#so this struck a chord with me!! every word had a purpose

[wtylas]

“every word had a purpose”

[11vr1]

Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I���m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

[estapa-edwards]

CARE - J. HUGHES

paring: jack hughes x reader

word count: 1.6k

requested? yes - request for reader taking care of jack after his shoulder surgery. like they’re back in Michigan and super fluffy! thanks! :)

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

As I wake up to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, I can feel the weight of the day ahead settling on my shoulders. Today marks another step in our journey toward recovery. Jack, my beloved boyfriend and a prominent player for the New Jersey Devils, recently underwent shoulder surgery, and we've returned to Michigan to focus on his rehabilitation. Taking care of him has become my top priority, a responsibility I cherish deeply.

Jack is usually the epitome of strength and resilience, but seeing him vulnerable after the surgery was a stark reminder of his humanity. As I prepare breakfast, I can't help but recall the determined look in his eyes as he reassured me that he would bounce back stronger than ever. But for now, he needs me to be his pillar of support, his rock in turbulent waters.

The scent of pancakes fills the air as I hear Jack's footsteps approaching. Despite the pain he must be feeling, he still manages to flash me a grateful smile that warms my heart. "Good morning, love," he greets me, his voice tinged with fatigue yet filled with appreciation.

"Morning, Jack," I reply, returning his smile as I set the table. Breakfast becomes a quiet affair as we both focus on fueling our bodies for the day ahead. I catch Jack wincing occasionally, a subtle reminder of the discomfort he's experiencing. It's moments like these that remind me of the challenges we face together, but also of the unwavering bond that strengthens us.

After breakfast, I assist Jack with his morning routine, helping him with tasks that were once effortless. From tying his shoelaces to buttoning his shirt, every action is a testament to his determination to regain his independence. Despite the frustration that occasionally bubbles to the surface, Jack's resilience shines through, inspiring me to be his unwavering support.

As we settle into the rhythm of our day, I can't help but reflect on how our roles have shifted. Normally, it's Jack who takes care of me, offering support and encouragement in times of need. But now, it's my turn to repay the favor, to be the anchor that keeps him grounded amidst the storm.

Throughout the day, I find myself anticipating Jack's needs before he even asks. Whether it's preparing his favorite meals or adjusting his pillows for added comfort, every action is infused with love and care. 

--

One evening, as we sat together in comfortable silence, Jack's gaze lingered on me with a mixture of gratitude and concern. "Y/n," he began, his voice soft yet filled with a hint of apprehension, "I can't help but feel bad that you're spending all your time taking care of me. You shouldn't have to put your life on hold because of me."

His words struck a chord deep within me, stirring emotions that I had been suppressing for far too long. Though I had convinced myself that caring for Jack was my sole purpose, his concern reminded me that I too deserved to prioritize my own needs.

"Jack," I replied, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile, "taking care of you isn't a burden—it's a privilege. I want to be here for you, every step of the way. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten about myself in the process."

I took a deep breath, gathering the courage to voice the thoughts that had been weighing heavily on my mind. "I've realized that I need to take care of myself too. So, starting tomorrow, I'm going to carve out some time for myself—to pursue my own interests, to recharge, and to ensure that I'm taking care of my own well-being."

Jack's expression softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and gratitude. "Y/n, you never cease to amaze me," he murmured, reaching out to gently grasp my hand. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, more than words can express. But I also want you to know that your happiness and well-being are just as important to me."

--

After Jack's gentle encouragement to prioritize my own well-being, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to indulge in a little self-care. Taking a deep breath, I embarked on a much-needed shopping trip, determined to treat myself to a few new pieces to lift my spirits.

As I wandered through the bustling streets, the vibrant energy of the city enveloped me, filling me with a renewed sense of excitement and anticipation. With each new store I entered, I found myself drawn to clothing that reflected my personality—a mix of classic elegance and contemporary flair.

After what felt like hours of browsing racks and trying on various outfits, I emerged from the last store with a spring in my step and a bag full of newfound treasures. Eager to share my purchases with Jack, I practically skipped home, my heart brimming with excitement.

Upon my return, Jack greeted me with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How was your shopping trip, love?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine interest.

