#i live my life w bitterness and fill my heart w emptiness“

[gecemi09]

Most of the songs in Electra Heart are incredibly Jason Todd coded(except certain lines being abt romantic/sexual relationships, change those slightly and voila). No I won't elaborate because you know I'm right.

[starreadssstuff]

Burning betrayal - Geto Suguru

warnings- Strong language and themes of anger and betrayal, Death, fire, arson? killing w fire. please be careful reading this! And as always LMK

Authors note- this is the first “scary” sort of thing I written EVER, so I do hope I did well! As always let me know how to improve and if you enjoyed the fic! love,star 💜

The streets were shrouded in darkness as you made your way through the desolate alleyways. Your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and anger, your mind filled with thoughts of revenge. The person you once trusted with your life had betrayed you in the worst possible way. Geto Suguru, the man who had claimed to love you, had turned out to be a monster in disguise.

Every step you took was fueled by a burning rage that threatened to consume you. How could he have played with your emotions so callously? The memories of your time together haunted your mind, each one a painful reminder of the lies and deceit that had been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

You remembered the first time you met Geto. His charming smile and warm demeanor had drawn you in like a moth to a flame. He had promised to protect you, to always be there by your side. And you had believed him, wholeheartedly.

But now, as you stood outside his hideout, the truth was crystal clear. Geto had used you as a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating your emotions to further his own sinister agenda. Anger surged through your veins as you clenched your fists, vowing to make him pay for his betrayal.

Pushing open the door, you stepped inside, the dimly lit room filled with the scent of stale air and malice. Geto turned to face you, his eyes widening with surprise at your unexpected arrival. His lips curved into a smirk, but you could see the flicker of unease behind his mask of arrogance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice dripping with false innocence.

"You think you can just use me and discard me like a pawn?" you spat, your voice trembling with anger. "Well, think again, Geto. I won't let you get away with this."

Geto's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he realized the depth of your fury. "You're overreacting. I did what was necessary for the greater good."

"The greater good?" you scoffed, your voice laced with bitterness. "Is that what you call it? Sacrificing innocent lives for your own selfish ambitions? You've lost sight of everything that's good and right."

His mask of confidence shattered, replaced by a flicker of guilt that you relished seeing. "You don't understand," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"No, I understand perfectly," you retorted, your voice sharp as a blade. "You used me, Geto. You took advantage of my trust and manipulated me to serve your own twisted purpose. But I won't be your puppet any longer."

As you spoke, your anger grew, consuming every inch of your being. Flames danced in your eyes as you summoned your own power, the force of your rage manifesting as a fiery aura around you. The room trembled, the air crackling with electricity.

Geto's eyes widened in disbelief, his composure crumbling under the weight of your fury. "No... this can't be happening," he stammered, his voice laced with fear.

"You should have thought about the consequences before betraying me," you hissed, your voice cutting through the tension. "Now, you will pay for your sins."

With a wave of your hand, flames erupted from your fingertips, engulfing Geto in a blaze of wrath. He screamed in agony, his body writhing as the flames licked at his skin. The room filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh, a macabre testament to the price of betrayal.

As the flames subsided, you stood over the charred remains of Geto Suguru, a mix of satisfaction and emptiness filling your heart. The anger that had consumed you had been quelled, but the scars of betrayal would forever mar your soul.

With one final look at the twisted figure before you, you turned your back on the ashes of your past. It was time to rebuild, to find solace in the knowledge that you had broken free from the chains of deceit. And though your heart may forever bear the scars of anger, you would rise above the ashes, stronger than ever before.

[dokifluffs]

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo

Pairings: Kenma X Reader (gender neutral), Bokuto X Reader (gender neutral) ft. Akaashi, Kuroo X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: Fantasy!! VAMPIRE HAIKYUU. Flufffyy 

Author’s Note: it is about time i dip myself into my favorite genre: fantasy. i hope you all enjoy! Happy reading~~

Warnings: blood, passing out from loss of blood, kuroo’s is a bit spicy 

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Tendo, Himekawa, Miya Twins

Kenma: 

The bitter cold of winter nipped at your cheeks and nose as you walked through the windy day to Kenma’s house, snow crunching beneath your boots with every step, the wind howling in your ear, your eyes squinting at the piercing wind blowing in your direction

No one else even dared to step outside on this day yet here you were

You clenched to the key to his door firmly in your pocket, mentally preparing yourself as you approached it to open it one swift go

Which you did

You groaned into the seemingly empty house as you stomped off the snow on your boots on a towel in the corner behind the door

You peeled off your layers as the heat around the house slowly embraced you. No lights were on but you could see the flickers of flames burning in the fireplace in the living room yet no one was there

Your skin, mostly your hands and cheeks burned as your body temperature rose back up to it’s normal warmth in the cozy home

The house was quiet and still as if it was sleeping, crackle and popping sounds filling the living room

“Kenma?” You leaned on the stairs, calling upwards, your voice echoing into the sudden wide open space of the staircase

“What?” His sudden soft spoken voice made your head whip to the living room, his face illuminated by his switch, eyes glued on the monitor as he played animal crossing

“W…Were you there the entire time?” You asked so confused, you could’ve sworn it was empty yet here he was sat comfortably in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants

“Mm, maybe, I don’t really remember… What are you doing here?” His voice was soft, soothing with the crackles of the fire, the bright flickers illuminating on his facial features. He didn’t even look up from his game as his thumbs never stopped moving

“It’s feeding time, remember?” You made your way around the other couches and sat to the right of Kenma, the cushion soft and plush, you were able to sink right in beside him

You rolled up your sleeve and offered your right wrist in front of his mouth

He paused momentarily from his game, his dainty hand barely even touching yours as he sunk his teeth into your wrist before returning back into his game

In this position, you rest your chin on his shoulder, watching him play, listening to the sounds of his character, who looked exactly like a cat, run around, catching animals and whatnot to distract yourself from the slight suckling sounds from Kenma as he fed

He was never one to feed much with his small appetite, taking the bare minimum of what he needed, eager to return to his game but it was always a big relief seeing when he was actually feeding, taking more than the last

The two of you were wrapped up in the game, watching as his character went from island to island, making deals, purchasing clothes and shops, trapping his villagers

You played animal crossing too, you just weren’t the best nor did you advance your island that much; it was a slow process but you were fine with it but seeing how Kenma played with what seemed like limitless currency and resources, you couldn’t help but wish your island looked as good as his

Coldness began to slowly creep up your body from your legs to your abdomen and your arms

You shivered, suddenly feeling drained and dizzy

It wasn’t until your consciousness was slipping out of your grasp did you realize kenma had been feeding on your non-stop ever since he bit into you, constantly draining you of your blood as he played

Before a word could get passed your lips, your body fell back to the couch with Kenma not even realizing

“Y/N, I made a character look like you…” His words died off when he turned showing off the character he dressed in clothes you typically wore

His eyes flickered bright red for a brief moment feeling guilt wash over him seeing he made you pass out. “This won’t do,” he tucked his switch carefully into his pocket as he scooped you into his arms

As your mind slowly woke, your eyes opened to the warm light of a lamp illuminating behind you, the shirt kenma wore with his body right beside yours

You woke to the sound of his animal crossing as he continued to play

Your body felt as stiff as a statue as you slowly regained strength after your sleep. Half your body was laid over Kenma’s, one of his arms looped around your shoulders so his hands could hold his switch over your heads

“You’re awake,” he glanced down to you when you shifted your legs, your breathing patter different now that you regained consciousness. “Sorry, I overfed,” he apologized as a little “yahoo” came from his character after finding a rare item dug up on the beach

“It’s fine, are you well fed now?” You rubbed your hand over his chest, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were even holding, melting your warm body with his cool one

“Mmhm, thanks to you,” his lips pulled into a subtle smile

“Look, I made you in my game,” he ran his character to a nicely made house that looked like your bedroom, the character looking exactly like you

“Hmm, so cute,” you hummed, nuzzling your face even closer to his comfy body

He turned his body toward you more, readjusting his hold on his switch so you could watch too. This only made you wish you brought your switch too so you could play with him and visit his island

Before he went back to progressing his island, he gave your character in his game flowers

“An apology gift,” the two of you chuckling under his covers in his warmly lit bedroom

“You are forgiven,” you draped your arm around his thin waist, giving him a light squeeze as a hug as you continued to watch him play for the rest of the evening

The bitter winds continues to blow outside, you were grateful you were no where else than right here with Kenma

Bokuto ft. Akaashi: 

You let everything go and relaxed yourself as you slept in your bed, the curtains shutting out any bit of sunlight that could potentially peek in

The weighted blanket on your body made you sleep deeper, keeping you warmer than ever as your mattress cradled you as you visited the dream world

Your bedroom was filled with the sound of your breaths and e fan blowing through the room but with your unconsciousness, you didn’t even realize or feel anyone else in the room

Especially not Bokuto as he silently stepped toward you

He could feel his stomach dropping and grumbling as his ears filled with the booming sounds of your slowed heart beat in his ears, his fangs poking his plush bottom lip

Your shoulder was bare as you slept, a perfect opening for Bokuto to satisfy the never ending hunger he craved for your blood

Your smell alone was able to enhance his senses tenfold, especially when hungry which was nearly always

Being in your bedroom that was filled with everything you, his vision was tunneled as he set his sights on your shoulder

He knelt down as you slept near the edge of your bed

He brought his finger over your arm, warm with life and blood that your beating heart pumped, the thought of your taste making his mouth already water

Unable to resist it any further, he ignored the conscience voice of Akaashi who told him to wait until you called that you were ready to feed them, mainly Bokuto

His teeth sunk into your skin and lips onto your arm as he sucked, his hand gripping your wrist and the other your bed sheets

Your brows furrowed as you slowly woke to the draining feeling and pinching pain in your arm, your vision blurry as you turned your head over to find Bokuto feeding on you

It was like honey on his tongue and lips, his eyes fluttering shut and rolling back, enraptured by your taste

His gluttonous side came out as he fed, your body waking up and jolting in his grasp as he readjusting his bite

“Ow, b-bokuto,” you tried to push him off of you but it was no use; he was infinitely times stronger than you and especially stronger as he drained you with what felt like your life being sucked out of you

None of your protests worked as he was in his own world, not even hearing your voice or your taps to his body

Your vision blurred as his figure doubled, tripled in your eyes, your breath slowing down as darkness that dotted the corner of your vision was now taking over the entirety of your vision

It felt as if there was a weight on your body that paralyzed you

You could feel your heart beating weakly, your face pressed into a different fabric that wasn’t the bedding of your bed

Blinking your eyes, your vision was suddenly met with Bokuto’s glimmering golden eyes with tints of red as his hands held the edge of the couch, his normal perked up, spiky hair drooping down

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he apologized profusely, an iron muzzle covering his mouth, making him looking like a sad puppy

“It’s okay, you must’ve been hungry, right?” You cupped his face, his skin flawless and cool to the touch, your hold light on his skin as he covered your hand with his

“He was supposed to wait for me, my sincerest apologies, Y/N,” Akaashi spoke up, still pretty annoyed as he sat on the other couch which made sense as to why Bokuto had his muzzle on

Despite being centuries older, Bokuto relied on Akaashi to control his feedings after almost killing you more than he would like to count

His strong grasp cautiously lifted you as you tried to sit up, pulling and holding you close in his embrace, his hand running down your back

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” his eyes glistened with sadness and you knew he meant these words. You were his everything and hunger gets the best of everyone

“It’s okay, just wait til I’m ready next time, okay?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “I also bought you some of the candy you like,” he pulled out the little baggy from his pocket at Akaashi’s advice when he first arrived as the younger one treated your bite, cleaning your unconscious person

Bokuto fed you the candies one by one as you remained sitting in his lap, your head resting on his shoulder to regain your strength, a blanket draped over your laps

Glancing up to Bokuto, you could see the dejected look in his eyes

Without a word, you reached your arms around Bokuto’s head, unclasping the leather straps that held the muzzle around his face

“Y/N-“ Akaashi spoke up, sitting up from his seat

“He won’t hurt me,” you reached to the buckle hidden by his hair

“No, he’s right, leave it,” Bokuto took a hold of your hand, bringing them back to your lap

His non-beating heart ached as he remembered the hard pain on the back of his head when Akaashi pulled him off of you like a feral beast, the color drained from your skin, your body cold, nearly matching his own

He could still hear the faint sound of your heart beating as Akaashi pinned him down, how weak and slow it beat in your chest

You shook off his grasp and reached back behind his head, unclasping it and removing it, tossing it to the end of the couch

“You didn’t mean to, don’t feel like you’re some kind of monster when you’re not,” you leaned into Bokuto’s body, doing your best to wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his collar

He wrapped his arms around your body and squeezed you but never enough to ever hurt you

“You never have or will be a monster, Ko,” you leaned up pressing a kiss to his neck and cheek repeatedly

“Never,” you mumbled into his ear as he leaned back onto the couch, laying with you on top, never wanting to let you go as he took in your scent but the hunger never came

Not when he got to hold you and have you exist in this lifetime with him after seeing so many come and go

You were the one he never wanted to see go

Kuroo:

You shook off your raincoat and boots as you stepped through the door, closing it behind you, powerful winds outside which made it seem like all the trees were going to fall over

Before you could even speak, Your back was suddenly met with the door you just closed

Kuroo’s lips moved with yours, his head leaned down to taste your tongue with his, one hand propped above his head on the door, the other holding your jaw, tilting your head up

He kept his leg in between yours

“Time for me to eat, kitten,” Kuroo’s eyes glinted a bright red as he pulled out of the kiss, your lips already swollen from his rough force

With his thumb, he turned your head away, pulling down the collar of your shirt a bit more so he could latch his fangs into your skin

The way you tasted made his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure, humming as he suckled, not wasting a single bit

You let out high pitched whines at the piercing feeling, your hands gripping onto his wrists, trying to shake him off a bit but he was too strong

You weren’t going anywhere, especially when he had been starving for the past couple weeks. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t make it last week to your normal feeding day

But Kuroo was desperate. Everything, all his senses and needs and urges were heightened and now you were stuck here

Your blood coating his tastebuds was like liquid gold to him, he wanted to taste everything

He pulled back, seeing the way your blood dripped out, exciting him even more as he pointed his tongue, trailing the blood up until he lapped his teeth marks in your neck

He pulled your shirt more, stretching the collar to reveal your shoulder. He sunk his teeth once again into your body, the hunger he had been feeling for the past weeks slowly disappearing

You whimpered into his hear as he fed, hearing nothing but the way he suckled on your blood

But he couldn’t even hear you- all he could do was taste so he wasn’t aware at all of how excited he was making you feel, subconsciously rubbing his knee in between your legs

With a loud crack of thunder and a beat of your heart in your ears, you could feel the room beginning to spin all around you

As you raised your hand, it seemed to be moving in slow motion

“K-Kuroo…” your voice was unstable, your body growing weaker and weaker with the way he fed, the taste and his hunger mixing to make him lose his sense

“I’m gonna… pass… out,” your voice died out, your body growing limp in his hold without him noticing

He fed on you, naturally holding your body up, not even realizing your current state until he could feel a subtle sticky coldness pressing to his cheek

Pulling away, to his horror, your neck slowly bled out, the collar of your shirt soaking it all up. He was too enraptured with your taste to even notice this as well as your unconscious state

He lifted you off your feet in a swift motion and carried you upstairs immediately

Your head began to squeeze as your mind slowly woke again, your body feeling a strange combination of temperatures- cool in front but warm everywhere else

“Are you awake, baby?” You blinked your vision out of fogginess as his voice echoed a little in the bathroom all around

He held you close, arms looped around your body loosely, your chest to his, head rested on his shoulder, your own legs resting around his sides surprisingly comfortably

It took you a moment to figure out where you were but you felt so drained, you accepted everything

The hot water of the bath felt warm around you, not too hot as you expected with Kuroo’s cold blooded body holding you close

Everything felt so pleasant- the light tapping sounds of the rain bouncing off the skylight in the big bathroom, his touch as he held you close, your bare bodies so exposed to each other and so vulnerable but you never felt safer and more at home than right now with Kuroo

“What happened?” You asked groggily, eyes heavy, drawing lines down his shoulder as he rubbed his hand down your back

“I may have fed from you too much,” he rubbed the back of his neck before returning to your back. “Blood got onto your clothes so after I treated you, I threw them in the hamper but it was also on your body so I figured we could take a bath together.”

