#shadow just does not care; he’s already done this but with his original body

[gio-scrabbles]

When you kidnap a Shadow from another timeline so he could help you save the world from the Promised Day, but he refuses on account that your plan involves eugenics.

Plus he wants to save the blue hedgehog from your clutches and go home.

[despairots]

━━━━━━━━ the ballerina dancing in the rain.

pairings ━━━━━━━━ scaramouche x gender neutral! ballerina! reader. reader is a puppet and apart of the fatui, working underneath scara. takes place where scara is apart of the fatui. for story purposes, reader has short hair sorry long hair royalties :( reader has an anemo vision and uses a sword. reader has protective issues over scaramouche and hates dottore

content warning ━━━━━━━━ has some suggestive things at the end (only bc km on my period and hormones have been acting up), most likely angst at some point, murder, mentions of abuse, mentions of being totured and being tested on, may be ooc.

do you walk in the shadows of men who sold their lives for a dream? most people thought you were weird due to being restrained from emotions and body stitches, they didn’t know what was the reason.

and working under scaramouche, the balladeer, you were bound to be scolded and yelled at him but you were prepared, already experiencing this type of behaviour before in your past.

he thought you were weird, doing everything you were ordered too and did everything perfectly right, and no matter how many times you were scolded, yelled at, slapped, you didn’t react, almost have done this before.

it intrigued him also due to the fact you popped into the files in thin air, no records of your past nor origins.

but no matter how many times he said he didn’t care for you at all, he still followed you around when dottore called for you as you trailed behind him like a stray dog.

he didn’t know what brought himself to do that, he said he didn’t care… does he care? he couldn’t possibly. you were just a mere fatui agent that some what was important to the harbingers.

“seems like your joints have been fainting.” scaramouche watched dottore glide his finger’s against your nude arms, tilting your fingers to his liking to examine you whilst you sat there, staring down and sitting still.

scaramouche listened, like he usually does to ensure your safety— safety? since when does he care about your safety? a mere human that worked under him?

he heard dottore sigh and drop your arms to your side, “you’re lucky you’re important to the tsaritsa or else i would’ve experimented on you like the harbinger you work under.” he commented which was a bad move on his part.

scaramouche gritted his teeth and frowned, knowing that comment was directed to him, “what’d you say?” you sneered with venom, glaring up at him due to the comment he made.

dottore laughed at you, knowing your undying loyalty and protectiveness towards the balladeer. “gets angered at the mention towards the harbinger their working under!” even if scaramouche couldn’t see it, he knew you were fuming.

his laughter quieted down, watching you pull your coat over your body to hide his gaze even though his seen your body a million times because of searching for your disappearing joints and being experimented on.

“are you done? or are you gonna continue your experiments?” experiments? scaramouche peeked through his hiding spot, surprised by your amount of chatter and the sudden mention of experiments.

“oh, right! but it seems like we have a guest.” the two of you looked over at scaramouche who interrupted with a frown, “sir?” your body tensed at the sight of him before looking down in shame.

his gaze flickered to your figure before dottore, “what are you doing to them?” he walked up to you two, glaring up at him, “you’ll see.” he paused and looked down at you, taking notice of you putting your boots back on.

“[name], wanna tell him what you really are and what your purpose is?”

“i’d rather not.” you quickly replied to get out of the position you are, ignoring the fact that you were just saved from being tortured, “oh? why not? wouldn’t your dear harbinger like to know?”

you looked at scaramouche and looked back down, hands clutched onto your coat before dottore grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to his desk of files, mostly filled with you.

he gave the files to scaramouche who quickly opened it after dodging your attempts on taking them away from him, “wait!— sir, please don’t read them!” your pleads fell upon deaf ears, dottore holding you in place.

[name] ━━━━━━━━ the ballerina dancing in the rain.

his eyes scanned through your files, eyes slightly widening every time he read what dottore had written down. he closed it and handed towards dottore and glared at you, who wanted to shiver up and die.

“[name]’s a puppet, specifically a puppet for the hydro archon. they’re exactly like you.” dottore stated, grinning evilly down at you who frowned.

that was when scaramouche realized, you were exactly like him, but instead of being discarded, you were kept but ran away due to outliving your loved ones and being abused over and over again.

that was why he felt a weird feeling towards you, a feeling of similarity. you felt that same feeling towards him, that’s why you decided you to perfect everything just the way he wanted.

you were important because you were just a replacement for scaramouche, a new test subject.

“let go of them, dottore.” dottore quickly let go with a smirk as you rushed to scaramouche’s side, who took your wrist and left the place to his office.

it was quiet, enough to your liking but scared of what scaramouche wanted from you due to the fact that he just rushed you both away from the doctor.

“sir?” he pushed open his office door and shoved your shoulders against it, head against your collarbone, flustering you as you stood still, waiting for his sudden outburst he’ll have if you moved.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“hm?” he lifted his head up, hands now on your neck with care that he didn’t hurt you, “that you were a puppet.” you looked down, “i didn’t think it was important.” shrugging, you felt his grip tightened.

“why?” “what am i supposed to say? oh, i’m a puppet for the hydro archon but i ran away due to restatement towards her. was i supposed to say that?” you scoffed with an eye roll, probably a bad idea but who knows.

“you can’t blame me for not wanting to tell you.”

“you brat.” he dragged you into a rough kiss, stopping you from ranting on and on, suddenly feeling comfortable to show your real personality towards him.

you jumped, hands reacting fast, reaching to his wrist but not pulling away. it was like your body resisted, like your body enjoyed having his lips on yours.

he shoved you back harshly on the door again to which you didn’t mind when you relaxed and wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning slightly into his mouth.

all what was heard last night was the slight sound of moaning and grunting to which you woke up to the marks on your neck and the balladeers body pressing against yours.

[fumiyami]

FUMIKAGES FAMILY HEADCANONS (since we know NOTHING.)

HIS MUM

• she is definitely the one with the bird head partly cuz I just want her to be and partly cuz in mha most of the characters look like their mums more (izuku, bakugo kinda, jirou, and probably more but I can’t remember!!)

•her feathers (i know it’s actually hair. don’t take this away from me☹️) are probably brown or slightly black with white dots like female Koel bird’s are, then her eyes and beak are the same as fumi’s

•I don’t imagine her to have a shadow or darkness based quirk, it could be something random or something to do with birds considering how most animal based heteromorphs in mha seem to have animal based quirks?? if it does have something to do with birds then maybe like she can make talons and wings appear on her body?? (hawks you’ve got some competition)

•I have a feeling she’s the type of person to do stuff first and worry about the consequences later, like getting into fights or getting drunk and stuff

•she’s usually the one like speaking to teachers over the phone or going to parent meetings since her husband would most likely do a worse job than her..

•I imagine her to not be the best parent but I don’t think she’d be outright abusive (ENDEAVOR.) but possibly a bit neglectful or brutally honest with her kids? and if her kids went super out of line and done something serious then she’d resort to a hit or two😿

HIS DAD

•he’s the one with human features but maybe not entirely? like maybe small shadow horns or one side of his face is perpetually covered in shadows

•I feel like his hair would be similar to Mr Aizawa’s (like long and black) but possibly could be shadow coloured?? I think it’d look cool☹️

•his eyes could be yellow? if not maybe purple?? cuz like dark shadow has yellow eyes so they could’ve gotten it from them

•if you haven’t guessed already then he’d be the one with the shadow quirk in my eyes, like maybe shadow manipulation? (like todoroki’s ice and fire but with shadows and weaker since y’know shadows themselves aren’t harmful) which he’d mostly just be able to use at night

•I imagine that he can be quiet and introverted but he can also get angry and start/finish fights with anyone. also the same as his wife in the sense that like he does stuff first and cares about the consequences later

•cares less about the kids than his wife does (but in actuality they both don’t care as much as they should)

•he wouldn’t get drunk often, but he’d find comfort in drinking fancy wine and stuff and knowing all about it (maybe he’s even a bartender or something!!)

I imagine them both to have quite deep voices but neither of them have a deep voice as fumikage since maybe his could be like a mix between theirs two?? also!! his mum is the more goth one but both of them dress in similar clothing

HIS SIBLINGS

•I imagine him to have two sisters which idk where that came from but i’m rolling with it!! I also gave them names :))

AMARANTE TOKOYAMI

•amarante (name meaning flower that never fades or unfaded) is definitely the more sociable one in her family. I imagine her to be a wild child and perceived as the complete opposite of her fumikage (though they’re more alike than people think..)

•I think that fumikage got his gothic style from two people: Dark Crystal (a pro hero he admires that’s mentioned in the school briefs) and amarante (since when she was 16 she was the EXACT same as fumi)

•I like to think shes 22 and probably like a month or less older than Hawks so she constantly tells fumi that hawks stole her brand

•her quirk would be the same as her mums where she can make her appearance more bird-like with talons and wings, which is how she got the joke that hawks is stealing her originality with the wings

•I can imagine her being a singer who isn’t as popular as she could be in the future but it getting there! maybe she appears on TV one day and everyone in 1A sees and asks tokoyami about her

•her stage name would be “Songbird” and her fandom name would be “Chicks” or “Baby Bats” as she’s still goth u guys!! that never changed

•she looks almost the exact same as her mum naturally but dyes her feathers a lot and puts glitter on her beak (which aoyama loved the first time he ever saw her) to stand out

•her whole brand would be to help make people like her not feel ashamed in who they are (other heteromorphs, neurodivergent people, LGBTQ+ people) since she’s been insecure and knows what it’s like

•her singing genre changes all the time but it’s been gothic songs, rock, pop, literally everything

•she can play multiple instruments but mainly uses guitar and sometimes piano for slower songs

HANAZUKI TOKOYAMI

•hanazuki (name meaning moon flower or moon) takes after both her parents, being mean like her mum and quiet like her dad

•she’d definitely be a mean older sister at 24 years old, 2 years older than amarante and 8 years older than fumikage which meant that she didn’t interact with fumi as much

•I don’t imagine she’s in contact with any of her family members anymore except for maybe amarante and her grandad (if he’s still alive) but she watches the UA sports festivals and stuff to see how fumi’s doing

•I want her to be quirk less since I think her being a heteromorph and quirk less made her stand out in society for bad reasons :( that’s partly why she cut contact with a lot of people and is as introverted as she is

•her jobs have consisted of: fast food worker, writer but she quit and working in an office type space

•she despises amarante’s energy and bubbly-ness but still loves her younger sister (though she’d never admit it)

•didn’t talk to fumikage growing up since she was already moved out when he was 10 and she was 18 so the age difference didn’t help but she finds dark shadow cool (though they didn’t speak much either)

•despises her parents deeply

•also despises UA for letting 16 year olds fight in a life threatening war (amarante’s very much the same)

•I didn’t mention this but her feathers are naturally like her mums but like amarante she dyes hers (unlike amarante, she dyes hers to be a more darker colour. not fully black but close)

•not as goth as her siblings but she’s getting there

HIS GRANDAD

•fumi’s grandad, like his parents, have been mentioned and is canon but we KNOW NOTHING.

•i’ve said this in a previous post but I imagine him to have died at the hands of dark shadow a LONG time ago and fumikage hates himself for it

•I imagine him to have been on his mum’s side so he also had the same feathers and stuff as fumikage (though his were all worn out and grey but fumi helped in preening them.)

•his grandad, in his eyes, was the coolest person ever. he was THE goth person. that’s where fumi got every bit of knowledge on the world of darkness and the night and stuff from

•he loved spoiling his grandchildren so much (everyone always wondered where he got his money from..)

THATS IT BUT I WILL ADD MORE IF I THINK OF MORE!! ALSO I THINK FUMI’S PARENTS ARE DEFINITELY IN SOME DARK f GANG OR SOMETHING BUT IDK IF IM ENTIRELY SET ON THAT IDEA

IF YOU HAVE ANY HEADCANONS ABOUT FUMI OR HIS FAMILY PLEASE TELL ME! WE NEED MORE FUMI CONTENT IN THIS WORLD🫶🏻

AS ALWAYS, A FUMI (AND DARK SHADOW) PICTURE FOR YALL:

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 5

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: This chapter is much longer than the others. It originally was two chapters, but one was much shorter. I considered making the larger one smaller but it didn't feel right. So, at the suggestion of a friend, I merged them. I was at a con today and found barely any Tokyo Revengers merch so I have to update to add my part to the fandom. If only to make myself feel better knowing that people are still here lol.

I hope you enjoy it. Your comments mean the world to me. Thank you all.

also on ao3

fic masterlist - prev chapter

THE PAST

It’s been a week since the future Takemichi left and she misses him. Not just because he was someone to talk to, but the current Takemichi isn’t on the same level. He’s more immature and honestly? She’s beginning to wonder what Hinata even sees in him. If he wasn’t her brother, she wouldn’t be near him. 

Luckily, he seems far more involved with his own friends than her and Takara is left to her own devices. Unfortunately, she only has some acquaintances and no sports for her to distract herself with. She spends her time doing homework and regretting the way she’s stuck here. 

She doesn’t wake up back home when Takemichi returns to the future. She’s just left with a weird sense of longing and the realization that she can’t really picture what her old bedroom looked like. She spent all her free time there. She should know, shouldn’t she? It sits like lead in her stomach. 

She slips unseen through the house that has claimed her. Her parents, these parents, don’t entirely seem to care that she exists. They’ll greet her and speak to her, but sometimes she sees the ways their eyes slip off of her, like oil against water. Sometimes they are startled by her presence, as though they’ve forgotten she’s there. Whoever’s placed her in this world has done a shit job. Old resentment festers but she’s learned long ago to cleanse the wound. She leaves her house and spends her time on her rollerblades, feeling more at home when she’s speeding down the path with her own skill than she does anywhere else. 

🏍️

Takara is sixteen. 

She’s in a body that she did not grow up in, with a family she doesn’t belong to, and acutely aware that she’s alone. She wishes Takemichi did not have to return to a future that feels impossible to see. She wishes she had something to fill her time with like before so that she doesn’t actually notice how she feels. 

On the one hand, she should be glad that she has the time to explore the areas where they live, on the other, she’s bored out of her mind. She hates being bored. 

It’s with a little research that she manages to track down a sports shop. Baseball is huge here, so she grabs the basic equipment for that, and she manages to find a hockey stick so that she can at least keep up with her slapshots. The store owner also pointed her in the direction of a rink that had skate rentals. A small thing but it already feels like a relief, like she hasn’t lost everything. 

She gets about a block with the large equipment bag thrown over her shoulder when a shadow falls over her as someone steps up next to her. She glances over before scowling. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

It’s the giant from the other day. The one who said he wasn’t with the boys who hunted her down before claiming them as she made her escape. 

He grins at her and takes a drag of his cigarette. “Looked like you needed help. Thought I’d offer my services.” 

“With what? Reaching a top shelf that I don’t need anything from? Or hitting your head on the doorway on your way out?”

“Your bag,” he says, not at all put out by her attitude. “Looks bigger than you.”

“I’ve had bigger.”

His eyes seem to shine at that and she adjusts the grip on the hockey stick, ready to drop the bag and hit him if she needs to. “Let me carry it for you. You can buy me lunch to pay me back.”

She stops and stares at him. “What kind of shit deal is that?”

“One where we both win.”

“Sounds like I lose regardless.” An idea pops into her head and while it might bite her in the ass, it’ll at least entertain her for a bit. “How about this? We have a shoot-out. Whoever scores the most goals in five minutes wins.”

He steps closer. “Yeah? What do I get if I win?”

She tries not to roll her eyes. “You win and I’ll buy you that lunch.”

“And if you win?”

“You stop stalking me and leave me the fuck alone.” 

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “If I win, I want a kiss.”

She can’t stop herself from scrunching up her face at the idea. “A kiss?” She’s never kissed anyone before. She’s always been too busy. 

He laughs. “Yeah, princess. A kiss.”

She’s not sure if it’s confidence or simply the desire to wipe the expression off of his face. “Don’t call me that. And fine. You’re on.”

Hanma is a terrible loser. It’s kind of hilarious to see how frustrated he gets when he misses a shot, as though he can’t imagine being bad at something, but he makes up for it with how he praises every single one of her goals. She’d almost think he wants her to win. It sits sickly sweet in her mouth, making her nauseous. 

When she wins, because of course she does, she’s played hockey since she could balance on skates, she leans on her stick, and stares at him, feeling justifiably smug. “I win. That means you fuck off and leave me alone.”

“Oh it does, does it?”

Her eyes narrow, the tone reminding her of the way her brothers used to trick her. “That was the bet.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees. He darts forward, lips pressing against hers. She reels back and does the one thing her brothers drilled into her. She punches him. When he pulls back laughing, she adjusts her grip and swings, slamming the hockey stick up between his legs. He chokes on his laughter and she pulls back the stick. He doesn’t quite fall to his knees, but he does bend over, trying to breathe through the pain. She uses the angle and changes her grip on the hockey stick until she’s swinging it like a bat into his head. This time he falls. 

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” she snaps. 

His mouth is bloody as he laughs again and she ignores him, picking up her bag and leaving.

🏍️

“Hanagaki!” 

Takara turns automatically at the call of her name before it stuns her. There was no hesitation in acknowledging the name. 

“Hey! Hanagaki, you okay?” 

She blinks, looking up at Draken as he waves his hand in front of her face. “Yeah! Sorry,” she shakes off the feeling that she’s forgetting something and smiles. He’s standing there with his hands in his pocket but he’s not alone. She recognizes Mikey, Mitsuya and Baji standing with him. There are a couple others with them but she’s not sure who they are. She looks back at Draken. “What’s up?”

“Where are you off to?” 

“And what are you wearing?” Baji asks, gaze dropping down. 