"It was amazing!" I exclaimed, unable to contain my enthusiasm as I unveiled my purchases. "I found some really cute pieces that I can't wait to show you."

With a mischievous twinkle in my eye, I disappeared into the bedroom, emerging moments later in one of my new outfits—a flowy sundress that billowed around me as I twirled in front of Jack.

His eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight before him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Wow, you look absolutely stunning," he breathed, his voice filled with admiration.

Buoyed by his heartfelt compliment, I proceeded to model each of my new outfits, each one eliciting a different reaction from Jack—whether it was a wolf whistle of approval or a playful tease about my newfound sense of style.

As the impromptu fashion show drew to a close, I couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over me, knowing that I had shared this moment of joy with the person I loved most in the world.

Wrapping me in a warm embrace, Jack pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his arms enveloping me in a cocoon of love and affection. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Y/n," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "You always know how to brighten my day."

After the excitement of the impromptu fashion show, Jack and I settled into a cozy evening together, relishing in the simple pleasure of each other's company. With Jack's shoulder still on the mend, I made sure to position pillows strategically around him, ensuring that he remained comfortable and supported throughout our movie night.

--

As we snuggled together on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm hue over the room, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer contentment that enveloped us. Jack's head rested against my shoulder, his arm draped protectively around me, while my fingers traced gentle patterns across his chest, eliciting a contented sigh from him.

With a flick of the remote, I selected a lighthearted romantic comedy, knowing that it was just the thing to lift our spirits and chase away any lingering worries. As the opening credits rolled, we settled in for an evening of laughter and love, losing ourselves in the world unfolding before us.

Throughout the movie, we shared stolen glances and whispered commentary, each moment deepening the connection between us. Jack's laughter rang out like music, filling the room with joy, while my heart swelled with affection at the sight of him so relaxed and carefree.

Occasionally, I would feel Jack shift beside me, a silent reminder of the discomfort he still experienced. With a gentle touch, I would adjust his position, mindful of his shoulder and eager to ensure his comfort above all else. And though the movie provided a welcome distraction, it was the moments in between—the shared smiles, the tender caresses—that held the true magic.

As the credits rolled and the movie drew to a close, I reluctantly stirred from our comfortable cocoon, a sense of reluctance tugging at my heart. Yet, as I turned to face Jack, his eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored my own, I knew that our night together was far from over.

With a playful grin, Jack reached for the remote, his fingers brushing against mine as he selected another movie—one that we had both been wanting to watch for weeks. As the opening scenes filled the screen, we settled back into our cozy haven, eager to lose ourselves in yet another cinematic adventure.

As the movie unfolded before us, we found ourselves drawn into its captivating narrative, our laughter mingling with the soundtrack as we shared whispered commentary and inside jokes. With each passing moment, our connection deepened, weaving an invisible thread that bound us together in a tapestry of love and affection.

Occasionally, I would steal glances at Jack, marveling at the way his eyes sparkled with laughter and his smile lit up the room. Despite the challenges he faced, he remained unwavering in his resilience, his spirit shining bright even in the darkest of times.

And as the night wore on, I found myself falling more and more in love with him with each passing moment. With his head resting against my shoulder and his hand intertwined with mine, I knew that no matter what the future held, as long as we had each other, we could weather any storm that came our way.

As the final credits rolled and the screen faded to black, I turned to Jack with a soft smile, my heart overflowing with love. "Thank you for tonight, Jack," I whispered, my voice filled with gratitude. "For being here, for being you."

With a tender kiss and a whispered promise of forever, we settled into the comfort of each other's arms, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brought, we would face it together, hand in hand, with hearts full of hope and love.

Im finally back! I've been so busy this last month, thank you guys so much for reading my work! i love you all xoxo

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 13/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, soft Ben

Word Count: 5442

A/N: This is part 13 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

"So, how are things going with you and Ben?", she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity. "You two seem to be getting along really well again, especially since you guys came back from vacation".

You flashed Annie a smile, trying to sound nonchalant as you replied, “Oh, you know how it is. We just talked, drank, and had fun while we were in Brazil”. Annie nodded, but her eyes betrayed a knowing glint as she continued, “And what about that little crush you had on him a few weeks ago? Seemed like there was something more going on”.