Kuroo, being immortal, always felt cold. Specifically, the temperature never really bothered him but feeling how warm your body was against his, he felt like a kitten beneath a heated kotatsu. However, right now, this wasn’t the case; he felt a cold shover run down his spine at the guilt that percolated inside his body

You were mortal, you always felt warm to him but he felt his non-beating heart drop when he felt how cold your body was, limp in his hold

He never wanted to experience that ever again

You didn’t even realize the gauzes he had applied to your neck and shoulder over his bite marks until he mentioned it

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” He secured his arms tight around your body, squeezing you impossibly closer to his body. “Forgive me?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed as his words went through one ear and slowly out the other. “I’m so tired,” you yawned, melting his body with your hot breath on his neck

“Then let’s get you out and dressed. I’ll bring you to bed, hm?” He moved his head back until it bumped into the wall, his gaze falling upon you with your cheek squished into his shoulder

“Mmhm,” you repeated to which Kuroo just chuckled, standing up as water dripped off your bodies, holding you like you were a koala bear latched onto him

He dried off your body as you struggled to stay awake, dressing you in his closed before he did as he said

He lifted you off your feet and brought you to his bed, staying right by your side until you woke. “I love you,” he kissed your forehead, heart swelling when your hand grasped at his shirt even as you slept

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046  @mazey-chan  @sunboikyo00  @kara-grayson04​  @fortheloveofbakugo​ @tsumtsumsemi​ @osamuonigiri @1-800-wholesome @yamagucci​ @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi​ @pink-panda-pancakes​ @differentballooncollection​ @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction​ @euphorihan@turquoiselace​ @macaronnv  @oxmaddy​​ @mrkoala4prsdnt​​ @curiouslilbeast​ @plantisnotplant@therestless101​ @abcdaichi​ @oyasenpai​ @kaaidalupita​ @lovinnoya​ @wisepandaslimeland​ @killuaking​ @bbymilkbread​ @tsumtsumland​ @suunikimchi​

[violetnotez]

fic or whatever concept: fushiguro is in love w the reader but they have a huge crush on yuuji and it’s just megumi suffering as the reader and yuuji get together and they’re actually really,,, happy??? and in love???

This is the shit I LIVE FOR -also I made a whole playlist for this idea-you can watch the vid here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Megumi x reader (not really?), Yuuji x reader

Songs to Listen to: Treat You Better (but the Kurt Hugo version, seriously, thank me later!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Maybe if he had tried harder, this wouldn’t have ended up like this. He just felt alone, empty, with nothing to show but a broken heart and head full of bitter dreams.

Did he fool himself? That maybe, some miraculous way, he would have won?

Megumi lay on his bed, worn sweatshirt making his skin crawl and his black sweats uncomfortable to wear, his toes curling from disgust.

Nothing could get his mind off of you, even months after you started dating Yuuji.

 It almost got worse, now that you were off limits.

Funny how it works like that.

His brain seemed to just always want to think of you-the way your voice seemed to sparkle when you yell out his name, the way you look too damn cute when you’d walk out of your dorm room in the morning, hair messy and feet bare-

Fuck fuck fuck.

Megumi groaned, placing a hand on his forehead and smoothing his hair back in exasperation.

You weren’t his, and you’d never be his-he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were dating his best friend after all-didn’t he have any shame?

Even though he was in so much heart ache, so much pain from the fact he couldn’t have you.....he couldn’t ever hate his friend from taking you away from him.

Yuuji was good to you, and painfully, he had to admit Yuuji was better than him in every way as a boyfriend.

Yuuji was sociable, able to strike up a conversation and make everyone feel like his best friend-Megumi wasn’t like that.

Yuuji wasn’t afraid of physical touch, constantly having a hand on your hip to keep you near him or swinging you around lovingly like he hadn’t seen you in years- he was terrified of physical touch.

Yuuji was strong, powerful, and able to protect you from the world- he couldn’t say the same for himself.

Megumi’s insecurities were infesting his body, gnawing at his bones, squirming through his muscles and into his skin, making his jaw clench and nails dig deep into his skin from disgust within himself.

Why hadn’t he at least fucking tried?

But he had been too placid, too worried of rejection, too worried of ruining your friendship-

But then again....he was just too selfless. He was willing to let everyone around him surpass him if it meant they would win, thrive, and live happy lives- even if it meant he had to suffer the consequence.

Megumi squeezed the white sheets around him, twisting them into tight spirals around his digits.

He let it happen again-he had succumbed to that fear.

Years worth of affection, years worth of admiration and dedication-washed away like it never happened., because of it And now he was dealing with the repercussion with phantoms of what could have been, with the jealousy, and a broken heart.

Megumi shifted in his bed, feeling his sweatshirt stick to his back, his hand reached out to grasp at the white beams of moonlight drifting into his room.

What would have happened if he had said no that day? Would anything have changed-if he had admitted that he did like you, that he had wanted to call you his?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

He remembers that day like it was yesterday, that feeling of dread filling in his stomach as if he knew something was about to change, the shift of energy making an icy chill run along his back.

Yuuji has been behind him, leaving training as they usually do with his hands in his pockets.

It was quiet, the hallways empty except for the two of them, the wooden floors making soft clicks as it reacted to their footsteps. It should have felt peaceful, a soft breeze fluttering in from the opened windows as the sun began to set outside. But that errie sensation was still boiling in Megumi’s gut, that gnawing feeling of dread making him unable to enjoy the peace.

“Hey man, I wanted to ask you something real quick,” Yuuji’s voice stopped Megumi in his tracks, his feet halting with an echo in the empty corridor.

Megumi turned around slowly, tentatively, almost too worried to face what was behind him. 

Maybe at this time he knew what was about to happen, the feeling of dread settling.

“Sure,” he simply stated, shrugging nonchalantly as the golden sun set the room in a red hue.

“This might be a little personal,” Yuuji began, hands placed in the pockets of his sweatshirt still, “but I got a question about y/n.”

Yuuji looked at him, staring him down like two men in a duel. He was serious, more serious than Megumi had seen him in a long time.

“I know you guys are pretty close...”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Megumi stated, swallowing a ball of saliva down his dry throat.

“Well, I-“ Yuuji sighed, pink hair swaying as he looked down at the floor quickly, almost preparing himself for what he was about to say next.

“I-I wanted to ask them out.....out on a date....”

“- it okay with you?”

Megumi’s eyes widened in shock, the his whole body feeling as if hit by a ton of bricks from Yuuji’s words.

This was it-the worst case scenario, the worst thing he knew was happening but didn’t want to admit.

Megumi tried to recover quickly, his eyes slanting back down to unamused slits in a matter of seconds.

“Why are you asking me?” he questioned, trying to keep the growing panic inside him at bay,” It’s not like I dictate who she dates.”

“I think you know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Fushigoro-“

Megum sighed violently, eyes looking up at the ceiling as he tried to fight the growing pain in his heart.

“I don’t dictate your life-I don’t dictate them-and you don’t dictate mine. Do whatever the hell you want-“

“I won’t date them unless you say it’s okay for me to Fushigoro.”

Itadori’ voice had none of that boyish, playful tone to it. It was more mature than Megumi had even heard it-but something behind it was different.

It was almost like there was this desperateness to it- Yuuji needed him to say yes. Yuuji so badly wanted to call you his-just like him.

“You can say no-“ Itadori rushed on, eyes intense with anticipation, “-I won’t think less of you or hate you for it.”

Megumi watched as he shuffled uncomfortably, the knowledge that he just admitted his crush making him slightly sheepish as he scratched the back of his head.

“Hell, I know I would-” he said truthfully, “ I just don’t want to ruin our friendship by going behind your back.”

Fuck, Megumi wanted to fight for you. He wanted to so so badly.

Megumi had known you for longer, you two were close friends, he had a connection to you-didn’t he deserve to be yours after being so dedicated to only you?

Fushigoro was there for when you cried over your stresses, rubbing your back patiently as you let everything out of you, summoning his animals because he knew how much they made you happy.

He was there for your late night study sessions, the lighting hazy as the pouring rain pounded on the window, cleaning up your room of the papers and flashcards after he convinced you to go to sleep.

He trained with you when you worried you weren’t strong enough, always making sure to congratulate you in someway, fighting the redness in his cheeks after you had successfully completed a new move, your skin dangerously close to his.

God, he had waited for so long-why did the world have to fuck him over? Why did his best friend, out of all the people in the world he could form a crush on, like you like that?

But looking at Yuuji, he knew he wouldn’t win this war. Him and Yuuji were very similar in their passion and devotion, but the simple difference between them was Yuuji wasn’t afraid to be selfish.

Megumi was accustomed to backing down for everyone, sacrificing himself so the people he loved could succeed. It was an awful habit of his, maybe due to his insecurities, maybe just a routine he learned at this point, he would never know- but the fact was he knew that Yuuji would never stop fighting for you. Even if Megumi screamed at him, cursed at him, told him to fuck off and leave you alone-Yuuji wouldn’t ever stop loving you. Itadori would respect Megumi’s wishes, but he would still protect you, fight for you, and love you with everything in him.

And that much devotion coming from someone as charismatic and kind like that-what person wouldnt fall for that?

Megumi sighed, his heart breaking in two at the sudden realization hit him-he was too weak to be any threat to Yuuji.

”You’re not going behind my back.” He finally said, looking down at the floor as the self loathing boiled in his stomach.

“But you-“

“I don’t. Like them.” Megumi was seething, hating every fiber in his body for doing this to himself. Each word was choppy, the sentence laced with sternness and bitterness.

“-Do whatever the hell you want.”

Megumi needed to leave, and leave quick. He hadn’t felt this emotional in a long time, and he didn’t want Yuuji to start thinking that he was actually bothered by all of this.

He turned on his heel, ready to get out of there as quickly as possible-

“Hey Megumi- you really okay with this? This won’t change our friendship? I won’t do this unless youre okay-“

Yuuji took a step forward, hand reaching out to his friend as a peace offering, a sheepish smile on his lips.

Megumi turned, his chest tightening as he looked down at his hand, too tired to reach out for it and pretend like he didn’t hate his friend at this moment.

“They dont like me. They like you- I see it. You’ll make them happy, and that’s all I want for them.”

Yuuji smiled , seemingly content with his quiet friend’s answer.

“Thanks man,”

Megumi turned again, head hanging low as he quickly left the corridor, desperate to get out of there.

“Tell me thank you when they say yes.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

He groaned, letting the painful memories overtake him as he turned his back to the wall.

It just hurt-maybe he would get over all of this one day, but right now he couldnt.

As if on cue to deepen his torture, he heard a giggle from you across his room, the muffled noise of Yuuji’s voice making him cringe.

Thin ass walls-you were probably visiting Yuuji again for the night, staying up all night to watch movies.....

This was destroying him-but he couldnt ever blame you for it, because you were oblivious to his love for you. He had made sure you would never catch on- and now you would never know because he was too cowardly to ever say it. 

God, what he’d do to have the roles switched though...with you breaking school rules to come visit him at night, to here that sweet laugh in his room, to feel your head cuddle into his chest, or see you slowly begin to wake up in the morning....

Megumi felt a pain in his chest at the wanting feeling that would never fully be satiated gnaw at his chest, his hands despertedly grabbing at his pillow and shoving it against his ear.

He didnt want to hear you, he didnt want to see you...at this moment he didnt want anything to do with you or Yuuji. 

This hurt too much...

Fuck, he really screwed up.

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕝𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀 ~

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: SMUT! Dom!Minho x sub!reader criminal!skz, gang!au, angst(?), criminality, mentions of scars, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, explicit language, mentions of robbery, mentions of police, mentions of cuts, alcohol consumption, mentions of fights, public sex, PIV, fingering, unsafe sex (STAY SAFE), orgasm (m/f), cum, slight bulge kink, squint to see the degradation. 

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS SINCE THIS PIECE CONTAINS VIOLENCE!

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.6 k 

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: EEEEP part 2 of purple hearts that is more of a background story to the first one so if you haven’t read the first one please do so here!~ (also jesus fucking christ did i struggle with this sooo... don’t expect much lmao)

OH if you want a song recommendation; A good song never dies - Saint Motel (fits this fic heheh...) 

A loud bang erupted through the room alerting the 7 other boys. Bangchan’s fist was firmly planted on the table as he looked at the shoked faces off the seven boys.

“We can’t go on like this anymore”

He spoke in a raspy voice, his breath quivering as the other boys avoided eye contact with both Bangchan and between themselves.

“Did you see what happened out there?!” Felix flinched at Chan’s loud shout as Changbin smirked, spinning in the office chair and staring at the ceiling. 

“It’s not that serious, Chan! Just a couple bruises tha-” Changbin started speaking but was soon cut off.

“Nonsense!” Chan growled out. “All of this because that son of a bitch won’t get a job, we included you because you were a detective. You were useful once, Minho”.

The entire room glanced over at Minho. His cheek scarred, a droplet of blood desended down from his knuckles as he swept his hair back with one hand. 

“Not my fault, you wanted me to plan the different robbing schemes so how the fuck can I work, huh? Ever though about that?” He spat on the floor as his gaze was locked with Bangchan’s. The leader getting visibly annoyed by Minho’s tone. 

“Calm down everybody” Seungmin said, carefully nudging at the curtain infront of the window and looking down at the blue and red lights that was flashing all over town. “Continue like this and we’ll all be dead meat for the police”.

Hyunjin was sitting across from Changbin, only the big white table seperating them as a lonely lightbulb hanged in the middle. 

“I agree with Chan, Minho used to help by getting access to information only the detectives had but now... well, he’s not doing much” he scratched the back of his neck while talking. 

Minho was aggrivated by his words, ready to lunge at anyone that dared to open their mouth about how he wasnt helpful after he’d been fired from his job as a detective.

“I-I’m gonna find a job, not like you fuckers sitting here and living off others pain”. He tried to defend himself but only earned a scoff from Felix.

“Please,,, don’t try to judge us when you’re in it yourself” Felix remarked snarkily, sitting on the cold stone flooring. A first aid kit was laid out infront of him as he treated a big wound on his forearm, wrapping bandage over the cut and hissing as the material stinged against the raw wound. 

“I’ll find my ways, don’t worry” he devilishly smirks, many of the boys sighing and rolling their eyes. All except one. Bangchan. His blood was boiling. Did Minho not see how the whole groups future was hanging on by a thin red thread? The red representing how much blood has been shed by these boys in order to survive in this vile world.

Silence filled the room, only the faint sound of police sirens could be heard from outside. Minho clenched his jaw, looking around at the silent boys before grabbing his coat from the wobbly coathanger and exiting the mobs headquarter, shutting the door loud enough to startle both Jeongin and Jisung. Confused glances were exchanged while Bangchan just stood at the end of the table, staring out into the dark night. 

---

The nightlife was well and alive in the big city. Music blaring, people chattering and cars humming. The neon lights were all around him as well as the vast crowds of people enjoying the night. Minho walked into a bar that was a couple of blocks away from where he and the boys had been moments earlier, robbing a jewely store and beating up the owners until puddles of blood formed around them. Most of the times it was easy but today the police were a step ahead and bad planning by Bangchan almost led to the boys in handcuffs. Luckily, all eight managed to escape, leaving the bodies and the spray painted SKZ mob logo on the old fashioned walls of the jewerly store. 

The bar reeked of alcohol as the lights were low, only a couple of silhouette visible. Unsteady bar chairs decorated the dim bar along with a wall of fancy liquor bottles and as Minho sat down he looked down at the bar table before croaking out;

“One boulevardier“ 

He licked his lips as he looked cockily at the bartender that quickly nodded, intimidated by the wound on his cheek. Minho rubbed the back of his neck whilst comtemplating his life choices. Graduated with a law degree, once being a well respected detective but what was he worth now? He was just a dirty criminal, ruining lives in order to survive. The drink was placed infront of him, a coaster on the bottom of the wide glas as the drink condensed, forming beeds of liquid on the rim. Just as he lifted the glas to his chapped lips you tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me” 

You stood behind his hunched figure and met his gaze as he turned around, drink in hand. You show your detective badge before speaking.

“y/n, y/l/n. Happened to see any commotion here tonight, sir?

He scoffs which makes you confused as you look him straight into his cold brown eyes.

“Detective? At least you got to keep your job”

Minho turns back and you stand there, wondering if he’s drunk or just refusing to cooperate.

“Sir, I asked you if you’d seen anything that could lead us to the SKZ mob? I’m pretty sure you know who they are. You know, the ones that makes the entire city shake of fear.” 

“Sure, I know of them.” He smirked with his answer.

He patted the empty bar chair next to him, signaling for you to sit which caught you off guard. You were hesitant since he didn’t look like the friendliest type but you nodded, slowly sitting down next to him. 

“Look, I might even surprise you about how much I know” he remarked, steadily raising the glas to his dry lips. 

“Is that so? How do you know so much?” you asked, geniunly interested in him and that scar on his cheek.

“Former detective” he stated simply. 

Your eyebrows jerked at his words. ‘Former detective?’ you thought, losing his job must have been hard on him judging from his scruffy appearence and by the way he waved his finger at the bartender, ordering another drink. 

“Then why did you lose your job?” Curiosity was going to be the death of you.

“Aren’t you asking too many questions, baby?”

Who was he calling baby? The two of you had met minutes ago but something in the way his voice rang through that word caused shivers to descend down your spine. 

“I’m a detective, that my job and you should know that” you replied sassily, not knowing what to do with the butterflies in your stomach upon hearing him call you baby. 

“I could help you but it comes with a cost.”

He moved his hand in a circular motion, swirling the liquor as the floating ice cubes bumped against eachother, the sound being completely masked by the distinct chattering of other guests. 

“Well,,, what do you want me to do?” You looked at him as he stared straight ahead, his silvery earring swaying as he turned his head towards you, grinning. 

“A job and you.” 

His deep brown eyes seemed to draw you in but you had to resist, you were on a patrolling shift after all. 