She scowls automatically, aware of the insult. “Clothes. Why? Want some shopping tips?”

“Not from you,” he scoffs. “I was almost blinded looking at you.”

“You’re welcome to close your eyes,” she sneers before realizing that some of the others are staring at her in surprise. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I’ve had a shit week.”

“You okay?” Mitsuya asks. 

“Yeah, just had to teach some asshole the meaning of consent.” Their gazes sharpen and she even sees Mikey straighten. 

“Consent?” Draken asks. “Who? What the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

Her chin juts out. “I’m fine. Like I said, I taught him the meaning of consent.” The tension eases at their obvious concern and she’s reminded oddly of facing not only her brothers but her friends as well. Her attitude fades and she shifts in place. “What are you all up to?” 

“Ken-chin was released today,” Mikey says. He smiles as he continues. “We’re going to celebrate. Come with us.” 

“I’m good, thanks.” 

“Come on,” Draken says. “Mikey says to come, you’re coming. Besides, not like I don’t have to thank you for helping us.” 

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know,” his eyes close as he grins. “Doesn’t mean I can’t thank you.” 

“What’s it going to hurt?” Baji adds, throwing an arm over her shoulder. She shoves him off just as fast. 

“Fine.” 

🏍️

She’s squished into a booth between Draken and Mitsuya. Draken has an arm over the back of the booth bench behind her and both of their thighs are pressed against hers. It’s not entirely uncomfortable but Takara is used to being squished between her brothers, especially on road trips. She lost any sense of personal space years ago. 

The boys are rambunctious enough to make the wait staff wary of approaching, at least until Draken tells them to knock it off. The two on each side of her seem to be the more controlled or calming influences of the group, which doesn’t say much for the other side made up of Baji, Mikey and Chifuyu. She was properly introduced to him and Hakkai, who was seated next to Mitsuya but dead silent any time she said something, once she agreed to join them. 

“What do you want?” 

Takara muses over the menu but nothing seems appealing or familiar. “It doesn’t matter. Get me whatever. Maybe something with meat.” She can use the protein. 

As soon as they order her curry, she regrets it. 

Takara has never really been a fan of curry or spicy food in general. She blames her ancestors…and the fact that her parents weren’t that big on expanding their culinary horizons when she was a kid. She never put much thought into it if she’s honest, aside from the way her teammates would laugh when they watch her attempt spicy food. Now she’s not looking forward to getting this dish…and having to force herself to eat some of it. She did tell them to get her anything. She wasn’t really thinking about the possibilities. 

“So tell us about yourself.”

“Hmm?” She looks up, drawn out of her thoughts, as she realizes that Draken, Mitsuya and Mikey are staring at her. “What do you want to know?”

“Where’d you learn to skate?”

“Where does anyone?” She asks, reaching over to take a sip of her drink. “The rink.”

“Where do you go to school?”

She answers without thinking and is surprised to see them all staring at her in shock. Even the others on the edge. “What?”

“You’re in high school?”

She frowns, confused at the reaction. “Aren’t you?” 

It turns out, they’re not. Most of them are in their last year of middle school and while some are starting to stress about the entrance exams, others aren’t. It doesn’t really make sense to her because while she’s sixteen, she’s born in the same year that Mikey, Draken and Mitsuya are. She just had the advantage, or disadvantage depending on who you asked, to be born in January when the school term starts in April. 

“You’re so small,” Draken says. “I can’t believe you’re older than us.” 

“I will kick your ass,” she points at him. “Don’t fucking test me.”

“Can you reach?” he teases. Her eyes narrow but she’s drawn away from responding by the arrival of the food. She looks at the dishes, wondering which one is hers and mentally trying to figure out how she’s going to get out of this. 

Until it’s placed in front of her. 

 It smells delicious. If anyone notices her hesitance, they don’t comment on it. Instead they talk over her and Takara is left to try it on her own. 

This isn’t curry. It can’t be because Takara has tried curry before and not enjoyed it. This? This is fantastic. 

“Hey…hey, Takara, you alright?” She looks up at the sound of her name. Mikey is staring at her, confused. “You’re crying.” 

She reaches up, touching her cheek. He’s right. She’s crying and the moment she realizes, she starts crying harder. She vaguely hears the boys around her start to panic, but she ignores it. Something is wrong. It’s wrong because she’s not herself and she shouldn’t like this and nothing is right. 

Someone’s arm wraps around her shoulders and she finds herself being pulled into a chest. A hand rubs her back and she hears him whisper “Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” It’s strangely comforting, as though they’ve done it a million times. In the back of her mind, she hears Draken telling everyone to be quiet. 

When she finally feels like she can breathe, when the tears stop falling and she calms down, she pulls away. 

Mitsuya smiles softly and lets her go. “You alright?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m used to girls crying on me. I have two little sisters. They come to me for every scrape.”

She snorts at the imagery of the big bad biker being bombarded by little girls crying. “Still, thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“What was wrong?” 

“Was the food that bad?” Mikey asked, looking completely serious. It’s enough to make her laugh. The tension eases at the sound of it and while the others still keep looking at her, 

“No, I just…” She goes to slip into the well-worn excuse she knows will make them stop asking, but Draken seems to catch on before she even can. 

“You don’t have to say,” he tells her. “None of our business.” She’s not sure if he’s being polite and giving her an out, or he just doesn’t want to hear it. Either way, it saves her an excuse. 

“Hey Takara! Let me tell you about the time…” One of the boys calls out, telling a story about their friend and the last mess they got in. The boys start teasing him and he tries to explain what really happened. It’s enough to distract her from nearly throwing up when she tries to eat again. The fact that it tastes good sits uneasily in her stomach. She pushes it away, deciding not to force herself and one of the boys takes it to test and ends up eating the rest of it.  

By the time they all leave, her crying is unmentioned and the cause of it slips through her fingers. She doesn’t recall what exactly was wrong. 

🏍️

Something breaks. She’s not sure if it was the dinner or Draken getting out of the hospital or the knowledge of her fighting to teach someone consent, but she suddenly finds herself constantly in someone’s company. It’s exhausting and some days she refuses to leave her house, just to ensure they can’t bother her. Not that it’s ever stopped Mikey or Draken from just walking in. 

She’s buried in blankets and half asleep when Takemichi comes barrelling into her room. 

“Takara!”

She lifts the blankets down just enough to see him before he runs towards her and hugs her tightly. “Get off! What the fuck Takemichi?”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He pulls back but stays seated on the edge of her bed. “I just got back. Well, not right now, maybe an hour or two ago? I was in the public baths with Mikey and Draken and then there was this meeting. It’s just…so good to see you.”

That gets her attention. She sits up and faces him. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you told me to pass on a message!” 

“What?” That…sounded like something she’d do if she knew she could communicate with her past self. Watch out on her left in that last game, don’t eat the shellfish at the going away party… “What did I say?”

“You told me to tell you everything.” And he does.

It’s enough to drive her out of bed and put on her skates. She thinks best when she’s moving. 

Takara skates down the dark and empty streets, her mind running over the new things she’s learned. Takemichi tells her everything about the future including Draken being in jail because of Kisaki and Toman still being led by Mikey and Kisaki. He told her about Hinata dying in the manner she did and his promise to take over Toman to make sure it changes. The only thing he hesitated on was her future. He told her she’s alive and still involved in the gang even when he wasn’t. She told him she swore to keep him alive so he can keep his promise. 

He didn’t tell her everything. She knows because her brother is a terrible liar. He always has been. At least, she’s always known when her brothers were lying to her. They couldn’t– 

She forces her thoughts back on track. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the point her future self made. Why was Kisaki so focused on Hinata and Takemichi? Far as either of them knew, neither of them even knew Kisaki. At least…Takemichi didn’t. Until now. 

There’s only one thing to do. She needs to talk to Hinata. 

🏍️

It’s only when she’s outside the girl’s apartment building that she realizes how late it is. It’s not like she can throw rocks at her window to get her attention. She stands there, staring at the building before it occurs how creepy she looks and she goes to sit down on a ledge so she can figure out what to do. 

She calls Takemichi, but her brother must be knocked out because he’s not answering. Muttering how useless he is under her breath, she searches her contacts for another answer. She doesn’t have Hina or even Emma, but she does have a bunch of the boys who have been following her around. Baji and Mitsuya are out. Neither of them are likely to have Hina’s number. The only one she can think of might be Emma and the only way she’s going to get her number is through her brother. 

Takara is already tired, but if she’s going to help Takemichi, she needs the info. She’s going to have to call Mikey and deal with the fact that she’s been avoiding them. She half hopes he’s asleep so she doesn’t have to listen to him whine, or that Emma’s right next to him. Still, she presses his contact and waits. 

“Yeah?”

“Mikey, it’s Takara.”

“Who? Do we have a friend named Takara?” she hears him ask someone on his side. “Think we remember one…” 

“Okay okay,” she calls out. “I’m sorry!”

“Hmm..”

“Oh my god,” she mutters to herself. “Will it help if I promise not to avoid you guys anymore?”

“Takara! I remember now!” 

“Of course you do. Look, can I have Emma’s number?” 

“Emma? What do you want with Emma?”

“I’m outside Hina’s place because I wanted to talk to her, but it’s late so I can’t go to the door and don’t have her number.” 

There’s a moment of silence before he finally responds. “Takara, do you know what time it is?”

“I’m aware, Mikey. Can I have her number? Please?” 

“Stay there.” He hangs up on her. 

“What the fuck,” she stares at the phone for a moment. Not only does she get pounced on by a time-travelling brother, but she’s pulled out of her bed because she can’t think sitting still and now she’s getting hung up on. Mentally cursing everyone who’s ever been a problem for her, including whatever higher powers dropped her into this role, Takara sits and waits. 

She considers practising learning to grind on the edge of the ledge, but considering it’s dark and she’s more than likely going to wipe out, she refrains. She doesn’t want to wake anyone up at this hour. So she sits, fiddling with her laces and using the time to double-check the wheels on her blades. 

Not even ten minutes pass when she hears the sound of a motorcycle. Takara looks up at the noise and sighs. Mikey parks the motorcycle before striding towards her. Somehow, he manages to look confident and bored all at once, as though she’s dragged him from his bed to come rescue her. 

She skates over to him, meeting him halfway. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be here alone, Takara.” 

There’s something about the way he says it. He doesn’t sound like the irritated, teasing boy she knows. He sounds like Takemichi describes him when he talks about their gang meetings. 

“You didn’t have to come, Mikey. I just needed a number.” It was unusual to see him alone. She half expected Draken to appear, irritated at Mikey leaving him behind. No one comes though. 

“You can have it, but I can’t let Takemitchy’s sister be out here alone. Where is your brother?”

“Asleep?” Takara shrugs. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“Come. Ride with me.”

“I’m busy,” Takara says, looking at him dryly. “Are you going to give me Emma’s number or not?”

“You’re not contacting Hina now. She’s asleep. Emma’s asleep. Get on my bike. I’ll give you the number and you can deal with this tomorrow. When they’re awake.”

She skates side to side, considering his words. “Give me the number and I’ll go home.” 

He stares at her for a long minute. “After.” There’s something in his eyes that warns her not to argue. It’s a rare look on him, at least that she’s seen so far. 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m wearing my blades. It’s not easy to ride with them on.”

He shrugs, “Take them off.” 

“And only wear socks on your bike?” She rolls her eyes when he just stares at her. “Fuck, fine.” He grabs her wrist and pulls her back towards his motorcycle. She lets him drag her, moving her feet only when necessary to fix her footing to make sure she doesn’t trip. She sits on his bike, leaning down and unlacing her rollerblades. She nearly topples both her and the bike over as she’s pulling one of them off. Mikey grabs the bike, keeping it steady.

Takara ties the laces together and tries not to wince as her feet quickly get cold. She hangs the rollerblades around the back of her neck, letting them rest just under her arms. It’s not going to be comfortable, but since Mikey has basically demanded she comply, he could deal with them digging into his back for all she cared. 

Mikey drives like a maniac. She thought Baji was bad in his race to make sure his friend was okay, but there’s no reason for Mikey to be speeding the way he is and weaving between cars. She’s tempted to let go, to see if she can hold herself up with her legs and just feel the wind blow past her. She almost feels free like this, like she’s not pretending to be someone else. She can forget that she’s not meant to be here. 

When he finally slows and pulls up by her house, she lets go. She sits there for a moment, trying to decide if the best choice is to just run for it in her bare socks or untie her blades and shove her feet back in. Mikey doesn’t move. 

“You gonna give me Emma’s number or what?” 

“Why do you have to talk to Hinata so bad?” He turns slightly to see her. 

“Girl stuff,” she says. It’s not like she can tell him she’s trying to stop a future where her brother keeps almost getting killed. 

He pulls out his phone and after a moment, she feels hers buzz in her pocket. “I texted it,” he says. “Don’t do this again, okay, Kara-chan?”

“Don’t call me that,” she glares at him before making her decision. “Thanks for the ride!” She awkwardly hops off the bike before running to her house, silently praying that her parents are fast asleep and none the wiser to her excursion. 

She hears Mikey drive off once she’s actually in her house and Takara does her best to silently put down her blades and creep to her bedroom. She doesn’t know why Mikey came to drive her home, or why he was so insistent about it. Especially since she has been avoiding them since she cried in front of all of them. Thankfully, no one’s told Takemichi about it, or if they have, it was the old one…not hers. She falls back on her bed and pulls out her phone, adding Emma’s number to her contacts. Whatever. She’ll deal with it later. She has more important things to worry about. 

🏍️

“Kisaki Tetta?” Hinata blinks in surprise, taking a sip of her drink. “Yeah, I know him.” 

Takara perks up and tries to squash the excitement she feels in possibly getting this figured out. “Oh yeah?” 

“We were in cram school together,” Hinata says. “Haven't seen him this year but he’s always been really smart. He was doing math equations that were far ahead of what we were taught.” 

That…fits with the little Takara knows of the future and the way Takemichi has yet to avoid his own fate or Hina’s. He would have to be intelligent to be able to plan the things Takemichi heard from Draken and even herself in the future. It makes this more dangerous. Takara isn’t intelligent in the same way, but she knows how to create a strategy based on the way people play, she knows how to use what she has to gain the advantage. It’s not the same as planning a play in hockey, but she’ll figure it out. She has to. 

“He doesn’t attend cram school anymore?” she asks, fidgeting with the straw of her cup.

“No,” Hinata answers. “Why do you ask? Did you meet him?” 

“Not that I know of,” Takara answers honestly. “Takemichi told me he joined Toman, that he’s a new captain.”

“So why did you ask me about him?”

Takara shrugs, leaning into the nonchalance she used to use on her brothers whenever she wanted something. “I figured I’d ask everyone I know. Someone was bound to know something. Besides, I want to know who my brother is around. Toman is alright, but you never know what might slip through the cracks.” 

“Where is Takemichi?” Hinata asks, sounding sweet. “I haven’t seen him all day.” 

Takemichi is on some sort of quest to drag Baji back to Toman. That also doesn’t make sense to Takara because she’s been around Baji and the others. They got along like a well-oiled machine, like a team that has spent days practicing together. His leaving with no explanation except that he doesn’t want to be involved anymore doesn’t make sense. It makes her regret avoiding them because clearly, she missed something important. 

“Who knows,” she says. “Probably doing something stupid with his friends.” 

Hinata giggles at that. “We’ve never really talked before,” she said. “I was a little nervous when you texted me.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re a little scary.”

Takara stares at the younger girl. “What? Really?”

Hinata smiles. “You’re really cool, especially with your skating, but you always seemed…alone. I’m glad I’m getting to know you.” 

Well, that sounds depressing. Takara isn’t sure how to take that, she’s never really been alone her entire life. She’s always been busy with her teams or her family. Now though all she really has is Takemichi and when he’s not his future self, he’s gone most of the time. 

“Me too,” she finally says, smiling back. “So…you and Kisaki are just friends?” 

Hinata looks a little surprised by the way Takara brings the conversation right back to where they started. “Yeah, we were just friends. I admired him though, he was so smart. He always seemed so shy.”

Between what she knows about him from her brother, and the way Hinata remembers him, triggers something in her memory. Takara thinks back to her brothers and the way one of their friends hung around. He was a strange one and lingered around her the way she knew he shouldn’t. She had only told her brother when he said something he shouldn’t have. Her brothers came home with bloodied fists and she never saw him again. “Do you think he ever had a crush on you?” 

“What?” Hinata laughs. “No! We were friends!” 

“Okay,” Takara says, forcing herself to laugh. She doesn’t believe it. No one murders someone repeatedly if they are just friends. At least not on his side. For a moment it occurs to her just how strange the situation is. What is her life coming to? 

“Takara?” 

She blinks back in focus, smiling at Hinata. “Sorry. It was a long night.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me, Hinata. I’ll be fine.”

🏍️

It’s by complete accident that she runs into Baji. 

She’s skating down the street, ignoring the glares some people send her way when she nearly crashes him as he exits a store. 

“Woah!” He catches her before she falls when she tries to dodge out of the way to keep herself from injuring him. He lets go as soon as she’s standing. “Takara?”

“Oh, hey Baji,” She glances around but there’s no one else around. “How’s it going?” She shifts her feet back and forth, keeping herself standing. 

He frowns slightly but it looks a little forced. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“I’m not part of Toman anymore. Why are you talking to me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” she snaps back automatically. “I’m not part of Toman, what the fuck do I care if you are or not.”

“Really?” he grins. “Because your brother has been demanding I return.”

“I don’t control him,” she says with a shrug. 

“So you’re not going to try to convince me to go back?” he looks like he doesn’t believe her. 

“No offence, but I have better things to do with my time.” That’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “You must have your reasons for changing teams. People usually do.” 

