

The first raindrop struck the glass above, a soft, barely-there sound. Then another. And another.

Within moments, the greenhouse filled with the rhythm of rainfall, steady yet heavy, each drop echoing against the glass panels. The scent of damp earth rose around you, rich and grounding, as the world outside blurred into a hazy wash of gray.

Geo exhaled sharply, arms crossing over his chest.

Of course, it had to start raining.

The timing felt cruel in a way—like the universe had been watching the whole time and decided this moment needed an extra layer of weight.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in the quiet of the downpour, in the stillness of the greenhouse, something in the air had shifted. The truth was, he wasn’t the type to comfort people. Wasn’t the type to sit around and hold hands, whispering empty reassurances. 

It wasn’t something he was used to. 

It wasn’t something he did.

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the rain pattering against the greenhouse glass, the steady rhythm filling the space between words you couldn't say.

Your chest ached. Not in a sharp, unbearable way—but in a dull, bone-deep exhaustion that never seemed to fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"...Classes are draining." Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but somehow, it felt deafening. "I feel like I go through them in a daze. Like I’m there, but I’m not."

Geo didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. So you kept going because now that you started, it was hard to stop.

"I wake up, I go to class, I do what I have to, and then... I just exist." You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "And it never means anything. I don’t feel anything. I just... am. And I don’t even know if that matters anymore."

Your hands clenched tighter, knuckles turning white. The words felt too big, too raw, too exposed. It was terrifying.

And for the first time, you dared to look at him.

Geo’s jaw was tight, his fingers twitching against his knee like he was holding himself back. His usual sharp, cocky demeanor had faded into something else—something serious. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” His voice was quiet, but firm.

You didn’t look at him. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched. "Acting like you don’t matter."

The silence that followed was thick—almost suffocating. And then, you laughed. Bitter, empty.

“Because I don’t.”

Geo stilled. The way you said it like it was just a fact like it wasn’t something that should sting—it pissed him off. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as he studied you, taking in the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your hands clenched in your lap like you were bracing for something. Like you believed what you just said.

Geo clicked his tongue. "Bullshit."

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Geo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t have the right words, the right softness people probably expected in moments like these. But he did know one thing.

His fingers moved before his mind fully caught up, wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that contradicted the sharp edge in his expression. His thumb traced over the fresh marks you had tried so hard to keep hidden, his touch warm against the raised skin.

Geo didn’t say anything at first, just staring—his face unreadable, but his grip steady. Then, his jaw tensed, his voice coming out quieter than before, rough with frustration.

"You matter to me."

Your breath hitched. Something in your chest tightened, an ache you couldn’t quite place.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you turned your face away, shaking your head. "You’re wasting your time."

Geo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Then let me waste it."

Before you could react, Geo pulled you forward, shifting you into his lap like it was nothing, like he had already decided you weren’t going anywhere. His grip was firm but not forceful, an unspoken message that he wasn’t about to let you slip away—not now, not like this.

Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness. His face was just inches from yours, the warmth of his skin brushing against the coldness that had settled deep in your bones. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint hitch in his breathing as he realized just how close you were.

He still didn’t let go of your wrist. If anything, his fingers curled slightly, holding you there like an anchor, like some stubborn part of him thought that if he kept you close enough, he could stop you from drifting any further.

Geo’s expression was the same as always—mildly annoyed, slightly flushed—but when he tried to speak, he faltered. “I—uh, I just—”

His voice caught. He clenched his jaw, his usual sharp confidence replaced by something uncharacteristically awkward. His ears burned red, his gaze flickering away for half a second before snapping back to you. For the first time in your life, you saw Geo flustered.

And it was hilarious.

The sight of him—one of the smoothest, most put-together guys you knew—stammering like an idiot while trying to be serious? 

It was too much.

A laugh broke past your lips before you could stop it.

Geo froze.

Your shoulders shook slightly, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, but you couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake.

It was real.

And somehow, despite everything, it felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uselessness that always clung to you—the one that whispered you were just a burden, that you didn’t matter—faded into the background.

Geo huffed dramatically, shifting slightly but not letting you go. "Oh, great. Now you’re laughing at me."

You buried your face into his chest, still shaking with quiet amusement. "Because you suck at this," you mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, well—" He was about to fire back, but then he heard it again.

Your laugh.

Not the usual forced chuckle. Not the empty amusement you gave when you didn’t want people to worry.

A real laugh.

And just like that, he went quiet.

His arms wrapped around you more securely, holding you there—close, warm, real.

Fuck. Geo really cared about you.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo easily felt other’s emotions that he cared about.

It wasn’t hard to guess where you’d gone—he just knew. Like an instinct. Like something in his gut told him exactly where to find you, even before he started searching.

The rooftop was off-limits. Not just by school rules, but in the way most people never thought to come up here. Maybe they were too afraid of getting caught. Maybe they just weren’t the type to seek out heights when the ground felt unsteady beneath them. But you? You never cared about the rules.

You didn’t care about much of anything these days.

Hyugo exhaled sharply as he pushed the rusted rooftop door open, stepping into the cold wind that swept across the campus skyline. His uniform was slightly rumpled, tie loosened, the usual carefree expression wiped clean from his face as he caught sight of you—sitting near the ledge, drawn into yourself like you were trying to disappear into the horizon.

He hated seeing you like this.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“…You missed class again.”

His voice was quiet. Careful. Not demanding, not scolding—just there.

You didn’t react. You didn’t even turn your head.

Hyugo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The bench near the rooftop’s edge groaned as he sat down beside you, leaving just enough space that you wouldn’t feel cornered—but not enough to let you pretend he wasn’t here.

“Figured I’d find you up here,” he said, leaning back slightly, his arms resting against his knees. “Was hoping I was wrong.”

Still, nothing.

You just kept staring at the skyline, like if you looked hard enough, you might find something out there that made existing feel worth it.

Hyugo wasn’t good with words. Not like this. Not when it mattered. But he couldn’t just sit here and let you drown in whatever thoughts were eating away at you.

His eyes flickered to your sleeves. To the faint, fresh marks barely hidden beneath the fabric.

Something in his chest twisted.

“…I get it, you know.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Maybe not exactly. Maybe not in the way you do. But…”

He hesitated, watching your fingers curl slightly in your lap, your shoulders stiff like you were bracing for something.

“…It doesn’t have to be like this.”

A sharp, bitter laugh almost escaped your throat, but you swallowed it down. Doesn’t have to be? It always was. It always would be.

You finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Then tell me what it’s supposed to be like, Hyugo.”

He inhaled slowly, watching you—really watching you. He didn’t have an answer. Not a good one. Not one that would fix anything. But that didn’t stop him from reaching out, his fingers brushing over your wrist, tracing the edge of the pain you carried like it was something fragile, something worth holding onto.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his grip tightening slightly. “But I do know that this isn’t all there is. And I hate that you think it is.”

That did something to you.

Your breath hitched, the weight in your chest pressing harder, heavier. You squeezed your eyes shut, hands clenching into fists.

Hyugo just held onto you. Not forcefully. Not trying to pull you away from the edge—just keeping you here. With him.

“…Talk to me,” he murmured. “Please.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to stay in the silence, in the cold, in the nothingness.

But when you finally turned your head, when you met his eyes—the way he was looking at you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable—

For the first time in forever… You almost believed him.

Since Hyugo wasn’t the type to cry easily.

Sure, he was emotional—he felt a lot, more than he let on—but he was always the one with a bright smile, a teasing remark, a carefree attitude that made him easy to be around. He kept things light. Kept things fun.

But right now?

Right now, as he looked at you, really looked at you—at the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders, at the way your fingers trembled slightly as if you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—something in him cracked.

His throat tightened.

You noticed the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes glistened under the dim rooftop lights, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.

Holy fuck. Did you almost make Hyugo cry?

The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. It felt wrong. Unfair. He wasn’t supposed to be the one hurting. You were the problem here, not him. He shouldn’t—he couldn’t—

You shifted slightly, about to say something, anything to break the tension—

But then, before you could move, before you could even react, Hyugo suddenly lurched forward.

His arms wrapped around you, his face pressing against your chest, his entire body curling into you like he was holding on for dear life.

The impact startled you, making you stiffen, but he didn’t let go. If anything, he clung to you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away the second he loosened his grip.

“…Don’t do this to me,” he mumbled against your shirt, his voice muffled, strained.

You could feel the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breath hitched like he was barely holding himself together. His heartbeat pounded against you, fast, unsteady.

You swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in your stomach.

You didn’t mean to make him feel like this.

You didn’t mean to make anyone feel like this.

Slowly—hesitantly—you lifted a hand, resting it against the back of his head, your fingers threading gently through his messy hair. He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead deeper against your chest like he was trying to disappear into you.

“…Sorry,” you murmured.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, though it came out more like a choked sob.

“God, don’t apologize,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t even realize how cold you’d been until now.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Hyugo just held onto you, like he was afraid if he let go, you’d fade away completely. And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself sink into him too, just this once.

“…I’ll stay.”

The words barely made it past your lips, fragile and uncertain, like they might dissolve into the night air before they even reached him.

Hyugo sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared at you, wide-eyed, like he was afraid to blink in case he somehow imagined your words.

Slowly—cautiously—he pulled back just enough to see your face. The rooftop lights cast faint shadows across his features, but even in the dim glow, you could see it. The raw emotion pooled in his eyes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

His eyes were red-rimmed, glossy with unshed tears.

“…Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and uncertain, like he needed you to say it again, to confirm that you meant it.

You nodded.

And that was it. That was all it took for whatever was holding him back to finally break.

A sharp, uneven breath escaped him, and his lips pressed into a thin line as his brows furrowed. His whole body trembled, hands curling into fists against your back like he was trying to ground himself.