You felt a pang of panic, hoping Ben was too engrossed in the conversation with Butcher to overhear.

“Oh, that?”, you said, trying to brush it off. “Just a silly little crush, nothing serious”.

As Annie and Kimiko exchanged glances, Kimiko raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. Sensing your confusion, you sighed, asking her silently, "What?".

In response, Kimiko signed a few quick gestures, her hands moving with precision and clarity. Though you were still learning sign language, you understood her message clearly: he's not a good guy, and you shouldn't have a crush on him.

Her words struck a chord.

As Ben’s gaze lingered on you from afar, his ears caught every word of your conversation with Annie and Kimiko.

Meanwhile, Annie turned to you, her expression solemn. “Kimiko’s right, you know”, she said softly. “You shouldn’t let yourself get too caught up with someone like him”.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity. “Someone like him? Like what?”, you asked, crossing your arms as you waited for their explanation.

Again Annie exchanged a meaningful look with Kimiko before speaking again. “Someone who’s… complicated”, she replied carefully. “You know he’s not the easiest person to deal with”.

Kimiko nodded in agreement, her expression serious. “He’s dangerous”, she signed, her hands moving swiftly to convey her message. “You should be careful”.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “He never hurt me”, you insisted, feeling the need to defend Ben, despite all the warning signs.

Annie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “Well, not on purpose maybe”, she countered, her tone tinged with concern. Kimiko’s hands moved, “He’s just a massive red flag”.

“He’s got PTSD, he’s never sober, always on coke, and let’s not forget, he’s a fucking misogynist”.

"I know," you admitted quietly, your gaze drifting back to Ben.

Annie sighed, her expression softening with concern. "Just be careful, okay? You shouldn't catch any kind of feelings for him", she warned, her tone gentle but firm.

You scoffed, feeling a pang of frustration. "I know he's not perfect, but he's not a bad guy", you insisted, though doubt lingered in your mind.

Annie's expression grew serious. "Remember his short temper and his aggressive mood swings", she reminded you, her voice low. "his lack of empathy and emotions. He's not capable of loving someone".

As Annie’s words sank in, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease creeping over you. Despite your conflicted feelings for Ben, the reality of his volatile nature and emotional detachment weighed heavily on your mind. Before you could respond, Kimiko signed to you, “You could literally easily die. Since you’re just a human, Ben could crush you at any time with ease”.

You sighed, trying to dismiss the heaviness of the conversation. "Let's just drop it", you said, your voice wavering slightly. "I don't have any feelings for him, and I never will".

You hoped your words sounded convincing, but deep down, you knew they were a lie. However, unbeknownst to you, Ben overheard your declaration from afar, a dark look crossing his features as he listened.

Annie couldn’t shake her concern for you, her eyes still filled with worry as she turned back to you. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt”, Annie said softly, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

“I know”, you replied quietly, feeling the weight of her words.

Annie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her gaze filled with compassion. “Soldier boy could never give you what you need”, she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As Ben sat amidst the discussion with Butcher, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Emotions swirled within him, a turbulent mix of frustration, insecurity, and a hint of longing. He couldn't bear the thought of you thinking poorly of him, but he was at a loss for what to do.

From the kitchen, you glanced over at Ben, your gaze lingering on him for a moment. But Ben, determined to maintain his facade, pretended to be engrossed in the conversation with Butcher, his expression carefully neutral.

Unknown to you, his heart ached with the desire to reach out to you, to reassure you that he wasn't as bad as you might think. But his pride and his own internal struggles kept him rooted in place.

Annie caught your gaze lingering on Ben, and she shot you a knowing look, her expression tinged with sarcasm.

"Sure thing", she muttered sarcastically, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Not catching feelings at all, huh?".

You felt a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks, but you quickly averted your gaze, unable to meet Annie's knowing eyes. Deep down, you knew she was right, but admitting it was another matter entirely.

As everyone got ready to eat, you busied yourself with setting the table, focusing on the task at hand to distract yourself from your swirling thoughts.