He looks like he doesn’t quite believe her. “You don’t care?”

“Should I?” 

“That’s her, Officer!” 

Takara looks to the side, seeing an older woman pointing towards her. The police officer standing next to her is staring towards Takara.  “Shit.” She’s been told that skating in public places is a disturbance but she’s ignored it. She can’t get in trouble if they can’t catch her. 

Baji grins at her, sharp and wide. His concern seems forgotten as he grabs her hand and pulls her as he takes off. She hears someone yell for them to stop but she lets him drag her. He knows the area better than she does, even with all her wandering. 

By the time they stop, they’re both laughing hysterically. They managed to ditch the cop but didn’t pause until the trail of people yelling after them faded and they were left alone in an alleyway off of a park. 

Once they stopped, Baji was leaning against a wall and Takara moved back and forth in place. 

“Thanks,” she says once they catch their breath. 

“Nah,” he tilts his head back and rests it against the stone. “Thank you. Been a while since I laughed like that.” 

“That’s sad.” She says it without thinking. 

“Ha!” he nods. “Yeah, it is.” He falls silent and Takara is content to wait. She’s not about to dive back into public this soon after being chased by the police. They’re likely still looking for her. “I don’t regret my choice.”

“Huh? What choice?”

“To leave Toman.” He looks over at her. “It’s for the best.”

“Okay?” Takara shrugs. She’s not here to judge him or demand he return. That’s apparently Takemichi’s job. She makes a mental note to go talk to her brother and figure out what his plan is. She was half asleep and focused on the fact that she’s still here in the future that she may have tuned him out a little…she doesn’t remember hearing about any plans except that he was going to get Baji back. 

He looks at her carefully and she lets the silence fall as he seems to weigh his options. She takes the chance to practice skating on one foot, keeping her core tight and her balance steady. 

“I’m trying to save them.”

Takara looks up, suddenly interested. “Save who?”

“My friends. All of them. I’m doing this for a reason. I have a plan.”

“Is it a good one?” she can’t help but ask.

“It’ll work,” he nods, mostly to himself. 

“That’s not what I asked,” she says, taking note of the way he’s not answering. He doesn’t respond and Takara doesn’t push. Her brother used to be the same way. Always had to do his own thing and never wanted an opinion until it blew up in his face. Not…Takemichi. Her other one. One of them. 

She stops moving. She knows their names. She does. They were some of her first words but they’re not…they’re not coming to her. It’s like they’re on the tip of her tongue but she can’t seem to grasp it. 

“-kara?” Baji steps toward her, drawn out of his planned monologue. “Hey. You okay?” It’s not the first time he’s seen her drift off in thought, face paling as tears build in her eyes. 

Her gaze snaps to him as the weight drops in her stomach at the realization that she can’t remember her brothers’ names. “I have to go.” 

She bolts. Baji runs after her, yelling for her to stop, but Takara is on wheels and moves like she was born on them. She speeds up, weaving around people with skill she doesn’t often show as she succumbs to the desire to run. 

Something is wrong. It’s so fucking wrong that she can barely breathe from the weight on her chest and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She runs over all the names she knows, ones that fit her old life and the person she used to be, but nothing feels like it fits. None of them sound right coming from her lips and she falls to her knees, barely aware of the way her landing scrapes open the skin. She bleeds, on the pavement and in her soul. 

Takara doesn’t belong here and every moment is a reminder…except that things keep escaping her. Nothing is as bad as this. Her brothers taught her to skate, they terrorized her and cheered her on and the three of them ran circles around their parents. They are a part of her, down to the DNA they share….

She throws up, heaving the remains of her lunch as her body feels like it’s collapsing inward. She doesn’t share their DNA anymore. She’s not herself. Takara is stuck in a body that shouldn’t exist and playing a role that was cut out just for her. She doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know what happened or if there’s a reason…but she’s losing herself. She’s losing everything. 

She only moves when she hears someone shout at her and threaten to call the police. It’s automatic. Takara is only half aware of where she’s going, numb to the world as she goes through the motions to go home. She wants to go to bed. She wants to crawl in and never come out until everything returns to normal. Until she’s back where she belongs. 

There’s no car in the driveway and she silently prays that no one is home so she doesn’t have to explain why she feels like shit. She takes off her rollerblades outside the door and creeps in. She makes it as far as the living room doorway before her name is called out. Takara turns at Takemichi’s voice and stops at the sight of the stranger in her home. The boy next to Takemichi is bleach blond and covered in bandages. He looks like he had the shit beat out of him. 

Her mouth opens before she can stop herself. “What the fuck happened to you?”

The grief at the loss of a name slips to the back of her mind, forgotten as her brother introduces her to his new friend, Chifuyu. 

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[theonlyendersgamefan]

I hate that it takes 4 books for the bean saga to go from “guys it’s he’s just like ender I promise. Remember ender? You liked him right? He’s just like ender” to genuinely good Weel written political thriller.

Orson Scott card developed this chronic illness sometime in the early 1990s which rendered him unable to write more than one compelling story line in a book at a time. There were experimental treatments done while he was writting shadow of the giant but they had to stop due to finding issues. His books weren’t selling very well.

Best example of this is actually outside of the bean saga entirely. Children of the mind, universally considered to be the worst of the original quartet and I would argue that it’s one of his weakest books of all time. Children of the mind actually has several compelling premises. 4 to be exact. Way to many for any to be well developed enough as to be compelling. You have Jane trying to find a new body, and peter and wang-wu planet hoping to influence government, and ender trying to get back with novinha, and everyone else trying to find thé descoladorians.

Only the intergalactic odyssey feels like it was given any real care. The other story lines feel thrown together like they exist purely to finish up the series and put a bow on top and say “here publishing house I did the thing” which ofcourse, is the case. In the post script of the children of the mind audiobook there is an extra from orson Scott card, he says that xenocide and children of the mind were originally going to be one book but it ended up being too long. He offered his publishers to make it into two books and the publishing house seeing an opportunity to sell twice Samantha books, readily agreed. Now this is immediately visible in the actual book. For one children of the mind does not have a large time skip like the other two sequels do. The story takes place immediately after the end of the xenocide. For another thing, after a certain point about half way through the book you notice and realize that this is the end of the series, even if you haven’t already known, and your think to yourself “why is this still going on”. And the answer is because Scott card hasint bothered making this one story. He thought “what haven’t I wrapped up” and tossed it all together.

I liked all the “moments” in children of the mind. I don’t think there are any chapters you can point to and say “this was poorly written”. I cried at some parts there was no lack of passion and emotion in the moments problem is there’s no narrative for the moments to hang on to and so unlike Enders game and speaker for the dead and yes to some extent xenocide the moments don’t blend together to form a story but rather the story has to hold the moments up to cover all of its holes.

What was a talking about? Oh right SHADOW OF THE GIANT IS SO PEAK. The bean saga had the same issues children of the mind had. Yes, bean growing up and his experience with battle school is an interesting idea but so much of the book left me thinking “so what?” Too much of it exists purely to retroactively justify beans position in Enders game. Then the next two books consist of the characters just doing incredible things without any explanation. Peter keeps talking about “his contacts” and graffs resources are seemingly endless unless of course it deals with anything plot related in which case “minister of colonization” is an empty title.

I would much rather read the bean saga from Achilles or alai or hot soups perspective. Why? Because orson Scott car abuses the fact that they are not POV characters to totally disregard any semblance of plausibility. Sure s story of a bunch of child geniuses ruling the world won’t be realistic but Jesus he just pulls whatever to get Achilles out of trouble until suddenly he’s stupid enough to trust one guy, who has known been ten times longer than he has know Achilles, to actually be loyal. Achilles de flandre, the most paranoid boy on planet earth, shot dead because he invited bean to come in with a gun. I would pay good money for a book on Achilles but it would have the same issues as Enders shadow there’d be to much shifting as Orson Scott card tries to fit Achilles where he is supposed to be in Enders shadow. But still it would be worth it just to hear his internal monologue, we really only get 4-5 moments where Achilles is interacting with Petra and I need to know what he was thinking every time. Why did he bring her to the India Pakistan meeting? Why open the plane door? Ajirodndej

This problem goes away entirely in shadow of the giant even a bit before. In shadow puppets we actually get important internal monologue from a character which is not bean or Petra. It’s hot soup, navigating Chinese bureaucracy. It’s boring and clever and I love it. It’s the kind of stuff you saw in Enders game small but totally reasonable conclusion based on real relevant information that existed before this very moment. In the actual book shadow of the giant, we see that alai hadn’t actually maneuvered his way into ruling the entire Islamic world, he was being used as a figure head, presumably by one of the high rankers who had formed the original caliphate. We are shown that the Islamic countries had a loose alliance and that alai, when brought back from Russia, was a mediator between these countries, eventually his prestige as one of Enders gishe and also having proved his unbiasedness, was pronounced caliph. This back tracks on the vague insinuation that alai had done what Peter did but just in a couple of years. We also get to see the bridge goddess thing with virlomi play out and the people that hot soup rule over as emperor act differently than the people that virlomi rules over as goddess of India and they act differently than the people alai rules over as caliph. The fact that we get to seem more of other people help’s this book out so much. We get a wider view of the world and so it doesn’t feel out of nowhere when they world Changes. It feels like an intelligent move made by competent people and not characters who exist purely to get the last page as quickly as possible. It’s genuinely like a different person wrote this book. Or like orson Scott card sent the bean saga back in time 2 decades and let his 40yo self write it.

[midnightmah07]

alright first ending already done hehe (inspired a bit in dangerously yours, you will noticed by the tiktok audio)

Tugging her own shirt by her hand, her body tells her to stay, her brain has so many thoughts yet feel empty.

As her eyes scanned the spiral portal in the round mirror frame.

Daisy just stayed there, seconds felt like eternity, a cruel idea of a long fate. If she leaves, she betrays herself, if she doesn’t she betrays her origins…

Oh, why did a simple choice of stay and go, is so hard? Except that… It isn’t. Her heart and brain tell her the same thing. Why herself is telling something different?

Daisy eyes look to the floor, and then to Crowley. Who simply smiles.

“It’s okay.”

It is thought? Are they thinking the same thing? Daisy looks to everyone, tears in her eyes.

“I am sorry.” Daisy says, and Ruggie hearts shattered to the floor.

“But, I can’t just go.” She continues, Crowley giving am approval nod. “I will stay.”

There was a silence. A good one, of everyone one who came there brighten up. Grim was the first to throw his little paws around Daisy’s neck.

“Don’t scare me like that again!” He says between the sobs. Clinging into her, she hugs Grim back in relief with a happy cry leaving her.

Damn, she looks so pretty when she cries.

The next to approach or better, run to Daisy is Ace and Deuce, for one they wouldn’t fight for any attention. They are just happy she will stay. She puts Grim on the floor, who embraced her leg like his life was on it. hugging Ace and Deuce one at a time.

She feels a shadow atop of them. She nervously turns to see Leona, his big hand on her head caressing gently.

“You’re an idiot herbivore, you can’t just simply make difficult choices.”

He tells her. “I am happy you care, Leona.” Daisy smiles.

Which Leona, instead of rolling his eyes unamused, smirks and cross his arms. “Yeah, I do.”

Soft Leona, ladies, gentlemen and noble non-binary folks get your cameras.

And you might wonder? Where is he?

And I tell you, Ruggie is watching everything. She will stay? As for real, or just out of pity.

Everyone steps away from Daisy (except grim, he was forced to do so), so, Daisy and Ruggie could see better than just words.

If this wasn’t supposed to be a forever “would you still love me if…?” than I don’t what is. She stayed for everyone, but, him? She wants to be here for him.

He gets closer to her, his hand caressing her cheek, just checking if she is real and not someone she met upon a dream.

He nervously chuckles as she does as well not expecting, Ruggie to take her in his arms hug her tightly and twirl her around.

This feels so alive. Putting her down, she kept hugging him with no intentions of letting her go.

“Is better if we go.”

Crowley tells everyone, as they all nods.

“What?! No! Bros before hoes-“ Grim phrase was cut off by Riddle grabbing him away like everyone else was doing.

Which the silence feels, the voice spoke up.

“You may not belong here,” The mirror says. “But, you are meant to stay.”

He closes the portal, as happily Ruggie looks back at Daisy. Who didn’t had an clear expression… Was she sad?!

“Daisy— What’s wrong? You didn’t want to stay?”

“No, not that.” She grabs Ruggie’s collar bringing him closer to her. Kissing him gently as ever. “That.”

So, this is love? The key to all heaven is hers, she’ll touch every star in the sky. So, this is the miracle that she’ve been dreaming of?

And for the future may be unwritten, the story is not finished. But, her fate is crystal clear.

(Sorry it’s was longer than I expected to be :,))

WELL 👏🏻GOOD 👏🏻FREAKING 👏🏻MORNING 👏🏻 TO 👏🏻ME

I'M CRYING ALSO I CAUGHT THE "SO THIS IS LOVE" REFERENCE I SAW IT‼️‼️ THAT'S ADORABLE 😭😭

I'm so happy this is the first thing I read today, little Grimmy doing everything he can to stay near Daisy is so freaking real my baby will NOT back away he found her first than Ruggie!! /hj

Ok but like,,, her pulling his collar like that,,😩😩 SOBS THEY'RE EVERYTHING TO ME. EVERYTHINGGGG

ALSO I love that you included Leona there as well, MY MAN CARES‼️💙🥺

This is so cute, I love it sm😭💙

[sixhours]

Helianthus

Rating: Teen Word count: 3.6k

Notes: Mulder's favorite snack from Scully's point of view; three vignettes.

Originally posted at ao3 09/29/2014

She sighs, sitting back to survey the stained wood before her. It's insult and injury that her sister's body is barely cold in the ground, and she's on her hands and knees cleaning the mess the crime scene crew left behind.

In fairness, both Mulder and her mother offered to help, but she'd turned them down. She can't face her mother's grief, or Mulder's guilt.

But it's not going to come out.

The stain is too deep; the floor is a dull burnt umber where she's scrubbed at it with the wire brush, the warm oak finish all but stripped, leaving an ugly three-foot by three-foot permanent reminder of Melissa's death.

There goes the security deposit.

The landlord will be pissed. She'll have to put down carpet. She wipes at her eyes, the tears appearing and disappearing just as quickly, a leaky faucet broken by a careless tenant.

Damn you, Missy.

The wall is cool and firm against her back, grounding her, and she tosses the brush into the bucket. Gray-brown water splashes onto the unfinished surface, but what does she care? The wood's already ruined.

She groans, stretching, and watches as the late afternoon light draws long shadows across the hand-me-down coffee table, the chintz sofa, the pine cabinet in the corner. The first apartment that felt like a home, the first place she didn't share with roommates or lovers, a place that was solely her own, its familiarity and security tarnished.

This will always be the place where she died.

Her fingers press themselves to her lips to stifle a whimper as the weight of dusk settles beneath her skin.

She remembers when she was twelve, and Melissa was fourteen, the two of them camped in the backyard. They'd roll out sleeping bags on the hard, government-subsidized dirt and watch fireflies flickering through the tent's mesh window, the air fragrant and warm with the scent of lilacs.

Melissa loathed the bugs, the way the humidity teased her hair to frizz, but Dana could persuade her older sister to do almost anything to hide from the boys. Bill was bossy, and Charlie was a goof; the sisters had to stick together.

Away from their mother's prying eyes, Melissa would roll Dana's hair in rag strips, rub tinted powders into her eyelids until they were raw, and paint her blunt, boyish fingernails a lurid shade of red that seemed to bleed under the glow of the flashlights.

"For Christ's sake, would you smile, Dana?" she'd say when they were done, as Scully winced and glared through a half-pound of strange-smelling potions and creams, meant to make her beautiful. "A smile brings it all together."

Scully tips her head back against the wall and closes her eyes at the rush of memory. Her hand absently traces the grain of the ground beneath her, solid as it is stained. She'd sat at Melissa's bedside as the last of her life faded, and all Scully could think at the time was how her sister would have hated being the center of such sadness.

It was supposed to be me.

Mulder had offered to drive her home from the hospital, but she'd declined, too frayed, vulnerable, transparent in her grief. The sling on his arm, the telltale rasp in his voice, reminds her that she could have been mourning two deaths—a close call, small graces. She could no more lose him than a sister, but this makes his presence that much more unnerving.

There was a time when she'd considered introducing them. Melissa would have appreciated Mulder's quirkiness, his far-out theories, his rare and unexpected charm. She would have laughed at all the right moments, been coy and sweet, everything her baby sister was not.

And Mulder would have appreciated her sister's…well, she doesn't know, exactly, but if Phoebe Green was any indication, he liked his women tall, leggy, and a touch psychotic. Two out of three ain't bad.

But she hadn't gone through with it, and now Melissa was dead. A big fat moot point.

More tears. She reaches for a rag, intending to wipe her nose, but her hand finds something peculiar instead.

Oh.

The fragment is hard, rough at her fingertips, smaller than a button or a penny. She squints, bringing the black, cold, oblong disc to her face, but it's grown too dark to see.

Her thoughts go to bugs, implants, tracking devices, computer chips, bright-white lights, and cigarette smoke—the strange places with which her partner is intimately familiar. Her late sister would not recognize the Dana who struggles to her feet, weak-kneed, bringing the fragment into the light with her heart in her throat.

Just a seed. A shell.

The laugh bubbles up from nowhere, threatening at the back of her tongue; the sound that escapes her is startling and strange until she stops trying to hold it back.

She laughs at herself, her errant paranoia, her deep relief. She laughs because she doesn't know what else to do.

She laughs, because her sister would want her to smile.

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

It's late by the time she leaves the office.