Then, before you could process it, before you could even brace yourself, he lunged forward.

His arms wrapped around you, tighter this time—desperate. His entire body pressed against yours, warm and trembling, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

“Good,” he breathed against your skin, voice thick, raw. “Good. You better. You fucking better.”

You felt him shudder against you, his breath uneven, like he was barely holding himself together. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, gripping you like you might slip through his grasp at any second.

“I—” His voice caught, and he shook his head slightly, swallowing hard. His next words were muffled, spoken so quietly they were almost lost against your skin.

“I’d miss you too much, you know?”

Something inside you twisted painfully.

You exhaled, closing your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, faintly like the wind, like something alive. His heartbeat pounded against yours, frantic and real, a stark contrast to the numbness that had sat heavy in your chest for so long.

You knew.

You knew.

And maybe, just maybe—Hyugo was enough.

[pure-smut]

wind breaker boys - cockwarming headcanons.

featuring: Hajime Umemiya, Ren Kaji, Jo Togame

contains: f!reader, cockwarming (ofc), established relationship, pure smut

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

MDNI | 18+ content

Masterlist

Hajime Umemiya loves cockwarming.

Sometimes he’ll pull you onto his lap, your thighs on either side of his, as he helps you to slowly work his thick cock inside you. Umemiya is heavy on praise, eyes kind as he tells you how well you’re taking him. He thinks the way you furrow your brows and bite your bottom lip, so intent on taking him right to the base is so, so cute.

Once you’re nestled comfortably on top of him, his fat mushroom tip snug against your cervix, he’ll hold you there. Umemiya’s grip is hard on your hips as he stops you from moving.

“Just stay here, baby. Just like this,” he says, capturing your lips in a kiss.

So you do. His cock throbs inside you and you have to fight the urge to buck your hips as Umemiya deepens the kiss. When he parts your lips, you give no resistance, letting him sweep his tongue over yours.

His fingers trail featherlight touches up and down your bare back, tracing the curves of your body, committing them to memory.

If your pussy wasn’t squeezing him so tightly, he could stay like this forever. The intimacy, the closeness. To know he’s reaching inside the deepest part of you. Umemiya loves this. He loves you.

Ren Kaji has no patience for cockwarming but he tries, for you.

You straddle his lap, holding him snug inside you, as you suck rough kisses against his neck the way you know he likes. Kaji groans, his hips instinctively thrusting up. You pull back, huffing.

“No moving!”

Kaji growls, pressing his face between your tits to distract himself. He nibbles and sucks at the soft skin, leaving his own marks on you, before moving to your nipples. You gasp as he flicks his tongue over one nipple, causing it to stiffen, and Kaji tips his head back.

“Baby, I can’t keep still,” he groans.

“It’s only been two minutes.”

“That’s long enough.”

You squeal as he flips you over onto your back, somehow staying inside you. Kaji wastes no time, rolling his hips as he finally, finally gets to move inside you. His cock drags along your plush walls, sending sparks through your body.

“Fuck… That’s better…” he moans, burying his face in your neck.

Kaji picks up speed, grabbing the headboard to leverage himself, fucking you even harder. He scoops a hand under your ass, holding you in place at an angle he knows will make your eyes roll back in your skull.

All thoughts of protest leave your mind as the thick ridges of his cock rub against your g-spot. Stars burst behind your eyes as you clench down around him, creaming on his cock.

Maybe Kaji was right, maybe this is better.

Jo Togame likes to think of himself as a fan of cockwarming but he always runs out of patience in the end.

He loves it when you’re on top, of course. Sex generally starts off slow, Togame moving like he’s at 0.75x speed like everything else. So he loves when you climb on top of him, fucking yourself on his cock while he gets to watch.

Except this time, when you work him fully inside you, you stop.

You lie down against his broad chest, keeping him inside you as you wrap your arms around him.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” you say, sighing contentedly against him.

“Mhmm,” he hums, absently playing with your hair.

He is enjoying himself, he admits, but the way your hot walls are massaging his cock is making his hips buck. You stay like that for a while, as Togame’s cock starts to grow painfully hard at the tease of your sweet pussy without any friction.

Togame splays one large hand against your lower back, pinning you to him, as the other grabs your thigh. He thrusts upward, making you gasp.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, a small smile on his lips. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Togame keeps you pinned against him as he fucks up into you slowly, finally getting the delicious friction he needed so badly. Your welcoming walls squeeze him, milking his cock the way he loves.

Togame likes cockwarming but he loves what comes after.

masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi! ♡

[yuoimia]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ HEY, HANDSOME

summary: you’re shameless with your antics, and he hates loves it. characters: kinich & wanderer notes: fem + flirty reader, relationship is not established, but you’ve known each other for a while, wanderer’s is super short and messy bc i didn’t know how to execute my ideas well, wc: 580

kinich

“Are you free next week?”

Kinich glanced up from the base of the tree to where you sat casually on one of the thick branches. Sunlight streamed through its delicate leaves, spilling onto your hair, casting a familiar shadow he breathed in the first time you two met.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyeing you with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“What does she mean!? Are you STUPID-“

A momentary flash of yellow and green materialised for a split second, not without the usual explosive expressions, before being promptly booted with the irritated flick of Kinich’s right hand.

“Stop smirking,” he sighed, not coming out nearly as stern as he intended. “Out with it, and come down; my neck is starting to hurt,” he continued, turning away, trying to seem as composed as possible. Not now; he cannot be succumbing to nerves and sweaty palms. Why was his mind so foggy? Absolutely no helpful excuses formulated in case he faltered any further.

You let out a disappointed huff. “Fine,” Kinich could almost sense the roll of your eyes from the back of his head. “Make sure to catch me.”

“Wait-“

It happened in a split second, his arms subconsciously reaching out as you slipped down with no hesitation.

Almost instantly, words of disapproval (which included his typical empty threats that he seemed to forget within the next ten minutes) bombarded your ears as one arm held you from the back of your knees, another supporting your back. “Imagine if I didn’t catch you…you need to think before you do things…”

“But you did either way,” you shrugged nonchalantly at his frustrated face, enveloping an arm around his neck to rest your chin on his shoulder. “So…you free next week?” you whispered conspicuously, adjusting yourself to face him properly. “I’m running out of ideas for commissions, you know?”

And you swear you’re hallucinating. You swear you might actually be delusional.

“What if I told you,” he mused at the intimacy of the shared closeness. “That you never needed the commissions for my attention in the first place?” he responded, holding back a smile.

wanderer

“You look terrible.”

The unexpectedly rash comment causes him to jolt his head upright, his eyes instantly meeting the owner of the familiar voice and malicious remark. A strange feeling washes over his body as he relaxes his posture almost completely, careful to avoid seeming too relieved.

“Likewise,” he countered, scanning you with a look of supposed disinterest. Except he wasn’t disinterested at all, thoroughly noting down your appearance and mannerisms. Loose ends of your braid had fallen out of their original position, a vibrant rosy blush below your cheekbones, likely from exhaustion the way your chest rose quicker than usual.

“…likewise?!” you gaped incredulously, seizing a mirror from a pocket of your jacket.

You’re the one that told me I looked terrible.”

“You know I didn’t mean that at all.”

“And you know that, too.”

“You’re supposed to say that you’re tired and hungry,” you muttered disappointingly, fixing your braid in the matter of a few quick movements.

Confusion flooded his mind at the sharp diversions in conversation topics. “Why would I need to say that?” he replied slowly, surveying your face with greater interest and intent, as if thinking that if he stared hard enough, the deepest secrets of your mind would be magically revealed.

A victorious smile and wink adorned your face as you extended a hand. “So I can offer you lunch, handsome.”

[ozzgin]

Imagine Detective!Reader is having an especially long week when Zzy acts as his usual, "Wow, even more delicious doom and gloom from you than usual! Is that pent up energy I smell?" And reader just sorta snaps, actually flirting back. "What if it is, what're you gonna do about it?"

-⚡

Content: gender neutral reader, slightly NSFW!

See, the thing is, you wouldn't even need to say it.

You know how Prince Charming will come to your aid whenever he senses you’re in danger? With Zzy it's like that, except whenever you’re horny. He can sense it from entirely different planes of existence.

He could be in the deepest pit of Hell, and he’d crawl his way out within seconds if he were to detect the slightest intention from you. My man would gallop Dante’s Inferno in one breath if it meant he could score.

Normally he’d feed on your misery alone; he can’t explain why he has such a starved need for you otherwise. Him, of all demons! What a reputation he donned in the fires underneath. He used to have hordes of incubi and succubi fulfilling all his needs. Now he can only get it up from a depressed human. And yet, he wouldn't have it any other way. His lust for you is his new driving force.

"What if it is, what're you gonna do about it?", you huff back.

The room begins to sway, and you find yourself thrown over the demon's shoulder. His hooves clack against the floor enthusiastically.

"What I'm going to do about it?! No point in telling you, (Y/N) darling", he declares with a perverted grin. "I prefer to just show what I mean."

Your boss - you completely forgot about his presence - sighs in annoyance and pulls out his noise-cancelling headphones from the desk drawer. It'll be a long, loud evening.

[Main Story]

[saintobio]

sincerely yours | misc.

Official Statement from Satoru Gojou

To all my valued supporters and the public,

I am writing this statement to address the recent events and the swirling rumors that have been circulating regarding my personal life. While I typically refrain from commenting on private matters, the gravity of the situation demands transparency and honesty.

Firstly, I want to make it unequivocally clear that I have always loved and will continue to love Y/N. Despite the challenges we have faced in our past marriage, my feelings for her have never wavered. Any insinuation to the contrary is baseless and without merit.

The bond we share is not only rooted in our past, but also in the family we have built together. Many of you may not know this, but Y/N and I share a son, Sachiro, whom we have kept out of the public eye to protect his privacy and well-being. 