“I’m s-sorry,,, This is not appropriate behaviour” you say as you try to get up before being abruptly pulled back by your wrist, the purple heart on your bracelet reflecting in the minimally lit bar. 

“I know damn well that there is a promotion looming in the air” he said, not breaking eye contact with the bracelet on your arm. He was right. If he had valuable information it could change your career, make you climb higher in the ladder of success and peer down at all your co-workers that were once laughing at your lack of skills.

“H-how’d you know?” you said, flustered at his big hand that was still tightly gripping your wrist. He flashed his devilish grin before yanking you by the arm, dragging you to the bathroom. 

“W-wait,,, what are you-”

Pushing the door to the bathroom open, he slammed you against a cubical as he crashed his lips onto yours. Luckily the bathroom was empty leaving Minho without any hesitation to fuck you so hard that you’d be longing for more, fuck you so that you’d be left with no other choice but to hire him. You melted in his touch and as much as you knew how wrong this was something about his mysterious aura had you answering his kiss, pursing your lips and slipping your tongue inside of him. The kiss quickly got heated, sparks flying as his fingertips lightly nudged on the band of your jeans. Minho tilted his head, cupping your warm soft cheek with his brittle and bloody hands as you moaned into the kiss, adrenaline rushing through you at the thought of getting caught at any moment. 

Minho pulled you into a cubical, your bracelet jingling from the sudden movement. Locking the door, he put his hand by the side of your head and towered over you making you feel helpless. You needed him inside of you. 

“Deal?” he leaned over to your ear, his hot breath tickled your ear and all you could do was nod as you desperatly clenched around nothing. 

You reattached your lips on his, the bitter taste of liquor spreading in your mouth as your tongues fought for dominance. Minho stroked your hair until his hand slowly moved to peel off your shirt, exposing your bra strap. His touch on your bare shoulder made you shudder and your core quivering in anticipation, feeling a wet patch on your underwear. His hand unbuttoned your pants causing you to gulp loudly, holding the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.  Without warning his cold fingertips slid down beneath your panties, grazing your sopping folds and feeling himself get painfully hard, not wanting to admit the effect you had on him. 

“Already this wet, babygirl?” 

He broke the kiss, looking at your pained expression as he inserted a finger into your dripping pussy. Your eyes tightly shut as your hands wrapped around his arm, needing something to hold on to before your trembling legs gave up on you. You quickly stripped yourself from your pants and underwear, the fabric pooling around your feet and touching the surprisingly clean bathroom tiles. 

“Needy I see” he scoffed, inserting a second finger and sending you over the moon with pleasure, your hands still wrapped around his wrist. 

“s-shut up, you m-made me like this” you stutter back at him, trying to impose some sort of dominance but Minho only swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, looking at you with hungry dark eyes. A broken moan escaped your lips that glistened from saliva, Minho curled his fingers upwards, grazing your g-spot with every move. Before another strained moan managed to escape your lips he retracted his fingers, lapping off your juices from his long fingers with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“Turn around”

His cold voice pierced your eardrums and as if you’d been hexed you complied, your body moving to his command. Your hot cheek pressed up against the cubical door as Minho’s body was dangerously close to yours, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare ass. The sound of his belt unbuckling echoed as you pressed your ass up against his bulge, desperate for his cock. 

In a swift motion both his pants and underwear dropped down to the floor, his erect veiny member springing out, the tip shining with precum. He pumped his length a couple of times before rubbing the tip against your dripping heat making you mewl out in suspense, the burning feeling in your core growing stronger. Minho alined himself with your entrance, slowly pushing in the tip to which you hissed, a momentary sting hitting your senses. He teased you by dragging his fingertips across your buttcheeks and up your spine, goosebumps erupting. 

Not being able to control yourself you pushed your butt out making you sink deeper on his length, earning a groan from the dark haired boy. 

“Desperate much?” he cooed from behind you. 

Your hands formed into fists as they held you body up from the door.

“F-fuck,,, hurry, I’m still on my shift you know?” you spat out at him, your legs shaking from how his dick stretched out your tight walls. 

“Whatever you say”

He laced his fingers through your hair, grabbing a fistful before turning his hand and yanking you towards him, your back arching as his hips slam against yours causing your butt to jiggle. You choked on your own moan as Minho’s hand tightly held you by the roots. 

The movement repeated and got harder by each thrust causing you to bite your lip in order to stop from screaming out in pleasure. Heat rose to your cheeks as your eyes rolled back into your skull, stray pieces of hair landing infront of your hair. Sweat beaded on Minho’s forehead, his groans getting louder as he neared his sweet release. 

“S-so tight,,, fuck.” He spoke haltingly, hating the fact that you made him weak. In order to hold on for longer you clenched around him not knowing that he’d grunt loudly.

“Now you’re c-clenching around me like a little whore?” 

A string of moans ensued from your delicate lips upon hearing his new nickname to you. How did he know that you liked it? You could only nod, your speech all slurred from the impact of his dick burrowing deep into your cervix. The knot in your stomach tightened, your head dazed as Minho’s thrusts became uneven, the grip on your hair tightening. Not feeling your legs any longer the knot unraveled, your body shivering from the orgasm that washed upon you, your juices coating Minho’s dick that was still pounding into you at an immense speed. 

“A-aah,,,s-shit!” you screamed out as he rushed after his own orgasm, overstimulating you in the meantime. Tears prickled in the corners of your watery eyes as Minho’s last moan echoed in the room, the moan being high in pitch. He pulled out of you leaving your cunt dripping as he pumped his length a couple of times, throwing his head back before his white cum spurted onto your butt, feeling the warm substance drip down your leg. The two of you panted, chest heaving as your forehead made contact with the door, legs weak. 

In your peripheral vision you see the boy stretching out a paper towel, his chest heaving as he wiped off the small sweat beads with the back of his hand. You shake your head in order to come back to earth before taking the paper towel from his hand, muttering a small “thank you”. 

“So what you say, babygirl?” His dick turning flaccid before pulling up his pants, looking at you wonderingly. You wipe off the cum and discard the paper in a small waste bin before you reach down to grab your panties and pants, pulling them briskly up. You reach for your back pocket, holding out a business card between your pointer and long finger with one hand, the other hand messing with your hair, making it look presentable. 

“Call me on Monday” you say before stumbling out of the cubical, leaving the grinning boy behind you. 

[hotdamnhunnam]

The Gavel Corrupts

A/N: Here goes – one of the premises from my Imagine Ideas post! In which Jax fucks you for the first time since becoming President... and shit hits different. (Note: This starts off with a short scene framing the title quote, followed by a flashback to the smutty episode!)

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Jax, rough sex (like really fucking rough, hair pulling, choking, slapping, biting, all that good stuff!) (but also fluff, because this savage is a baby who deserves all of the love 💖)

Word Count: ~2.4k

He knows that he fucked up. Knows that he’s gone too far, and he can feel how terrified you are. By now he’s lost count of the bullets, all the shots taken without a second thought. The scariest part is he doesn’t even give a shit.

He knows he’s changed, more than his heart wants to admit, but still you’re here to talk him through it. Always have been. You’re his queen, and he will always be your king. In spite of everything. For all your life, you’ve had to fight for him. Together you can fight off anything.

Standing beside him in the meeting room, the two of you alone, you look down lovingly upon him, seated in his loveless throne. Your small hands cradling his big strong frame, seeking in vain to ease the pain that cuts him to the bone.

Jax reaches slowly toward the gavel on the Reaper table, runs his thumb along the wooden handle. Wishing he could blame this thing, this empty toy, for all the times that he’s fucked up. The little boy inside him does. “The gavel corrupts.”

You shift from where you’re standing, take a seat across from him, so you can look him squarely in the eye. His words are one thing, but those blue eyes never lie.

He meets your gaze, his guiding light amidst the mayhem and the madness. Knows you can hear, can taste, the bitterness in every word he says. “You can’t sit in this chair without being a savage.”

All too true. There are days’ worth of shit that you two have to talk through. Don’t even know how. But right now... there is something else you’d rather do. 

You reach out toward his vest, the presidential badge that weighs so heavy on his chest. “Sometimes being a savage... can be an advantage,” you tell him as you run your fingers wistfully along the tattered edge. “Remember the first time you fucked me, with this little patch?”

If there’s one thing that sets a spark within the darker side of Jax, that thing is sex. With you. The thought of how it feels between your legs, the way he makes you beg, for all the things that only he can do. Your words just now have started melting through the ice in which he hides, igniting heat that he can’t fight. The heat that only you can manage. This has always been the healing that he needs, when he’s most damaged. 

Of course Jax remembers the first time he fucked you as President. Neither of you could forget. But the way he describes it is different, a devilish smirk on his lips as he adds on to what you just said. “Not just fucked... fucking ravaged.”

***************

So it’s finally happened, you think. Walking into the room where your man sits as king. After every damn thing—all the shit that he’s done, all the battles he’s won—all the wars that you’ve lost... no, you can’t bear to think of the cost—it amounts to just...

This. Just a seat at a table, a hand on a gavel, a patch on his vest. This is all it is. All it will ever be. His fucking destiny, this curse he shoulders so heavily, rests on a symbol so small that it fits in his fist.

God, you fucking hate it. All the hatred you wish you could feel toward him, toward the king, you end up channeling into this stupid thing.

You silently reach down to pick it up. Just at the touch, something inside of you already feels corrupt.

And then he speaks. His voice is... strong, but in a way that feels so wrong. A way that makes you feel so weak. “Who said you could touch that.”

His tone is low. Cold. Fucking flat. Doesn’t even lift into a question. You know shit is bad when that happens, yet wouldn’t dare show him you’re frightened. You can’t.

“What?” you snap at him. “Jax, it’s a damn wooden stick. It’s not even that big.”

He reaches up without a word, and wraps his hand around your wrist. So hard it hurts. As if he wants to fucking choke it in his fist.

You bite your lip and fight to keep the gavel in your grip.

So Jax tightens his grasp, till you gasp, and it finally slips. Letting go of your hand, takes the gavel in his. Towering over you as he stands.

Makes you cower beneath him now just ‘cause he can. “Y/N. Do you know what this thing—this position I’m in—being king... do you know what it gives me?”

On instinct, your gaze drops. Ends up at his crotch as it so often does, and your heart stops. A hard-on, apparently.

“Clarity,” he then goes on to say, setting the gavel down to place both hands around your face. The hands that command you in every damn way. “Turns out that looking at you now, all I can see are all the times you ever lied, and let me down. I always let it slide. You knew I’d come around. Because I fucking love you, babe. You make me... soft.”

Hard where it counts, you want to say. But not out loud. You know to shut your mouth, for now. Fuck how the sea inside those damn blue eyes is deep enough to drown...

“So fucking soft,” he repeats, feeding off of your heat, grazing his lower lip with his pearly white teeth. In a ravenous snarl that’s not soft at all. All his tenderness toward you just suddenly fades to give way to the beast that’s beneath. “But not today. Today I’ve had enough. Today you’re gonna pay.”

Well, shit. You fucking want this, more than anything. To give yourself completely to your king. But you’ll be damned before you let yourself admit it, in a moment such as this one. You can’t let him know he’s won. “Ugh, come on, Jax—all the things I’ve done—we’ve both done wrong, but gotten past all that...”

“Maybe you did,” he cuts you off. Sharp and abrupt, like it’s his job to shut you up. The gavel really does corrupt. In every way. “But I’m still dealing with that shit. Every damn day.”

“Then we should talk, babe—”

“Talk?” he scoffs, spitting the word back in your face like it’s a curse. You almost wish you didn’t like the way it hurts. “What’s there to say? The only thing that mouth is good for now is sucking cock.”

Oh fuck. You’ve practically just died. “Jax, I...”

He leans in close, shifting one hand down to your throat, the other drifting low to reach between your thighs. High on his own hunger as mirrored in your eyes. The way your breathing comes in heated moans and sighs. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

While your cunt pretty much erupts, you can’t resist spluttering out the only obvious reply. “Make me.”

He smiles, slick and sly, taking the open invitation that you know he won’t deny. Lips curving up into that smirk that never fails to drive you crazy. “Oh, you asking for it, baby?”

“Begging. Please.”

“Then get down on your fucking knees.”

Jax doesn’t have to say it twice. He never does. Because he knows that he’s the boss. Pushes you down until your face is in the space between his thighs. One of his hands rests masterfully upon your head, the other making quick work of his belt. Your desperate hands reach up to help; he slaps them off, sudden and rough, dead set on doing every fucking thing himself.

His massive cock is unleashed soon enough. Hard as a rock as it springs free. And God, the sight of it is slaying you already. Even after all these years you’ve been together—so damn many—still it shocks you every time to see something so fucking powerful yet so insanely pretty.

He doesn’t give you time to gawk. Your job right now is just to swallow his entire goddamn cock.

Taking a fistful of your hair in his firm grip, he shoves the wet pink tip forcefully past your panting lips. “Suck. Suck this dick till you choke on it, bitch.”

Jax knows that words like this completely scratch your every itch. You open up and do as told. Like you were put on earth solely to fill this role. Your face is nothing but his filthy little fuckhole. And he proves it now, shows you exactly how he owns your mouth. Feeding you so full of this dick that you can’t fucking live without. With each pump of his hips, the back of your head bumps against the blunt edge of the table that’s behind it, hard wood banging on your skull, bruising you up in ways that make you feel so broken yet so whole. In ways that satisfy the slut inside your soul.

Though you are aching now to swallow down his load, you know it’s not meant for your throat. No, not today. He’s gonna fuck you in another hole to make you really pay.

All of a sudden, with a feral grunt, Jax pulls his cock out of your mouth and hoists you up, swiveling you around to bend over the Reaper table facedown, yanking down your pants in one swift motion, brutally exposing your bare ass and soaking cunt. You’ve never felt more like a total fucking whore, more at the mercy of the man you love. The fucking President. It’s not as if Jax Teller never fucked you hard before—he knows how much you like it rough—but this is just... God, it’s just different. And you cannot get enough.

He deals your ass a ruthless smack, then twines his fingers in your hair to pull your head violently back. Latches his mouth around your gasping neck. Licking and biting hard, scratching you up with savage marks to last this week into the next, the battle scars of this intensely epic sex. As he teases his throbbing cock against the desperate burning heat between your legs, you know Jax wants to hear you beg.

You cry out in excruciating bliss as his nails dig into the soft flesh of your tits, your sides, your hips, scratching lines all across your back. “God, fuck me, Jax...”

He wraps one hand around your neck, just as the other slaps your ass again. “That what you want, Y/N?”

“Fuck—yes...” you whimper as he rubs his raging cock against your cunt, slicking it up with all your juices; you can hear him groaning out in satisfaction at the feeling of your wetness, just before he plunges deep inside and fucks you dry, till it feels like you’ve literally died. “Just... please, Jax, fucking fuck me up...”

And that’s exactly what he does. Thick cock slamming inside you to the core in just one thrust. He clamps his hand over your mouth to stifle all your wild screams as he fulfills your wildest dreams. Your senses blur into a mess of pain and pleasure, worn out leather scraping up against your skin, as you and your king drown together in a sea of shameless sin, as he pumps in and out and then—fuck, even deeper in—hitting spots so deep inside you no one’s ever fucking been, not even him. He’s never done such fucking damage. Never been so fucking savage.

In a matter of seconds, you end up cumming just about a hundred times harder than your body can even fucking manage. You are ruined, in ways you could never have imagined. Unable to fathom what just fucking happened. Utterly and absolutely fucking ravaged.

Jax keeps his cock buried inside you long after you both are done. Because you never are, with one another. No matter how many battles you both have fought, and lost, between each other, and against the world... this is the only war that counts. The war for dominance, the struggle over who is fucking right, through all the wrongs you’ve done, the fight for pride that threatens every day to drag you down. At least until you fuck it out at night. The war that rages in your hearts, vying in vain to tear the two of you apart. The war you’ve both won, time and time again. For what feels like forever. Together.

He holds you near and murmurs in your ear, the words you always know before you hear. “I love you, Y/N.”

Still gives you butterflies, every damn time. “And I love you, Jax Fucking Teller,” you wholeheartedly reply. “Or should I call you Mr. President?”

A soft laugh whispers past his lips, resting against your cheek in an extended kiss, where his big strong body is still slumped over yours in post-orgasmic bliss. “Guess that depends. I think this patch is fucking poison. Babe, I know you never wanted this to happen—honestly, if you just say the word, right now, I’ll leave this all behind and...”

“Oh, shut up,” you interrupt. “Now’s not the time to talk like that, you fucking idiot. Whatever that patch is, I’m just—I’m addicted. You completely fucked me up, and I’m still riding high on feeling so... God, I don’t even know the word for it... corrupt?”

Your eyes randomly flicker toward the gavel on the table, as you say it. Damn, what is it with that thing...?

Jax follows the shift in your gaze, subtle though it was, able to tell where you’re looking, as always. “What is it, darlin’—got some kind of gavel kink? I thought you said it ain’t even that big...”

You smile at that as he kisses your cheek again. “That’s cause it isn’t. Nothing is, compared to your big fucking dick, Mr. President. You are my one and only kink. My one true king.”