Even Mulder went home an hour ago, but not before standing in the doorway with a curious look on his face, a look she'd pointedly ignored even though she could see it out of the corner of her eye, could practically feel it radiating off him like fever heat. She'd finally met his gaze with her own—ice blue, no words necessary.

"G'night, Scully," he'd sighed, and there was no mistaking his disappointment.

She's outlasted him, staying late every night this week, until the papers on her desk are little but a blur of scratched ivory on oak. She hasn't slept well since the Padgett case, and Mulder's persistent hovering hasn't helped.

She doesn't know if she lingers to avoid him, or to spite him.

It's not until she's left the Hoover building behind, breathing in the stale, humid air of the parking garage, that she realizes she was supposed to go to the store during the lunch break that never happened—instead, she'd stabbed at her wilting salad and argued with her partner over the presence of plasma-slash-mucous found on the body of an unlucky young woman in the North Carolina wilds.

Her theory prevailed, for once, but now she's heading home to an empty fridge. Again.

She'll swing by the corner store to pick up the essentials, she decides—milk, coffee filters, tampons, all scrawled on a ripped Post-It note stuffed hastily into her jacket pocket as she flew out the door this morning.

The checkout lane is lined with easy temptations, and she picks up a Snickers. Pathetic excuse for a meal, her inner MD admonishes, but she hasn't eaten since noon; she can make a case for the protein in the peanuts.

She plunks down the groceries and removes her wallet from her jacket pocket, bringing with it a scattering of hollowed-out sunflower shells. They rattle over the belt, earning a pointed eyebrow from the cashier.

"Sorry," she mutters, using the back of her hand to wipe the husks away, wondering if Mulder was aiming for her when he was spitting the damned things every which way, or if he dropped them in her pocket after the fact. He's snuck into every corner of her life over the last six years; whether by accident or not, she supposes it doesn't matter.

She's carrying the groceries to the car when her mind conjures an unwelcome thought, born of exhaustion and untended wounds.

I wonder if Diana found them in her pockets, too.

The thought nags her as she takes the Georgetown exit. Things had been better lately, so the sudden wash of petty irritation is raw, too human to acknowledge. She ignores the twist of jealousy in her stomach, ignores it all the way home.

He's waiting outside her building when she pulls up to the curb, holding up a sheaf of folders in greeting.

"Hey. Thought I'd drop these off."

"Mulder, it's late," she frowns, juggling the groceries, her purse, and her briefcase as she digs into her pocket for the keys. He leans against the wall, watching, doesn't offer to help.

"Nice to see you, too. Figured you'd be up, anyway."

He's hovering again, distracting as she tries to wiggle the stubborn key into the lock. His sense of personal space has always been calibrated to socially inappropriate.

"Come in," she says through gritted teeth, hoping her irritation conveys, but he's looking at the files now and doesn't seem to notice. Her dinner is melting at her hip, a chocolate mess in her pocket.

She flicks on the light to find her apartment clean, tidy, just as she left it. It's easy to be fastidious, never home long enough to leave an imprint. So still, one might call it sterile; a fitting metaphor on a number of levels.

Perhaps she's just a figment of some lovestruck writer's overactive imagination after all.

"So what do you have?" she sighs, brushing off the thought, moving to the counter to divest her briefcase and the paper bag. Her stomach growls, but she won't give Mulder the satisfaction of teasing her about her less-than-nutritious meal substitute.

"Just some light weekend reading," he says drily, dropping two inches of paperwork on her coffee table. "Research. I think you may be onto something with your bioluminescent mucus theory, but I maintain it's unlike any other kind of organism we've encountered so far, and we should—"

She grips the edge of the counter hard, letting his words roll over her and away. "It couldn't wait until Monday?"

He shrugs, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice is too pleasant, saccharine. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had plans."

Her nostrils flare, she lets out a single, calculated breath as she puts the milk away. The cold air from the fridge draws gooseflesh along her arms. "I'll look at it tomorrow."

A pause as he clears his throat. "Sorry if it's not as entertaining as your recent non-fiction habit," he smirks, and she turns, color rising in her cheeks. The skin of her sternum may not have been broken under the Stranger's hands, but her ribs and her pride are still bruised.

I think you know me better than that, Mulder.

Mmm. Well, you might want to finish it.

She wipes her damp, shaking hands on a towel and faces him squarely. "What are you implying?"

He closes his eyes, rubs his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly contrite. "Nothing. Never mind."

"No. Tell me."

He opens his mouth, closes it again, reaches into his pocket. The crack of the shell between his teeth is unmistakable, reminding her of the mess at the grocery store, her persistent, untoward thoughts…

You hesitated, Mulder. I told you the truth, and you hesitated. Maybe you don't know me as well as I thought.

The idea is so disturbing, his insinuation so infuriating, that the words fall off her lips before she can stop them. "How's Agent Fowley?"

"What does that—"

"Did you fuck her?"

He blinks, slowly, as if waking from a dream, as if he can't reconcile the sentiment coming from his partner's pristine mouth. "Excuse me?"

"Diana," she says, this time more slowly, relishing the way his payback feels on her tongue. "Did you fuck her?"

"I don't—"

"Since you're so interested in my extracurricular activities, it seemed like a fair question."

He bites his lip, still staring. "I…don't see how it's any of your business."

"She could compromise the division…everything we've worked for."

"It won't," he fumbles, then corrects with emphasis, "She won't."

Cornered and caught.

She folds her arms across herself, unconsciously protecting the place where her heart is beating too fast, a fluttering moth. "So, you're sleeping with her."

"I…goddammit, Scully, that's not what I said," but his eyes shift and a flush creeps into his cheeks, a petulant child caught playing with someone else's toy.

She lowers her eyes, measuring her gaze with surgical precision.

Don't lie to me.

He stares as if he doesn't recognize her. Past the heady thrill of asking the forbidden question, she wonders if she wants to know the answer.

Too late.

"Fine. I slept with Agent Fowley," he says, "is that better? Again, not that you have any right to the dirty details of my personal life. Consider it a favor, since I know you're still suffering a bad case of writer's block."

"Fuck you," she spits, surprised by her own brevity.

"Past tense. Slept," he continues through gritted teeth. He's in her face, she can feel his breath on her cheek. They've gone too far, pushed too hard, this isn't the time or place—platitudes that do nothing to still the unrelenting tension. She lets her chin drop.

"You should go."

"You know why I did it, Dana?" His voice is low and full of delicious threats, sending an unwanted shiver to places she doesn't want to think about.

She meets his gaze once more, sparkling blue crystal to his muddy green, but she can't keep the tremor from her jaw or the hurt from her voice. "Because she says what you want to hear. She's easy to believe."

He shakes his head. "Because you wouldn't talk to me," he whispers. "Because you're so goddamned stubborn, because you won't admit—"

"Admit what?" she challenges, eyes flashing like heat lightning at the end of the storm.

Say it, then. Say it.

He swallows hard, drops his head, folds.

Agent Scully is already in love.

"Go home, Mulder," she whispers, adding as an afterthought, a quiet apology, "I'll see you on Monday."

He does.

The chocolate tastes delicious.

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

It's a Friday night spent like most Friday nights, now that they've crossed the invisible boundary between friends and lovers. They're making up for seven years' lost time.

Her apartment. There was wine and Vietnamese food and the pretense of work, an untouched pile of documents and photographs spread on her coffee table.

She'd been worrying the tip of a pen with her tongue, absently scanning witness' statements, making notes for the report she'll prepare tomorrow, and she'd caught him staring. Pupils dilated, lips parted, damned if they weren't distracted by each other lately.

A final twirl of her lips round the smooth tip of the pen cap and one perfectly arched eyebrow became their undoing.

She found herself pinned on the couch, a key piece of photographic evidence from the case crumpled beneath her. Later, they'll explain to Skinner why half the file looks like it spent the night between the sofa cushions.

They'll agree it was worth it.

Her bed. His hands on her thighs, guiding them apart with long, slow kisses that burn all the way to her core.

She says a silent prayer to God for every sunflower seed that has ever crossed his lips, each one building to this very moment with that smart-ass tongue, and then she can't think because there's a familiar warmth at her center, threatening wildfire, its slender fingers spreading up and out, out, until every nerve is alight.

She comes to as the stubble along his chin grazes the tender skin at her belly. His slow, steady crawl back to her is peppered with kisses and tender words, and she lazily threads her fingers into his spiky-soft hair.

His weight is comforting and arousing, but he's focused on her neck, the soft spot at her throat, running his tongue along the ridge of her clavicle. He growls a possessive vibration into her breast as he tugs gently on a nipple, and her head falls back, eyes closed. She can't watch, she can't wait, she needs him but she's not ready to admit it. Her fingers run the length of his back, tracing the ridge of muscle and bone along his spine, digging her fingers into his ass to guide him, but he sways his hips slightly, just out of reach.

Not yet.

He grins because he knows what he's doing. They both do, this familiar dance they've danced for years, long before their bodies knew what their minds refused to acknowledge.

She reaches between them, holding him, stroking him, and the effect is instantaneous. He stills, breathing hard against her neck, and now it's her turn to grin. Her given name is a prayer on his lips.

All's fair, partner.

Sex softens them. She relishes a post-coital Mulder like a fine wine, luxuriating in his warmth at her back as his hand caresses the pale, bare skin of her abdomen, making lazy circles along the ligaments and muscle groups. She recites them in her head as his fingers traverse each one, trying not to think deeper. The words come at times like this, words they can't otherwise squeeze in between red-eye flights and tired motel rooms, chasing monsters in the dark.

"Did you have names?"

She blinks, wondering how he does this; how he can delve into her deepest, most sensitive recesses and hit that last, grating nerve. Somehow, the question makes her feel more vulnerable than if she were tied and splayed naked before him—a not entirely unwelcome proposition given their relationship's recent evolution, but that's for later, she thinks.

She stalls. "What do you mean?"

"The IVF." He softens this prying open of her rusty wounds with a kiss to her porcelain shoulder, his five-turned-eleven o'clock shadow scraping the oversensitive skin.

She resents it and craves it in equal measure, his prying. No means yes, yes means no, but she doesn't have a word for the duality of her feelings in her feminist vocabulary.

A wire of unease draws itself taut across the back of her shoulders. "No. No names," she lies.

Melissa, for a girl. William, for a boy.

Mulder is as persistent with her inner workings as he is with everything else—both in bed, and out.

"You could try again."

She notes his choice of pronoun—"you", not "we". The money's in the sperm bank, as it were, and there are egg donors, surrogates, adoption…too much potential lost hope to quantify.

"I don't think so."

He makes a noncommittal sound, hand splayed warm and tender across the empty space within. "What do you think he'd have looked like?"

She frowns. Sometimes a conversation with Mulder feels like sailing during a hurricane, the waves and wind tossing her about hard enough to incur whiplash.

"Newborns look the same," she says, letting her voice drop into a clinical monotone of protection, "Most perceive them to look more like the father at first, but that perception is biased. One theory suggests it's an evolutionary attachment mechanism, a conditioned reaction on the part of the mother to keep the father from straying…"

She pauses, unwittingly caught on the f-word. She tries to picture her partner with spit-up on his Armani, tripping over alphabet blocks to warm a bottle for the midnight feeding, pinning cryptic to-dos on the fridge: Bigfoot sighting, AZ…US Air 2365 3:35p…need diapers.

It occurs to her that her subconscious picked him for more than his friendship, or his genetic resilience; his life left no room for the messy entanglements a baby would bring. Having his child meant she could let him go.

And yet, here they lie, entangled, metaphorically and otherwise. A laugh dies in her throat at the irony.

"What makes you think it would have been a 'he'?" she asks, an attempt to sound playful that falls flat.

"I don't know," he admits, "Guess I imagined it that way."

He leans on his elbow, drawing himself up and away, and she mourns the loss of his skin against hers, all the while she wants to crawl to the other side of the bed and close her eyes until he's gone, evaporated into the new morning like dew.

That he imagined anything, save for making an intimate deposit in a sterile plastic cup, is beyond her comprehension. She feels selfish, sad, and furious at once. Her heart cracks along weathered fault lines at the thought that he might have lost something in their failed experiment, too.

"You'd make a good mom," he says, forced nonchalance evident in the soft click in his throat when he swallows. He lies back, staring hard at some point beyond the ceiling that she'll never be able to reach.

"Maybe," she acquiesces. She threads their fingers together and accepts what he can offer; her consolation prize, now drifting off to sleep.

He rouses early, mattress shifting, murmuring something about a run, there's coffee, ticklish nuzzling at her ear. A golden autumn light spills through the blinds. By the time she wakes, he's gone.

She finds his shirt under the bed, half-empty glasses on the table, yesterday's tie thrown over the back of the couch. She lets the mess lie; it feels like home.

Coffee beckons as promised, its warm, sultry scent drawing her like a magnet as she crosses the floor to the kitchen. There's a pinch, a prick at her heel, and she scowls until she sees it, deeply entwined in the carpet's plush pile. Then, a smile, the softest quirk of her lips.

Missed one.

She picks it up, notes this one has not yet been cracked open; it holds something small and tender. Five-second rule be damned, she slips it between her lips. She relishes the salt, the sharp crack of the shell between her teeth, the fullness on her tongue as the seed bursts forth, ripe, and full of possibility.

[sonicasura]

Fun idea! 2003 Michelangelo and Wild (Breath of the Wild Link) accidentally setting up some mystical connection between each other. Wild's side is already set thanks to his '100 year' slumber in the Shrine of Resurrection. Again, I don't trust that kind of device to not troll someone in a supernatural way. Mikey ends up finishing the connection accidentally via magic. No show/movie iteration of this orange bandana wearing turtle has ever been careful with magic. Michelangelo is prone to magical accidents at some point.

So everything seems fine and dandy until the strange 'dreams' begin. You know the type where you're basically the backseat cameraman to every bit. Gets stranger once they begin the 'A peculiar voice in my head' bit until bam! Wild wakes up in Michelangelo's body one day and Mikey in said Link's body.

Luckily our Hyrulian hero manages to not get busted by a certain turtle's family while said turtle didn't get into too much life-threatening trouble. Once both go to sleep and wake up in their original bodies does a nice secret friendship start.

At first, the two are mental guides for each other's respective adventure. Using the ability to switch between each other to help in sticky situations. Something that soons evolves into a brotherly friendship cause let's face it. These gremlins would bond over making mischief, food and crazy stunts.

(Only reason I ain't shipping them here is cause neither of the two have met physically. Wild is a year older than Michelangelo for anyone who wants to bring that up. I ain't counting his 100 year beauty sleep. Plus you can't tell me these two wouldn't date under the right circumstances. *Points out the various Zora encounters specifically the romantic love interest trope that tends to crop up in the games*)

Michelangelo's family and friend group do find out about Wild since it doesn't take long for any Mikey related incident to get uncovered. Only people on Link's side to know about the comedic turtle however is Purah, Symin and Zelda. The first two because if something weird is going on that revolves around Sheikah Tech then he would seek these two out. As for Zelda (Flora in Linked Universe terms), being stuck in a 100 year battle with a malevolent spirit makes it easier to see the turtle spiritually piggybacking your protector.

Something that makes the Chain arriving to pickup Wild even more chaotic. Especially since the turtle and Champion accidentally body swap in their sleep which is still a bitch to undo unlike when it's on purpose. Plus Mikey definitely rubbed off a bit cause guess who starts a wild goose chase with a group consisting of himself. (Pun not intended.)

Wild: Another Goddess given life-threatening adventure when I just got done with one a few months ago? NOPE! COWA-BYE! *Smoke bomb teleports away*

Legend: What the hell?!

After a constant chase and portal dodging later, cause Hylia would definitely pull this stunt with Mikey taking it as a challenge, does Dink mess things up for both parties. How? By using Wild's spiritual connection to drag one orange bandana wearing ninja turtle across dimensions.

Trust me when I say the Shadow Link would sense and mistake Mikey's magical preference as a potential ally. Especially if you add the TMNT's Lost Episodes into the equation cause the turtles became actual dragons through their Spiritual Avatars' a few times.

Dink wouldn't see Michelangelo's spirit but instead feel his Dragon Avatar. Thus the Chain ends up trading one problem with another. Sure Wild is now part of the group but now they have a stranded mutant turtle to help. One whose family might make these portal shenanigans even insaner.

Although Michelangelo and Wild are only mildly bothered cause at least they can physically hang out with each other now. Plus Donatello will definitely find a way to solve this mess with some help on Purah's side.

Of course it would be super awkward if Calamity(Hyrule Warriors Breath of the Wild version) is also part of the group. Painfully awkward if they get dropped in Calamity's Hyrule and Wild ends up meeting the alive Champions. Mikey might be talking for Wild for a bit.

That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back at Hyrule.

@paradoxical-hermitcrab 😆

[z0mbicide]

Cassiel is very blunt. He doesn't have much tact when it comes to asking questions. Naturally, Shawn doesn't like him much. Sebastian assures him Cas isn't that bad, and he means well when he asks questions, no matter how insensitive he is or invasive they are.

"Shawn, he isn't trying to make you uncomfortable. He just doesn't get Earth stuff. Y'know, like.. human things." Seb always says. Shawn doesn't care. Just because Cassiel doesn't get it, that doesn't mean he's allowed to be rude.

When Cassiel crosses a line, Shawn gets defensive. When Shawn gets defensive, Cassiel doubles down. The cycle doesn't end until the two of them are separated. As a means of avoiding any more confrontations between the two, Sebastian and Faith stage an intervention. Sebastian enlists Faith's help because if any of them is equipped to articulate Shawn's perspective in a way Cas will understand, it's her.

Shawn is completely unaware. Even when Cassiel starts acting differently. The change is slow.