Just as you reached for the salad on the kitchen counter, you felt a presence behind you. Before you could react, Ben's voice whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I want you in my room later, when everyone's asleep", he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You tensed at his words, a rush of anticipation mingled with apprehension flooding through you. Glancing over your shoulder, you met his gaze briefly before nodding in silent agreement.

Annie glanced over at you and Ben but didn’t notice the subtle gesture of intimacy exchanged between you. Ben’s gentle touch as he brushed over your lower back went unnoticed by anyone else as he smoothly made his way to the table to join the rest of the team.

As you sat down beside Ben, your thoughts raced with a whirlwind of questions and uncertainties. The subtle touch from earlier lingered in your mind, adding to the anticipation of what might unfold later that night.

Across the table, you noticed Butcher's sharp gaze fixed on you, a flicker of curiosity evident in his expression. You quickly averted your eyes, feeling a surge of discomfort under his scrutiny.

You helped yourself to some food, your mind buzzed with thoughts of Annie and Kimiko's warnings. Their words echoed in your mind.

As everyone fell into small talk, the atmosphere around the table became relaxed, but Ben remained his usual quiet self, showing little interest in engaging with anyone else except you. Similarly, you found yourself lost in your thoughts, exchanging occasional glances with Annie whenever Ben's eyes were fixed on you.

Despite the casual chatter around you, a tension lingered in the air, palpable in the way Ben's gaze seemed to follow you, his attention solely focused on you amidst the distractions of the dinner table.

As you felt Ben's knee nudge yours under the table, you looked up at him, but he didn't raise his gaze from his plate. Instead, his hand found its way onto your thigh under the table, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You shot him a questioning glance, but he remained focused on his food.

Despite your expectations, Ben's touch remained surprisingly innocent. His hand simply lay on your thigh.

As you tried to make sense of his actions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mingled with confusion. It was a small gesture, yet it spoke volumes about the complexity of your relationship with Ben.

About an hour later you found yourself in the midst of self-defense and fighting practice with MM and Butcher, the adrenaline pumping through your veins masked the lingering tension from dinner. Despite the physical exertion, your mind couldn't help but drift back to the earlier conversation and the anticipation of what awaited you later with Ben.

MM's voice cut through your thoughts, breaking your concentration. "Focus, kid", he said firmly, his tone demanding. "You need to keep your guard up".

You nodded, refocusing your attention on the task at hand. "Right, sorry", you replied, determined to prove yourself amidst the flurry of punches and kicks.

Butcher chimed in, his voice gruff but encouraging. "Good effort, lass. Keep at it, and you'll be holding your own in no time".

But as your thoughts swirled with images of Ben, you lost focus again, failing to anticipate Butcher's next move. Before you knew it, his fist connected with your shoulder, sending you tumbling to the ground with a grunt of pain.

"Oi! Pay attention, will ya?", Butcher barked, his tone gruff but not unkind as he offered you a hand up.

As you struggled to regain your footing, Butcher’s voice cut through the haze of embarrassment. “Seems like your mind’s elsewhere, lass. Can’t afford that when you’re in a fight”.

You accepted his hand gratefully, shooting him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Butcher. Just got a bit distracted”, you admitted, trying to shake off the embarrassment. Butcher’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes still held a hint of amusement. “Well, keep your head in the game, or next time it might be a bit harder”, he warned, his tone gruff but encouraging.

Meanwhile, Ben stood in the doorframe, his smirk widening as he watched the exchange. He couldn't resist adding his own commentary. "Seems like someone's got no practice in anything", he teased, hinted at your recent loss of virginity without outright saying it.

You felt a flicker of annoyance at his comment, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you shot back with a defiant glare. "You want to talk about practice? Maybe you should switch with Butcher, and I'll whip your arrogant supe ass instead", you retorted.

Butcher chuckled, while Ben's smirk only widened. "Touché", he replied, his tone amused as he sauntered into the room, ready to join in on the training session.

"I'd love to see you try", Ben taunted, his voice laced with amusement.

"Bring it on", you challenged, your pulse racing with anticipation.

As Ben walked past you, his arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips, MM and Butcher exchanged a glance, their eyebrows raised in silent communication.