“Mmm, well thank God for that, sweetheart...” he growls suggestively, desire stirring up within the both of you again, despite how recently you came—your body is so fucking ready, for this man to fucking ravage you again. And Jax can tell just what you want now as he finishes his sentence, set on ripping you apart. “...‘cause the President’s big dick is still inside you and already getting hard.”

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

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@itsme-autumn​ @rebelwrites​ @happyhenners @band--psycho @witching-hour @est11​

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A large box materialized in the corner of the room, decorated gaudily with purple wrapping paper, a bright red bow, and raw macaroni glued over practically every visible inch of the box. If you listened closely, you could make out the occasional giddy giggle coming from the inside of the box whenever it wiggled, demanding the attention of the beautiful birthday boy.

“Vil’s gonna love this!” Mac gushed to themself from the inside of the box, dressed up in thick clown makeup and an equally excessive clown outfit. “He’ll open the box up, and I’ll pop out to greet him and tell him that I’ll be his birthday present and his personal footstool, if he wants…”

Within the darkness of the box, they flushed a bright red, fanning their face like the lovestruck fool they were. Whenever they could make out the sound of his heels clacking on the attic floor, Mac shivered excitedly at the thought of his feet slamming down on their back and keeping their face shoved against the floor for them to drool onto.

The beautiful Queen needs a loyal court, and was there anyone better than to play the role of the court fool than the head empty pasta fanatic? Mac thought not.

*pokes Mac with a stick*

Come get your dinner.

At long last, evening had set in, and the last of Vil’s fan club had been sated and sent off for the day. The once brilliant blue sky had darkened to a deep violet--nearly black--and the stars, one by one, awoke from their daytime slumber to play amid the moonlight. Night Raven College, touched in silver, was a new world entirely.

Vil ran a hand along the nape of his neck and sighed.

“Excellent work, Roi du Poison!” Rook sang, patting his dorm leader on the back. “You’ve survived the onslaught--though you appear to be a little worse for wear from it.”

“I am not in need of your insightful commentary at this time, Rook,” Vil warned, his tone pointed.

The huntsman did not flinch--not a single beat missed. He removed his hat and held it close to his chest as he dipped into a bow. “Oui.”

A moment elapsed before Rook lifted his head, eyes creased teasingly. “... Though I would still advise you, mon roi, to retire early for the evening. All this stress may lead to a breako--”

“I am in need of some fresh air,” Vil declared sharply. “If you have need of me, I will be outside.”

“... Bien sûr.”

The birthday boy turned and swept out of the stuffy attic. Down the staircase he descended, and out into the bitter night air--or rather, he would have, were it not for ramming his foot into an oddly placed box, covered in bright purple and red, and raw macaroni pieces.

Vil hissed and drew his foot back--but to his alarm, the box began... wiggling intensely and... giggling?

“What in the name of the Great Seven is this doing here?” he wondered out loud, but no response came.

Out of curiosity, Vil cautiously prodded the box with his foot again. The touch immediately elicited another loud giggle.

Something... No, someone is in there. Vil brought a hand to his forehead, heaving another sigh (what number was it now?).

His manager had warned him about accepting suspicious packages--particularly crazed or rowdy fans would sometimes send nasty pranks or parcels with dangerous goods inside. He wasn’t about to risk his health and safety for a shady package. Vil would go fetch Rook to open it for him--

Bu then it happened.

The box flew open, and out erupted...

A clown.

Quintessential--face painted a stark white, garishly colorful lips, eyes, and cheeks, a bulbous and round nose, a fluffy rainbow wig... Even the outfit was clownish, the fabric baggy but bright, with a frilly collar, gloves, and massive shoes that squeaked with even the slightest movement.

The clown let out a whoop of excitement, leapt out of the box, and eagerly honked their nose. It squeaked loudly, like a dog’s chew toy or a kazoo.

Vil stumbled back a few steps in complete and utter astonishment. He squinted through the thick clown makeup and gaudy clothing, his mind slowly piecing together the familiar facial features.

The cheesy potato.

“Mac... Is that you?”

“Heehoo,” Mac honked their nose again. They wore the widest, goofiest grin Vil had ever witnessed, even by the standards of his most lovestruck of followers. “Happy, happy birthday, Vil!!”

He ignored the greeting and cut to a question. “... Dare I ask why it is that you are dressed in such an outlandish getup?”

“Hehehe... Actually! It’s cuz... I’m your birthday present!!” Mac declared, splaying their arms out.

“You... what?”

“I’m your birthday present!!” They repeated, practically vibrating with zeal. “Cuz every queen needs a loyal court jester...!!”

“I am in no need of such--”

“Please please please please PLEASE let me serve you!!” Mac wailed desperately, flinging themselves at Vil’s feet. “I’ll tell the dumbest jokes, and I can be your personal human footstool--you can step on me whenever you want!! I’ll make you the tastiest, cheesiest pasta, and maybe we can get closer and then move in someplace together and live a nice domestic life, and have lots of kids--I’ve already got their names picked out--and and and...”

“Stop. You’re drooling,” Vil said coldly. His cruel, frigid tone sent a shiver down Mac’s spine, filling them with a sense of ecstasy that only he could deliver.

“Heheheh...” They wiped saliva from the corner of their mouth with the back of their hand. “Sorry, I just get so excited when I talk about you.”

“I know,” Vil groaned, cradling his forehead in a hand. “... I know.”

“Are you... angry with me? I-If you are, please take out your rage by stomping all over my back and snapping me like a glowstick!! PLEASE USE ME, SCHOENHEIT!!”

“You never seem to stop spouting nonsensical logic.”

“I don’t need logic...!! Because I have something way better than logic: LOVE!!”

Vil glanced away.

A deathly silence fell over the foyer.

For one horrible, dreadful moment, Mac thought they had done something wrong. It wasn’t like Vil--confident, beautiful Vil--to be at such a loss for words. Was he so terribly cross that he couldn’t even bring himself to spit out any insults at them? Did he hate them so much that he didn’t even deem them worthy to receive his vitriol?  

“H-Hey, Vil... Did I.. Did I go too far?”

“... Pfft.”

“Huh?”

Laughing.

Vil was laughing.

Well, not a full-on deep, rumbling belly laugh. It was more like a faint chuckle, soft and delicate, like wind chimes blowing in the spring breeze.

“You never cease to amuse,” Vil remarked, his perfectly groomed brows pinching together, and his lips forming a mocking smile. “Lifting my mood after a long and arduous day certainly takes talent. Perhaps you are more suited to playing the role of court clown after all.”

“Ah, I... I am?” Mac perked up. “I am!! See, see? I can make myself ultra useful to you, Vil--so please accept me as your birthday present!!”

“Hmm. We shall see about that. For now, though...” Vil bent down to meet you at eye level and, extending a hand, he pulled you up from your miserable heap back onto two feet. “We should return to the party.”

“W-We?!” Mac’s heart fluttered.

“... Do your ears work? Yes, I said we. I won’t have you sitting here cold and alone, like some sad, limp noodle that was never properly cleaned up. You will join the birthday festivities, the same as any of my other guests. Is that clear?”

“Yessir!! Whatever you want, Vil!!”

“Good. Now let us away.”

And so, hand in hand, the queen and his clown headed off to their gala.

[bubsdolan]

15 from angst + 4,6 from fluff w gwaysin 🥺

{prompt list - “I told you not to fall in love with me.”, “OH you’re jealous!” & “Please just kiss me already.”}

“come back to bed, sweetheart,” you hear grayson groan from beside you. rolling over after having been woken up from his content slumber, by the cold empty feeling of you climbing out of his embrace and his bed. he watched as you scrambled around, trying to find your scattered clothes and piece together the eventful antics of the night before. one you told yourself you would never encounter again, yet here you were.

“can't, gotta study date with gavin in 20 minutes.. have you seen my bra?” you refuse to pay grayson the slighest bit of attention. one leg hanging out of your pants as you hop around on the other foot to try sqeeze them on in a hurry. your top half bare, making grayson lick his lips and crave you even more. he had to blink a couple to times, adjusting to the light in order to confirm that you were real. that the night before wasn’t just a figment of his imagine.

“is that the loser who kept blowing up your phone, whilst i was balls deep inside your little pussy?” grayson teased, a cocky smirk on his lips as he watched you become all flushed and feed him the reaction he was hoping for.

you tried your hardest not to show how much his words effected you, travailing straight to your core as you blushed and shyed away from him. you brushed it off, rolling your eyes and simply ignoring his remarks as you continue to dress yourself. smoothing your hair out with your fingers as tried to make yourself look as presentable as possible for your study date. after a night of being dicked down but the best dick you’ve ever received, you were struggling to do so. truly, you didn't want to leave the safety of grayson’s arms. you would much rather spend the day basking in the feeling of grayson dolan, rather than bore yourself to death with a guy from your math class that simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

your slience bugs grayson, prompting him to swing his legs over the side of bed and sit up straight to watch your figure. the duvet covering his lower half as he was completely bare underneath, yet it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. grayson so desperately wanted to reach out and hold you in his arms, feel the softness of your skin against his fingertips. but he had to reframe himself, you were friends with benefits- nothing more, you weren’t his to hold. you made that pretty clear on your first hook up.

pinkies interlocked with each other, staring deeply into graysons mesmerising eyes a moment too long, you had to catch yourself before you fall. (too late)- you make a deal that would not only break your own heart, but graysons as well.

“just sex, no strings attached...ok?”

“erm, yeah sure. no feelings, got it. don't go falling in love me with, dolan” 

damn grayson wished he could rewind time and take back every word. he would kick himself for the rest of his life, beat himself up over the fact he never fully claimed you as his no matter how much he wished to.

“sweetheart-” his words cause a sigh to leave your lips, your back muscles tensed as you freeze in position. already knowing what he was about to say, you could cut the tension with a knife.

“stay with me- please. im sure gavin can caluate his stupid numbers without you being there. i need you more.”

“OH you’re jealous!” you turn to face grayson, a small smirk spreading on your lips as you could easily detect the bitterness and jealousy laced in his tone. crossing your arms over your chest as you look at at him pointedly, waiting for his next movements to determine how far this goes.

you make meaningful eye contact with him as you watch him chuck on the old pair of boxers he throw off in hurry pior to finding himself between your legs, he ran his fingers through his mattered hair that you spent hours pulling on and made his way over to you. standing directly in front of your defeated body as he reaches down to hold onto your waist. his piercing stare bringing you under his spell as his fingers trace delicate shapes on your hip bone. you share a look of mutual understanding, you could read frayson like a book and you knew exactly where this was heading. 

“i told you not to fall in love with me, dolan,” you couldnt even stop yourself from locking your hands together behind his neck. your fingers trialing along the loose stands of hair as his own grip on you only gets tighter. it felt right being entlaged with you, it felt natural and made grayson believe he was the luckiest man alive. 

“i know you feel it too, baby.” grayson’s words are just above a whisper. his eyes flickering from your own hypnotising ones, to your lips he urged to taste. they looked so full and pink, he desired to run his tongue across them, pulling and biting at your lower lip as you whimpered and moaned his favourite sounds below him. 

when you say nothing, your eyes shifting to look down to the floor and becoming interested in your odds socks, unable to deny the truth his words held, grayson knew in that moment, he got exactly what he wanted- you. 

“please just kiss me already.” thats all it took for grayson to slowly but surly lean in. his lips brushing against yours briefly, making your breathing hitch when you feel him him stall. 

“tell me you love me.”

“gray-”

“tell me you love me, baby and i’ll happily give you all the kisses your pretty heart desires.” you could feel his hot breath of bounce of your skin as he whispered every word. making you melt under his fingertips and gaze, leaning further into his body for support when your legs trembled.

“i love you, grayson.. so much.

grayson let out the biggest sigh of relief, a contagious smile filling his features as he finally closes the gap between you. your lips working in synchronisation to create sparks. the kiss felt different to the rest, sure you have locked lips many a time before, in your most compromising and intimate positions. but this one kiss, was a kiss of life and raw emotion. time stopped , your knees weakened as all that mattered in that very moment was the feeling of grayson’s soft lips against your own. how grayson invaded all of your senses and let you live out the moment you had dreamed off every since you locked eyes- the moment you realised he was your destiny.

[the-silentium]

11

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reincarnation!Reader

Words: 2755 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, violence, blood, mention of torture, swearing, angst.

Requested by: @asphodelshare​

Hi! I read your Five fics and I like your style of writing! If it’s not too much to ask, could you write one where Five had to leave the reader back in the 2019 Apocalypse bc he didn’t have a choice. He then sees her 1963 counterpart, she doesn’t know him and he tries to stop himself from reconnecting w/ her but he can’t help himself. It’s up to you if it’ll end on a happy note or an angsty one! Xx

A/N: The Eternals are my personal touch, so I guess this should be considered an AU of some sort. I'm sure this wasn't what you thought would happen, I'll be frank, it wasn't what I thought either 😂 The end just wrote itself! And it wasn't what I had planned. Ouups. 

He tried. Really, he tried. Ever since the first time he saw you walking in the street wearing a school uniform, a school bag hanging loosely on your shoulder and a lunchbox in hand, Five had had a hard time resisting his need to run to you and hug your form with all his might. Granted, Five had no proof that the girl walking away from him was this time-line version of you, she could simply be a perfect replica of your 15 years old self with the same habit of drawing on her school furniture, the same bright smile and the same bewitching laugh. Yes, she was just a replica. A too perfect replica. 

Five forced his legs to take him away from her walking form and tried to push the girl at the back of his mind. He had to concentrate on his task to stop the new apocalypse and return back in 2019 where he left you. 

It never was in the plan to let you die under the meteor shower that ravaged the Earth, if anything you were at the top of his list of people he had to save. Unfortunately Five came to the conclusion that the past was a place way too dangerous for you to venture, add this to the Commission who would surely double down their effort to kill the Hargreeves and whoever helped them, your chances of dying in the past were way too high for his liking. The boy would never be able to live with himself if you were to die permanently in the past and not for only a few days in 2019. 

For a whole day, Five managed to forget about the girl and his feelings altogether. Alongside Diego, he broke into their father's company building and discovered some precious information. The part of the night involving the younger Pogo let him a bitter taste in his mouth but it didn't stop him in the slightest. Back at Morty's, Five was almost surprised to find his brother still breathing on the couch, his new partner in crime cauterizing his bullet-wound. 

"Did you cut yourself shaving? I can teach you to shave like a big boy." Sighing the boy put a gaze to the bleeding scratches burning his neck. All he could hope now was that Pogo didn't give him Herpes B. 

"No, I just ran into an old family friend." Five turned around towards the kitchen in hope of finding a perfectly brewed coffee pot. He groaned in disappointment when he noticed that not only was the coffee pot empty, but Elliott wasn't tied in the chair anymore. 

"You untied him?" Five shot Lila a brief glance before returning his attention to his surroundings, listening attentively to any sound allowing him to pin-point the man's location. 

"No. Was I supposed to?" 

Ignoring her question, Five made his way to the rooms down the hallway. He never ventured there before, he assumed that the three doors lead to a bedroom and some storage rooms filled with conspiracy theories just like the living room. Turns out he was partially right. 

Elliott's bedroom was empty, the bed still undone. The next door opened on a black room with pictures hanging on the walls and dyeing material placed neatly. 

From behind the last door, Five could hear two distinct muffled voices. He recognized the first one as Elliott's but the second one made him frown in concentration. It sounded familiar even though he never really talked to anyone from this time-line other than Lila and Elliott. 

Confused, Five opened the door, not prepared at all to see you standing in front of a seated Elliott, the two of you arguing in hushed voices. The cracking door alerted you, your angry gaze instantly found him, standing in your doorway with his mouth slightly opened in shock like an idiot. 

Five gulped as you made your way to him, there was no way that she wasn't you. Not only did she look exactly like you, but her pissed-off expression was the same as the you he knew. Your fists were tight at your sides, no doubt giving you the courage to not back down before him, your furrowed brows created little wrinkles that Five desperately wanted to ease away by a light stroke of his fingers and your eyes. Oh your eyes. How he had missed their spark. 

“Who are you?” You harshly asked while poking his chest with your delicate finger. 

Five had a hard time keeping his arms to his sides, preventing them from pulling you into a tight hug that you were sure to hate. Instead, he breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm his frantic heart. “E- What are you doing here?” He mentally cursed the slight waver in his voice, then again, you tended to have that effect on him. 

“I live here. Why are you here?” 

He was at a loss of words and couldn't help but stare at you in disbelief. You lived here?

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Elliott stood up, his anxiety showing in the form of a hand scratching the back of his neck. “This is my daughter Y/N. Y/N this is- this is- eh. He’s one of them.” 

You even had the same name! It finally clicked into Five's head. He had heard of the rare phenomenon back in his days at the Commission, someone extremely important to the balance of the time-line would reincarnate after each one of their deaths to keep the time-line on track. Those very few, only eight in the whole world, were constantly chased by the Commission who in the beginning tried to discover the secret of their perpetual rebirths but then changed their goal to killing them as soon as they could when they discovered that the reincarnations could remember their past and future lives. Five had always thought that the Eternals, as the Commission called them, were just a story created by bored time analysts to kill time. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, a small smile slipped out of his control at the perspective that this was really you right in front of him, his best friend, his confidant, his partner in crime and the object of his affection. 