Shawn is shuffling a deck of cards in his usual seat on the train one afternoon. He does both bridges, cuts the deck four ways, stacks each pile randomly, then starts again with the first bridge. When he starts dealing the cards in four groups ("One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two..."), heavy footsteps approach. Of course, he ignores it. It's probably just Hope stomping away because Faith embarrassed her in front of the gang or something.

It isn't until the footsteps stop and the person speaks, that he realizes his assumption was incorrect.

"Shawn. I want to ask you something." Oh no.

Shawn shifts uncomfortably, hastily gathering his cards and setting the deck aside. "What?"

Cassiel is quiet for a moment, as if he's trying to piece his thoughts together. That's a first, and it makes Shawn more nervous. Doubly so, as the man wordlessly takes the seat across from him and fixes his harsh gaze onto him. Soon, Cassiel speaks.

"Is it alright if I ask you some questions about your.. situation?" This was a surprise. He was still being gruff, but he wasn't being unkind. Shawn relaxes, though only a little.

"Um.. sure?"

"I don't... understand." Cassiel's brows furrow. "How does it work?" His head tilts to the side a bit. He definitely picked that up from Seb.

"Well, uh.." Shawn clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter. "let's see if I can put this in a way you might understand, because it's kinda, uh, complicated."

Shawn takes a second to find the words. It was difficult to explain to someone who's never felt what he's felt. As he searches his mind for an apt comparison.. it hits him.

"So, you're originally a Shadow, right?"

Cassiel is caught off guard. He wasn't expecting that to be brought up. He nods slowly, trying to force down the shame coiling around his body.

"I am."

"But you use a human form. Because that's what feels right, yeah?" Again, he nods. Shawn shows a semblance of a small smile.

"And you have a name you don't like to be called. You like Cassiel, and not the 'Z' one." Cassiel briefly tenses, fearing Shawn may actually say it. When he realizes he has no intention of doing so, his shoulders relax.

"Being a guy, and doing what I've done to look the way I do, is what feels right for me." Shawn feels his anxiety slipping away from his body. "I have a name I'm never called, because I'm just.. Shawn."

Silence. Shawn can almost see the gears in Cas's head turning as the man squints whilst processing his words. It's starting to compute.

"So you exist this way for comfort?"

"I mean, yeah? Pretending to be someone I'm not isn't the most comfortable thing in the world." Shawn scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

Cassiel hums.

"Thank you, Shawn." he can almost make out a half smile from Cassiel. That's unusual. Nonetheless, Shawn nods.

Before he can say 'you're welcome,' Cassiel has already slid out of the seat and left. Shawn blinks. Weird, he kinda misses talking with him already.

Shawn physically shakes his head to shake the thought away. He has to remind himself he doesn't like Cassiel, and there's always a chance he'll just lapse back into his usual ways - sooner, rather than later. Everyone does. He goes back to fiddling with his cards.

[my-name-is-jefferooni]

Falling - Sonadow Prime Writing Prompt

Hello! It’s I, Clover, returning with another short story for you all! I’ve had my eyes on this specific writing prompt list for a few weeks now, and I finally decided to do something for it!

I will be using all prompts for the Sonic Prime universe as I rarely ship Sonadow at all in any other form of Sonic media. This list does seem very fun and I’m very excited to continue onward with the other few prompts as well, especially Ghost and Ring! Of course, I also hope you just enjoy the reading part, because I’m only just getting back into writing after so long of going without it.

This first prompt, Falling, is very short and poorly written because of the fact I’ve not written anything properly in a long while. I hope it still suits your standards and I still hope you enjoy the read.

———

At this point, Shadow was used to the sensation of falling. The feeling of the air flying past his quills, the way his ears flap wildly in the wind, how he feels bile rise in his throat just before reaching the ground… How that sense of dread never leaves him, no matter how many times he falls.

This time was no different. The only shift was the aching blow he retained from the crystal, making his guts spin in agony. That only added to the already expected nausea, so Shadow didn’t care much. The only thing he was worried about was whether or not he’d hit something, and if it’d be stable enough to break his fall.

You know, there’s something about falling at this point that makes Shadow feel… At peace. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, maybe it’s the wind or it could be the numbing adrenaline, he isn’t quite sure! But it’s… It’s weird how soothing the sensation is. It’s cool and soft on his quills, so maybe that’s it…? Whatever it is, it makes Shadow feel nice, as he’s falling farther and farther away from his companion.

His… His companion. Who is his companion again?

Sonic.

Suddenly, flashes of his first Super transformation enter his mind in a flurry, and he feels his soul leave his body in favor of those memories. He catches glimpses of Sonic in his own Super form, catches a small smile from the corner of his vision as the two fight in the depths of space. He feels the Biolizard’s blows like he’s back in the empty expanse, still fighting, still dancing at the blue hedgehog’s side. He can see how overjoyed Sonic is, how full of adrenaline he is! He can tell that nothing can halt Sonic’s affront, not even the Biolizard, and that he’ll do anything in his power to save the world below!

His vision blurs once more, this time shooting to after the fight is over. Shadow can feel the exhaustion in his bones from after the Chaos Control trick. He can feel his powers begin to fade away, can barely hear his companion call his name from above…! And soon, just as he utters his last words, he begins to fall. Before he is engulfed in the flames of gravity, he can see, clear as day, Sonic’s expression.

Anguish. Fear. Guilt. A terrible, horrible guilt. It’s eating away at Sonic’s heart, tearing him apart limb from limb. Just before Shadow touches the ground again, he sees that pain in Sonic’s bright red eyes and he reaches out, trying to tame that overwhelming agony. Because if there is anyone in the world who knows how that feels, who knows what it feels like to lose someone while still knowing you could’ve done something to keep them… It’s him.

But when Shadow opens his eyes again, he is no longer falling. He is rising. A whole new sensation that even the Ultimate Lifeform has not felt yet in his life. Before he has time to ponder anything at all, he hits something from above, and is sent careening downward towards another purple crystal. His head slams into the solid cold material, groaning in annoyance when he feels his nostrils flare with pain. Pushing himself to his feet, he looks around, wonder how he went from falling to rising in just a few seconds, but luckily he doesn’t have to wonder.

“Woo! I am exhausted!” The cheerful, happy-go-lucky voice of Sonic the Hedgehog echoes from across the crystal.

Shadow groans, not feeling too in the moment yet to be putting up with the blue nuisance’s behavior for the time being.

[prettyboykatsuki]

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

__

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,”  he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

__

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning  on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart  in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

__

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You  cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

[raggaraddy]

hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you. 

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

[ggukbabyy]

bro... idk about the whole plot of the drabble but it definitely should have some sexual tension going on but i'm not talking about a quick tension, you know... it could take hours or days idk i feel like you would kill it

“No, never,” you comment with a small shake of your head. Taehyung looks indignant.

“Everyone has done something outside of the bedroom at some point.”

You simply shake your head. “Not me.” Your eyes flick to Jeongguk briefly, his gaze drilling holes into the side of your face. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.

“You’ve never needed someone so badly you couldn’t wait?” His voice is deep and husky, a hidden implication giving his words weight. You hold his gaze.

“The waiting is the fun part.” The corner of his mouth forms a faint smirk.

“That’s where we’ll have to disagree,” he replies, holding your eyes as he takes a long pull from his drink. Everyone breaks off into different conversations, the intrigue of your reluctance to perform sexual acts in a public space no longer the most interesting thing to discuss. Jeongguk appears to be the only one not ready to let it go.

You sit opposite him in the pub, enough people occupying the space that the din of background conversation makes it hard for others to hear as Jeongguk leans across the table once again.

“Do you really believe that? About waiting?” You’re not quite sure why he’s so interested but you entertain his line of questioning.

“100 percent,” you reply without hesitation and Jeongguk nods slowly as he considers your answer.

“You don’t think the desperation to have someone near you, in you, there and then is fun? How is that not better than waiting?” His eyebrows are drawn together in skepticism. He can’t for the life of him understand how you could enjoy waiting. It’s disheartening to hear when he’s spent the better part of the night trying to figure out a plan that would get you to follow him into the toilets. You’ve been acquaintances for about 4 months and he’s spent an embarrassingly large proportion of his time in your company thinking of all the different ways he’d like to spend his time with you if he could get you alone. And not for one second would he want to wait.

“I enjoy the anticipation,” you begin, moving to mirror his position. Jeongguk gets a wonderful eyeful of cleavage and he takes his time appreciating it.

“Wanting it so desperately and knowing you can’t have it now makes it all the better when it does happen.” For most of the sentence Jeongguk is picturing his dick between your tits so he only half hears what you say.

“Anticipation doesn’t change shit,” replies Jeongguk, leaning slightly closer. A small smile plays across your face, head tilted to the side slightly.

“It’s my favourite,” your voice has turned sultry, the alcohol muddling Jeongguk’s brain preventing him from noticing the change immediately. “The person is so close and not close enough, almost touching where you want and you could scream in frustration because two centimeters to the left and it would feel so fucking good, but they make you wait,” your voice is soft and captivating; even with everything happening around Jeongguk you’re the only one he can hear. His whole body feels jittery yet he’s glued to the spot, his chest beginning to rise and fall just a little deeper as you draw the perfect picture for him. “And wait some more, until I could cry, until I’m begging for the slightest touch or kiss in just the right place, so desperate and needy.” The switch from describing a situation to talking about yourself doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeongguk. In fact, it makes the room seem a little hotter, his pants feel a little tighter, his brain seems a little more clouded as he tries to focus on anything but the sounds you’d make as you beg or the words you’d say to get what you wanted from him. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of you spread below him close to tears with desperation. Your eyes are alive and wild yet the rest of your face is the picture of innocence and he’s not sure how much more he can take. You’re inching closer to his face across the table as you speak.

“But you don’t like waiting, do you Jeongguk?” You ask and he can faintly feel the warmth of your breath against his lips from this distance. He swallows thickly.

“You don’t want to keep me waiting, don’t like the idea of making me beg for it? For you?” You add on innocently, eyebrows raised as though you’d asked a perfectly simple, appropriate question. Jeongguk can barely form a coherent sentence with his head so full of everything you’ve just said. You stay there leaning on the table for a few more seconds, Jeongguk’s eyes flicking down to your lips, the air around you both suffocating and heavy. You grin widely before leaning back into your chair triumphantly. Jeongguk’s eyes are clouded with arousal, not trying to hide where your words have taken him and his reluctance to return to the real world. By the time he does you’ve moved on to a conversation with Jimin, giggling at his shit jokes. You don’t look Jeongguk’s way once for the rest of the night and it drives him insane.

-----

Two weeks later and you’re at Jimin’s place for a barbecue with a friend. Only Jimin’s housemates are Yoongi and Jeongguk, and no one told Jeongguk you were coming over. Ever since the night at the pub, Jeongguk has fantasised about you more than he would care to admit - even to himself. More than a few times his hand wandered south with pictures of you flashing behind his eyelids, replaying the conversation you’d had over and over, vividly picturing you doing the things you’d described. So when he walks out of the patio doors into the garden to see you laid across a towel on the floor, the smallest bikini he has ever witnessed wrapped around your body, to describe his feelings as shocked is a gross understatement. From his vantage point he can watch you while you remain none the wiser, so he takes the precious time to appreciate everything that you are. Your legs go on for miles and are toned to perfection, your tits fill out your bikini with some left to spill over the side and yearning burns deep in his stomach to have his lips against the smooth flesh, dragging his tongue leisurely across your nipple. Images of you begging for him flash violently across his mind, and he’s itching to return to his bedroom for a few minutes. But then you turn over and notice him, a lazy grin creeping slowly across your mouth.

“Can I help you?” You ask innocently, eyes dancing with amusement at having caught Jeongguk staring. He saunters over to you, arms braced behind him as he sits down.

“You’re in my garden, I should be asking you that question.” Your eyes are glued on the way his biceps tense to support his weight. It should be illegal for Jeongguk to walk around shirtless, even if it is the height of summer. For the sake of your own sanity he should walk around in a full wetsuit - but you’re sure he’d manage to make that look sexy. His broad chest is on full display, the golden skin pulled taut against the toned muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes continue their journey down his stomach, thoughts swirling at the dusting of hair beneath his belly button, following it down until it disappears beneath his shorts.

“Are you nearly done?” Amusement drips from his words as you pull your eyes from their pleasant detour. You fight desperately to keep the heat from your face.

“Almost.” Jeongguk’s tongue pokes the side of his cheek at your answer. He’s used to girls fawning over him, melting into a puddle of shy giggles and doting compliments. Not this. The idea of having you begging beneath him becomes more and more appealing the more you demonstrate all the ways you need to be taught a lesson.

Both of you bask in the heat of the sun in silence, music drifting out from the kitchen, Yoongi’s contagious laughter bringing a smile to your face. Surreptitiously you peek one eye open, looking sideways at Jeongguk. The perfect definition of his jaw is showcased with the way his head is tilted towards the sun, little beads of sweat developing at his temples and clinging to the nape of his neck.

“You should really put suncream on,” you state, shutting your eye before he can catch you again.

“Are you offering?” His tone is bored but excitement thrills through his chest.

“Not really.” Jeongguk fights the smile threatening to reveal itself.

“If I end up burning, it'll be all your fault,” Jeongguk complains, and when you say nothing in return, his arms buckle under his weight dramatically, his back thudding against the grass.

“I can feel the blisters forming already,” he groans, rocking side to side. You suppress chuckles as you watch his performance.

“Unngh,” he groans, turning his head to look at you, a fake pained expression pulling against his features. “I need you to put suncream on me,” he whines, “please.” His lips jut into a pout.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you reply with an eye roll, Jeongguk all but ignoring it as a delighted grin lights up his face.

While you grab the cream, Jeongguk arranges himself into his original position, a satisfied smile gracing his plump lips as he basks in both his small victory and the heat of the sun. His smile vanishes, eyes snapping open, when he feels the cool of a shadow passing across him only to be faced with you straddling his lap. Your expression is the picture of innocence, eyes wide, head tilted, soft lips slightly parted as you hold to bottle of cream in one hand expectantly, but a flicker of wickedness flashes across your eyes, there one second and gone so quickly Jeongguk could almost convince himself that you’re clueless to the effect your close proximity has on him. But the way your back arches into him gives you away.

Jeongguk hisses a breath through his teeth at the first contact of the suncream against his warm skin and you giggle. There’s no hint of amusement on his face. Having you so close and yet unable to touch you has his mind reeling and frustration bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach. You smell incredible, sweet and floral, and your hands are delicate as they roam his chest and stomach, eyes completely focused on the task at hand. He sighs deeply as he lets himself become lost in the way you touch him, the way your hands rove confidently, traversing low enough to have him forcing down the urge to buck his hips against you.

Nothing in the world is going to pull your gaze from the path your hands trace against Jeongguk’s skin. From his broad shoulders and collarbones you would be happy to drag your tongue across, to your palm grazing his nipple, noting the muscle in his jaw jumping at the contact. Down, down, down his stomach as low as his shorts allow, over his hips and waist. All amusement has vanished as your fingers explore. Jeongguk’s breathing is deep as you toy with the waistband of his shorts, slipping the tip of your finger just underneath. He’s watching you like a hawk, nostrils flaring as he wills you to just reach down, give him the look so he can take you upstairs and show you there’s no fun in waiting. Instead you raise your eyes to his and breathe out, “I need to do your arms.”

He shifts his weight forward, one arm held out for you, the other sliding around your body, hand resting gently on your arse. Raising your eyebrows questioningly at the placement, Jeongguk simply shrugs, a devilish smile flashing at you.

“What’s the matter, darling?” His deep voice questions. You forego a reply, squeezing cream directly onto his arm. He watches your face with delight as you continue.

“Turn around so I can do your back,” your voice is barely above a whisper. Having him so close for so long is starting to prove difficult. You can’t get your thoughts away from his hands, how strong and big they are in your own, how they’d wrap perfectly around your neck or how easy it would be for Jeongguk to prod and massage your g-spot until you were exhausted from overstimulation. It hasn’t slipped your notice that he’s been getting progressively harder beneath you, every inch of him pushing against your core. It’s getting hard to breathe, hard to look him in the eye - he relishes every second of your struggle with a cocky grin. His eyes are heavy and clouded with arousal and he drags his gaze leisurely down your body and back again.

“I’m sure you can reach from here, darling.” The determined look in your eye has Jeongguk chuckling. The action of reaching your hands over his shoulders and down his back has your chest pushing into his face and a small groan rumbles in Jeongguk’s throat. Your stomach burns with desire at the sound, a desperate need to hear the sound over and over, louder and then whispered into your ear, claws mercilessly at your insides, threatening to suffocate you. Without thinking you push your hips down in an effort to garner some friction against your swollen clit. The manoeuver doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jeongguk’s mind is blank. Your arse is pushing back into his palms, his fingers massaging the supple flesh delicately. With your tits so close to his face he determines it would be criminal if he doesn’t lean forward just a little more. His hair tickles your cheek as he moves, his nose brushing your chest as he gets closer. He flattens his tongue against the swell of your breast, licking a stripe against your glowing skin before sinking his teeth into you. A small gasp escapes your lips, hips rutting against him of their own accord. He groans again, using his hands to push you into him harder, desperation and frustration intermingling at the clothing separating your pussy from his bare skin. He pulls back to look up at you, the muscles of his jaw jumping as he restrains himself. Your lips are so close, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly, each waiting to see what the other will do, the atmosphere suffocating as the tension rises. Jeongguk’s gaze is intense and his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, his intentions and desires clear.

“Come to my room.” His voice is gravelly and shoots heat directly to where you need his touch the most. “Let me touch you, make you feel so good, princess.”