I understand that this revelation may come as a surprise to many and it was never our intention to deceive the public, but rather to shield our son from the scrutiny and spotlight that often accompany our public personas. I ask that you respect our decision to keep our family matters private. My son’s happiness and security are my top priorities, and I hope you can understand the lengths we have gone to shield him from public scrutiny.

In light of the recent scandal, I also want to express my deepest apologies to those who have been hurt by these events, particularly Akemi. My actions were not intended to hurt anyone, especially those who have been unfairly impacted. I take full responsibility for the misunderstandings that have arisen.

I implore all parties involved to refrain from spreading malicious gossip and hateful rhetoric directed towards Y/N. She has been an exceptional mother and a remarkable person, and she deserves to be treated with the utmost respect and dignity.

Please respect our need for privacy during this challenging time. We are navigating this situation as a family, and we ask for your understanding and compassion as we work through it.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Satoru Gojou

— his response to the blind item scoop.

[seventiesweetheart]

ANY PATRICK HOCKSTETTER OR VANCE HOPPER FLUFF IMAGINE PLEASE

𓆩♱𓆪 ghost boy.

obsessed! patrick hockstetter x fem! childhood best friend! reader

WARNING. none much, this is purely fluff! but patrick is a teeny tiny bit of a yandere for reader.

A/N. haven’t written in while because of school but thank you so much for the 300 likes on my rafe fic! it warms my heart seeing people repost it sm <3 anyway, i know i’m really late but hope you like this, anon! might make a vance one soon :>

the summer sun beat down on derry, its warmth failing to melt the cool indifference that patrick hockstetter felt towards the world around him. leaning against the graffitied wall of the abandoned factory, he watched the town's inhabitants with a sneer. they were all predictable, annoying, and utterly boring.

all except for y/n.

a smile tugged at his lips as he saw the girl approaching, her hair catching the light of the sun in a way that made his heart stutter. every one else perceived patrick as a mystery, just another one of henry’s best friends which fully meant he was not one to be messed with. but to y/n, he was her best friend since childhood.

"hey, patrick!" she called, her voice bright and cheerful, piercing through the monotonous hum of the town. she jogged up to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "you won't believe what i found today."

he watched her intently, his gaze suddenly softening. "what is it?" he asked, his voice low and only slightly gruff.

y/n pulled out an old, worn book from her (fav color) backpack. "look at this! i found it in the library. it's full of so many creepy stories about derry. thought you might like it."

patrick took the book from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. he felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, but the girl was too oblivious, her attention already shifting to something else.

"thanks," he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. she was always doing things like this—thinking of him, bringing him things she knew he'd appreciate. it was part of why he liked her so much, part of why his feelings for her had morphed into something deeper, something a bit more obsessive.

y/n plopped down on the ground beside him, leaning back on her hands and tilting her face towards the sky. "it's such a nice day. why don’t we do something fun?”

patrick sat down next to her, the book clutched in his hands. he could feel the warmth radiating from her, the smell of her shampoo filling the air. "like what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he caught a whiff of her scent.

she shrugged, her smile widening. "i don't know. maybe we can explore that old house on neibolt street? i’ve heard it's haunted."

patrick's lips curved into the mischievous smirk that y/n has grown all too familiar with. "sounds like a plan," he said, loving the thrill that danced in her eyes. he'd follow her anywhere, even into the deepest parts of a haunted house. anything to keep her close—to keep her as his.

as they stood up and started walking, patrick's mind comtinued to race with thoughts of her. y/n was the only person in this town who made him feel something other than disdain. she was the light in his otherwise dark world, the only person he could never afford to lose. and though she had no idea, he was determined to keep it that way—at least, for now.

because as long as she didn't know about his little crush, she wouldn't be scared away. and patrick couldn't bear the thought of losing her, his only friend and the only person who made his life in derry so much more bearable.

[dough09]

Hii, to everyone who requested: I am working on them but if you read my life update I am in a little pickle~

I have exams coming up and I am focusing most of my energy on school. Apologies and thank you for your understanding.

While I didappear, please have this content.

F!reader x Itoshi Sae, when the unexpected happens at the "best" time.

Or, how the Itoshi family found out their older son has a girlfriend and is very much taken. A house where a woman's touch was obvious.

Summary: the parents of the Itoshi brothers visit Sae since he was lazy to go back and they felt abandoned. What they didn't know was that after flying all that much, their visit has a terrible timing.

The visit

Your boyfriend finally arrived back in Spain. Back to his home. Back to you. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet whenever this happens you can't help but cling to him with all your might.

He might find it terribly annoying, but doesn't pull away regardless. Even if he is bitter and cold he has this side to him that makes you stay. Even if he hurt your deepest crannies.

The new couch was the best place for cuddles. In fact you purchased this one exactly because it was big enough and the mattress was soft. Pillows were another thing. Whoever came to his house had a sure inkling that it's a woman’s touch.

Sae never in his life has ever used that many pillows. Let alone in those colors that were carefully picked to suit the living room.

He didn't hate it. Not like he admitted because when you asked he for sure said “Leave me alone, it's ugly, I can't stand it.”, oh but yes he could.

It reminded him of you. You in his space. All the scattered shirts, the mess you made were things he lived with. When he washed the sheets he made sure he was using the rinsing you bought. Just so it could smell like you.

Although he was sure that if this were to get out, he’d be looked at much differently.

In the heat of the moment the sloppy kisses turned into passionate ones. Only the small yellow hue of the nearby lamp lit the room.

Occasionally you couldn't help but open your eyes mid-kiss and place your hands in his hair looking at it fall.

“Oi- close your eyes” he warned with a commanding tone. A guilty smile smeared across your face.

His hands curled around your waist pulling you into him more and more. The message he couldn't say with words was super clear to you, he missed you.

The door slowly opened. You both looked at each other. You were terrified while he turned his head to face the door behind.

There stood his family. Well, except Rin. His mother turned on the lights. “Sae! How are you-” her gaze drifted down to the woman in his arms.

His dad smirked and tapped his wife’s shoulder. “Sorry we barged in. Came at a bad time hah…”

He was speechless. What would his family be doing here. But at least this way he doesn't have to go back to Japan with the intention of introducing his girlfriend.

The mother was shocked to her core. She had no idea what to say or how to react. You were the same. Much to your surprise you had to say something. So you blurted out a simple “H-hi Mr. And Mrs. Itoshi”

At that moment Sae cursed his past self for giving them a spare house key.

Dough, signing off 🩷 hope you enjoyed.

[soapcan18]

I absolutely LOVE Wiggly’s characterization in NPMD. He’s in the show for less than ten minutes and he fuckin STEALS it.

Obviously he’s terrifying in Black Friday, that’s HIS show, but throughout the entire show he keeps up the cutesy persona to trick the characters, occasionally saying something rlly fucked up but still in that register (“RIGHTTT THE FUUUUCK UPPP” and “DEEECKKK THE HALLSS WITH UR GUTSY WUTSIES”).

But in NPMD, he’s a bit different and it’s INTENTIONAL. During The Summoning, he’s still using cutesy-speak, but his voice is a bit deeper as he’s not presenting as an innocent plushie anymore, he’s asserting his power over the teens and toying with them. When he gets excited, he loses the act and yells “WHATEVER WE WANT???” is a deeper tone. When he gets pissed, him and the rest of the LIB scream “WE DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR PHONE!” Finally, at the end of The Summoning, he’s completely dropped the act: “Pay the price, or FUCK OFF.” He doesn’t care if the teens go through with the deal or not, and because he’s not actively being worshipped by them or exploiting them like in Black Friday, he doesn’t bother with the niceties or particularly care. Overall, he just seems very done with them by the end of the song (bro did NOT wanna be summoned).

THEN, the final time we hear him, he grabs hold of Max and shows himself. His voice is the deepest it’s EVER been, and there’s NO cutesy-speak to be found except the teasing “Maxie” nickname. He’s ELATED to have another soul, and fully yells: “You’re in my world now, BITCH.” THIS is the true Wiggly—not masking his intent with friendliness, not playing nice to manipulate someone, not even toying with them, just FULL sadistic pleasure to have another soul to claim. And that’s SUCH an epic high note to end the character on.

Hats off to Jon for being to portray such a horrifying, larger-than-life character with such depth and depravity, not to mention his INCREDIBLE voice work and physical acting. I didn’t even note Wiggly’s terrifying laugh yet; I fuckin LOVE it and you can hear it in NPMD if you pay attention.

In summary, Wiggly is the best. Thank you.

[imaginedreamwrite]

For the safeguard Saturday: someone threatening (or even actually kidnapping) 141s shared wifey and their kids and the 141 going feral. Please please please

There were stupid mistakes that could be forgiven, and then there were death sentences that would be awarded without hesitation. The kind of debilitating mistake that crosses the line could only be met with an insurmountable reaction.

It was the instant that another alpha had crossed the line and dared to unseal the documents of your mating. It set off the deepest and most primordial instincts that made alpha’s deadly. The very idea that someone would even dare try and threaten an omega who had just given birth to their baby boy, was almost laughable.

The balls that possessed the alpha who dared to unseal the official documents solidifying your relationship with the 141, were not going to save them. Not when that alpha, his mind altered by some state that made him believe he was owed you, had dared to contact you.

The matchmaking agency had already ruled out the alpha as a potential suitor but that didn’t stop him. He used money and his connections with lawyers to unearth the mating certificate, all the legalities that would make you theirs. He was hellbent on trying to locate you, to use the claim that he had first expressed interest in you, as if the law would apply to some schoolyard dibs.

They could ignore the initial inquiries, because they didn’t think that the alpha was a threat.

But when he showed up to the house days after you had given birth, well that was a different story.