“The name’s Five.” So far you didn’t seem to remember him. Maybe you were too young or it was too soon. He had no idea how your condition worked.

"I don't care, asswad. You and your friends tied my father to a chair-" Five's heart stopped at the insult modern you used to call him all the time when his shitty attitude managed to get on your nerves. As much as he hated the nickname, he couldn’t help the rush of excitement he felt when he heard it. You may be starting to remember your future even if you were unaware of it.

"He tried to shoot us." Five deadpanned quickly remembering why they tied the man in the first place. 

"You are in our house!"

"He invited us in." Okay, this one was a lie. Five had space-jumped in first, but then Elliott hadn't kicked him out so he would consider it as an invitation to stay.  

"Dad!" You turned to the embarrassed grown-up, disbelief written all over your face. 

Five decided to let them argue alone and go control his ever growing feelings somewhere else, preferably somewhere you were not. Walking back to the kitchen to finally make himself some coffee, Five thought about how he could help you remember who you were- no, will be. 

“What’s the beeping?” Lila’s voice broke through his reasoning, catching his attention when she poked the computer screen. 

Five made his way toward the machine, a grin stretching his lips. “Vanya.” In a second he jumped away, carrying on with his plan to gather his siblings.

It was only two days later that he saw you next. You were eating your breakfast while quickly scribbling on a poor paper sheet, your foot bouncing rapidly on the floor as the seconds passed. Five was watching you over his warm cup of coffee, swiftly averting his gaze whenever you would lift yours. An elbow hit his shoulder, almost causing him to lose his balance and fall on the floor, wasting his precious black liquid. 

“What?” Five snapped at Luther after making sure his drink didn’t spill over his hand. 

“Why is Y/N here?” His whispering was not subtle at all although luckily for the blue-eyed boy, the sizzling eggs covered the excessive sound. 

Five went to his brother’s side, turning his back to you in the meantime. “She’s not the same Y/N. Well, she is but-” He groaned at the complexity of the situation. His brother would definitely not understand, so he went with the easy way out. “Long story short, this is her past life. Now stop talking abou-” 

“Oh, hey even your little girlfriend made it here.” Diego joined the conversation without a care in the world. He grabbed a plate along with some toast before dropping them at Five’s outburst.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” He could feel his body heating up despite his best efforts. 

All three of them tensed for their own reasons yet they all not so subtly turned their heads in your direction. If looks could kill, they would definitely be at the verge of death. 

“I’m not his girlfriend.” Five just received his killing blow. 

You hurriedly grabbed your bag under the table and rushed out of the room, paper in hand. The silence following your exit permitted your last words to bounce in his head, hurting his feelings like nothing before. If he could gauge the pain he felt at this right moment on a scale of 1 to 10, he would say that without a doubt this was a 10. 

What you said was the plain truth. In any lives of yours did you and him became a thing. It didn’t stop the fact that after all these years suppressing his romantic attraction toward you, Five had nurtured the hope that maybe one day, you two could be more than friends. Today this hope just blew up in his face, mauling his heart in the process.

So in the blink of an eye, the boy disappeared from the kitchen to live his pain alone, away from prying eyes and the pity of his brothers. 

Later that same day, Five was nursing his seventh cup of steaming coffee of the day when someone sat next to his own spot on the second floor, legs dangling in the air where the floor stopped to show the once TV shop. He sipped on his coffee as an attempt to show them that he wasn’t interested in the slightest in what they had to say, needless to say that it didn’t work. He should be used by now, it never worked.

“I’m impressed that you didn’t die from a heart attack or something. Your blood pressure should be pretty high with all the coffee that you drink in a day.” He nearly choked on his sip when your soft voice reached his ears. 

He turned to you, baffled to see you smirking at him. Not angry. Not annoyed. Playful. "You know, if you weren't from the future and weren’t endangering my father by your mere presence here, I would have loved to be your friend." 

Just when Five thought that he couldn’t be surprised anymore! "How do yo-?"

"Klaus doesn't stop talking about how he misses youtube." The boy sighed, clearly his brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He wondered if sewing his mouth shut would suffice to shut him up for good. Knowing Klaus, he would definitely find a way to express himself without his mouth. “Also I remember you, asswad.” You bumped his shoulder with yours before crossing your arms on the railing before you and resting your head on them. 

His eyes went wide, the meaning of your words slowly registering into his brain. He turned to you, trying in vain to not get his hopes up about your remembrance. A very genuine smile stretched your lips, making Five almost drop his mug on the floor below. He then realized that if you could remember your future life, then you surely remembered your future death and with it, how Five abandoned you to your demise. Guilt pulled at his heart at imagining what you went through because of him and fear darkened his heart at the thought that not only your past self would hate him but your modern self too. 

Something on his cheek caught his attention, the delicate stroke of your fingers awoke a fire under his skin when he noticed your gesture and the concerned frown disturbing your perfect features. This time around he couldn’t stop himself and reached forward, smoothing the creased skin with a light brush of his fingertips. 

“I’m sorry.” His hand dropped in defeat at his side, his gaze fleeing yours. 

“What for?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“I abandoned you to die.” His voice was so small, saying it aloud made him doubt his choice. He closed his eyes tightly to keep the tears away, his remorses started eating him alive. 

You moved closer and took the mug out of his hand when it was within your reach. You disposed of it before wrapping your arms around his waist and put your chin on his shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes, instead closing them tighter to the point that he started to see stars dance behind his eyelids. 

“You.” You blowed on the side of his face. Once. Twice. “Hey you. Open your eyes.” You sighed when he merely relaxed his facial muscles but kept his eyes shut. “I understand you know? You had to. I’m not mad.” 

You proceeded to poke his cheek when the absence of reaction on his part was starting to get on your nerves. “I’m talking to you, asswad!”

You gasped when Five suddenly turned his head to the side and connected his lips to yours with force. His hands found the side of your face to keep you close when his lips moved with yours in a desperate motion, as if you would vanish at any seconds. At one point, the kiss stopped tasting coffee, a salty taste replacing the strong addicting aroma.

Slowly Five pulled away to discover tears running down your cheeks. His first reaction was to close his hands into fists wanting to jump away and remove his damned heart from his chest with his bare hands. As the blue waves flowed around his fists, your lips stretched in a smile stealing his breath. 

"Took you long enough." Your almost imperceptible whisper was so loud in his ears. 

A smile mirroring your own formed on his face, he was beyond the moon all the while asking himself how he could have been so stupidly blind to your feelings. 

"We got there, that's what's important." You hummed in agreement before repositioning your head on his shoulder and contemplating what next. 

A few days passed and Five along with his siblings met their father. Needless to say that it went down pretty quickly. For some odd reason, Five found himself thinking that it could have been worse. Someone could have died. Or hurt. Everyone was in one piece if we didn't count Diego's soul. 

Space-jumping back at Morty's, Five thought that he was horribly wrong. Elliott's body laid in a chair obviously having been tortured before being executed. As much as the boy wanted to feel bad for the man who played such a great role helping him reach his goal, every thought that passed through his mind was directed at you. 

Five yelled your name before jumping from room to room before he noticed a crimson red trail leading to the black room. 

His shaking hand grabbed the handle of the slightly opened door, pushing it with a shaky breath escaping his lungs. 

If it wasn't of your school uniform you were wearing, Five couldn't have said for sure that this broken body was yours. The obvious torture you went through got him on his knees, water pooling from his eyes like two rivers. 

He was wrong. So dearly wrong. This, right now, was the worst pain he ever felt. He didn't even have to open his chest to relieve himself of his excruciating pain for his heart had completely stopped at the agony scaled to 11.

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

[fascination-street-writing]

Once You Loved Her - Now You’ve Lost Her | Yan!Pannacotta Fugo x F!Reader

Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young. As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

For skully-greg: Who suggested an angsty piece featuring Pannacotta Fugo

Content Warnings: Not S/F/W Content, Yandere Behaviors, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Non-Con, Past Underage Relationship, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics

It is raining again.

Pannacotta Fugo sighs, releasing the breath that he has held in for far too long. He does not bother to avoid the puddles on the sidewalk. The soles of his shoes are already ruined. In the distance, the clock tower chimes as morning turns to noon. Church bells ring – the sounding of a wedding, no doubt. Though, it is a particularly dreary day for one.

He can see it all. An ivory lace gown and a black silk tuxedo. Baby’s-breath and roses. Candles on the altars. Matrimony – everything he might have had if life was more forgiving. Alas, his stomach curls at the thought, and so he forces his mind elsewhere. First, to the file tucked beneath his arm, which he must deliver to Don Giovanna before the day ends. Then, to the faint rumbling in his belly that reminds him of his promise to get tea with Sheila; never mind the matter wherein there is another woman whom he would much rather divulge in menial conversations with, over two saucers of earl grey.

It is you he has lost.

He passes the boutiques that you had so many times begged him to accompany you to. He never said yes, because he always felt that there were far more important things to do than to waste money on clothing (it simply reminds him too much of his parents, always so preoccupied with appearances) – and so you went alone. A street vendor selling elaborate bouquets hoists a tarp over his stall to protect his wares from the unrelenting storm. Fugo had once thought to buy you flowers – he refrained, as he knew they would die within the week.

A head of hair the color of yours catches his attention. He stops.

Through the display window of L’Abito di Fiori, he watches, helpless, as you lift a dress shirt made of pressed cotton to the torso of Guido Mista. The hanger dangles from your grasp as you gauge the shirt’s sizing to his body – and his eyes fall to your face, taking in the expression of determination that sweeps your brow. Pangs of familiarity fill Fugo’s heart, in the way that Mista looks at you, because it is how you used to gawk at the strawberry blonde man himself, when you were both still young.

As if he were a spring and you a parched disciple.

You bat away the dress shirt and offer Mista another; one that is slimmer and formfitting. Fugo has almost forgotten the occasion. It is an occasion indeed, as in no other circumstance might Mista give quite so much care about his uniform: Don Giovanna’s compleanno gala is nearly upon you all.

You say something to Mista that is unintelligible to Fugo, though by the way the chocolate-brown eyed man smiles, he knows it is nothing good. The long-forgotten, youthful rage within him has become an acquaintance as of late – a rekindling of something that ought to have gone away. The file snaps in his grasp. Pages upon pages of the report that took him a month to compose and organize scatter amongst the puddles.

Fugo stares at the ruin and sighs. Fishing his cellphone out from his pocket, he dials Don Giovanna’s number. Tea with Sheila will have to wait - not that he minds.

“Buon pomeriggio, Fugo,” the young Don speaks. Years of strain weigh heavily on his tone. “I was just about to call you – Monsieur Polnareff is getting impatient waiting for your report. How soon can you be here?”

“Ah, about that, Giorno. Mie scuse, but there’s been an incident . . .”

Il Libeccio is quiet, though perhaps since it is far too early in the day to be patronized. You and Fugo peer over the menu, as if something new might strike your fancy. In all honesty, you have committed it to memory; still, it makes for a good way to pass the time. Unreciprocated teasing glances are thrown his way. Unreciprocated, that is, until he grins only slightly – enough to be noticed by you before the corners of his lips fall.

You are glad that none of the others are here yet. Your moments with Fugo have always been cut far too short. First as children, when he would be ushered off to his studies and you to assist your mother in her duties around his parents’ estate. Now as two teenagers pulled apart by tasks assigned from Bucciarati.

If not for Fugo, you never would have joined Passione. Though from opposite ends of the social hierarchy, it was you who kept him grounded amidst the berating and the abuse – and the same can be said of him regarding you. Trauma is indiscriminatory, and it has an interesting way of bringing two thwarted souls together. Even after everything he had endured, his thoughts were of you. Following his expulsion from the university, he came back for you. With nothing to lose, and an optimistic inkling of something to gain, you joined him.

He took you from one life and gave you another. And for that, you will always be indebted to him.

“Have you two decided?” the waitress asks. “Or perhaps a bit longer?”

She clicks the pen in her hand. Fugo does not recognize her, and he realizes she must be new. Otherwise, she would know better than to inquire before the others have even arrived. “A few more minutes, please,” he says. “Grazie."

She obliges and leaves. You place a hand over your stomach, contemplating your options. “Fugo?” He raises an eyebrow and glances in your direction. “Will you share some cake with me?”

“Maybe. What flavor?”

He is not one to spoil his appetite with sweets; however, he might indulge for you. In truth, there is not much would not do at your behest; even as a boy, he has always loved you. You hum to yourself, dragging your finger down the dessert menu. He swallows the lump in his throat. A knowing smirk graces your face as you give him your answer.

“Strawberry.”

The banquet hall has been done up rather nicely. Round tables draped with white-satin tablecloths dot the perimeter of the room, each set with six chairs and a bouquet of lilies. The hired musicians – comprised of the most desirable instrumentalists in Napoli – play a lively little jazz tune. The caterer bores over the display of desserts, ensuring that not a single plate has been moved out of line.

Seated together, Mista lifts a forkful of strawberry dolce to your mouth. It hits your tongue and melts like sugar. Don Giovanna has spared no expense in preparing his gala, and the cake is no exception. You look far too elegant, wearing that beaded sheath dress while clasping a champagne flute betwixt manicured fingers. Your mulberry lipstick stains the rim like a kiss. Without a doubt, you are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. Mista knows this, as do the men who pass you by and let their gazes’ wander.

And so does Fugo.

“If you squeeze your glass any tighter, it’ll snap in half. God forbid you’ll hurt yourself. I’d rather not end my night with taking you to the hospital.”

He eases the grip on his goblet. The color rushes back to his knuckles. Trish sips her champagne beside him, oblivious to the fury boiling within him, but not his envy. “You can be bitter every other night of the year. Don’t be tonight. It’s Giorno’s birthday, and we spent too much money on this damned party. Please, don’t cause a scene or do anything stupid. I’m begging you, Fugo.”

He bites back a scoff, never taking his eyes off you. “I’m not ‘causing a scene,’” he insists.

Trish frowns. “No, but you’re about to. Judging by the way you were practically strangling that poor cup, I know you’re only seconds away from throttling Mista.”

“I have every right to be upset,” Fugo tells the pink-haired woman.

“No, you really don’t,” she retorts. “You should be glad she moved on. Be happy that she’s happy.”

A bit of icing sticks to your lip. Mista swipes it away with his thumb before pressing his mouth to yours for a quick kiss. To Fugo, it is a nauseating sight. “You don’t think I haven’t tried?” he demands. “It’s been absolute agony this entire time. I still love her – so much that I hate her. She’s a reminder of everything I’ve done wrong.”

“You need try harder. It’s been four years. You’re going to ruin yourself at this point.” As if he has not already. “Listen, Fugo. I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Mista’s planning on proposing to her soon. He already bought a ring. You should make things right between you and [Y/N]; don’t spend the rest of your life resenting your best friend for marrying your ex. After all, maybe this can be an incentive to get over yourself and grow up.”

With that, Trish collects her belongings and departs, leaving an emptied champagne flute as a marker of where she once sat. He hardly notices her absense; he has grown numb. Marriage. An ivory gown for you and a silk tuxedo for Mista. Baby’s breath in a bouquet and a single rose in a boutonniere for Mista. Candles on the altars lit for Mista.

Fugo recoils. The thought of you marrying anyone other than himself is a death sentence. Mista stands, having been beckoned by Don Giovanna, depriving you of a companion. There is stock in Trish’s advice – but it takes courage to follow through.

You practically ignore him when he claims Mista’s vacated seat. You refuse to meet his violet stare; the band is far more interesting, anyways. Softly, he speaks your name. “How are you?” he asks.

“Good,” you answer, short. “Perfect.”

He awaits the refrain, yet you utter nothing else. And so, he tries again. “It doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“I was, before you sat down.”

Your words sting, as if you have pierced him through the heart with a wicked blade.

“You look beautiful.” You roll your brilliant eyes. If not for Don Giovanna’s sake, you might have thrown the remainder of your drink in Fugo’s handsome face. You will settle for audaciousness instead. That is, until his fingers coil around your wrist so tight the bones may snap. He hoists you from the chair, and with little regard to your protesting – deaf to the guests who can hear nothing over the sound of jazz –, he leads you from the banquet hall. Your refusal to reciprocate the conversation would have swayed any man from pursuing you. Any man, except Fugo.

Your bed has been made, and now you must lie in it.

Your back meets the wall of the closet. Fugo braces you with his own hand, warding off the wood’s bite. The unoccupied fingers of his opposite hand reach for the hardened nub between your folds, toying you open. He feels your core tighten around his shaft and an airy moan escapes you.

It is too hot, but neither of you seem to mind it very much.

With each aching thrust, he throbs in you. You bounce against him, held up by his body that pins you in place. The hand on your back trails up to the base of your spine, threading in your hair and jerking your head away. You tingle at his bluntness. Encouraged by it, you reach for his neck and pull his face down to yours, claiming his mouth with your own.