“We can’t,” you whisper back, lacking conviction.

“Why not?” Whines Jeongguk.

“Everyone will see and they’ll know.” It’s a feeble excuse and your resolve to stick with it is crumbling quickly.

“I’ll happily fuck you out here if that’s what you’d prefer.” Your cheeks flame at the idea. “It would be easy,” he continues, mind so consumed with you and his need to have you as close as possible. His fingers skim the apex of your thigh, toying with the edge of your bikini. “I’d just have to pull this to the side and then I’d see your pretty pussy, but I bet you have a tight cunt, couldn’t take my cock all at once.” Your core clenches reflexively at his words and you know you’re absolutely fucked.

“Come to my room,” he states, moving your hips over his with his hands. You smile devilishly, leaning forward until your lips almost brush.

“I’m sure you can wait a little bit longer.”

an; so i clearly don't know the meaning of the word drabble and you said i'd kill it so the perfectionism took over and i couldn't stop until i thought it was good

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[stem-and-chill]

 Village Of Shadows & Yearning For Dark Shadows

– A Closer Look

At the end of the game, it is clear that the folktale story “Village of Shadows” told in the very beginning was about Mother Miranda and the Four Lords all along. Even though the characters in the folktale are different in appearance and behaviour, the key features of the legend stay the same.

The girl in the folktale is presumed to be Rose, the four monsters she encounters represent the Four Lords and the Witch is supposed to be Mother Miranda. The mirror in which the girl has been trapped in by the Witch could represent the four flasks Rose’s body has been sealed in.

This gets confirmed by the revealing of the folktale’s ending, where the father shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices his life to save his daughter. The concept artwork also confirms that the family in the folktale is based on the Winters family:

However, there are certain things happening in the folktale that are incompatible with the actual role Rose has in the game’s story.

Rose and Ethan:

The problem is that Rose has a completely passive role in the story, since she is a baby and defenseless. She can’t think for herself and is in need of protection, she is the one that needs to be saved.

But the girl in the folktale is an active character who decides her actions. This is more similar to the active role of Ethan in the game’s story. Ethan meets and fights the Four Lords, in the same order as the girl meets the monsters in the folktale:

1. The Bat Lord = Alcina Dimitrescu

2. The Dark Weaver = Donna Beneviento

3. The Fish King = Salvatore Moreau

4. The Iron Steed = Karl Heisenberg

In the folktale, the Bat Lord, the Dark Weaver and the Fish King all willingly give gifts to the girl, in order to save her or to help her endure her harsh environment. The Iron Steed though, is the only one that does not give a gift to her.

Instead, the girl apparently has become greedy and starts to take things for granted. She takes something from the Iron Steed what she thought was supposed to be another gift for her. This action in turn angers the Iron Steed:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

  This is also testified by the Witch saying to the girl:

“Gifts we gave, but more you took,” she snarled. “So more, in turn, is due.”

  The narrator of the folktale and the Witch claim that the girl has become greedy. In the credit song “Yearning for Dark Shadows”, which is told from the girl’s POV, she confirms this:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

  The repercussion and punishment of the girl’s actions and greediness is to be trapped inside a mirror. This could be taken as a classical lesson that folktales sometimes try to teach children: Do not stray away from your parents. Do not trust strangers. Do not assume that everyone you meet will give you something for free.

Assuming that the active role of the girl represents Ethan, then his interactions with the Lords is in contrast to girl’s interactions with the monsters. The first three Lords did not give Ethan a gift (Rose Jar) willingly, like their counterparts in the folktale do. The only one who gives Ethan a Rose Jar back willingly is Heisenberg (even though not without further work), whose counterpart in the folktale was the only one to not give a gift.

The gift giving of the Lords is reversed in the game’s story. The same goes for their behaviour, as their folktale counterparts seem to be worried about the girl’s condition, while in the actual story neither of them cares about Ethan or Rose.

The girl in the folktale represents on one hand the passive role of Rose’s situation in the game (getting trapped by the Witch in the mirror = getting trapped by Mother Miranda in jars). But on the other hand the girl also represents the active role of Ethan throughout the game’s story (meeting and fighting the Four Lords Lords in the same order; the reversed gift giving situation).

At the end of the folktale, Ethan’s active role of the girl is now given to the father’s role, who shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices himself:

- But the Witch was strong and Father yelled, “Save our daughter!”

- Even now, the burnt forest is a grim reminder of Father’s sacrifice.

  Rose fully takes now over the role of the girl, who has been freed from the mirror (jars). This also means that the active role her father had before is now passed on to her. This is confirmed by the last sentence appearing:

- The father’s story is now done.

  In the “Yearning for Dark Shadows” song, new lines are added to the folktale story and to the POV of the girl:

Hello, my tears, because of you, I am who I am.

Hello, sorrow, because of you, I am who I am.

Long, long, ago I did not know who I was.

And in the deepness, I was lost and now...

These lines are fitting for both Rose and Ethan. The girl talks about her journey seen through her own eyes, which could allude to Ethan talking about how he met and fought the Four Lords. The lines of the chorus specifically could be an expression of his emotions, the moment he found out about his true nature (having died and turned into a Molded).

Because Miranda’s discovery of the Megamycete, her studies and experiments in the village are ultimately the source for everything that happened to Ethan during the Baker Family Incident and the reason why he is no longer a normal human.

From Rose’s POV the lines could allude to her feelings about her father and also about the troubles of her own origins, as it is shown in the post-credit scene.

  The gifts of the Four Lords:

However, there is an interesting note to make on the gift giving situation of the four monsters in the folktale. It is a big focus there and the turning point of the folktale’s story. The Iron Steed stands out compared to its companions, because it does not give a gift to the girl and is the one to cause her entrapment.

The same goes for Heisenberg’s role in the game’s story. Like the Iron Steed, his role in the game stands out from the other Lords, because he is the only one of them who reaches out to Ethan and honestly wants to team up with him. His backstory and motives are also different to them, since he is the only one to have seen through Miranda’s manipulation and schemes, and wants to be freed of her.

The other Lords are loyal to Miranda, fully believe in her and take actions to get her approval and love. Some time ago, Miranda approached the Four Lords, took them in as their children and infected them with the Cadou. This action is seen by Alcina, Donna and Moreau as a form of gift or recognition.

Alcina believes that she must be Miranda’s favourite child due to her generousness:

“She gave me this castle, obedient daughters, everlasting life, did she not?

Am I not her favorite? Am I not special?” - Alcina Dimitrescu’s Diary

  Donna is happy to be able to make her doll come to life, thanks to the Cadou infection and is excited about the effects of the flowers, that she probably received from Miranda first:

“Mistress Donna seems happy. It might be my imagination, but I feel like her doll Angie is even more lively than before. [...] We had a mighty fine conversation.

Something about receiving a gift of power from Mother? [...] I mentioned this to Donna and she seemed thrilled by it.” - Gardener’s Diary

  Moreau still utterly believes in Miranda and seems to see her as his actual mother. Even though he is ashamed of his mutated appearance, for which she is the source of, and despite himself noting that Miranda seems to not really care about him. But the thought of her abandoning him still frightens him:

“But if Mother does then... what will happen to me?

I'm not her real child... Would she abandon me?

No! I don't want that!” - Moreau’s Diary

  The only one who does not see his powers as a gift is Heisenberg:

“We’re merely a bunch of failed Cadou experiments to her. [...]

What a joke. I’ll never forgive her for what she did to me. [...]

Miranda just didn’t change my body, she took my dignity.” - Heisenberg’s Diary

  The four monsters in the folktale, who give a gift to the girl could be a representation of Mother Miranda, handing over the Cadou to the Four Lords and with that their future powers. Each Lord’s unique power is already depicted in the form of the folktale monster. The girl in that moment, could be a stand-in of each one of the Lords, thankfully accepting the gift:

- “So, she clothed herself and smiled with joy.”

- “So, the girl ate and smiled with joy once more.”

Village of Shadows:

Then the Bat Lord appeared! He greeted her warmly and bit his own wing.

“Come, child. Quench your thirst,” he said.

So, she drank the thick, dark blood and smiled with joy.

  Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Within the darkness, cold and silent,

A voice called out to me:

“Hello, lost child, come quench your thirst and drink this pint, to bring you joy”.

  It’s interesting that the Bat Lord exactly suggests what Alcina has to do, in order to control her mutation and due to her blood disease. She needs to drink blood; the girl in the folktale does the same:

The girl also gets called “child” by the monsters, which is what Mother Miranda calls the Four Lords.

  Again, the part that stands out is the role of the Iron Steed aka Heisenberg:

Village of Shadows:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached,

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

  Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

As explained above, the girl has gotten greedy and now assumes something that was not yet given to her, which marks the first step into her entrapment. The growing greediness of the girl could be an allusion to Mother Miranda herself. Just like the girl, she has become greedier and more selfish over time.

In her pursuit, she took in Heisenberg as another one of her children and experimented on him. His anger and hate for her stem from this trauma and is the origin of his antagonizing side towards her. Just as the girl took something from the Iron Steed without asking, and how its anger towards her is the result of her action.

The line about the Iron Steed summoning the other monsters may be interpreted as a hint to Heisenberg’s Soldats that he creates in his factory to fight against Miranda’s lycans.

Ultimately, everything leads to Miranda still not stopping there, but taking away yet another child (Rose), tearing her body apart and sealing her in jars. She abandons an entire village that was dedicated to her, and people who were loyal to her, only to get what she is truly after. She also calls Rose “her daughter” throughout the game, and even at the end she believes that Rose is Eva Reborn.

  Conclusion:

The girl and the monsters of the folktale may represent more than just one side of the story. Or they can be a metaphor for more than just one character.

Everyone’s side of the story in the game is assembled in the characters of the folktale. Together they all represent the themes of “family” and “greed”.

I am most certainly overanalyzing things, as I do not believe myself that this much thought was put into the folktale story or the song lyrics.

But who knows...

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | collect

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The mind seeks to understand, to categorize, to make something out of nothing. You are a vessel of this Disorder, driven to collect the final two souls your body is tasked to hold. One, the right-hand of the Devil, Jeon Jungkook. And two, the Devil himself, Min Yoongi. How to obtain them? By fucking, but on the Devil's terms, because when the Devil is involved, his domain regains supreme.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; supernatural and horror (extra arms / hands, eyeballs, mouths); smut (fem reader, unprotected sex (you're getting fucked by the Devil, STIs and pregnancy are the last of your problems), a collar and leash is involved, voyeurism, scratching / marking, choking, nipple play, cowgirl, creampie, m and f-receiving oral, double penetration, (double?) handjob, penetrative sex on top of a puddle of cum on JK's abs, spanking); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs

yes, you read the horror warning correctly

–

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

-

if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

The Disorder is a strange thing.

The world attempts to make sense of and organize things as if it knows. Everything must have a reason, an explanation, a why, until you get deeper and deeper, realizing biology is only chemistry, and chemistry is only physics, and physics is only math, and math is… simply theory. A hope of truth, clawing together the chaos. But the real truth is, all order comes from disorder. To organize means to be disorganized from the start.

Beings of Order are not supposed to touch Disorder, not directly. It trickles down, slowly flowing though, a part of life everyone has, but no one can harness. Senseless moments brushed off as nothing. To encounter such a concentrated form, well, surely, nothing good can come of it.

Then again.

The Devil wasn’t good. Far from it.

Would he learn anything at all? Doubtful. Did he care? No. But he had time. He had forever. And he had souls, for he could consume them, an amalgamation of all the previous consumptions combined. The original Devil. The many faces thereafter. The current, Min Yoongi. If all you wanted was a little piece of one, well, he wouldn’t even miss it.

Jeon Jungkook?

His right-hand demon would lose a soul shard and become yours, just like the rest of them. Infatuated, consumed, blinded. He was a fool for agreeing so easily, clouded by anger and lust. But that was no matter. If eventually the Devil decided he wanted to change faces, it would no longer be a problem.

Yoongi had plans.

He would see them through.

-

You sat in the center of the bed, holding the black goat-man plush to your chest, squeezing his leather hooves, legs tucked under you.

They were at the end of the bed.

Jeon Jungkook, long black hair in messy and tangled curls, clinging to his cheeks and forehead. A cut on his high, tanned cheekbone from fighting the chains, dark red blood coagulated. Sharp jaw tensed, borderline fury and uninhibited deviance. Dark brown eyes with an exquisite shape, forever memorable. His black suit was torn up, blazer and dress shirt hanging by threads and exposing his toned chest. He made no move to correct it.

The Devil's right hand.

Your gaze shifted to the Devil.

Shorter black hair, pointed, more intrusive dark eyes. Paler, standing out against the black. The faintest trace of a smile on pink lips, a face with predatory feline grace. He was shorter than Jungkook, not as heavily built. Slim and sharpened, deadly like a sword. Hands in his pockets, suit pristine. There was no mistaking who was in charge here.

You squished the goat-man to your breasts.

The human heart was beating.

Singing.

Fuck me.

-

"Hyung."

Yoongi was observing you carefully.

"What is she?"

The Devil chuckled. "Does it matter? You love to fuck."

"But she has the soul shards of the five highest ranking demons in Hell," Jungkook hissed in his ear. Goosebumps on his skin at the younger demon's hot breath. Yoongi felt the sides of his lips curve upwards, tilting his head slightly so Jungkook's voice drifted on more of his neck. Still not looking at him, eyes on yours.

You kept pushing the plush into your chest, dark lips parting.

Jungkook stepped closer, body barely brushing against his, body heat radiating. "Why does she have them? Where are they?" he breathed, head lowering, so close his black hair feathered onto the Devil's neck, his lips almost touching Yoongi's skin.

Yoongi's eyes bored into yours, his own flaring with sparks of red. Voice deepening, taking up the whole room. He doubted you would be affected by his persuasive power. It wasn't for your sake.

"Show me the shards."

Jungkook moaned softly in his ear, shuddering.

You smiled that little smile. Yoongi held up a hand, preventing Jungkook from touching him. The younger demon whined, but he paid it no mind. You lowered the little goat-man, placing him on the nightstand.

To watch.

You reached to the high collar, to the zipper of the dress. The pull was shaped like a cross. Yoongi’s smile widened. A cute joke. Down it went, smooth, revealing your neck, waiting to be bitten. Exposing your collarbones, a small tattoo in the center just below them, at the top of your sternum.

Now the Devil was grinning.

An upside-down pentagram with two rings around it. Black. Simple. Most likely christened on that smooth skin before you became what you are now. A sweet little foreshadowing.

Lower.

Then Yoongi’s expression hardened.

Right below the tattoo, there they were. Thin diamonds, needle-like black gems that gleamed red and purple, pulsing as if they were alive, embedded in your skin below your tattoo and above the swell of your breasts. The demon soul shards, five of them in a semicircle, with an empty space at the center and one at the bottom left, not yet filled. Your flesh was indented in those two spots, clearly waiting for Jeon Jungkook and the Devil.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, removing his hands from his pockets.

They were part of you.

That made you a human, bedded with shards of high demon soul, soiled with Disorder. Yoongi eyes widened, realization streaking through him. Something flickered in the vacancy of your eyes, torn back down by ice-silver. Like a spider’s web suspended delicately in air, you were wound with silken string, demon soul shards penetrating the human shell.

Is that what was keeping you, the Vessel, from collapsing?

The four horns protruded from Yoongi’s head, black-red and wicked. He narrowed his eyes as you lowered the zipper more, revealing the black lace bra molded to your breasts.

“Let me bring part of me to you,” he rasped, the power soaring through him, dark smoke simmering from his lips. He heard Jungkook suck in a tight breath, pressing himself against Yoongi, drawn to the power, intoxicated by it.

The Devil’s voice boomed, resonating to an inhuman octave.

“Domain Expansion: Devil’s Advocate.”

The room rippled, his power manifesting in time and space, creating a pocket of Hell itself. Black shadows wrenched open every crack, snaking out and crawling all over, long spider-liker arms ending in elongated claws, skittering, skittering, rushing towards the bed, pawing at the black sheets. Advancing on you, threatening, more and more and more, black shadows twisting and writhing, trying to get to your legs. The air shimmered with red, almost as if it was on fire.

You tilted your head, pausing.

Seams on the thin shadowy arms opened, bloodshot eyes rolling in their sockets until they fixated on your form on the bed, quivering slits of black pupils surrounded by red irises. The hands sank into the sheets, claws flexing, almost touching you.

But not quite.

“Jungkook, leash her.”

Like a black arrow, Jungkook lunged at the bed, launching himself above the eyeball-covered shadows, crushing them, sending jets of gushing blood across the sheets, soaking them red, and yet the hands stroked his muscular fit body, lingering before he appeared before you, dark brown orbs gleaming with red and black flecks, his power amplified by Yoongi bringing Hell to the surface. His horns protruded from the sides of his head, swirled like ram’s horns, blacker than they were red. They were large and sharp, framing his strong features with more strength.

His hand raised, voracious grin on his face.

“Let’s begin, pet.”

And then it was on your throat, you gasping in his tightening grasp, cutting off your circulation, hands falling into your lap, leaning into Jungkook’s hold. He hesitated, seeing the look in your eyes. They weren’t void of emotion.

An ice-silver shimmered through them, and there was a flicker of something.

Need.

You dug your fingers into the bed and whimpered, catching your lower lip between your teeth, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes.

“J… Jungkook…”

He pulled his hand away, but it was already done, the thick black leather collar on your neck, imprinted with red pentagrams and a silver center ring, black leather leash extending in Jungkook’s fingers, tangling him in it. It had already begun and the lust was brimming within him, insatiable, eager to consume, no longer worried about that small flicker of humanity he might have imagined. To be a demon is to be cursed to feel, emotion and free will entangled, a servant of the Devil but not without indulgence.