The measly bastard should have been grateful that it was Kyle who was home instead of Simon or Johnny. Kyle, who was just as protective as the rest of them, was more levelheaded. And while Gaz had immediately on the defence, locking the alpha out and putting himself in between the door and you.

There was no explanation needed, not when Gaz had been standing there between you, with the direct and demanding order to leave. The alpha had balls but he wasn’t stupid, and even as level headed as Gaz was, no one would reach their baby boy or their mate.

That night, when the rest of the alpha’s returned, it was decided that neither you or your baby would be alone. At least one alpha had to be with you, and John was going to contact Laswell to see what the hell was going on.

It took two hours for Kate to tell John what happened. The information was relayed to all of them, the alpha’s were informed about all of it. That this alpha had wanted the courts to abide by the intentions first claim the bastard was trying to spew—that because he intended to court you, your mateship should be nulled.

The alpha crossed a line and pissed off four bigger, stronger and more intense alpha’s, triggering a deeply rooted primordial urgency to protect. Oh, the courts weren’t going to do a thing because they were going to handle it themselves.

John and Ghost had reacted first, temporarily removing you from the house. You were sent for a few days to visit Kate Laswell and her wife, who had become godparents to your chubby cheeked boy. While you were visiting with Kate and her wife, the pack had struck.

The intense drive to protect their mate had driven them to eliminate every perceived threat against you. The documents and records were sealed again, by Kate’s connections. The lawyers who initially took the case were investigated for their own seedy and unethical practices.

The alpha was their main target, and while they would have taken no pride in eliminating targets while being on duty, this was an exception. The alpha had drawn a line in the sand, a deliberate and intentional act that was only going to harm you and your babe.

But once they got their hands on that bastard, the threat was extinguished like fog as the sun rose. It was taken care of, every record of that slimy git was eradicated and the stage was set—a guilty conscious, some terror from his past got him into a bad situation.

It took a week in total and they were back to their home, to their normalcy. You didn’t ask questions but they knew you knew something happened.

In the end it didn’t matter, because you had your alpha’s, and they had their sweet baby boy. The threat was gone, the alpha’s had made a continuous vow that you would never have to fear for you or your baby’s life. Not when they were there.

[sagistrology]

𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 - 𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘, 𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑 + 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖙

(these observations are general and do not cover all aspects)

♏︎ pluto shows where we burn, toughen, and become resilient. reaping the fruits of this process can be strenuous, and might be seen better in hindsight.

♏︎ the energies can be raw and primal, given pluto's urgency and intensity. centring obsession, compulsion, paranoia, etc.

♏︎ it can feel as though you symbolically enter a wound, refracting its pain back to you upon contact. the energies can be vile, and gory.

♏︎ pluto compels us to confront our deepest wounds, and demands us to see where our perception is tainted by trauma. it is an undercurrent, nudging us to the edge to fall (confront) - and rise (heal).

pluto in the first house

♏︎ a dominating placement since it falls in the house of 'identity', creating a deep resonance with plutonian themes. there's frequent retreat due to an early disillusionment about people's intentions - leading to relying on oneself. can detach from people and be cautious, extremely observant. you can find a detailed description on pluto conjunct the ascendant here.

♏︎ during transit: change in appearance, often 'darkening'. can be a time of vitality, endurance, and determination. coming out of introspection - redefining oneself.

pluto in the second house

♏︎ compulsively chasing security and resourcefulness, focused on materialism and control, fear of scarcity and being dominated – dealing with cyclical loss, creating a fear of losing ones foundation. this loss can range from opportunities, careers, assets or wealth to the loss of an identity or person (core wound).

♏︎ during transit: reclaiming what's been taken from you, having firm boundaries, accumulation and loss of wealth, defining value, learning that abundance starts from within.

pluto in the third house

♏︎ sensual voices - talking oneself into positions of power, feared for their intellect and silenced by those less competent. often critical of institutions. requiring depth and versatility - jack of all trades. loving banter and debate. intrigued by intelligence, quick and instinctual.

♏︎ can be extremely critical of themselves, downplaying their achievements even if they are exceptional. longing to be heard and valued.

♏︎ during transit: intellectual obsessions, craving taboo or occult knowledge, communal differences - questioning one's belonging, focus on mental health and what doesn't serve you.

pluto in the fourth house

♏︎ giving birth to creations through their pain - ancestral and domestic wounds that happened secluded and privately, inflicted trauma. highly intuitive and enduring, healing themselves and those to come. breathing life into everything they touch.

♏︎ where does life grow? in the mother's womb. what is inherent to this process? its cyclical nature. what does it consist of? sacrifice, dependence, excruciating pain, loss. what does it lead to? birth.

♏︎ during transit: domestic affairs or betrayal being exposed, secrets being told or asked to be kept. can be about loss, sacrifice, or distance to a beloved. creating boundaries or having them crossed.

pluto in the fifth house

♏︎ wounded inner child, being unable to create, often by force - a suppression of light. urge to be centred. tend to be erratic, having tunnel vision while creating. the initial 'wound' can vary in cause and effect based on how pluto's aspected. while pluto aspected by jupiter can create a feeling of superiority and a certain blindness to flaws, saturn causes doubt and repression, amplifying critique and diminishing one's work. same blindness, just flipped.

♏︎ during transit: immersing oneself in a project or person, craving to be inspired, finding a muse, dealing with copycats. being plagiarized or robbed of your creation. think of ai generated art based on artist's models or corporations stealing designs. (having upper hand despite fraud)

pluto in the sixth house

♏︎ destructive humility where one’s identity can dissolve – people feeling entitled to both their autonomy and service. demand to 'function' to a state of paralysis while disregarding their condition. worth can feel synonymous to performance.

♏︎ during transit: confronted with criticism, obsessive and compulsive tendencies in the mundane, change in routines, purification, having no 'saviour', learning to sacrifice for oneself rather than others. new ventures, e.g. professionally.

pluto in the seventh house

♏︎ fearing control and dependence - often seeking complex and unavailable partners in the house of 'others', with them being centred. there can be themes of possession, manipulation, and dominance, being sovereign. private and protective. being criticised in the public eye, confronted with jealousy and projection.

♏︎ during transit: business ventures and deals that need to be analysed carefully, focus on social class and status, entrance of opposing energies challenging your identity, keeping bonds private. having eyes on you.

pluto in the eighth house

♏︎ sexually reserved, treating sex and intimacy as something sacred or ritualistic. casual sex and intimacy drains them and generally can't be sustained. once committed they are bound. can have obsessive tendencies and high stamina. desired and charismatic, however out of reach.

♏︎ can be calculated and sense opportunities to gain power. psychological affinity allowing them to recognize patterns and behaviours. deeply tied to wealth (currency of power), either born into influential families or striving to attain status.

♏︎ during transit: having power and losing it, being stripped of everything you thought was yours. letting go of conditioned shame. financial dependence, trauma being centred (actively or in hindsight). intimacy, few but significant connections.

pluto in the ninth house

♏︎ the occult, philosophical expansion and psychic abilities - abundant yet compromised by structure. seeing past division and aching over discrimination, hatred, and coldness. receptive to transcendence, deeply wounded by closed hearts.

♏︎ when restricted or bound to a place the jupiterian expansiveness turns inward (mental). they are curious, wise, artistic, philosophical, and energetic. attempting to compromise their nature makes them burst (and leave).

♏︎ during transit: desire to attain higher education or specialising in a field, craving intellectual depth and mental stimulation, change of perception (also ideologies and religion), experimenting despite resistance.

pluto in the tenth house

♏︎ stunted legacy - often hindered by authorities or outer circumstances to achieve greatness, putting them at a disadvantage despite their capabilities. opportunities can be disproportionate to their potential. think of an excellent communicator working in a call centre. having to work harder than the average person.

♏︎ during transit: focus on public sphere and reputation, facing scrutiny and striving to be respected, peaking. can be about inheritance, passed on legacies, scandals, and authority. be strategic of what you put out, esp. online with pluto in aquarius. defending one's principles.

pluto in the eleventh house

♏︎ intelligent and analytical, craving originality and detecting lies without trying. can appear vain due to their selectiveness, needing mental stimulation, bored by repetitive and constructed thoughts. can be isolated - principle above sympathy. detached when nothing piques their interest.

♏︎ during transit: focus on higher concepts - disconnect that brings awareness to societal structures, innovation, and the subconscious. peak social awareness and calling out misbehaviour. pioneering esp. in tech and humanitarianism. decentralizing status, prioritizing impact.

pluto in the twelfth house

♏︎ being intertwined with the world's suffering and consumed by agony that isn't theirs. pain can be unrestricted since it transcends the material. the veil, to both humans and the otherworldly, is thin. feeling out of place, or surreal.

♏︎ mesmerizing eyes, and an existence between the worlds. characterised by sensitivity and wisdom beyond their years. esp. dominating when pluto in the 12h is conjunct their ascendant.

♏︎ during transit: loss of unity with their pain concentrated inward, can feel cataclysmic and fated. confrontation and healing of trauma. fear over losing our cognitive abilities and originality due to advancements, esp. ai.