It is sweeter than he ever imagined. Your teeth graze his plump lip. He groans as you slide your tongue in his mouth, battling for dominance. Though, as accosted by the uncomfortable angle that your head has been bent to, you have no other choice than to surrender. Incited by his little victory, Fugo relinquishes his hold and pulls out, leaving you feeling utterly empty. You whine, practically keening for his touch.

He turns you around until your chest hits the wall. His manhood, stiff and slick with your wetness, teases the crest of your behind – and he enters you again, swiftly, full of unspent energy that propels your forward. Your palms smack the surface before you, desperate for something to cling onto. You settle for the mounted coatrack. Fugo’s fingers latch onto your hips with such ferocity that bruises will be sure to form in the coming days.

Purple will look good on you, he decides, and so he grips even harder. You cry out, struggling to meet his pace. Excited, nonetheless.

“Strawberry cake, huh?” he asks between soft grunts, his voice husky.

You laugh, breathless. “I thought it might rile you up,” you tell him, confessing your intention. “I took a gamble, and it paid off.”

“It did, cara.”

He is content that you had been the one to make the first move – because he could never find the gull to do it himself. To have you writhing in ecstasy at his touch is a reverie personified and more; a newfound warmth and comfort, only for him.

The doorknob shakes. Despite Fugo’s strawberry-patterned tie fastened to the overhead rack from the handle, which acts as a makeshift barricade, you panic and push off the wall, bucking into his torso.

“P-Panni –” you whisper. He thrusts deeper, eliciting a pleasant noise from you. “We have to stop. Someone’ll hear us.”

He urges you back into place. You cry out again when he hits your sensitive depths, but he is quick to stifle your pandemonium by placing his hand over your mouth; it is dampened, clammy with sweat, just like the rest of your body and his. “You have to be quiet,” he croons in your ear. You shiver and grind against the fullness between your legs. “Can you do that for me, bella? Starai tranquilla per me?”

You nod. Fugo feeds on your eagerness, picking up his pace. Unable to contain his own moans, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your intimacy-induced musk. It is intoxicating. Not long after, you surrender to the coil in your belly – you reach your limit and come undone. Exhausted, you slump onto his torso. His hand falls from your mouth, moving to grasp the mounds of your chest.

With one last cry, he finishes, coating your walls with his release. He traces the crook of your cheek and kisses you twice more. Relationships between members of Passione are dangerous – affection is vulnerability. And yet, Fugo would give everything away to be vulnerable for you; a promise amongst many that he will not keep. In the moment, however, it makes for a pretty sentiment.

Shades of greens and violets dance throughout your vision. Content, you flash him a tired smile.

“Before we go back out, there’s something I should tell you,” you begin. “I love you, Panni. I always have.”

His heart blooms. Of course, deep down, he already knew. 

You collapse to the ground in a heap of fabric that once resembled a gown, yours knees skinning against the floors. Sore, used, and broken. The beads of the intricate embroidery scatter from being torn away in Fugo’s mood. An uncomfortable stickiness coats your inner thighs. Sobbing, you clutch the remnants of your dress, shielding yourself from the man who violated you so.

From the man whom you once adored like the moon amongst stars.

He readjusts the zipper to his trousers. Painfully, your legs vibrate. Otherwise, you might stand on your own. Noticing this, he extends his hand to you, expecting you to accept it so as to pull you to your feet. Incredulous, you smack him away, pushing yourself further adrift despite the dissent of your limbs. You have been set ablaze from the inside out.

“Get away from me,” you demand. There is not enough space on earth to satisfy your longing to distance your being and his. For a moment, you think you have hurt him – and irks you to do it again. “Ti odio, Fugo. I hate you more than anything else. Do you understand me? I hate you!”

He winces, struck by your venom; still, he holds his hand out. You would rather cast yourself from the nearest balcony than to welcome his help. His fleeting patience diminishes – before you may throw another jab his way, he has pulled you to stand, his hands nestled too tightly around your biceps. You manage to wrench yourself free and lash out. Your palm meets his face in a hurried slap. He staggers backwards, relinquishing his grip. At first, he feels nothing.

And then, pinpricks.

“[Y/N], I –”

“Save your apology for someone who cares.”

The door slams behind you. He listens until he can no longer hear the hurried sounds of your heels clacking off the marble floors. You are gone, again – to Mista or whoever else is to blame for Fugo’s loneliness. Sighing heavily, he turns to the mirror above the vanity.

He remembers a time, at the age of sixteen, when he was far too afraid of mirrors, because he never cared for the man who stared back at him. A day in Pompeii; you were so fearful for his wellbeing that you nearly fainted when he came back, bloodied and worn down.

The red handprint upon his face is nothing more than a mockery among many others to his character. He finds the object nearest to his reach: a silver drinking carafe that has been used as a vase for roses beside a candle with a smoldered wick atop a cherry-wood nightstand. Thrown from his fingers, the carafe shatters the mirror. A web of faces in mimicry of his own screams in anguish.

In his rage, he sees not red, but purple. Violent purple and harlequin motifs. Tears form in his eyes – though, to be honest, for all his time spent in utter bitterness, he has forgotten what pure unadulterated regret feels like.

It feels like it is raining again.

| 3008 Words |

[lancermylove]

Threatened Reader 2 (HC)

*** These headcannons will make more sense after you read part 1. ***

Fandom: BSTS

Pairing: Kei x Reader, Rindou x Reader, Mokuren x Reader, Kokuyou x Reader, Mizuki x Reader

Warning: Kinda angsty. Mention of attempted suicide, violence, lost of a loved one

Requested by: @mokuchan

Prompt:  You didnt get my question?- oop okay- I'll explain it again, but you dont need to do this- So I wanted you to make a part 2 on the threatened reader hc like the s/o comes back as a ghost comforted all the leaders? Their S/o comforting them and saying not to die with her..Its just so sad that I now Want a happy ending well You dont need to because it aint my request! if you do this, please take your time- you have lots of other requests, if you dont I understand you to the max XD :)

A/N: Well, these are exactly happy, but they’re lighter than the ones I wrote before. I may build up on part 2 and do a part 3 which would most likely be happier. XD

———————————————

Kei 

Kei slowly opened his eyes and scanned the grounds, taking in the rain and the remains of your murderer.

He had held the gun at point-blank, so why, why was he still alive? 

Please, don't do this. He heard a familiar and gentle whisper in his ear. Please, Kei.

Was his mind playing tricks on him? His heart yearned to hear that sweet voice again, but he knew that was impossible, so why did it feel so real?

Kei buried his face in his hands, still holding onto his gun. Stop hurting yourself.

His muscles tensed up when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He knew that touch all too well; that warm, loving touch that had the power to melt his heart. 

I will not let you throw your life away. 

Kei desperately tried to pry his hands away from his face, but an unknown force prevented him from doing so.

Stop blaming yourself for my death. You are not responsible for what happened.

Kei felt a lump in his throat, "I c-couldn't protect you." 

Please stop! Kei, I...I w-want you to be happy. You have to live for both of us. 

"I can't...not without you." His deep voice cracked, and his shoulders trembled. 

Who says I'm not with you? Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not by your side. A soft chuckle filled his ears, causing a fragile smile to appear on his pale lips. You've always been my guardian angel, and now, I promise to be your guardian angel.

The unseen hold on Kei loosened as a distant voice echoed, promise me that you will live...for me. 

Removing his hands from his face, Kei once again scanned the empty grounds. A ray of light shone from between the dark clouds, illuminating his exhausted face. 

Kei closed his eyes and fell to his knees, allowing the months of suppressed pain to escape down his cheeks. "I-I promise to live...for us." 

Rindou

Rindou. 

He heard his name once again but ignored it as he continued to press his knees closer to his chest, rocking back and forth. 

Rindou. Can you hear me?

Rindou pressed the palms of his hands on his ears, tears clouding his dull eyes. 

He felt a warm hand of his back but brushed it off as his imagination. 

The sweet voice once again called out to him, but this time the voice came from behind him. Rindou, I know you can hear me.

He violently shook his head and buried his face in his knees. 

A pair of arms enveloped him in a warm embrace. Everything is going to be alright. You are not at fault.

A sob escaped Rindou's lips, but the voice continued. You need to stop blaming yourself. 

"B-But, I...the gunshot..."

Please, bring my old Rin back. I miss him very much. 

"I don't want," he spoke in a pained voice, "to live without you." 

Your friends need you; moreover, your sister needs you. You cannot continue like this. Don't give up!

Rindou slowly lifted his head, his eyes scanning his surroundings. He tried to find the source of the voice in vain. 

I will be waiting for you, my love, but I'm in no hurry. Rin, live your life, and always be happy.

He wiped his tears as a smile found it's way onto his lips. His once lifeless eyes now held a slight glimpse of hope. 

Kokuyou

Kokuyou closed his heavy eyelids, exhausted from spending his entire day hiding from the voice in his head. The same voice that blamed him for everything and told him he was incapable of protecting anyone. 

He expected yet another nightmare to disturb his sleep, but instead of horrifying images, he saw white. Nothing but white. 

Kokuyou? 

He snapped his head in the direction of the voice but didn't see anything. 

Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to reach you?

"Who the hell are you?" The redheaded man balled up his fist, ready to attack. 

Don't you recognize my voice? Here you go once again, getting angry at everything. 

His fists uncurled as he stared in disbelief in the direction of the voice, "You...are...impossible."

I miss the old Kokuyou, my old Kokuyou. The voice grew quiet for a few seconds. I-You know this isn't your fault, right?

He let out an audible tsk before turning his back and walking in the opposite direction. "I'm going crazy," he mumbled but stopped when he felt a pair of warm arms enfolded him from behind. 

I don't blame you for what happened, i-it was my fault for not telling you. Kokuyou, please stop torturing yourself. The grip around him got tighter. He looked down at his waist but saw nothing, yet he could feel the presence.

Go back to your old life; your friends and enemies, alike, are waiting for you to return. They miss you. 

"Shut up. I don't care about them...I don't care about anyone." Kokuyou shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. 

Wrong. You are afraid to lose them, aren't you? Open your eyes and see how much you're worrying them. 

"I..." He bit down on his lower lip and held back his tears. Part of him hated how weak he felt, but the other part wanted him to let loose the emotions that were holding him back. 

Kokuyou, open your heart again. Please. Also, I've one request but think of it as my last wish. He spun around when he felt the presence slowly fading. My last wish is for you to find love again.

Kokuyou opened his eyes and sat up in bed, looking around his room. He placed his hand on his forehead, "Find love again? You make it sound easy." A bitter smile appeared on his lips as silent tears streamed down his face. 

Mokuren

Mokuren had been dancing for hours, ignoring all the warnings his body and mind gave. All he remembered was his vision turning black as he hit the floor in his apartment. 

Mokuren! Hearing a kind voice calling out to him, he slowly opened his eyes only to shield them from the intense light. 

"Where?" He whispered as his eyes adjusted to the bright surroundings. 

Much to his shock, Mokuren was standing on water. He turned his head in all directions but could only see water. 

Mokuren. The voice was closer to him than before, so close that he could feel a shiver run down his spine. 

"You are..." he held his hand out, only to feel a warm hand touch his cold ones. 

Moku, I haven't gone anywhere; I'm still here with you. You haven't lost anything. 

"Princess?" Though he wanted to say more, the words refuse to come out. 

Do you have any idea how worried your teammates are, especially Qu? I am sorry for giving you so much pain, but please, don't hurt yourself like this. 

Mokuren lowered his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

Dancing has always been your passion, so why are you using it to vent your pain? My dear prince, you keep saying that dancing is all you have, but that's far from the truth. You have friends that care for you; friends that are willing to do anything to help you, so stop this madness.

Mokuren's vision once again started to blacken. He heard the soft voice speak one last time. Find happiness, my love, for yourself, your friends...and for me. 

He slowly woke up to find himself in the hospital. He looked around the room to find his teammates sound asleep. Mokuren quickly wiped the tears rushing down his cheeks, but no matter how hard he tried, they refuse to stop falling. 

Mizuki

Mizuki grabbed the man by his collar and punched his face, "The hell didja say?" Just as he was about to break the man's nose, he saw a familiar face appear before his eyes. 

The young boy's eyes widened as he quickly released the man and took a step back, losing his balance. 

Mizuki felt his blood run cold as the long lost voice echoed in his mind. It's your fault. He grabbed his hair and shook his head in an attempt to stop suppress the annoying voice. 

Mizuki, snap out of it! The boy moved his head side-to-side, horrified by the disembodied voice. What have you turned into? 

"Y-you can't be. I'm going crazy." 

No, you are not! I hate what you've become. What did you do to my troublesome, food-loving boy? 

"Shuddup, shuddup, shuddup!" Mizuki jumped to his feet and punched a nearby wall. "I can do whatever the hell I want." 

Mizuki, in your current condition, you are no different from the fangirl who killed me. 

Those words hit him hard. He felt his stomach twist as he once again remembered the dreadful scene. As each second passed, he found it harder to breathe. 

The people you've killed have loved ones that are suffering, just the way you once suffered after seeing me die. This is not who you are. 

"Sh-Shud-dup." Mizuki leaned against the wall for support as he felt his knees weaken. The images of the people he killed flashed before his eyes, causing his body to tremble. The walls he had built around his heart began to crumble as a piercing cry escaped his lips. 

Mizuki, please return to the world you came from. You can't stay in this dark world anymore. 

"I c-can't," he spoke between heavy sobs, "t-they ha-hate me." 

No, they don't. In fact, they're waiting for you. Your Kokuyou nii-chan, your teammates, even the other teams all want you back. Go, Mizuki. 

The young boy swiftly wiped his tears, jumped to his feet, and raced towards his home with newfound hope in his heart.  

[captainsassmanes]

Prompt: After Alex finds out about Michael/ Maria he gives up on him and Michael ever being really together. He is convinced that he's the worst thing to happen to Michael. He tries to make Michael's life easier by avoiding him and helping with Project Shepherd. So when Michael breaks up with Maria because he realizes he's still in love with Alex, Alex doesn't understand why he wants to be with him and becomes super insecure in the relationship. So Michael has to show him they're still cosmic.

I took some liberties, anon. I hope that’s okay.

It had been the longest year of Alex’s life.

His seventeenth year living alone with his father had felt long. His first deployment felt long. The second even longer.

His first year being in Roswell with Michael but not being with Michael? The longest.

He’d been proud of himself when Michael and Maria sat him down, neither able to look him in the eye, on the back deck of the Pony, each of them looking across the empty field instead of at each other.

Alex had clamped down on his emotions, swallowed his protests and sadness, and smiled, as genuinely as his muscles would allow. He had nodded along as Maria did all the talking, explaining how Michael was always there to help her, there for her when her mom kept getting worse instead of better, made her feel safe and adored. He agreed when she said she deserved to be loved.

In the moment, he hadn’t been able to find the words. How could he express his happiness for his friend without breaking down with his own loss?

With a hug for Maria and a quick glance to a stoic Michael, Alex had left.

Sleep left him wanting that night. He moved from his bed to the shower to the porch to the bed to the couch, restless and uncomfortable. Without his permission, Alex kept imagining life from then on. There would be no way to avoid them and he knew, for his own sanity, those relationships had to be over. Maybe one day he’d rebuild with Maria though he couldn’t picture it now.

But Michael?

Alex sat with his third glass of whiskey, mindlessly petting a sleeping Buffy’s head, trying to slow his heart rate. It was done. He knew Michael was the one, his person, the one he wanted to spend his life with. He’d known it when he was surrounded by computers, orders being barked in his ears across the country. He’d known when his lungs were filled with hot, desert sand and his ears echoed with explosions. He’d known it as soon as Michael put a hand on him at the airstream, turning him around and stopping the world.

Michael was the one.

But he wasn’t his. And he never would be.

“May your happiness last forever,” he toasted with a slur to the darkness. With a swig, the dark liquid was gone and the glass landed on the floor with a loud clank. Clumsily, he took off his leg, fingers not moving the way his brain was commanding. Eventually he felt the sweet release of the last latch and tugged the sock off, tossing it onto the couch.

Somehow, he managed to get to the front porch, hopping and holding on to anything he could find, too unclear to remember where he last had his crutches. He landed with a groan on the rocking chair, holding his arms and rubbing to keep warm against the early morning chill. The sun was shining through the trees, casting large shadows next to pools of warmth on the ground.

As he watched the sunshine spread and claim its territory, Alex made his decision. He’d do the right thing by Michael. He’d get all the intel he could from Project Shepard and then shut that shit down for good, make sure Michael and the Evans were just another trio of nobodies from Roswell. And he’d do it all while staying away. Michael wanted easy, simple? Maria wasn’t the only one who could give him that. Alex could be a ghost, vanish into the background to give Michael a chance at the life he deserved.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

So, for a year, Alex was an enigma. He went to work during the day, boring data analysis he could do in his sleep. But at night, he used his clearance and the information he not so legally obtained to hack into old records, disbanded programs, anything that looked like it could possibly be associated with UFO investigations.

Kyle checked on him regularly, bringing him greasy bags of goodies from the Crashdown or his mom’s empanadas. He’d stay, sometimes, chatting about interesting cases at the hospital or quietly combing through new files, sometimes updating Alex about the latest town gossip.

Never about Michael, though.