Full of sin and prepared to act on it.

Jungkook grinned, long black hair wild and curled around his horns.

“What’s your name, pretty pet?” he purred, flicking his middle finger on your chin, your dark mauve lips parting, looking up at him.

You told him.

He savored it with his lips, already aroused by it. He lowered the hand with the leash, snaking it between your legs, lowering his face to you and your hot breath, moaning at the intensity of the feeling, not quite human, but something more and something familiar, demon lust and human reaction mixed with an unknown drug.

Jungkook loved to fuck.

“Can’t wait to make you my plaything,” he breathed against your cheek.

You whined as his hand trailed down your ass, pulling out the end of the leash between your legs, gripping it from the front and back, snapping it up into your clothed pussy. A loud, sharp slap cracked the air as it connected, making you moan depravedly and tremble in his hands, your own coming up to grab his torn shirt. He ground the leash into the folds of the clothing, hot friction and unforgiving leather. He could feel it, the pleasure and the pain radiating off you, sparks of heat as you bucked down into the strap, the sweet scent your juices soaking through your panties.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, the taste at the tip of his tongue, shoulders shaking at the scent of sex, invigorating his veins, heart racing. Your fingernails dug into his chest, your eyes reflecting his high, his pleasure in abusing your pussy, tainting you with him in this Hell domain.

The Devil leaned over, tongue sliding out. Jungkook stiffened, biting his lip, watching intently as Yoongi neared, closer and closer to your ear. When was the last time Jungkook was allowed to indulge with the Devil? Even if it wasn’t, it felt like forever ago. Too long. His blood was boiling, singing to the Devil, praying for more.

Yoongi’s dark eyes shifted to him for a moment.

Jungkook’s lower lip popped out of his teeth, small whine in his chest.

-

The Devil smiled knowingly, leaning even farther in so his soft lips brushed against your earlobe, the taste of your skin on his wicked tongue. An interesting taste, but distinctly human. Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, nearly a moan, eyes shifting back to your profile. You were staring at Jungkook and Jungkook was staring at him.

“Five demons this body has withstood.”

The thought made him hard.

“What’s two more?” Yoongi chuckled deep in his chest, placing his hand on your heaving chest, right above the soul shards.

No.

It hovered, the faintest sliver of space between his hand and your breasts. The more he pushed, the more it pushed back, gleaming sparks scalding his palm. Yoongi gritted his teeth, seeing the black tendrils laced with ice-silver snake around his fingers. The scent of burning flesh stained the air. Not holy magic. Something else. Something far less controlled. The Devil could feel pain, but it was nothing more than fuel for his emotions, a means to an end.

You lowered more of your weight onto the leash, moaning as the leather dug in deeper, the scent of sex stronger, rocking your hips back and forth. Yoongi suddenly felt the pain lessen, the black tendrils retreating, ice-silver fading into nothing. His eyebrows raised, fascinated. The introduction of passion and your human body reacting to it. The disembodied black arms around them scabbed around, nonsensical red eyes veering in all directions, crawling across the sheets, desperate to touch and soil the human.

His palm was getting closer.

Closer.

Closer to your chest.

Yoongi’s hand touched your shuddering breast.

Instantly the shadowy, eyeball-covered hands were on your body, clawing at your clothes, caressing your skin, up your back and to your head, pulling you by the hair and making you moan, Jungkook completely letting go of the leash and placing his hands on your breasts, one over Yoongi’s, curling the Devil’s fingers under the lace cup, pulling hard.

Yoongi made no move to stop him.

Jungkook ripped your bra apart, sucking in a tight breath as your breasts bounced free, diving down to latch his lips onto them, his hot mouth to your cool skin, moaning at the taste of human mixed with demon, the five shards on your chest glimmering, his five hyungs infused into this body with the exception of the Devil himself.

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

He shoved his hands under the ribbons of your dress and yanked your body up to his greedy mouth, biting and lapping at your skin, flickering his tongue over your nipples, your hands finding his shoulders, wanton whimpers quivering from your chest to Jungkook’s mouth. He drank it all up, the sweet taste of flesh, the heavy scent of sex, the sound of tainted lust, whining as his shirt was torn to bits by exploring shadowy hands. The Devil’s work. Jungkook looked up to see Yoongi on the other side of you, one of his pale hands in your hair and the other pushing your chin back, his head descending.

“A kiss from Hell, just for you,” Yoongi murmured.

The Devil’s lips on yours.

You audibly moaned right into Yoongi’s mouth as he tilted his head, fitting his lips to your dark mauve ones, soft but rough, tongue sliding in, fucking you with it, slow and maddening, the aphrodisiac of his kiss turning even the most prudish of humans into a sobbing mess, begging and pleading for more.

But, as he suspected, you were no ordinary human.

Your tongue wound around his, pressing your lips harder to his despite his hold on your hair, exhaling in his mouth, intoxicating all on its own, pushing your chest into Jungkook’s face, your arms held back by Hell’s shadows, your muscles tense and shivering.

Yoongi felt it, the hot spark of near pain.

You could break out at any time.

Yoongi broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes finding yours. Like small mirrors, they reflected himself back. And yet. There was definitely something underneath that standing water. Poison? Or something else?

Jungkook grabbed your chin and kissed you hard, moaning at your taste and the Devil’s lingering saliva.

“Yes, fuck, yes…”

Your dress ripped apart, the demon hands doing the Devil’s work, leaving red scratches on your skin, Jungkook doing the rest, rough fingers shoving the fabric scraps out of the way, bits of your bra thrown aside, shreds of black adding to the shadows already surrounding the bed. All eyes on you and your exposed body in Jungkook’s arms, his hard bare chest pressing into yours, skin to hot skin, lifting you like a doll, one hand winding around the leash.

Kissing you like he owned you, already his possession by the way you gasped into his mouth, breathless as he took your sweet exhale with his fiery inhale, his fingernails scraping down your back.

“Stop playing around,” the Devil commanded harshly.

Jungkook started, breaking the kiss as the shadowy arms encircled him and you, locking your bodies in a tight embrace. The red eyes in the shadows flickered, blinking, morphing, changing.

Into mouths.

Into tongues.

“H-Hyung…!”

Yoongi smirked behind your head, eyebrow cocked as Jungkook shuddered and moaned, red forked tongues from ghostly arms flickering across his skin, grasping you so tightly that you whined against his chest, the tongues on you too, drenching you in swipes of Hell’s saliva.

As if the Devil himself was licking you, but all over.

“Hyung, w-wait…” Jungkook managed to get out, hands on your shoulders.

Like two star crossed lovers, except one was a demon and one barely had any humanity left.

Yoongi cracked his neck, grinning widely, all malice and no mirth.

Devilishly, even.

“Can’t wait any longer. I just have to know.”

The Devil’s hands swooped down, twisting between your body and Jungkook’s, undoing the button and the zipper of Jungkook’s slacks impossibly fast, the shadows aiding him, pulling them down, ripping apart the underwear, Jungkook gasping as Yoongi’s long fingers closed around his hard, leaking cock.

“Ah, don’t–”

But it was too late, the Devil’s hand wrapped around him, pleasure sprinting through his veins and swarming every nerve, Yoongi’s other hand pushing your wet heat closer, closer, dark chuckles and fiendish words invading his senses, the Devil himself pulling all his strings.

“Ah, I know all the things you like, Jungkookie…” Yoongi drawled, placing the head against your slit, coating it with your slick but not letting Jungkook enter you, making the younger demon growl with want. “I know you love playing with the humans for hours…” Leaning in, putting his face above your left shoulder, hovering with a sinister smirk. “And I know you secretly love it when you’re being forced to do something.”

The Devil’s pink tongue snaking out, licking Jungkook’s cheek, making him moan in your face and lean his forehead against yours, the lust overwhelming, unable to move due to the shadowy mouth-covered arms and the Devil’s power. Your body trembled in his embrace, your whimpers against Jungkook’s lips and Yoongi’s cruel, raspy laughter ringing in his ears as Jungkook’s cock swelled in his hand.

“You just love it when it’s me ordering you around, don’t you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook was staring in your eyes, seeing his own desperation and shameful happiness reflected back at him, admitting the truth because there was nothing he could hide from the Devil.

“Y… Yes, hyung,” he breathed into your mouth.

Yoongi let go of his cock the same time he pushed your dripping core onto Jungkook, sinking you all the way down, two simultaneous moaning screams intertwining and filling up the entire room infested with Hell’s domain.

-

Inside.

You felt it, a tiny pulse.

You looked around in the abyss, not expecting to see anything.

How long had you been here? Ah, did it matter? Nothing mattered. In this world, there was only emptiness. You saw nothing, heard nothing, remembered nothing, cared about nothing. If there was no sadness, there was no happiness. If there was no existence, there was nothing to worry about, cry about, feel pain about. Nothing to live for. Nothing at all.

And yet.

You had sensed something.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You looked up.

Four black horns adorning a head of black hair and fair skin, lips peeled back, eyes glittering.

Menace. Amusement. Glee. Lust. Fascination.

Passion.

Who was that?

You squinted.

You… had eyes.

And suddenly it all rushed to the surface, jammed into sensory overload, tongues on your skin, heat overwhelming, a sweaty cheek pressed against yours, your chest prickling with sensitivity, pain from a tight embrace, and you gasped a lungful of air as you felt the demon’s cock enter your tight, wet hole, saturated with arousal, eye to eye with blazing dark brown orbs surrounded by wet black curls, your pussy stretched too far too fast, but adrenaline adapting the pain into even more pleasure.

Felt.

You could feel everything.

“J-Jungkook…”

Words.

You could hear the demon’s lips curve into a wicked grin.

“I love it when you’re whimpering my name, pet,” he drawled.

There was nothing to wonder about. No desire to know your past or if you had a future, no desire to know why you were here, what was going on, not even the need to know how you were aware of the demon before you and his name, Jeon Jungkook.

There was only one goal.

Chasing all aspects of pleasure and passion.

The shadows around your two retreated slowly, forked red tongues sliding back into shadowy pits surrounded by crevices slashed on black disembodied arms, but none of that mattered as you leaned in to Jungkook’s face, hands rising to grip his shoulders, cracking pleas in your throat at the sensation of being too full and sensory overload dominated by lust.

“F-Fuck me, please…” you panted, adjusting to straddle his lap better, his raw cock twitching against your throbbing walls. “Please, Jungkook…”

His hands were on your shoulders, his head lifting and eyebrow cocking, arrogant expression on his face.

“Of course, my little human.”

He lowered his hips, nearly pulling out, leaving you in a whine, almost empty before roughly shoving himself back in, filling you all the way to maximum ecstasy igniting all of your nerves, your nails digging into his skin and a choked moan as you took it all, straining against the brink of almost too much but not quite.

Utter perfection.

How did he know?

He didn’t.

Jungkook was a demon. And demons intuitively delivered the exact amount, instinctually sensing how the human body desired more, every brutal stroke a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, every rock of his hips matching yours, you involuntarily bouncing on his cock with his hard thighs in between your soft ones, cries bubbling from your throat. Every rush of stimulation potent, Jungkook panting intoxicatingly in your face and you drinking it up like a starved hyena, your hands clawing up, tangling in his hair, gripping the curved black horns on the sides of his beautiful head, staring into his enchanting eyes.

The demon smiled at you, almost lovingly, as he fucked you raw from below.

“That’s it…”

Rising from Jungkook’s left shoulder, four horns and glittering dark eyes.

A devious, open-mouthed smirk.

Your grip on Jungkook’s horns tightened, staring into this new, yet familiar gaze. A smokey whisper, rasp infesting your eardrums, reaching in to the humanity inside you. Your ice-silver irises reflected in the endless darkness of those ravenous orbs.

“Fuck him harder,” the Devil coaxed.

Sin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Body automatically reacting, crashing your mouth into Jungkook’s, wild kiss punctuated by your hips smacking down hard onto his crotch, walls clenching around his stiff length, his moan and words filling your lungs.

“H-Hyung, fuck!”

You threw your weight onto him, slapping your hips together violently, repeatedly, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, pressing his body into the Devil, Jungkook’s nails digging into your shoulders and his cock swelling inside you. Pale hands coming up to grip Jungkook’s broad, tan shoulders, pink tongue sliding out and stroking the demon’s ear wetly, scorching breath on your fingers.

“Take it,” was the animalistic growl from those perfect pink lips, the low octave on an otherworldly level. “Cum in that pretty little pussy. Warm it up for me, Jungkookie.”

So hard, turning you so wet, greedy kisses and bites not enough, more, more, Jungkook groaning and powerfully thrusting up as you squelched down, splattering your juices all over his balls, pussy throbbing with the intensity of pleasure, staring into beautiful eyes and the hauntingly handsome angles of Jungkook’s face soaked with sweat on glistening tan skin, one of his hands grabbing your head and kissing you back with just as much fervor, filling you again and again, your name dancing on his lips.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me, you humans are so fucking good at serving us…”

“J-Jungkook, ah, f-fuck… I–”

“Give it to me, give it to me, delicious little pet,” he growled in your throat, harder, faster, rougher, racing to the edge and flying off.

A millisecond of euphoria.

You gasped out his name, saturated in mindless ecstasy.

“Jungkook.”

The Chaos swallowed you up, leaving you in nothingness once more.

-

Yoongi noticed it immediately.

He could feel it course through him, your orgasm explosive and mixing with Jungkook’s crescendo, invading the Devil’s senses and igniting throughout his body, feeding off of every throb of your pussy as Jungkook moaned and pumped you full of his hot cum, packing you with demon seed that your human body could do absolutely nothing with, soaking it into your abused walls, painting your sweetness with his heat.

Demons purely had sex with humans for the sake of pleasure. Nothing could come of it other than the obscenity in enjoying primal passion.

Fucking delightful.

Palpable and intense, Yoongi’s tongue slid out and tasted the air, his hands moving up and caressing Jungkook’s horns, making the younger demon shudder and squirm with pleasure, rutting into you more, squishing his thick cum around inside you, your eyelids fluttering and shivering gasps grasping your lungs.

But your eyes.

While you were fucking Jungkook, your eyes had turned that icy silver.

Now your irises were that reflective mirror.

The Devil felt it.

A pulse.

Jungkook’s naked body trembling against his, tantalizing moan implanted with lust incarnate, lost in the throes of passion, unable to get out until his orgasm was over. His voice sounded thin as if there was pressure in his ribcage.

Yoongi looked down at Jungkook’s heaving chest.

It was glowing.

He couldn’t stop it.

Spider-silk thin strands of ice-silver plunging inwards, needles of power forcing its way inside Jungkook’s chest cavity, all the way in. Yoongi was so close that he himself could feel it, the power of his domain letting him feel everything that happened within, from your passion to Jungkook’s desire, and now he could feel the needles pouring in, chipping away at the vibrant demon soul of Jeon Jungkook.

Collecting.

Jungkook whimpered, head falling against Yoongi’s shoulder, turning his head to kiss the Devil’s cheek.

“H… Hyung…”

The slim, black-red diamond extracted from Jungkook’s chest in glimmering lines of ice-silver, suspending it in the air, so spellbinding that even Yoongi could do nothing but watch in awe, the strings winding around the shard of demon soul and affixing it to your chest, the spot to the bottom left below the center. Six now, the filled semicircle underneath your pentagram tattoo, center empty.

The shadowy arms, covered with red eyeballs and tongues, rose.

Your eyes reopened, cracks of ice silver in those vacant irises.

Now, the Devil, Min Yoongi, understood.

What were demons cursed with?

Emotion and free will.

The Vessel was using the soul shards to stabilize the Disorder. The human body was too weak alone and those high above had nothing to give, for they gave away all they had to serve his father. That’s why you needed demon soul. Not just any demon soul, but the six most powerful ones, driven to finalize your collection with the most powerful of them all to contain what was within.

The Entropy.

The Chaos.

A slow, greedy grin graced his lips.

How interesting.

-

A tiny blip.

You had one piece of knowledge. Six.

In the nothingness, the only knowledge you possessed was the number six.

Six.

Six.

Six.

The resurfacing.

You gasped for air, lungs expanding forcefully, chest burning and heart racing, sensory overload, knowing only what you needed to know, the demon Jeon Jungkook in front of you once again, except this time he was leaning against the headboard, breathing hard, his tan shoulders crisscrossed in red from your nails, his two curved black horns luminous, arrogant smirk on his face.

You were on your hands and knees.

No.

Your arms were being held up by dark shadows of disembodied hands, eyes and tongues surrounding you, shoulders bowing a little from the strain, but not enough to be unbearable.

Jungkook licked his lips, slow, glossing them with wetness.

“Pretty pet,” he purred, gripping the leash and tugging on it, your breath dying in your throat, circulation cut off by the leather cutting into the sides of your neck. “Don’t waste any of it now, or you’ll anger him.”

Dancing fingers sliding up your hips, the space in between your legs achingly sore and full, but demanding more punishment, unable to look back to see, but already knowing who it was. You whimpered in your throat, shuddering at the light touch.

Jungkook quirked his eyebrows. “You’re right, little pet.” He yanked your body to his lap, jerking you forward unforgivingly, forcing you to stumble, the hands on your hips holding you up, your arms jostling in the grip of the shadows, their forked tongues swiping across your skin.

“That mouth needs something to fill it too, doesn’t it?” Jungkook drawled dangerously.

Your eyes widened, the scent of sex attacking your nose.

“Down,” he snarled.

You gasped, the grip on your neck lessening, Jungkook’s large hand fitting behind your head and forcing you to lower, your open mouth suddenly filled with his already rock-hard, cum-covered cock, yours and his, sex painting your tongue, swallowing his huge length in one gulp, tip engorging in the back of your throat, filling it to the brim of near-choking, but not quite.