[chrissturnslovergirlx]

fucked by ghostface - a vinnie hacker smut

a/n: the final halloween fic! hope you enjoy this one hehehe 😏 lowercase intended

summary: your deepest darkest fantasies are turned into reality thanks to your boyfriend

it was late, and the house was silent except for the soft hum of the television playing in the background. vinnie and i had planned to have a quiet night, but that changed when he slipped away with a mischievous grin. not thinking much of it, i continued to stare blankly at the bright screen, watching whatever was on. the atmosphere was quiet, almost too quiet. is vinnie okay? where is he? i get up from the couch to go look for him. i walk into the shared bedroom, only to be met with a candle burning. that was until i heard the door slam shut behind me and a low breathy chuckle. i slowly turn around to find vinnie dressed head to toe in black, a ghostface mask covering his face. the mask, so eerily blank, tilted to the side as he held a plastic knife in one hand, the dark robe brushing the floor as he stepped closer. how did he find out about my deepest darkest fantasy? i’ve never told him this! oh my gosh, my texts with my bestie! he must’ve read them when i left my phone open the other day! 

my heart raced, but not with fear. there was something undeniably thrilling about the way he moved, the slow, deliberate steps towards me, the mask concealing his usual playful smile. the way he towered over me, an intimidating figure from a slasher film, sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. i feel myself getting wet at the sight of my boyfriend dressed like this. i subtly squeeze my thighs together, holding back a moan from how hot he looks right now. 

he leaned down, close enough that i could hear his breathing behind the mask, his voice low and playful. “are you scared?"

i swallow hard, trying to keep my cool. “not at all."

vinnie chuckled, the sound muffled but full of intent. the atmosphere between us shifted, electricity hanging in the air. as his gloved hand brushes my cheek, i find myself leaning into his touch, heart pounding for entirely different reasons now. the thrill of the moment, the playful danger, and the way he loos over me—it’s intoxicating. ghostface has never looked so good.

“are you aroused by this? does this turn you on, princess?”

my breath became shallow, it almost became too difficult to breathe. my thighs clench even harder as i feel myself dripping. vinnie brings the plastic knife to my throat, gently grazing it up to my jawline. he looks so attractive right now, i thought ghostface was supposed to be scary. i bring my hand up to the mask to lift it off his face so i could kiss him but i’m shoved onto the bed. 

“i don’t think so. mask stays on, got it?”

i nod my head, afraid that nothing but a squeak will leave my mouth. vinnie grabs my chin roughly and makes me look into the eyes of the mask, hovering closer and closer as my breathing intensifies. 

“words, baby. need to hear you loud and clear”. 

“yes, daddy” i whine.

“that’s my good girl. looking so pretty for me, my pretty little victim”.

vinnie crawls down my body and down to my soaked panties, ripping them apart with such ease before shoving his fingers deep inside my cunt. the roughness of his fingers colliding with my gummy walls has me gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles go white. my screams and cries echo around the room as he pounds his large fingers in me, making sure to hit that sweet spot that makes me arch my back. i feel the knot unraveling in my stomach and before i could cum, vinnie pulls his fingers out. i moan at the loss of contact and vinnie lowly chuckles. 

“not so fast, pretty girl. you’re gonna get fucked by ghostface”.

he flips me over and picks my ass up. after spitting and stroking his cock a few times, he pushes himself in. we both moan as he bottoms out once he’s fully in and he starts thrusting hard and fast. i cry out in pleasure as i feel his tip graze over my sweet spot oh so well. i feel my orgasm coming back again as i squeeze around his cock, making him groan and thrust harder.

“cum for me, pretty girl. you know you wanna”.

“gonna-”

i’m cut off by my loud cries as i cream around vinnie’s cock, the pleasure taking over. i sink further into the mattress as he spurts thick white ropes inside me, filling me to the brim. he pulls out, but not before scooping up whatever escaped and back into me. he takes off the mask and leans over me to give me a messy kiss. 

“so, got anymore fantasies you want me to make a reality?” he asks with a devilish smirk.

fuck. this man will be the death of me.

[kasu-meow]

Imagine being in high school with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko, and as you gradually get closer to your new classmates, you end up developing a crush on Suguru. He's handsome, considerate, and mature; what's there not to like? However, you are unfortunately aware of Suguru's popularity with the ladies, and your awkward attempts at getting the local heart-throb to notice you seem to be going nowhere.

After failing to talk to your crush for the umpteenth time, you finally decide it's time to swallow your pride and ask for help. You take out your phone and are just about to text Shoko for advice, but you don't notice your thumb pressing down on the wrong chat, and you end up accidentally pouring your heart out to the world's worst confidante: Gojo Satoru.

It's all over, you think. Not only is he a huge blabbermouth, but he is also Suguru's best friend on top of that, so there is no way Satoru is keeping this to himself. On the next day, dread fills you with every step you take toward your classroom. You try to think your options over, should you perhaps drop to your knees and beg the white-haired sorcerer to keep his mouth shut? How about sneaking out to the nearest candy shop and purchasing an ungodly amount of his favorite treats instead? The guy is well-known for his unmatched sweet tooth and you are tempted to try out your ideas, but you'd be lying to yourself if you entertained the possibility that Gojo Satoru hasn't already spilled your deepest secret by now. You try and think positively instead, and you tell yourself that hey, at least now Suguru will know, and he can let you down gently. Maybe then, you'll stop agonizing over him, right?

What you are not expecting is for Suguru to act like nothing happened, and for Satoru's blue eyes to be glued to the side of your head for the entire morning instead. The guy normally bounced off the walls, so him calmly and silently burning into you with his stare and his signature unnerving smirk instead of hounding you like he normally would unsettles you more than any other crazy hypothetical your mind had cooked up since the dreaded incident up till now, and you make up your mind to just avoid him as much as you can until you figure out his intentions.

You are even more surprised when you sit down with Shoko for lunch like usual, and she doesn't make a peep about your embarrassing mishap with Satoru, so you finally allow yourself to believe that hey, maybe the guy is actually decent and kept your secret to himself!

You give yourself a pat on the back, your mood so much better than it was just a minute ago, but sadly it doesn't last for long because before you know it, Gojo Satoru himself has you cornered in a deserted hallway, a shit-eating grin residing smugly on his stupid face, and he really lets you have it. You think he is making up for all the teasing, taunting, and goading he didn't get to do earlier due to you promptly avoiding him like the plague, judging from how fast he speaks as he pokes and prods at you for your huge, gigantic, monumental (as he so lovingly put it) crush on his best friend.

You are beyond mortified, but not really surprised. This is Gojo Satoru, after all; this sort of behavior coming from him is nothing short of ordinary, so you silently take what he throws at you with a sigh and an expression that reads, "Are you done?"

But he isn't done; no, he has apparently just gotten started, and if you weren't surprised before, you are definitely floored now because unless your ears are deceiving you, Satoru has just offered to help you get Suguru's attention.

"What? Why? What is he plotting? Is this some kind of prank? Is Suguru in on this and they are just making fun of me?" Are all the questions that pop into your mind during the silent beat that follows Satoru's offer. You really weren't expecting him to be interested in your or Suguru's love lives in the slightest except for maybe teasing you both, let alone to actively involve himself in them to ensure your future relationship's smooth sailing, and you tell him as much. He looks almost offended at the implication but, alas, restates his original offer to you. You can't help but question his true motives, but he brushes off your concern with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, stating he's just bored, and he thinks you and Suguru would be a good match, and weren't you sending your message to Shoko to ask for help in the first place? You carefully think over his words; he seems sincere enough to you, and even though you are still overthinking the situation, you find his offer oddly sweet. If he was going to stab you in the back and tell everybody, you figure he would have already done it, so you reason with yourself that there is no harm in trusting him just a little, and you do desperately need the help, although he isn't who you were hoping to get it from. With a shake of your hand and an enthusiastic grin, Satoru then skips off to join his best friend for their upcoming mission, leaving you alone to deal with the mess that's forming in your brain.

Despite having gone back to your dorm hours ago, the shock of the day still doesn't wear off at all. You find yourself tossing and turning on your bed, screaming silently into your pillow. Even after thinking it over for the rest of the day, you still can't make up your mind about the deal you struck with Satoru. Despite his insistence that he is doing this out of the goodness of his own heart, you still find yourself doubting his sincerity just a tad. You can't put your finger on it, but you can't help but feel like he has some ulterior motive you aren't privy to. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you end up in front of Shoko's door, in desperate need of another opinion.

The whole situation is so deeply embarrassing that you really want as few people as possible to know about it, but you trust Shoko with your life, and you do need someone else to help unravel your thoughts. What you don't anticipate, though, is Shoko's confident affirmation that Gojo Satoru likes you, and he is only offering to "help" as a way of getting closer to you, or worse, thwarting your blooming relationship with Suguru. The absurdity of the statement, coupled with Shoko's positively certain tone, like she is stating the obvious, almost makes you burst out laughing. You barely spend time with Satoru or even talk to him outside of training and missions, so you fail to see how he could have possibly developed any interest in you in the first place. Shoko tries to convince you to listen to her reasoning but it all falls on deaf ears. She sighs and surrenders that if you aren't ready to accept the facts yet, she cannot force you, but still urges you to be careful of what Satoru might be up to. After all, getting this close to another guy could end up being confusing rather than helpful, and she worries you will end up developing feelings for the blue-eyed sorcerer instead, possibly getting hurt in the process.

You swallow thickly, her words lodging themselves in your brain. You are still deeply in denial of the idea, brushing it off with a wave of your hand as you make your way back to your dorm. The notion that Satoru might be in love with you rings so untrue to you that it's ridiculous. What's even worse is the thought of you possibly falling for him as well. You already have a crush and it's on Suguru.

Yes, if you know one thing, it's that you will definitely not be falling in love with Gojo Satoru.

[mybworlds]

Poor Unfortunate Souls

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: you decide to go back to Marcus, but it's not as happy or easy as you think..

Masterlist

A/N Thank you so much for the amount of love and support, it means a lot. The title of the chapter takes inspiration from the very famous song from Walt Disney's The Little Mermaid. Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️ PLEASE READ IT! Before you go, there will be a moment in this chapter that can be potentially triggering. So, I will be putting the scene in red in case you want to skip it. You won't be missing anything if you skip it.

follow @mybworlds and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Taglist @harriedandharassed; @orcasoul; @blazeflays; @ijustlovemensm; @duck-duck-goose2; @blacksnape123

Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics.