The last month had been insane after he’d acquired the final pieces of the Shepard puzzle and handed them over to a newly risen Max with his five thousandth apology.

Max had squeezed the files in his hand, knuckles turning white and papers wrinkling, before pulling Alex into a surprise hug. Max had whispered an emotional, “thanks,” before letting him go and walking away. That moment felt final, like Alex could finally close the book on the disaster that was his family’s legacy. With his father in military prison for the foreseeable, Alex was finally free of obligation.

The next few nights after handing over the last of Shepard, Alex sat in the bunker, computers silent, only a few lights on, and breathed in the peace of it all. At first, he’d sit with a smile on his face, shoulders relaxed, and hands unfurled. He slept well for the first time in a long time. But on the third or fourth day, sitting in that bunker with no work to be done, no worries to be had, a new reality struck Alex.

He had no purpose. And no one.

His job was through. Responsibilities complete.

It was these thoughts running aimlessly through his mind that put him in his comfortable sweats with a glass of whiskey in his hand. As he decided a Scott Pilgrim rewatch sounded good, his phone rang, Kyle’s name popping up on the screen.

“Hi.”

“When were you gonna tell me, Manes?”

Alex stupidly looked around the cabin for the answer to Kyle’s question. “Tell you what, Valenti?”

A muffled scoff greeted Alex. “About you and Guerin? Liz just told me. I’m so happy for you, man!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Alex stood up from the couch too fast, spilling his drink a bit and trying to cover up the wet spot on the floor before Buffy came to get sloshed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They split up, Alex.”

He froze, afraid that if he moved Kyle would say just kidding and his heart would shatter. He took a deep breath before mumbling, “I haven’t spoken to either of them in, like, a year.”

“Yeah I know that, you dumbass, but it doesn’t seem to matter.” Alex rolled his eyes at Kyle’s enthusiasm.

Grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen, Alex leaned over and cleaned up his mess, Buffy never moving from her prime location on the couch. “What doesn’t seem to matter, Kyle?”

“Ugh, oh my God you have to get out more! That he hasn’t seen you, Alex! He broke up with her for you! He still loves you!”

A wave of nerves moved through him but he was in strong denial. There was no way. They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t spoken. Michael didn’t feel anything for him, at least nothing that wasn’t disgust and anger. Plus, Maria was perfect, they fit well together.

“This doesn’t make sense. If you’re fucking with me-“

“No chance in hell, dude. I would never mess with you over Guerin. Never.”

Alex dropped the towels and sat back on the couch, eyes staring at the black tv. “I’ve gotta go.” He hung up before Kyle could say another word and felt the phone fall out of his hand.

Hope.

He’d promised himself it was done, that he was done. Michael had made himself clear: loving Alex was the worst thing that ever happened to him. Alex had been determined the fix what he could to keep Michael and the people he loved safe. He did that. He did it while staying out of everyone’s way. He did exactly what he was supposed to, followed his plan to a T.

So why would they break up?

He grabbed a glass of water and downed it, gasping for air once it was gone. He refilled it and repeated one more time. Confused, scared and exhausted, Alex climbed into bed, a tolerant Buffy allowing him to hold her close. It took a few hours for sleep to come, so many scenarios and thoughts clouding his brain, keeping it too busy to shut down.

Eventually, he started counting Buffy’s soft snores and he fell into a restless sleep.

The sound of metal against metal woke Alex, hand instinctually reaching into his bedside table for his gun. But he paused when he noticed his room was filled with sunshine, Buffy was missing but not barking and his intruder was humming a Fall Out Boy tune he couldn’t find the name of.

He wiped his eyes and quietly slid his prosthetic on. Kyle must be in one of his moods. Maybe feeling guilty about the bullshit he called with the night before.

Turning the corner, kitchen in full view, Alex thought he might faint. Flipping pancakes in his cabin like he owned the place was Michael fucking Guerin.

The warm feeling that coursed through his chest couldn’t be denied. Michael looked perfect standing there, first thing in the morning, in his socks making breakfast. He was smiling, still humming the same song while Buffy sat wagging at his feet. Alex covered his mouth, physically restraining himself from speaking, afraid he’d beg Michael to never leave.

As he stood silently watching, that warmth turned to anger and bitterness. This was such an invasion of privacy. Alex knew he’d locked the door the night before. And, besides, they hadn’t spoken in months. Michael’s solution to that was to show up, uninvited? Play the domestic game?

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Alex said when he found his voice and was confident he was in control again.

Michael jumped slightly but the smile never left his face. “You know me. Don’t need ‘em. Hope you’re hungry. Made your favorite.”

Moving a bit closer, Alex furrowed his brow, sure Michael had no clue what his favorite food was. Excitement flooded his veins as he watched Michael put the finishing touches on churro pancakes.

“Go on, sit down. I’ll grab you a coffee.”

Maybe it was the early hour or the shock of seeing Michael or some combination of both, but Alex moved in a daze to the small table and took a seat, wrapping his hands around the mug of perfectly made coffee Michael placed in front of him.

When the churro pancakes slid under his chin, Alex was pulled out of his shock.

“Michael, what the hell is this?”

He got a smirk in return, all straight, white teeth and plump, pink lips. “Just tryin’ to do something nice, Private.”

“Why now?”

With a mouthful of pancakes, Michael shrugged and asked, “why not now?”

Alex pushed his plate away, stomach churning with anxiety. “It’s been a year, Guerin. Your relationship had its run and now you don’t wanna be alone? So, where’s Alex? Bet he’s just sitting there, alone and pathetic, waiting.”

Michael shook his head and straightened his posture. “No, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Alex stood and walked outside, needing space and more air than the cabin could offer. He gripped the wood railing, counting his breaths and listening to the birds chattering. The sun was pushing through the branches, tossing light here and there, a sliver of it landing on Alex’s hand, warming one up while the other stayed cool.

The door squeaked open and he heard Buffy’s paws on the decking before he felt Michael standing next to him, giving off a warmth he missed.

“I’m gonna make an assumption so I apologize in advance if I’m wrong.” Michael sounded hesitant, unsure. He waited for a response from Alex but must have decided he wouldn’t be getting one. “You’ve always hated Roswell.” Alex raised his eyebrows, his body naturally responding to the truth.

“I’m guessing you didn’t realize it was the only place that felt like home until you were overseas.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. The idea of agreeing with Michael didn’t sit right with him but he couldn’t deny that while he was spending nights in makeshift tents and praying the last bomb was the last bomb, he wasn’t dreaming of Roswell.

“So, you always hated me?”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “Jesus, we’re so good at this communication shit, huh?”

Alex laughed, too, and looked out over the property, watching a squirrel grab an acorn and run off with his treasure, holding it selfishly in its paw. “I guess so.”

“You left me. You helped me realize I was bi, you were so nice to me and then you were gone. I resented you for ten years.”

“Michael, I told you that I shouldn’t have-“

“Shut up. Just let me finish.” Alex pouted as Michael raised his hand. “When you came back, I hoped. I was an ass about it sometimes, I know, but I hoped we had a shot, that you still felt the same way about me. About us. But you didn’t want to be seen with me, didn’t want people to know about us, you pushed me away over and over again. So, after everything, with my mom…”

“You needed someone who’d stay close.”

Michael nodded and looked at his boots, kicking a twig onto the dirt. “I didn’t choose Maria to hurt you.”

Alex scoffed, “fucking felt like it, though.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Alex shook his head, his bottle of empathy run dry. “I told you I loved you. That I wanted to start over again. I was ready.”

Michael nodded. “I didn’t believe you. And I shouldn’t have to work on your timeline.”

Alex tilted his head toward the cabin. “Okay. So why should I have to work on yours now?”

Michael bit his lip and looked toward the trees. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of undisturbed nature around them. Alex was still angry, filled with confusion and caution, but he’d be lying if he said simply being in Michael’s presence didn’t bring him comfort.

“I don’t get your analogy.”

Turning, Michael leaned against the banister and Alex had to look away. With his tight t-shirt and curls blowing in the breeze, Michael looked like a fucking dream.

“The war analogy?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

“It’s a bad one, but I convinced myself I didn’t love you. Then I was with someone else I know I loved and realized it’d never come close to how I feel about you.”

Blinking rapidly, Alex refused to cry. When he knew he had control of his voice, he asked, “are you gonna look away again?”

Michael slowly slid his hand into Alex’s and squeezed. “Never.”

[98prilla]

Changing Tides

Previous 

AO3

So. This is the final chapter. If you’ve gotten here, thanks so much for reading it all, and I hope you liked reading it as much as I did writing it. I might dabble more with this universe in the future, but I’m happy with leaving it here for now. That being said, if you have any ideas for a continuation of this, feel free to send them my way, or write them yourself, as long as you tag and credit me! You guys are all awesome.

...

It took them a while to get back, mostly because Roman kept showing him tricks, helping him steer and adjust himself and his fins properly, helping him not overthink it and just move. They ended up playing, more than anything.

 Roman was right. Once he got moving, it was actually pretty fun. Shooting through the water faster than anything, the feel of it parting around him, laughing at the bubble tornado Roman swept him into by swimming around him so fast he was dizzy trying to follow him, the bubbles propelling him towards the surface, Roman laughing at his giggle fit.

 When they finally did swim back into the cave, Virgil was instantly barreled into, surprised to hear… barking? And whiskers tickling his face as a nose nuzzled against his cheek, finally drawing back so he could see the deep, dark eyes of a seal.

 “Patton?” He asked, laughing at his enthusiastic clap of his flippers, barking again as he backed up, allowing Virgil to sit. Virgil smiled, then tackled the seal himself, sending them rolling across the kelp floor, laughing as Patton righted himself in the water, and started chasing him around the cave in retaliation, trying to love tackle him again. Logan yelped, narrowly dodging a collision, Roman laughing as they raced around him, before shooting down into the kelp.

“Well. He certainly seems to be feeling better." Logan commented, smiling fondly himself as he watched the chase.

 “How could he not, when faced with a face full of bouncy seal Patton?”

 Virgil collapsed atop the kelp, out of breath and laughing, Patton nuzzling his face again, laughing more at the tickling whiskers.

 “Ok, ok! I give up!” He laughed, Patton pulling back with a satisfied snort.

 Virgil flipped over onto his stomach, head propped up on a hand as his tail waved lazily in the water. His other rested atop Patton, idly petting his head, liking the smooth, silky soft feel of his skin, a wave of tiredness washing over him. He found himself listing sideways, so he was more half laying atop Patton than sitting next to him. He smiled at Patton’s questioning chirp.

 “just tired. I had… had a bit of a panic attack, when I woke up.” Patton rumbled, worried, and he sighed. “it was more of a flashback. I don’t really wanna talk about it.” He mumbled, pressing his head against Patton’s soft, squishy back. “I got the gist from Roman, kinda. We’re like, transformer buddies. We could come up with, like, anime girl transformation sequences to act out. Oh god, we’d be team rocket, wouldn’t we?” He mumbled, not even sure what he was saying anymore, but smiling at Patton’s amused huff.

 “Virgil?” He rolled over with a small ‘uh huh’, looking up at Roman, Logan hovering beside him. “Are you… alright?” He took a deep breath, it still felt a bid odd, but not in a bad way.

 “Honestly? I have no idea. Roman said you could fill me in, on what exactly happened? What… I am?” He asked, a bit hesitant, not sure if he actually wanted an answer, a bit afraid of what he’d hear.

 “The species is called Merrow…”

 …

 By the end of the explanation, Virgil was shaking, hands fisted so hard his nails were cutting into his palms, filled with too many emotions he couldn’t quite name, tail flicking in agitation. He’d drawn away from Patton, his back resting against the rocky wall of the cave, an angry, hurt noise building in his throat as Logan finished.  

 “Virgil?” Roman asked, softly, a bit worried at the mer’s silence, even more worried as he let out a soft, bitter laugh.

 “Of course. No wonder she didn’t want me. No wonder neither of them did. I reminded Her of being forced into slavery, forced into a marriage into his bed, so of course she wouldn’t love me, couldn’t love me.  I was a memory of the worst thing that had ever happened to her.” Roman’s heart cracked at the hopelessness in his voice, and given Patton’s small whine, he felt the same.

 Patton moved closer, slipping his head under Virgil’s arm, snuggling across his lap. The weight helped Virgil breathe, and he found himself petting Patton absently again, the repeated action helping him focus.

 “Virgil. I am sure she loved you. She just couldn’t deny her nature, once she found her item.” He snorted at Logan’s words, distancing himself mentally already, shutting down against the pain.

 “why would she? Nothing… there’s nothing worth loving about me. I was a horrible, awful mistake made from a horrible awful situation, started by a horrible, awful man. What… what could ever be good about me?” He asked, fingers curled against Patton, as he looked away, looked at the stone, just as weathered and cracked as he felt. “maybe I should have just drowned.” Logan inhaled sharply, and he could feel Roman shaking beside him, at the emptiness to Virgil’s voice, the hollowness in his eyes as he retreated into himself. Patton whined, nudging at his hand, but Virgil just pulled them close his chest, biting his lip.

 “Virgil, no. His actions do not reflect on your worth as a person. There are so many wonderful, good things about you. Your curiosity, your eagerness to learn, your open, accepting nature, despite all the terrible circumstances surrounding your life, you are absolutely brilliant, Virgil. I have never met a more resilient, amazing, being in my entire life. Do you understand me, Virgil? You are not the sum of your parents. You are yourself, and who you are is beautiful.” Logan said fervently, gently shaking Virgil’s shoulders, forcing the boy to look up at his eyes, to see the burning, aching, belief. “Don’t you ever think of yourself like that, Virgil. Don’t you ever…” Logan trailed off, close to tears, shocking both Patton and Roman with his unusual display of emotion, before sweeping Virgil into a tight, soft embrace, shaking at just how much pain filled this small mer. After a moment, Virgil folded against him, letting out a low, keening sob, one that shook Virgil to his core, and had Logan wrapping him tighter in his arms, cradling Virgil’s head, failing to suppress his own tears, because how dare they, how dare they make this incredible, kind, smart, inquisitive child be so afraid of himself and the world, think himself so worthless, that he would consider that level of harm a valid course of action? “you are worth so, so much, Virgil. We… I… already cannot fathom a life without you in it. And you will never, never have to go back to that life as long as you live, go back to that… that monster.”

 “I wanna stay with you and ro and pat. I don’t wanna go back, I just… I wanna be safe…” Virgil gasped.

 “You are. I promise, you are.”

 “c-can I g-go home? W-with Patton? I don’t wanna be in the w-water, anymore. I just w-wanna go h-home."

 “Of course, firefish. You should be fine, to go back on land now. Just don’t take off the sweater, for a bit, ok? Unzipping it will change you back.” Roman murmured, carefully joining the hug, pressing Virgil and Logan close to him for a moment, Patton nuzzling his way into the middle, making Virgil let out a tired smile.

 “Would you two like a ride home?” Roman asked, laughing at Patton's delighted bark, the selkie clapping his flippers and launching himself into Roman's hands. “I will take that as a yes. Virg?” Virgil nodded, settling against him a bit more carefully.

 “Have a good ride, you two. I shall see you soon.” Logan said, smiling softly, and Virgil waved, Patton chirping, then Roman slipped out of the cave.

…

 “Virg, honey, you gotta wake up.” His eyes drifted open slowly, for a moment forgetting where he was, surprised at being woken so gently. Usually it was screaming, or glass shattering. Then he felt waves lapping at his tail, and he scrubbed his eyes blearily.

 “You fell asleep on the ride over, starfish.” Roman rumbled lowly. “You wanna try changing back, so you can go sleep inside?” He smiled at the slightly teasing tone to Roman’s voice.

 He hummed, focusing for a moment on the feel of the invisible fabric against his skin, gasping as he undid the zipper. A strange, almost numb, almost tingling sensation took over his tail, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch it unfuse, feeling slightly nauseous at the notion. After a few long seconds, he felt two legs, and a glance confirmed they were back and his tail was gone. He wiggled his toes experimentally, letting out a relieved breath as they responded instantly. Of course, now having legs felt weird, and he huffed.

 “You okay, kiddo?” Patton asked softly, and he nodded.

 “yeah. Just gonna take some getting used to, I guess.” He answered, accepting Patton’s help in pulling him to his feet, balance completely off and he nearly tumbled back to the sand, but Roman’s hand shot out and caught him, keeping him steady.

 “Easy, firefish.” Virgil huffed, leaning against his hand for a moment longer, nuzzling against it for a moment and making Roman blush.

 “thanks Ro. For… for everything.” He muttered, Virgil’s own face red as he pulled away, letting Patton wrap an arm around his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

 “Of course, kid. Wouldn’t dream of skipping out on you. I’ll make sure Lo comes too, though I think he won’t need much coaxing for once. He’s taken quite a shine to you.”

 “Who wouldn’t! With scales like those, he’s hard to ignore.” Patton added, making Virgil groan and Roman roll his eyes. He waved once, slipping back under the water, reappearing further out a moment later, doing a fancy flip that had Virgil muttering ‘show off’ under his breath as he smiled.  

 “So. Anime girl transformation sequences, huh?” He groaned at Patton’s words, sinking further into his hoodie, his new, magic hoodie, smiling as he heard Patton’s soft giggle.