Leaving you on the edge.

The edge of too much and not enough.

Perfection.

“I love to fuck,” Jungkook sighed above you, audibly savoring the feeling of your tight mouth around his length, your shaking eyes looking up at him. “And I’m the second best at it.”

He was.

You didn’t have to wonder. You just knew.

He leaned down, his thumb caressing your forehead. “Guess who is the best, pet?”

You yelped around his cock as forked tongues brushed against your flesh, shadows squeezing and kneading your beasts, latching onto your already hard nipples and stimulating them, pinching and tugging at the sensitive nubs. Jungkook’s naughty smirk was right in front of your face, his hardness twitching and pulsing in your mouth, those hands on your hips tightening, the velvety hard head of another cock skimming your cum-soaked folds, slicking with your juices.

Jungkook’s long fingers curled in your hair, gripping your scalp.

His voice a silvery, perilously low octave.

“The Devil.”

The familiar, raspy chuckle drenched in deviance.

“That’s right.”

Jungkook pulled out and roughly thrust in your face the same time the Devil slammed his cock into you, your eyes flying wide, Jungkook’s previous orgasm stuffed back into you by a different cock, slippery lewd squishes of too much thick liquid expanding your walls. Your pussy and mouth both clamped down on the two cocks, Jungkook’s swollen head ramming into the back of your throat, the Devil…

Holy shit, the Devil.

Whereas Jungkook’s cock responded to your body’s needs and kept it at the teetering maximum of lustful pleasure, the Devil had you suspended on his puppet strings, slow pace agonizingly teasing an orgasm out of you, fast pace tearing another out, rough pace amplifying yet another out, every one feeling like an eternity and leaving you craving more, the true meaning of insatiability, moans vibrating Jungkook’s throbbing length as your pussy convulsed from back-to-back orgasms. The surrounding shadows with bloodshot red eyes were watching you as forked tongues and shadowy hands caressed your trembling body all over, two mouths specifically latched on your nipples and one on your clit, rippling against the sensitive bundle of nerves, soaking it with saliva and sucking on it, all while Jungkook fucked your face relentlessly and the Devil drilled you from behind, grunts, groans, moans, mixed together, stifled by cock and accented by wicked slaps of flesh on flesh, all for the pure intent of only obtaining carnal pleasure and nothing else.

Unconstrained ecstasy, pure sin.

And you, suspended between torture and pain of overwhelmed senses.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook panted, black hair sweaty and sticking to his clenched jaw, dark brown eyes glinting with madness, thrusting wildly into your puffy mauve lips while harshly clutching your head, the shadows holding your body and taking the force of his movements off your neck so he could enjoy the delights of abusing your mouth without causing you pain, therefore allowing you to serve him as he pleased, keeping your throat tight for every punishing slide of his thick cock down the wet hole.

“You take me so well, little pet, almost like a demon, but human mouths are always better, so compliant and subservient. Demons are selfish, only looking out for their own pleasure, but your kind… Your kind is always begging to serve and be used.”

Jungkook caught his lower lip between his teeth, the mole underneath bouncing your vision with every plunge of his cock between your lips, large curved horns on the side of his head surrounded by long black curls, deliciously muscular torso right above you, tattoos on his right arm and shoulder flexing with his movements, the epitome of sex.

The entire time, the Devil’s cock was forcing you to new levels of pleasure you didn’t even know existed, blazing hot and intense, the ever-changing pace almost frustrating, but, somehow, he always knew what to do, speed up or slow down, harder or softer, the Devil’s trill sonata a complex and intricate mess being played, your pussy acting as the violin, coating his cock with Jungkook’s cum and yours, so much that it was spilling out and splashing onto your thighs, dripping down in sloppy squirts.

“You going to cum down that pretty throat?” the Devil drawled, his words resonating in his domain. “I want to watch you fill it up with your delicious cum so you can show me, Jungkookie.”

The young demon shuddered, intoxicated and driven by the command, his breathing swallowing, desires brimming to the surface, your name bubbling off his lips and your throat painfully sore but, oh, so good, so satisfying to be used like a toy, leather leash and collar on your neck jangling, inflamed clit pulsating as you came again with a feral moan around Jungkook’s stiff cock, pushing him over the edge with your suppressed cry, spilling into your throat with thick salty strings of his orgasm, shooting streaks all over the insides of your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he gritted out, jerking the last few spurts onto your tongue before removing his cock, smearing residual cum on your swollen lips. “Fuck, yes.”

He snarled and grabbed your chin, other hand on your chest to push you up, up, forcing you to arch your spine to an almost ridiculously painful level, the Devil’s pleased expression halfway in your vision.

“Open,” Jungkook growled.

You opened your cum-smeared lips, showing the Devil the thick white coating the insides of your pink tongue and abused throat, barely able to breathe, almost choking on Jungkook’s orgasm.

The Devil grinned.

“Swallow.”

You did in noisy, desperate gulps, sucking in sweet air, only for the circulation in your neck to be cut off as Jungkook hooked a finger on the collar ring and yanked it forward, his other hand and the shadows preventing your body or head from moving as he did so.

You could feel it, the Devil’s cock jolting, hitting you so deep and so satisfyingly that your eyes rolled back, vision spotting with black, completely and utterly consumed by the bodily pleasure of being forced to take exactly what you asked for.

Your name, so soft and sharp, driving deep into your pounding, rapid heartbeat, soaking your body with unholy touch, craving to be broken.

“Take it.”

The faintest of gasps, nerves a flaring wildfire as the Devil thrust his orgasm into you, euphoric in simply being pumped with his seed, the hold on your neck suddenly gone, air smashing into your lungs and the rush of oxygen making your lightheaded and dizzy, your body flinching as it attempted to drink it all up, shocks tearing through your system, forked tongues lapping up what was slipping out and another thicker, wetter tongue.

Jungkook on his belly, needy wanton moans in his chest, sucking the mixture of cum – you, himself, and the Devil pouring from between your joined crotches.

-

The ice-silver tendrils creeped from your chest, but shadowed hands forced them back.

Pain.

Yoongi could feel it in midst of the intense orgasm, the pain of his power being disintegrated, but he was no ordinary demon, he was the Devil, and no power, not even the Disorder, was going to take a shard of his soul without a fight.

No.

He pushed back against it, forcing his will upon the power unknown.

You will get your payment.

The pain subsided a little, layering with the shivering tremors of your pussy barely able to hold all that cum. Yoongi clenched his jaw, feeding on it all. He pulled out of you, his cock smacking Jungkook in the face, smearing the demon’s lips and cheeks with his still hard length, feeling the desperate tongue lap at him eagerly before he pulled away, hearing the explicit squelch as Jungkook’s mouth latched onto your pussy, devouring the cum from three beings trapped inside you.

Not until I’ve had a decent meal.

Your irises remained infested with ice-silver.

The Chaos, merely at bay, waiting for him.

-

Jungkook shoved his tongue into your sensitive hole, licking and suckling on your engorged clit as well as eating the delicious nectar, lustfully groaning at the taste of the Devil, you, and him, so flawless, a meal incomparable, his blood singing with joy.

No drop was to go to waste.

He would grovel at the Devil’s feet to have this taste forever.

-

Yoongi grabbed you by the hair and pushed you down, kneeling over Jungkook’s hips, letting the younger demon do whatever he wanted down there. He had more pressing matters.

He lowered himself, lifting Jungkook’s still-stiff cock, and dropped his dripping cock and balls on top the other, hissing in satisfaction as his hard length rubbed against Jungkook’s. Underneath you he heard a throaty, gleeful moan, your body shuddering as the sound went through you.

“Hand,” Yoongi commanded.

He grabbed your hand that his servants freed, wrapping it around the two cocks with his own long fingers, rocking his hips back and forth, too much fluid and too much slick making everything slippery, flickering tongues from the shadows adding to the mix, licking at the purple-red heads, adding saliva to the mix.

Your eyes were glued to this downright obscene display of indecent passion, mauve lips wetly parted, gasping with tremors of orgasm, two hands around two cocks and surrounded by shadows with tongues and eyes, Jungkook’s uncontrolled moaning stifled by your lush hips sitting on his beautiful face, his hips still humping your joined hands and smacking his balls into Yoongi’s, begging the Devil to let him cum and for Yoongi to cum all over his stomach as you came on his face.

The Devil chuckled.

He and you pumped together with Jungkook’s thrusting, his eyes roaming all over, drinking in the sight of his favorite demon and his new shiny toy.

No, not a toy.

His possession.

He lifted his free hand, cupping your chin forcefully, staring into your eyes.

Ice-silver, reflective glass, the original human shattered, so thoroughly intertwined and blended together with powers unknown that it was hard to tell what was what, impossible to know if they even could be separated, and Yoongi, the Devil himself, having no personal reason to bring you back from whatever you were now.

The greater good?

Heh.

The Devil cared not for such things.

“Cum for me,” he breathed hotly to your lips.

You blinked hard, gaze unfocused, the edge already in your sights, headed straight for it at an impossible speed. He watched as you tipped into free-fall, eyes rolling back, whining and moaning hoarsely as you came for the umpteenth time, soaking Jungkook’s face with your orgasm, the younger demon yelping and his cock jerking, spurting cum over his stomach with Yoongi’s mixing at the same time, the Devil sharply hissing as his cock violently shivered and pressed against your palm, shooting thick strings of white all over those sculpted abs.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, the ice-silver needles sprouting from your chest once more.

“Your… name…” you whispered, whole body trembling.

Yoongi exhaled hard, locking his glare with your fucked-out expression. The power pierced him, a bizarre feeling of euphoria and excruciating prickling, pressure unbearable, the threads of the Chaos stumbling through the massive collection of souls within him. Skittering, frantically searching.

Pain.

But not from him.

From you.

Your shaking hand rose, your voice thinning out, anguish coating your features.

It was killing you the longer he hesitated in giving you a name.

The Devil could give you any name of the souls within him. The lesser ones, the insignificant ones, the pathetic ones. The contract did not specify. That was his loophole. The ice-silver threads were tearing you up from the inside, pouring more and more into him with every second that he waited. Your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“H…”

Something shimmering in those eyes.

“He… help… me…”

The power within the Vessel a vehement storm, sadistically demanding the contract to be sealed. You were going to die if he withheld a name from you. The Devil reached up and touched your hand, holding it against his cheek.

He smiled softly.

Yoongi would not let his precious new possession die so quickly.

“Hold on,” he rasped.

The Devil pushed back.

He forced it out, taking the pain and using it to fuel his power, pushing it back, back into you, your airless shrieks trapped in your chest as the six black-red soul-shards gleamed, radiating heat.

Helping him.

Even now his six closest confidants were helping him, their small bits of demon soul rushing to his aid, collapsing onto the power of the Disorder, forcing it back, buying him more time.

Yoongi chuckled.

Guess they really were his friends.

-

Whatever pain you felt became a distant memory the second the Devil lifted your hips from Jungkook’s face, arms wrapping around your body, his knees sliding up a little to hover your two bodies right above the cum puddle on Jungkook’s stomach. The demon beneath you panted, fucked-out, still shuddering with aftershocks of orgasm.

You held his face, looking deep into dark brown eyes full of the knowledge of every sin known to mankind. His lips curved into a sly, open-mouthed smirk.

“You’ve been so good,” he drawled. “Such a resilient little thing.”

Everything was sore, throbbing, muscles burning with exertion, and yet you still wanted more, caressing the cheeks of the Devil with your fingers, leaning against his body for support.

“After this, I think we should be a little closer, don’t you?”

Your body was lowering, abused pussy meeting his hard cock once more.

The Devil wasn’t done until he was done.

And those shadows of arms ending with claw-like fingers, covered in eyeballs and mouths? Always willing to lend a hand, encircling around your bodies, holding up your weak human body so the Devil could fuck you.

“Let’s be together for all eternity, you and I.”

You whimpered as you sank down again, so wet and slick that he slipped in easily, hardness swelling against your trembling walls.

“A contract?” you croaked, barely able to speak at this point.

“No, my pet,” the Devil lured, drawing you into him as he rocked his hips, lowering the two of you on the mess of cum on Jungkook’s abdomen, smearing your thighs in it, sticky and strong-smelling, Jungkook losing it under you, scooping up the demon seed to coat his fingers and palms. “Not a contract. Just a promise. Dedication.”

Now Jungkook’s hands were covered in the Devil’s cum and his own.

He began to spank your ass with every rough thrust of the Devil’s cock burying in your velvety folds, adding stings of pain to the devastating pleasure.

“You have dedication, don’t you?”

Dedication?

Slap! Thrust. Slap! Thrust. Slap!

The Devil leaned forward, raspy laugh deep in his chest.

A trickster’s kiss capturing your swollen lips.

“Faith, if you will.”

Your body instinctively bucking back into the Devil’s cock, Jungkook hitting you repeatedly, cum caked to your ass and thighs, pussy spasming and drenching the impossibly hard and thick cock inside you, taking it all with fierce enthusiasm, now throatily moaning to the bruising pace, ensnared in his words. Fucking you, punishing you, freeing you, violent hard thrusts, smacks on hips on hips and hands on hips, flesh singing with feral pleasure, Jungkook’s nails tearing at your skin and leaving red scratches with his stinging, cum-stained palm prints.

The Devil’s hand closed around the collar around your neck and you felt the leather melting away, disappearing, joining the mass of shadows around you. The black spidery arms flared out, circling around the Devil’s head like black fire, surrounding his four hours as his fingers gripped your neck, his left hand splayed on your back as he choked you.

The shadows opened.

Red eyes with black slitted pupils, watching everything.

Slashed mouths with black lips and forked red tongues, grinning.

They closed in, wrapping around your joined bodies, long predatory fingers tangling in your hair, hands clutching on your breasts, pointed nails clawing at your thighs and leaving red scratches, the Devil’s hot breath in your face as he smirked, wide and open-mouthed, canine teeth glinting ominously, driving his punishing girth into you as Hell’s shadows pushed you back down, Jungkook’s nails digging into your ass and his lustful, throaty moans ringing in your ears as he relished in the feeling of the Devil fucking you on top of him.

Your head clouding, circulation thinning as the pleasure thickened, rising to an impossible crescendo on a scale no longer known to man, consumed by lust and shadows, covered in cum, vision blurring, sound intensifying as one of your senses faded.

All Hell breaking loose.

“Do you have faith in the Devil, human?”

You scarcely managed to croak out an answer.

“Yes.”

A millisecond of euphoria.

A growl so deep it seemed to reign and command all souls within his presence.

“I am the Devil, and my name is Min Yoongi.”

-

Yoongi let it happen.

He set his jaw and shot into you, once more cramming you full of his cum, the pleasure of your orgasm amplifying his own, savoring the addictive high as the ice-silver filaments crowned from that center point on your chest, eagerly darting forward and plunging into his.

For a moment, he felt nothing.

He looked into your eyes.

You reflected ecstasy.

Then he felt an overwhelming pressure, sedation, and a crushing weight mixed with high-voltage passion, shattering through him, the unknown power pinpointing exactly what it needed and knocking on the door of the current soul embodying the Devil.

He was already waiting patiently.

The tendrils of ice-silver became your hands, cupping together, begging.

“Here.”

He ripped it himself, breaking off the thin diamond-like shard of black-red, a piece of his soul that he handed to the waiting hands, knowing he was forever bound to you, forever drawn to you, the Vessel, the Entropy, the Chaos.

His now.

“And this.”

He pressed a little something into it.

“It’s yours.”

The ice-silver snatched his soul-shard and vanished.

-

The darkness closed in, leaving you trapped in nothingness once more. The Chaos received what it needed. There was no need for your consciousness any longer, for the Vessel was complete. The nothingness just was and you were in it.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Then.

A pulse.

-

You opened your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Everything was sticky, covered in cum.

Everything was scattered everywhere, bedsheets and clothes shredded, shadowy arms swaying this way and that, no longer covered in strange eyeballs and mouths, simply all-black and waiting for command.

Why?

You felt something soft tucked into your arms.

Your eyes lowered, seeing the black goat-man plush cradled in the crook of your less cum-coated arm. A pale hand took yours and placed your fingers on the leather hoof. You stroked it, almost innocently.

“Would you like to come with me?” said the deep, raspy voice.

Your eyes flickered to your chest. Six black-red demon soul-shards surrounding a bigger, more lustrous, and sinister-looking one. It sparkled red and purple. Something was trapped inside it, glowing violet from within. It seemed to pulse, slowly, following a unique rhythm.

You looked up.

Into Min Yoongi’s dark, dark eyes.

You felt a strong grip on your shoulders from behind, matched by a teasing chuckle as a playful chin resting against your shoulder. Your eyes flickered to your right, seeing the hand tattoos on that hand, feeling the hardness of the body of Jeon Jungkook behind you. He held you to him, tracing the curve of your neck.

Yoongi held his hand out, smirk on his lips.

You took it, affirming your desire to follow, even if it meant going to the depths of Hell itself.

“What did you do?” you breathed.

The Devil shrugged.

The domain around you was collapsing, but not melting away. Instead, it seemed to cave inward, bowing from strain, surrounding you, Yoongi, and Jungkook, swallowing the three bodies and the goat-man plush in your arms. Yoongi drew close to you, lips on your lips, half-lidded eyes smoked with arousal.

“I gave you a small shred of my heart, pet.”

The fist-sized muscle pounded in your chest as the surface disappeared and the Devil dragged you down to Hell with his right-hand demon.

“Now you have emotion and free will.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to yours, kissing you deeply as the world around you turned into everlasting flames.

-

666 You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

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