Coming home should have been a relief because you are back among your people, you no longer have to lie or pretend to be someone you are not; instead, you feel completely out of place.

Your sisters all came running towards you, hugging you and begging you not to do it again. Your father looked at you in silence for a long time, his gaze relieved yet contrite at the same time. With your sisters you even managed to smile and giggle, but in front of his gaze you felt like a child again, guilty as if you have done something wrong.

Since you returned to your world, eight of what Marcus calls weeks have passed, not a single moment has passed that you haven't thought of him, you wonder how he’s, what he’s doing, if the plans he told you about have come to fruition or if he’s in danger. Day and night you are tempted to return to the surface to him, to Marcus, to your Marcus.

However, you think that you can't run away again. You can't leave, as you want to do, without first talking to your parent. Although he’s a very gruff and stern man, he deserves to know what your real intentions are and you need to be honest with him.

You find him in the throne room staring into space, he looks like he's thinking intensely about something serious, then sensing your presence, he looks up, “Come.” he says with a wave of his hand.

You swallow and, with a slight initial hesitation, you approach. Your father looks tired, but decides not to let it show, “I’ve always thought of myself as a reasonable newt,” he begins, “but I’ve set certain rules and I expect everyone to abide by them, including my daughters. Especially my daughters.” he asserts by placing emphasis on the last part of the sentence.

You don't know what to say to him. You've thought many times that perhaps before turning to your aunt you should have spoken to your father and told him of your deepest desire. However, knowing his complete aversion to the human world, you turned to someone who would surely understand you.

“Do you love him?” he asks you after a few moments of silence, catching you off guard because you never thought you’d hear this question, at least not from him.

“I do,” you whisper, “I know you don’t approve, I know you wanted a life for me here under the surface of the sea, with a newt by my side, but… it didn’t happen that way. I know, they are not peaceful creatures, they are belligerent and you always have to watch your back, but... what I felt with him and for him I will never feel with anyone, believe me, dad." you say again “He has a violent past and his future will probably be too, but with me he was wonderful, sweet, present, attentive, he never treated me cruelly or put me in strange situations, I’m in love with him.” you conclude by pronouncing those words that you finally manage to admit out loud and to your father himself, to probably the only newt who would never understand or share your thought.

The room fills with a strange energy and you fear that your father will have a bad reaction or that he might have you locked up, but this doesn't happen.

Your father, on the other hand, sighs and paces the room for a while as if lost in thought, then asks you, “Mira gave you the potion, didn’t she?”

You just nod.

He sighs again, “I also pushed her away for this. You know not only because she brought you to the surface when you were only a few months old, but also because she practiced these rather ambiguous magical arts that have ruined many mermaids and newts.” he explains.

“I didn’t know that,” you comment simply, lowering your gaze.

“I thought so. Otherwise you would have stopped talking to her too,” he replies.

“But nothing happened to me.” You point out, thinking back to something strange or different that you may have perceived, but nothing comes to mind.

“Maybe not right away, but there will be something.”

“Or maybe since I’m her granddaughter nothing will happen to me at all!” you exclaim.

“I hope so.” even if his tone of voice is not very convincing.

You start to have doubts. What if your body might react strangely, and what if you could never go back to him? What if once you turn human you can never return to your father and sisters? What if in the future the potions are not as effective?

“Father,” you sigh, “I… I need him,” you confess, “I want to go back to him. I know you won’t approve, but I have to go back to him. I have a… feeling that he needs me.” you are silent for a long moment “I wish you could know him… he is… so unhappy and yet so sweet… father.”

Your father sighs thoughtfully, placing a hand on his face as if to hide his facial expression from your sight. You swallow, “I was afraid you'd say that.” He tells you when you thought he'd never speak to you again “My little one, humans are incapable of feeling such feelings, I don't want you to suffer because of one of them,” he asserts “you risk suffering a lot, you know that?”

You nod, “Yes, Father. I know, but being with them I learned one thing: every emotion is worth living and,” you swallow because you know you are venturing into a completely unexplored sea “I want to experience all of this with him.”

He pulls away from you slightly, then turns back, “Are you sure he reciprocates these feelings?”

You know he's trying to dissuade you, you know he's doing it for your own good, you don't know if Marcus shares everything you feel for him to the fullest, you don't know if he'll ever understand and accept your nature, but you aren’t willing to give up and you are willing to take the risk.

“Please think again, it’s too dangerous. I don’t trust ‘em at all.” Your face darkens.

You didn't expect him to give his blessing or to approve of your choice, but you hoped that seeing your determination he would be convinced and instead...

“Father, I can't.” You lower your head thoughtfully, you'll have to go back to your aunt Mira and hope she gives you another potion.

“Don’t even think about it!” your father blurts out as if sensing the direction of your thoughts. “You’ve already had a good time, don’t do that.” he adds worriedly.

“Father, you give me no other choice.”

“I forbid you.” he thunders, widening his eyes as if to instill fear in you. In your parent's eyes you read the strength of a father who wants to protect his child at all costs, but there’s an even stronger determination in you and no one will ever be able to make you change your mind.

“I've made my decision,” you assert forcefully, turning your back on him and swimming away as quickly as you can. You feel guilty for turning your back on your sisters again, for contradicting your father again, but what you feel for Marcus is stronger.

Returning to your aunt Mira's den is a must even though your father has put the worry in you that she might play a trick on you and ask you for something in return or cause you harm as a result of taking one of her potions. The cold of Mira's shelter envelops you until it almost penetrates your bones, it almost takes your breath away, but you don't give up. You want to ask her for a potion that lasts longer, that gives you more time and no matter what side effects it may cause, you would do anything for him because you know that he has feelings for you too.

“Welcome back,” her deep voice seems to almost make the rocks around you vibrate and, from a semi-dark crevice, your aunt theatrically reveals herself in all her hypnotic charm, “I was expecting you to come back, so how did it go with your sweet General?” you are about to answer, but she’s still the one speaking for you “There's definitely a reason you're here, isn't there?” You open your lips again, but she's still the one answering for you “I’ve the solution for you here, the same potion I gave you last time...”

“No, auntie,” you stop her, “I’d like a potion that would last forever and that wouldn’t force me to come back down here again.”

You don't know if it's actually possible, but judging by the huge smile that appears on her face, you understand that she can satisfy you.

“I have just something for you, my sweet granddaughter,” she squeaks, walking away to fetch a completely different bottle than the last. You immediately notice a black liquid as she approaches you, “Don’t let its color fool you. It’s the most powerful potion I’ve ever created.”

You are about to grab it, but your aunt pushes it away from your grasp, “This is a very special potion and as I told you the most powerful. I can’t give it to just anyone like that.”

You frown, “Not even your niece?”

“Not even if you were my daughter.” she replies with a smirk. “Then, let’s talk about contract terms.” she continues.

"Contract terms?"

“Yes, sweetie, well I can’t just give something like that away without warn of any dangers.” Your father’s words echo in your head “It’s no big deal. It's nonsense.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, none of that, silly girl,” she says, waving her tapered hands “The contractual clauses are as follows, after taking the potion, you will immediately transform into a human creature, but on condition that you never, and I repeat never, come into contact with sea water or seaweed, anything that has to do with the sea and this world.”

“Just this?” you ask, puzzled.

“Just this?! Oh, my dear, if even a single drop were to accidentally hit you, you would return to being a mermaid, but at the same time something horrible would happen to you and you would die, and that would be the end of the story.” she concludes by closing the doors of her locker with a dramatic snap.

You think about it and do everything to silence your father's words about your aunt's questionable morality. You try to focus on the possibility, dangerous of course, that she is offering you. It’s risky and deadly, but you are willing to take any risk.

“Deal.” is the only word that comes out of your lips and this sound is enough for Mira to bring it closer to you, almost magically pushing the potion that reaches your hands.

“Oh, I almost forgot, you have to take it now and hope you can get there as quickly as possible before the potion takes full effect and can cause any damage.” she states again.

“Why do you give me a potion so powerful and dangerous? I thought you loved me, that you wanted what was best for me.” You say, looking into her eyes.

“Of course I love you, but often loving isn’t enough and then it seems that you’ve already chosen what’s best for you regardless of my opinion, dear niece, don’t you think?” your aunt replies again.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“We all die, but in your case it’s highly likely that you will either go to the surface or stay here. You see, if you go into his world you risk dying captured by someone who wants to push you back down here, if you stay here you would die of a broken heart because you are far from your man, you would pine so much that you’d let yourself die, so the ending for you, my dear sweet child, won’t change. Now make your choice.”

You lower your head feeling caged: if you choose to stay in your world, you’ll never see Marcus again and one day your father will force you to marry some newt and you would be terribly unhappy. If, however, you decide to go back to Marcus, it doesn't mean that he hasn't gotten married in the meantime and that therefore you could never be with him or love him as you hope.

In any case, for you, as your aunt said, there would be no happy ending.

“I’m ready to take the risk,” you say, aware of your choice, even though you don’t know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.

“Well, there's nothing else to add.” she says and then hands you the vial. “You have to drink it all now, in front of me.” she adds, looking you straight in the eyes.

You look at the black liquid, now there is no going back, not anymore. You remove the cap and bring the vial to your lips, “You have to drink it all in one gulp and then swim as fast as you can,” your aunt continues.

Your hands are shaking, you're scared, but you don't want to or can't go back. You drink it all in one gulp and your throat almost burns, as if you had swallowed the spines of a sea urchin, your body feels like it's in a series of spasms, you tremble. You feel like you're being torn apart from the inside, the pain is so strong and intense that you feel like you're going to faint, everything around you becomes blurry, breathing becomes increasingly difficult as the seconds pass.

Your aunt watches you without doing anything to help you, she just stands there as if enjoying that macabre spectacle.