MM muttered under his breath, "This is gonna get messy".

Butcher nodded in agreement, his expression serious as he watched the tension between you and Ben unfold.

Ben stood casually across from you, his attire relaxed in sweatpants and a black hoodie. He seemed unimpressed by your challenge, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart", he taunted. "You really think you can take me on?".

"Watch me".

Ben chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked you up and down. "I like a bit of fight in a girl", he replied. "But let's see if you can back up that little attitude of yours”.

Ben's smirk widened as he met your defiant gaze. "Don't say I didn't warn you", he said. "I won't go easy on you”.

You met Ben's gaze head-on, the challenge sparking between you like electricity. "I bet, old man", you shot back.

Butcher cleared his throat, his tone stern as he addressed Ben. "Remember, mate, she's just a human. Keep those supe powers in check", he warned, his gaze flicking between the two of you. Ben shrugged off Butcher's warning with a cocky smirk. "I'll play nice", he replied, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. "At least until she gives me a reason not to".

The sparring began, and you moved with agility, trying to anticipate Ben's every move. But no matter how fast you were, he was always a step ahead, effortlessly blocking each of your strikes with precision.

As the fight continued, the tension between you grew palpable. At one point, Ben caught you off guard, his strong arms wrapping around you from behind as he blocked another of your moves. You could feel the heat of his body pressed against your back, his breath warm against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Despite the intensity of the moment, there was an undeniable thrill in the closeness of your bodies, the adrenaline of the fight mingling with a different kind of arousal. Ben found it incredibly hot that you were trying to fight him, his own desire flaring as he held you tightly against him.

Ben’s breath grew heavy against your ear, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “You’re feisty, I’ll give you that”, he murmured, his tone teasing and flirtatious.

You gritted your teeth, determined to push through the distraction and maintain your composure.

As Ben's arm tightened around your neck, you reacted instinctively, sinking your teeth into his flesh. With a sharp intake of breath, he loosened his grip, giving you the opportunity to break free.

Seizing the moment, you launched yourself at him, catching him off guard and managing to throw him to the ground. But in the heat of the struggle, you ended up straddling his lap, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you looked down at him, a mix of triumph and uncertainty in your eyes.

Ben's gaze met yours, his expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. Despite being momentarily overpowered, there was a glint of respect in his eyes as he looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ben's hands gripped your hips firmly, you couldn't help but feel the light pressure of his erection underneath you, sending a shiver down your spine. His grip tightened, almost crushing, but it only added to the rush of arousal coursing through you.

Ben seized the opportunity to roll you over, quickly reversing the position. Now, he knelt above you, his hand tight around your neck, asserting his dominance. With a smirk, he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Looks like I've got you right where I want you, sweetheart. You always did have a knack for getting yourself into trouble".

As you struggled beneath him, Ben's firm grip held you in place, his dominance undeniable. Despite your efforts to break free, his strength was overwhelming, leaving you pinned beneath him. With a defiant glare, you tried to push against his hold, but it was no use.

Ben's smirk only widened as he maintained his control over you. Meanwhile, Butcher, who had been observing the exchange with a critical eye, couldn't hide his disapproval. "Oi, enough of that, mate", he interjected gruffly, stepping forward with a stern expression. "Keep your eyes off her, she ain't some bloody toy for you to play with".

Ben's smirk faltered slightly at Butcher's interruption, but he didn't release his grip on you. Instead, he met Butcher's gaze with a challenging glare of his own, the tension between them palpable. With a snarky smirk, Ben quipped, "Someone's feeling a bit overprotective today, aren't they, Butcher?".

Butcher's jaw tightened at the remark, his expression stern as he stepped closer to Ben. "I ain't being overprotective", he retorted firmly. "I'm just reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You may be invincible, mate, but she isn't".

With an eye roll, Ben finally released his grip on you and offered his hand to help you up. However, his tug was way too strong, causing you to stumble against his chest as you regained your footing.

"Easy there", he chuckled, his tone light but tinged with amusement as he steadied you.