 “Can we just go home, already?” He mumbled, feeling Patton’s breath hitch again at his use of that word, home.

 He’d never really considered the boat home, anyways. There had never been any love, there, or warmth, or laughter. None of the stuff that would make up a home. But here, with Roman and Logan, in this small cabin with Patton?

 For the first time ever, he was… loved.

 “Of course kiddo. Let’s get inside and get warmed up. I’ll make some hot chocolate!”

 “could… could you maybe read, some more? I…you did that when I was sick, right?” Patton squeezed his hand as they entered the house, letting go to start the cocoa as he slipped into his chair by the fireplace.

 “I did. I didn’t know you remembered that, kiddo. Or even heard it, actually.” Patton replied from the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later, passing him a mug, which smelled delicious.

 “I mean… I don’t, really, I just remember your voice. It… was nice.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his drink. Patton smiled warmly, grabbing the book of fairytales off the side table next to his own chair. He settled in, pushing up his glasses, glancing at Virgil, wrapped up in a blanket, closing his eyes as he listened to Patton read, the steady sound soothing as he occasionally sipped from his mug.

 Patton kept an eye on the kid, watching his head slowly droop as he read, managing to spring forwards and catch the mug before it slipped from Virgil’s hands and spilled onto his blanket. He set it aside with a soft smile, stroking Virgil’s bangs back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

 “sweet dreams, little merrow.” He moved to step back, but Virgil stopped him, eyes just barely flickering open, hand pulling weakly at his sleeve. He chuckled, but complied, scooping Virgil off the chair and into his arms, resettling with him in his lap, cradling Virgil close to him, humming softly. Virgil melted into his arms, breathing deep and slow, and he couldn’t help but cry a little, at how far this kiddo had come. Only a few days ago, he would have flinched back at any touch. It was amazing, how resilient and brave Virgil was, that he was willing to trust again, willing to open up, willing to let Patton hold him while he slept and trust that nothing and no one would hurt him.

 “Love you, kiddo.” He whispered, closing his own eyes, surprised to feel Virgil shift against him a moment later.

 “love y’too, pat. You’re a good dad.” Virgil mumbled, nuzzling closer against him with a sleepy sigh, smiling as Patton’s arms held him a little tighter, enveloping him in all the safety he’d ever need. And if Patton cried a little harder at that, well, who could blame him?

[fishoutofcamelot]

Time Heals Some Wounds (And Causes Others)

My first merthur fic!

Arthur didn't spend two years remembering his past life, rounding up all his old Camelot buddies, and tracking down where the hell his immortal idiot had dallied off to - just to be snubbed! As if their ten years together meant nothing to him!

To be fair, ten years to Arthur would've been but a scant moment or two for Merlin. He even did the math. Only 0.06% of Merlin's disturbingly long life was spent with Arthur.

People's memory started failing them at the age of seventy, let alone a thousand. Was it any surprise Merlin would forget such a fleeting moment that had happened so early in his painfully long existence? It would be like asking Arthur to remember the first few months of his life, and Arthur didn't even remember what he ate for dinner last week.

So yes, it had been wishful thinking to hope that Merlin would recall anything by the time they reunited. And yes, it had been selfish of him to be so bitter when Merlin didn't.

In 2020, Merlin went by the alias Rhys Anderson. Which, in Arthur's opinion, was the dumbest name anyone could possibly think of. So at least it was in character for Merlin, who was likewise the dumbest person anyone could possibly meet.

(Gwen had slapped him last time he said that aloud.)

But even after all these centuries, no matter how forgetful and absent-minded Merlin's age had made him, he was still Merlin. Still cheerful and sassy and kind, still wearing his heart on his sleeve and still giving the best advice. And above all, still an idiot.

Though it pained him - and everyone else, he suspected - he let himself accept that this Merlin was Rhys now. He let himself move on. Let himself befriend Rhys just as seamlessly as he'd befriended Merlin.

It didn't help that this new era brought new emotions and possibilities with it. And against all odds, Arthur found himself falling for Merlin. Falling fast and hard.

Which was no good at all, especially considering...well...all of that.

Arthur tried to quell the way his heart pounded whenever Merlin drew near; tried to ignore the way his chest heated up with a fluttering, friendly warmth whenever Merlin smiled at him; tried to ignore his aching desire to spend more, more, more time at Merlin's side.

He tried. And he failed.

Morgana - now called Morgan Barnes, an interior designer and redeemed ex-villain (and Gwen Smith's closeted admirer) - got fed up with his pining after a while and told him to just take the plunge.

"What's the worst that could happen?" She had asked while they ate ice cream and strolled along the park trail, as per their Sunday routine.

He glared at her. "You know exactly what could happen."

"Eh. Merlin - Rhys - is too nice to shut you away just because you've got a crush on him. I mean, he didn't turn Gwaine away."

Arthur gaped.

"What? You didn't know Gwaine used to have a crush on your manservant?"

Arthur continued to gape.

Morgan laughed. "How observant of you, my lord. On second thought, maybe you shouldn't confess to Rhys after all. He's far too good for you."

For all that she had reformed and straightened up her ways in this new life, she was still a maniacal bitc-

Morgan's wheedling did the trick. In a few days, Arthur found himself inviting Rhys over to his apartment for a nice, casual movie night, with a half-formed plan in the back of his mind to try and initiate something between them should the opportunity present itself.

If all went well, the kiss would spark Merlin's faintest of memories into clarity - like how it worked on television. If that didn't happen and Merlin's memories remained ever so hopelessly destroyed by time...well, he still enjoyed "Rhys's" company, and that's what counted.

The movie was some stupid sci-fi flick Merlim had picked out. For an immortal wizard, he sure seemed to like science and technology and future-y things. Arthur would have thought he'd be more fond of the past.

Of course, it would make sense that Merlin disliked historical dramas and fantasy as much as he did. It probably reminded him all too well of his own miserably immortal life. With sci-fi, he could forget for a few moments just how timeless he really was, and lose himself into the folds of terrible special effects and incoherent technobabble.

Well that was a depressing thought.

When the credits rolled, and the popcorn bowl had run empty, Arthur spotted his golden-ticket opportunity.

They were both laughing and joking about something stupid that had happened in the movie. And then the laughter faded. And then it was just the two of them staring and smiling contentedly at each other. And the lights were off, save the dim glow of the television. And their gazes turned more and more intent, and their faces drew closer...closer...closer...

Merlin turned his head to the side, face screwed up in shame. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't."

Arthur's heart sunk. "W-what?"

Sensing Arthur's horror and embarrassment, Rhys quickly amended. "I-I mean - I care about you! I care about you a lot, Arthur! Dare I say it, I might even love you."

Arthur's heart seized at the word 'love', but he refused to get his hopes up. "But?"

A weary sigh. "But...I love another."

Arthur mentally slapped himself. How could he have been so naive to think that Merlin wouldn't have found a special someone in all his years of life? Had he been such a fool as to believe that Merlin would never attach himself to anyone after Arthur?

"Who's the lucky guy?" Arthur asked, trying - failing - not to sound as heartbroken and bitter as he felt.

Merlin's face scrunched up in wistful confusion. "I can't remember his name. It was a long time ago. I can't remember much of anything anymore..."

That last sentence was more for Merlin to think out loud than for Arthur to hear, but he agreed nonetheless. Merlin's inability to recall Camelot wasn't the only sign of his deteriorating mind. He frequently forgot where he put things, or what year it was, or what his name was (he has a habit or confusing his current alias with his one from WWI, oddly enough). Several times Arthur had tracked him down and guided him home just because he couldn't remember where he lived. Suffice to say, the years had taken quite a toll on him.

Merlin shook himself out of his reverie. "Look. I just - he died long ago. And even though I can't even remember what he looked like, a part of me is still upset about it. As much as I love you, it wouldn't be fair to start something with you while my heart still belongs to another."

"Thanks for considering my emotions, I suppose," he acquiesced, nodding solemnly. "But - wait, you said you can't even remember what he looked like?"

Merlin gave a sheepish shrug. "I can't remember anything about him at all, really. All I know is the way I loved him."

Arthur swallowed hard. "A-and how did you love him?"

For once, Merlin dared to lift his shame-filled gaze off the floor and straight at Arthur. Though it was too dark to see, he knew by heart how intensely Merlin's blue eyes burned.

"More deeply than I'll ever love anyone else."

Knowing he couldn't compete with that, Arthur hung his head, bid his farewells, and watched Merlin awkwardly leave.

When Merlin was gone, Arthur allowed himself to vent his frustrations. To cry out and throw things and hit other things and yell into his pillow.

Who was that mystery man of his, anyway? Who could Merlin possibly love, who had he lost so long ago that he could no longer...remember...them...

Oh god.

Oh god.

Arthur was the mystery man.

Gwaine would have laughed at the irony. Darn near all of his friends would have, in fact. And maybe Arthur would have laughed as well, if not for the fact that he was far too frustrated to do so.

Still, this was a ray of hope. If Merlin could recall the slightest inkling of Arthur as they had once been before, regardless of the capacity that recollection came in...then maybe this wouldn't be so terrible after all.

[dr-passionate-production]

There was something special about looking over the balcony at night. The business of the main road had long died out, leaving just the occasional zoom of a passing car. The sun's blinding light would be hidden away for hours to come. The songs of nocturnal insects filling the ears of those around. There was something.. Special about it all, something serene.

The cat, laying idly at Kei's feet, had found solace in her silence as she did in his. His soft purring vibrating the tips of her toes. The two siblings weren't fond of TV, especially this late at night. So the usual ruckus of the day was no longer present, allowing the ragdoll to sleep soundly if he so choose.

The freedom to choose.. What a liberty, right? To allow oneself decide their own fate, both good and bad. It could be a simple decision, like what color socks you wanted to wear that day or did you want to call your mother or your father, knowing both would be on the end of either of your choices. But, as we intricate creatures continue to walk the long road we call life, we are expected, and sometimes forced, to make some harsh decisions. Ones that are sure to affect you in the long run, if not your entire life. And as Ms. Kei Sato stood there, eyes gazing away into the nightly abyss, she wondered if she chose right. Out of the handful of choices she was given, did she choose the best one for everyone?

Sighing, she looked down, a hand rubbing at her temple in attempts of easing the oncoming headache that was sure to ruin her night and morning. Curses were uttered, and her eyes glanced around dully at the surroundings beneath her. The cat.. Her toes.. The sleeved shirt she wore. When finally, her eyes landed on the glistening ring that hung from her neck.

...

...

...

"... Is the-there something wrong with it?" Hisai asked, taken aback by the way she stared at the gift. It was a golden ring, striped down the center by a lighter shade of gold. The name 'Jeong-joo' was inscribed on the inside, meaning that, yet again, it was a piece of fan merch from the TV show he loved so much. Taehyun, a starry-eyed coworker of Jeong-joo's, had given it to her as one of his many attempts to win her affection. It was an awkward gesture for the both of them, realizing how idiotic it was to give a girl a gift that expensive. It was one of the defining moments of their platonic relationship, one that especially stuck out to the tactician, seeing that he related so heavily to him.

"N-no... I-"

It was too late to reassure. He turned the box to him, worry in his eyes as he buried his face into the case, examining every last detail of the ring. And while it looked stupid in every definition of the word, it did manage to achieve his true goal: to elicit a smile from his troubled girlfriend. He noticed something was off from the get-go. Her usual smile was faded and it looked like his ramblings went through one ear and out the other. She was thinking about something important, he guessed, and while he didn't want to bother her with questions, he was supposed to be there whenever she was upset, like now.

"I- um.. I noticed you're kind of.. Out of it..? I-I guess I-..." He mentally cursed at how his stuttering voice betrayed him. "Are you okay?"

"Hisai.. What do you like about me?"

What did he like about her? What kind of question was that? There was plenty to like about her! Both as a friend and as- .. You know.. A girlfriend..! Where is this all coming from, he wondered. The bothered look on her face was one he hadn't seen before. She was serious about it, so he should as well.

"W-Well..." He stammered, a flower of red starting to blossom on his cheeks. "You're really pretty.. A-and nice... You actually listen to me instead of- you know. Ignoring me like everyone else... And I really like that- um.. That you also give everyone a chance.. Instead of shunning people away because of dumb rumors, you try to befriend them.. And stuff.." The more he spoke, the more confident he sounded in his words. Hisai wasn't good at complimenting someone like this, not like he had experience in it anyway. His mind nearly went blank at the question! Thankfully, though, he managed to pull together a nice coherent answer.

"What if.." Blink and he'd miss the flicker of sadness in her eyes. Her arms folded, as she tried to find a way to voice her insecurities without actually saying them. "What if I was different?"

"Different? Like you had a secret identity?"

"Yes and-... Yes and no.. I'm still myself." She bit her lip, teeth grinding so hard on the delicate piece of flesh that she was on the brink of tearing through. She wanted to say it. She wanted to just pull at her hair and tell him all the things that tore her apart at night. But she couldn't, the fear of rejection and sullying every last moment she had with him and their friends looming over her.

"But a different kind of 'me'.."

"I-I'm confused.. But-! But!.. I.. I'll give 'that kind of you' a chance.. Like you did to me.. Because, in the end, you're still Isa. .. Right?"

His answer was far from understandable. And he couldn't tell if what he said did anything to improve her mood or ease her stress. But the smile he gave her read as if he solved all of her problems. Like he was going to be the sunshine on her rainy day.

Isabella fought back the tears pricking her reddening eyes. He was far too sweet for his or her own good. Just gives her another reason to cherish him more. She pulled him in close, an arm around his shoulders and another to hug his head against her chest, her fingers running through his blonde hair. Isabella was sure he could feel her heart beat against his temple, but she couldn't care any less. Let him hear it.

"Thank you, Sai." She managed to whisper without choking on her tears. They'd have to work on this giving nature of his. She could easily buy him back just as many gifts but it felt as if he was trying to buy her affection. But really-

"And don't worry... I love the ring."

He didn't have to.

...

...

Hisai.. The sky was empty that night, not a single star was to be seen from the comforts of the balcony. No one was there to listen to her pleads, not even the spirits above. Can I still be given another chance..?

She had completely separated herself from the one who once was. From head to toe, from the mannerisms to the deepening of her voice, she was Kei Sato, amateur gardener, Armani family caretaker. She enjoyed long walks along the dock and the smell of a Monday brew. She watched La Ruota Della Fortuna with her mother and played cards with the pretentious prick she called a father. She made herself at home in a future she was satisfied with living. But..

"Are you sure about this one, Kid? You know you can't go back after this?"

"Kei! ... You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?..."

"...You know we would have been there for you if you told us! I could have sworn you were the one that said that we should protect each other..!"

"Addie.. What do I do..?"

"Talking to the cat is a new low, don't you think?"

Of course, she tsked. The sly bastard had snuck up on her while she was deep in thought, only to flash a chesire grin when he caught her thinking out loud.

"You look terrible."

"You are terrible.." She didn't have the energy to make a witty comeback. Seeing him next to her sapped any and all tolerance within seconds. Einosuke shifted his position, joining her to face the small area around them, his head tilted up towards the stars.

"How does it feel? The creeping sense of doubt and regret."

Her words left her the moment she tried to open her mouth. She tried to scowl but her face kept twisting back to her usual bitter look. The corners of her lips twitched and her hands reached up to wipe away bubbling tears. But the more she swiped at, the more tears that fell to the point where she had given up on delaying the inevitable. The last straw was the hand placed on her back, rubbing awkward circles as a means to comfort her.

"Miss Kei!" Kei turned to the painfully cheerful voice, her hands gripping tightly onto the suitcase she dragged behind her. The airport was packed with people yet the occultist had managed to pick her out from the crowd. The moment the clack of her shoes ceased, Chiyo held up a hand, her chest heaving as she took a moment to catch her breath. How did she fucking run in heels?

"He- Here, my dear!" Chiyo held up her phone, decorated with all types of gothic imagery and a photo of her and her beloved mothers. She displayed the chatting app she and her classmates used. With a few taps, Kei's number was slotted amongst the already long list of members in the group.

"You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?"

"Thanks.. Um.. Kageyama-san but-"

"Please." The occult took Kei's free hand into hers, the serious look in her eyes stopping her in her tracks. "Your aura.. You are harboring a lot of bottled up emotions that I'm sure you don't want to say."

She squeezed the ravenette's hand. "If you ever need someone to talk to, dearest. You know you can absolutely talk to us! If not them, then definitely me. Because I know how it feels.."

Kei was.. Stunned. What did she-. She couldn't have possibly known that-. The lump in her throat was unrelenting and so was the grip Chiyo was on her.

"I... I'm gonna miss my flight.." Kei slipped from her grasp, backing away as she shook off the thought. Chiyo was always the weird one, she reminded herself.

"Bye.." She muttered, rushing off to, hopefully, disappear into the crowd.

"Remember to text us!!" The occultist yelled, not at all bothered by the bitter looks she was receiving. She waved both of her hands with a smile, sending her off with her final goodbyes. "We're here for you, darling! Because that's what friends are for!"

"I hate it.."

[Event: Ms. Sato (End)]