You want to call for help, but you can't do anything except flounder and struggle for a few seconds, you look for the exit and then awkwardly swim upwards away from aunt Mira and with great difficulty even far from your world, forever.

When you reach the surface, you resurface taking a very deep breath, then once you reach the beach, you crawl until you reach the wet sand. Your arms hurt like hell, your legs feel very heavy, your lungs are burning, you feel your heart beating furiously in your chest, you even think you can hear it beating in your ears. Your vision is blurry, you think you can see his house, but... it seems so far away, so... blurry... your vision goes black, suddenly.

You faint.

When you come to, your skin is cold, your long hair stuck partly to your shoulders, partly to the beach, your lips parched and dirty with sand and gravel, you're tired, you're sleepy, you make a considerable effort not to pass out again. You look around almost confused, it's the same beach, but something is out of place. You strain your ears, but there's only a dull silence. You smell the air and there is a very unpleasant pungent odor that causes an annoying tingling in your nostrils.

You take uncertain steps, your legs can barely support you this time, you have a shooting pain every time you take a step. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain you feel, and walk, very slowly, but you make it.

You find abandoned in a corner a piece of what appears to have been a ship's sail, you wear it as if it were a dress. It's a little shorter on one side and longer on the other, but it'll do. You think back to the last time Marcus held you in his arms, reassuring you and speaking to you in his deep, husky voice. You felt at home even though this world was not your home.

Now there is silence, an almost unreal silence.

You still get up unsteadily and climb over the perimeter walls, there a worse sight awaits you: clouds of smoke rise here and there from various corners of the garden, the gigantic statue that had impressed you so much the first time has been destroyed, its head has rolled away from the rest of the body of the statue now reduced to a pile of piled up stones. The green plants that adorned those rooms are incinerated, the beautiful fountains, the statues of Marcus' ancestors destroyed.

What happened?

It feels like there's been a raging battle, you want to run and shout Marcus' name, but the air is so unbreathable you can't say a word.

As you are about to enter the peristilium, a shocking and heartbreaking image appears before your eyes.

Your legs give out and your eyes widen with terror: the bodies of Marcus' servants are hanging by the neck, their clothes appear to have been partly charred, partly torn away, their faces, their arms are of a color between gray and purple.

Their arms are tied behind their shoulders and you think about the terror they must have felt. May someone have mercy on them!

Your stomach turns and you vomit at their feet. You cry and vomit as you place your palms on the cold, dirty marble.

You don't know what happened, but never before have you seen the beauty and destructive power that man is capable of.

Perhaps your father was not entirely wrong in judging the wickedness and cruelty of some men. But your father sees only their worst sides, you have seen both and in that moment you can't help but think about what might have happened to Marcus.

What could have happened to destroy his home?

You try to get up, but something hits you violently in the face and you lose consciousness.

Marcus sits in the corner of that cold prison. He is not afraid. His expression is hard, his chin held high, ready to face his fate. He has met death many times and it has grazed him many times, he is not afraid to meet it and let it take him.

He knows he will die. No one can rebel against the tyranny of the two emperors without dying. He knew it was suicide to try to restore the Republic and revive that dream that had animated Rome in the past, but he wanted to try anyway and he failed.

This is the reality.

Marcus Acacius has failed and will die.

He will die for a just cause, he will face his fate with his head held high and fighting in the gladiatorial arena. He will fight until he is exhausted. He will fight to prove that he is not afraid of the rulers, he will fight to incite the crowd to continue fighting and not give in to the oppressions of that government, he will fight with honor. This time there will be neither glory nor honor for him. He won't win in the end, he knows that, but that doesn't mean he'll give up.

Marcus looks up at the moon again high in the sky and his thoughts go to you.

He wonders if you're happy, if you're okay there... as senseless as it may seem to him, the myths about mermaids are true. A couple of months ago he had proof of this. He had heard stories of the kind, but he had dismissed them as mere sailors' tales. Marcus had always been convinced by what he could see and touch, everything else he refused to accept.

At least until he saw the woman he loves transform into a sea creature and that's when he realized how the world is even more complicated and mysterious than it already is.

His thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of a door opening, footsteps, and then Marcus glimpses two guards dragging someone near his cubicle. He observes the whole scene as best he can considering the darkness, he sees them lay down the unfortunate one who curls up on the ground emitting a strangled moan, then the two men go away and their footsteps become more and more distant until Acacius falls back into deep silence.

The unfortunate guy gropes his way through the shadows, Marcus hears him bump into the bars of the cell, “Be careful or you’ll die before the two emperors can laugh at your misfortune,” the man says in a whisper.

“Marcus? Marcus, is that you?”

The unfortunate one is a woman.. but, is it you?! No, no it's impossible, you left, he saw you go, you can't have come back!

“Marcus?” That’s your voice, yes. Marcus is not going crazy.

He whispers your name and then approaches the bars, he is against the bars, he moves his hands gropingly where he meets yours which in turn search for his. You shake hands almost frantically as if seeking contact at all costs.

“You’re here,” he says in a whisper.

“I told you I’d be back.” You tell him in a shaky breath. “What happened? Why are you here? What did they do to you?” You ask him, scared.

“I'll tell you everything, but... first, tell me, are you okay?” he asks you, groping for your face in the dark, when he finds it he places his hands on the sides of your cheeks as if to make sure you're okay, that you haven't been hurt, even if he knows well that that gesture isn't enough.

He feels the blood under his fingers, have you been beaten? Tortured? Oh, if only he could he would kill them with his own hands.

“I'm fine. I was.. just afraid I'd never see you again.. I was afraid they'd killed you.” You confess, also looking for his face. “Did they... Oh... they beat you.”

Once again, you can understand with a simple touch without the need for many words; in other circumstances, Marcus would have asked you how you do it, but not today. Today he savors only the moment when he can enjoy your voice and the contact with your skin.

Marcus chuckles, “I won’t hide it. Yeah, but I hit too.”

“Oh… were you in a lot of pain?” you ask him, tenderly caressing his cheek.

He places his hand on yours, “No more than other times and in any case never as much as seeing you go away.” he replies “That… was almost unbearable.” the man confesses feeling a lump in his throat.

He always hid his feelings because feelings like love, hate, compassion were not necessary in battle, on the contrary. Sometimes these were just an impediment to fulfil his duty.

“It hurt me to know you were far away, but… it was better down there than here. Here… they destroyed everything, burned my house down, killed…” Marcus sighs, looking down and frowning at the memory of what he had to see and endure.

He, the great general honored and celebrated for the conquests he made for Rome, could not protect or save those who trusted him. He failed.

He himself was then tied up, beaten and forced to fight in the gladiatorial arena where every day he has to fight to the death and this is what has been happening for days, weeks now.. Marcus has lost count of the days now.

“Forgive me if I... if I didn't tell you things about myself, I..” you say in a whisper, changing the subject. Marcus places his hands on yours which are now gripping the bars “I didn't know if you accepted me, if..”

“It doesn’t matter, my love.” he tells you using that firm, but sweet tone of voice. “I love you.” he confesses to you under his breath as if he feared he was still dreaming and that you were not really there in that horrible place.

The strength of that feeling hits him like a punch in the stomach. He never allowed his most sincere and authentic feelings to come to the surface because he’s well aware of the strength of feelings and the power to make you weak and vulnerable in the eyes of others, but with you being himself has always been as easy as breathing. He never had to do or say anything different from his thoughts or will just to please you.

He can hear you holding your breath, he doesn't know exactly what the expression is on your face, but you're probably confused, confused at hearing him say those words he's never said to anyone before that moment.

“I love you too,” you coo caressing his rough cheek.

That moment would have been sweet, tender and romantic, if you hadn't heard the footsteps of your jailers again and their voices announcing, "It's time to go, there is no escape from the wrath of the Emperors and the power of Rome. Pray to the gods that they may receive your souls quickly.” then the soldiers open your cells and drag away, a few minutes apart, first Marcus and then you.

Marcus prays that you may at least be spared, but he doubts that those madmen are capable of feeling pity or mercy.

Your footsteps echo through those cold, dark walls. The chains on your wrists are heavy and force you to hold your arms together in front of you. When you see the light of dawn again you are almost dazzled, you try to bring your hands in front of your face, but you fail miserably.

“Keep moving!” one of them exclaims, almost pushing you forward. You look at him puzzled and the man next to you pushes you making you fall forward, the chains on your wrists making a loud crash against the floor, your knees hit the cold, rough floor. The pain is so much, but this time... there are no tears, you can't cry and it leaves you perplexed, why did you cry when you left Marcus? Why only in some circumstances? Oh, you wish you knew more, but it's too late now, you think.

“Get up!” the other almost shouts, pulling you up by the arm and clumsily putting you back on your feet. Your knees hurt a lot. You wish Marcus was right next to you, you're sure if he was he wouldn't have let those two touch you or hurt you.

You are led to a huge room full of black and white marbles, in the center there are two chairs on which sit two young men with blond hair, at their sides there are young women who serve and revere them for their every desire. You recognize Geta who is looking raptly at a young woman who is offering him food, you recognize that look...

“My emperors!” exclaim the two guards who led you there and stop with a start, making a strange noise with their shoes that reverberates throughout the room.

The two young men seem to notice you, “Oh, you brought her,” Geta says with a bored look, however a wicked smile appears on his face, “Thank you dear, you can go.” Geta says dismissing the girls who walk away carrying with them the cups of food and probably wine, then continues telling you “Well, my dear, as you well know the power of Rome cannot be challenged, ever. Under no circumstances whatsoever. Therefore, anyone who dares to challenge it openly or in a subtle manner,” he says with emphasis especially the last words “will be severely punished.” he pauses during which you focus your gaze on the other boy, on his face rounder than Geta's and unlike Geta, the latter's gaze is as if dreamy, “Oh, my dear,” Geta continues, “I’m so sorry you’re on the wrong side of history, the losers.” at that point the other smiles as if he were back among you in that room “If only you hadn’t chosen him,” he sighs, “you still have time, become my wife and I will make sure your mistake is forgotten.”