You shot him a playful glare, rubbing your sore arm where his grip had been particularly tight. "You could've been more gentle, you know", you muttered, unable to hide the hint of annoyance in your voice.

Ben merely shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm a soldier, sweetheart. If I fight, I fight", he teased, his tone unapologetic.

You rolled your eyes at his cavalier attitude.

MM chimed in with a sigh, his voice carrying a note of exasperation. "You're just getting too distracted", he remarked, his tone firm but not unkind.

Ben, unusually serious for once, nodded in agreement. "He´s right", he added, his gaze meeting yours briefly. "Against any supe, there's no time for distractions".

You bristled at the criticism, feeling the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. "It was my first damn practice session", you retorted, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Cut me some slack".

Despite your defiant tone, there was a part of you that couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they were right. You needed to focus if you were going to stand a chance against any real threats.

Butcher approached you, his hand came to rest gently on your lower back, a silent gesture of reassurance. "Hey, not bad for your first go", he said, his tone gruff but approving. "You just need to work on keeping your focus, that's all".

You nodded, grateful for his encouragement.

Meanwhile, Ben's gaze flickered to Butcher's hand on your lower back, a surge of possessiveness stirring within him. He clenched his jaw, a brief flicker of jealousy crossing his features, but he quickly pushed it aside, not wanting to make a scene.

As Butcher and MM began to leave the room, Ben lingered behind for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. With a subtle nod to Butcher, he indicated that he would follow shortly.

Once they were out of earshot, Ben turned his attention back to you, his expression unreadable. "You did alright", he remarked, his tone casual but tinged with a hint of something else.

You met his gaze, feeling a mixture of relief and tension in the air. "Thanks", you replied, your voice slightly hoarse with emotion. "Guess I still have a lot to learn".

Ben's lips quirked into a smirk as he took a step closer, the air between you charged with an undeniable energy. "Don't worry", he said, his voice low and teasing. "I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two".

As the evening wore on and everyone settled into sleep, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, contemplating your options. Unsure of what Ben wanted from you, you decided that your grandma panties would be better left in the closet.

Examining yourself in the mirror, you opted for something a little more alluring, selecting a pair of underwear that hugged your curves in all the right places. As you slipped them on, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation mingled with nervousness.

You approached Ben's room with cautious steps, the anticipation building with each quiet footfall. As you pushed the door open, you found him sitting shirtless on his bed, a joint dangling from his fingertips while he scrolled through his phone.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated his features, casting shadows across his chiseled chest. You hesitated at the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. With a deep breath, you entered the room, the door clicking shut behind you.

Ben looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in your appearance. His gaze lingered on you with a mixture of amusement and desire, sending a shiver down your spine.

"What are you waiting for?", he asked, his voice low and husky. "C´mere."

His invitation was both a command and a plea, and you felt yourself drawn to him irresistibly. With a nervous smile, you approached the bed, anticipation building with each step.

As Ben set his phone aside, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He sat up slightly, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively.

"You look good", he murmured.

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at his compliment, the warmth spreading through you at his gaze. "Thanks".

As Ben pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm on your hips, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation mixed with nervousness. Despite the intimacy of the moment, he didn't make any further moves, leaving you to wonder what he was thinking.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position on his lap, the tension between you palpable. "What are we doing?", you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what to expect next.

As Ben brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle yet possessive, a shiver ran down your spine. His fingers lingered for a moment, his gaze locked with yours, before he spoke.

"Just sit still", he murmured. Despite the simplicity of his words, there was an underlying intensity that made it impossible to disobey.

You complied with his command, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every curve and contour of your body. Despite your efforts to suppress the nervous fluttering in your stomach, the intensity of the moment was undeniable.

Ben's hands remained firm on your hips, his touch both possessive and reassuring. "Good girl", he murmured, his voice low and tinged with satisfaction. "Just like that".

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heartbeat as you focused on maintaining your stillness. With Ben's eyes on you, every moment felt charged with anticipation, each passing second heightening the tension between you.

"You know, I could make it even more enjoyable for you if you'd let me", Ben whispered, his voice a low murmur against your ear.