Is Geta really making you such a proposal? Deny Acacius, deny your feelings to save your life? Can a person really bend to such blackmail just to stay alive?

“So? What’s your choice?” he insists.

You shake your head in annoyance, “I can’t. I can’t bend to your will. I love him,” you admit out loud even in front of the emperors.

“Now things get interesting!” exclaims the second, smiling and settling himself more comfortably in his chair as if he were preparing to watch a show.

Geta looks genuinely surprised, yet that glimmer that has always shaken you to the core doesn’t leave him. In fact, his expression seems to darken somehow.

“And that’s why you supported his crazy plan? In the name of love?” he asks you.

You know what he's referring to, but you don't intend to answer him with a yes or a no because you know that either way your fortunes won't change. Instead, you evade the question by asking another, “What are you going to do now?”

It's the other blond guy who approaches you and you take a half step back, after what he did to Iulia years ago, you don't know what could happen to you too especially in these circumstances of imprisonment.

“Oh, forgive my brother Caracalla, he’s… fascinated by the way I spoke about you. We will talk about this later,” Geta states, approaching the man and placing a hand on his shoulder “I invite you to think about it once more, as you enjoy the games in our honor.”

You have no choice but to be escorted in chains to the Colosseum where the games are held. You didn't know what to expect, but seeing all that blood, hearing and seeing all those people cheering to see more blood, more violence was worse than anything you'd seen before. You want to run away, but a man is right behind you so you can do nothing but watch that bloody spectacle.

“This is my favorite moment,” Geta warns you as he gets up from his chair and announces the next game where gladiators fight each other until the emperors say enough.

Your gaze focuses on him, you don't know exactly what the rules of this game are, you just know that he’s there and he has to fight against hundreds of other gladiators. You do nothing but follow his movements, you hear the screams of those men, you see the blood staining the sand of the arena, you see him fight his guts out to survive. When the two emperors finally got bored of that gruesome spectacle, the men were almost half.

The doors to the arena open and that's when you hear the crowd chanting his name, Acacius. Your eyes rest in horror on the mighty figure of Marcus Acacius who makes his entrance into the arena, it’s at that moment that you turn towards Geta, “This happens to those who betray Rome. Even a General can become a gladiator at the mercy of what happens in the arena.” he tells you without taking his eyes off the arena “I would never want to send such a bud down there. Even if it's in bad shape.” he adds looking at your face this time.

Marcus looks terribly shaken and tired as you are led back to your cells, but unlike some hours ago, you now find yourself sharing that humid space. You hear him breathing heavily for several minutes, neither of you speaking for a while, the only noise in the background is the drops of water falling in a not too distant corner of the prison. You don't know exactly what to say to him after everything you've seen today and he... you can only imagine how he feels. You would like to comfort him, but you know that no words could give him even a shred of serenity.

He calls you in the darkness, his hand searches for yours and when he finds it he holds it tightly in his before kissing it. “You are the best thing that could ever happen to me in this life.” you feel his fingers brush your cheek before cupping it and bringing his lips to your forehead and then resting on your lips “I love you.” he whispers “We could have been happy,” you hear him sigh sadly “Forgive me, I was not able to protect you as I would have liked or hoped.”

Your eyes sting, timid tears run down your cheeks, they are tears of pain, of anger, of bitterness. At that moment your aunt's words about your ill-fated fate echo in your mind.

“I will deny any involvement of yours,” he tells you, “it must not end like this for you too.” he continues “My life has been marked by death and violence for many years now, but the same thing must not happen to you, my love. Tell them what they hope to hear about me, but at least save yourself.”

You shake your head even though you know it’s dark and he can’t see you, “No. He wanted me to be his, but that’s not possible because that place is yours alone.”

“No, my love, what have you done..?!” his warm voice leaks pain in knowing that you too will not come out unscathed from this whole ordeal.

“I need to tell you the truth… about me.” You say placing your hands at his collarbones “I.. I've always wanted to be part of your world and I've seen.. so, so many things. I'm not a human creature, I..”

“I know. I know. I saw you.” He interrupts you softly, placing his hands on either side of your face. “I know, my love.” for a while there is only silence, your heart beats fast in your chest with fear of being chased away and called a monster, “I love you.” he adds leaving you completely stunned and at the same time happy despite your situation.

You smile, as more tears wet your cheeks which he promptly wipes away, “There’s one more thing.. I.. I can never touch water again. For me it would be fatal.”

He gently kisses the tip of your nose, then one of your cheeks, then the other, then kisses your lips, then starts all over again. You smile despite everything, he smiles too.

“My sweet flower of the sea,” he says to you, “a creature like you should never have gotten dirty coming into this world.” he adds, resting his forehead against yours.

“If I hadn’t done that, you and I would never have met and I would never have been happy. It's better to die like this than to live unhappy and without you.”

“Oh.”

Marcus Acacius is speechless. For the first time he has no words to express how strong his emotion is in feeling your ardour and your confidence in expressing your thought. Marcus Acacius wanted to tell you that if he had known how it would end, he would not have wanted to drag you into that sad and horrible story. Marcus Acacius doesn't care who you are or where you come from, he just knows that now that you're in his life, your lives and destinies are and will forever be intertwined. No matter what happens. You love each other and this will never change despite your sad fate.

[puppiesinbeacon]

Teen Wolf Fic Rec List

I've never done this before, but I've been on quite the binge recently and feel that if anyone is as picky as I am, then maybe I could help out and share the ones I have so meticulously curated for myself. So here goes:

In My Blood by lolo313 - "Scott is hurt while rescuing Stiles from the Monster of the Week. But when a seemingly innocuous injury awakens long dormant feelings and threatens Scott's very existence, Stiles must decide how far he is willing to go to save his best friend's life." Scott/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/9571406

Every Step You Take by Nokomis - "Stiles accidentally ends up magically bound to Derek. It’s super." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/454948/chapters/781487

Patterns Of Intention by drunktuesdays - "Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had— “No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.” " Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/699898

Apparent Lack Of Ceremony by Loz - "Scott keeps climbing into Stiles' bed at night to cuddle. They don't talk about it in the morning." Scott/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/518799

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems - "Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble; Leave something alone if it might cause trouble. Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there. Because of course it does." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/494729/chapters/865537

I Want To Say All Those Things That Would Be Better Unsaid by aeneapsych - "Derek is a lonely professor who decides to call a phone sex line. Stiles is a poor grad student who needs to make a living somehow. 'One night stands were never this good. Hell, his previous relationships were never this good. Derek was so screwed, but right now he didn't care.' " Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183688

The Love You Save (May Be Your Own) by Nokomis - "Everyone falls magically in love with Stiles. Well, except for Derek, who is suspiciously immune." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/960052

Human Contact by bloodwrites - "Stiles can't take the pain away, but the skin-to-skin contact helps. It calms Derek, stops him from using all his energy in the instinctive fight or flight response that his injury causes. "It's working, just—" He takes Stiles' arm by the wrist, pulls it over his chest, then tips Stiles' head onto his shoulder so he can feel Stiles' breath on his skin. "Yeah. That's good."" Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136325

Numbness by PineWitch - "Stiles and Derek have been feeling atraction for each other for some time (basically since the beginning), but instead of talking about it, they argue. A lot. But then Stiles goes through a hard time, and Derek helps him. Everything just becomes softer after that." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/44344210/chapters/111521128

Speak Of All That's Been And All That Won't by Daisyapples - "Stiles stood in front of him; eyes wild, fists clenched, shoulders tense, but still. The stillness was what made Derek's hackles raise. Stiles was never still. "Stiles?" "Stuck in a time loop. Know where Erica and Boyd are. Need help saving them. Cora is alive and we need to save her too."" Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/56495686/chapters/143572942

Nowhere Else But Here by p1013 - "Derek’s naked, his back glistening with sweat. The muscles roll, his whole body moving like a wave as his hips snap forward. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is loud, and the moan that follows has Stiles’ throat closing. There’s a split second where Stiles can almost convince himself that Derek doesn’t know he’s there, but then that dark head turns his way and green eyes meet his, pupils blown. He almost drops the package. Instead, he sets it unsteadily by his feet and flees." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/742335/chapters/1382626

I Wanna Reach So Deep Inside by silverdawn89 - "Isaac's got a dirty mouth. Scott is surprisingly receptive to that. Shameless PWP, not even gonna front." Scott/Isaac https://archiveofourown.org/works/579711

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) by stilinskisparkles - "Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with. Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/609537

Warm Shadows by stilinskisparkles - "“Fine,” Stiles spits back, “We’ll die together, it’ll be dandy.” “I’m looking forward to it,” Derek snaps, “I’ll get some peace and quiet for once.” Stiles grins suddenly, blindingly. There’s blood on his teeth, and his eyes are dark and desperate as he looks up at Derek, but he’s never looked more stupidly, infuriatingly beautiful." Derek/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361611

I'll also leave this honorable mention. A Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover that I've been reading for years, that just put out a new chapter in December 2024.

No One Chooses This Life by lapsus_calami - "Stiles wasn't running from his problems. Except he kind of was, but at least he was being productive while doing it. He gave himself one year. One year away from Beacon Hills, away from the pack, away from his dad. One year to get himself pulled together, to stop spiraling into panic attacks, to stop falling into pits of despair, to stop screaming himself awake every night. One year to learn everything he could about his spark, about hunting, about the supernatural. One year so that when he went back maybe, just maybe, he could do more good than harm." Mild Dean/Stiles https://archiveofourown.org/series/240129

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.