Despite the ache throbbing between your legs, you refused to let on to Ben about your discomfort. With a forced smile, you brushed off his suggestion, trying to conceal the twinge of pain that shot through you with every movement.

"I'm fine", you replied, your voice strained as you shifted slightly on his lap.

Deep down, you hoped he wouldn't press further, unwilling to admit to the discomfort that lingered beneath the surface.

Ben's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he observed your strained expression, well aware of your attempt to downplay your discomfort. His usual indifference softened slightly as he decided to play along, his tone laced with teasing amusement.

"Sure you are", he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. "You're not fucking sore at all, are you? All that fighting practice must have toughened you up".

You simply shook your head.

Ben leaned back slightly, studying your expression with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Alright, tough girl”, he teased, his tone light but his eyes searching yours. “If you say so”.

Despite his teasing, there was a subtle warmth in his gaze, a silent reassurance that he was there, even if he didn’t verbalize it. He wanted to prove to you, in his own way, that he wasn’t as callous as others perceived him to be.

You met his gaze with determination, refusing to let your discomfort show. “I’m fine”, you insisted, your voice firm, now pushing aside any sign of weakness and pain.

“So, if you’re really not sore”, he began, his tone suggestive, “You up for another round?”.

Your cheeks flushed at his bold question, but you held his gaze steadily.

Seeing your flushed cheeks, Ben couldn't help but feel a surge of amusement mixed with a tinge of curiosity. "Come on", he urged, his tone coaxing. "You can tell me how you really feel. I won't bite".

You hesitated, torn between wanting to maintain your facade of strength and the desire to be honest with him. After a moment of internal struggle, you sighed, conceding to his persistence. "Okay, fine", you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I'm a little sore".

Ben's smirk softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "There, was that so hard?", he teased, his touch light against your skin. "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you", he winked.

As Ben's hands traced lazily over your hips, slipping under your top and skimming along your sides and back, you couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of his touch against your soft skin.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingertips dancing lightly over your curves as if exploring every inch of you. "You're so soft", he murmured.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the fluttering in your stomach as his touch sent tingles of electricity coursing through you. "Ben", you whispered, your voice barely a breath as his hands continued to explore your body.

Ben's touch lingered on your skin, his fingers tracing the bruises on your hips with a mix of curiosity and guilt. "I won't fuck you", he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "But touching should be allowed".

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions wash over you. Despite his insistence on not taking things further, the heat of his touch ignited a fire within you, a primal desire that threatened to consume your self-control.

His gaze met yours as he traced the marks on your skin. "I didn't mean to hurt you", he admitted quietly. "I guess I underestimated my strength".

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in as you struggled to find the right response.

Ben’s touch softened as he spoke, his fingers stilling on your skin as he met your gaze again, this time with sincerity.

“I’m not a bad guy”, he began, his voice quiet but earnest. “But I’m not exactly good either. I’m just… not used to every situation like this”. He paused, his gaze flickering to where his fingertips lingered on your skin. “Especially when it comes to…”, he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to you, unable to find the right words.

Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in his eyes stirring something deep within you. "When it comes to what?", you asked softly, your curiosity piqued as you searched his eyes for answers.

Ben hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "When it comes to… you", he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't… I'm not good at this", he added, his words trailing off as he struggled to find the right way to express himself without sounding vulnerable.

Despite knowing you shouldn't push Ben too much, your curiosity got the better of you. You were beyond curious about what he was trying to say.

"About me?", you pressed gently, hoping he would open up further.

But Ben's expression hardened slightly, a hint of frustration flickering in his eyes. "Forget it", he muttered dismissively, his tone tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "It doesn't matter".

Before you could press him further, Ben cut you off by leaning in and kissing you with such passion that it took your breath away. The intensity of his kiss made you feel like you were soaring, momentarily distracting you from your questions and uncertainties.

As Ben turned you both, his body hovering above yours, he deepened the kiss before trailing his lips along your jawline. Between kisses, he murmured, "You know I was patient with you, right? I didn't rush you when we… you know".

His words were soft, almost pleading, as if he wanted to convince you that he wasn't as bad as Annie and the others insisted.

As the intensity of the moment enveloped you both, your voices turned into whispers, matching the intimacy of the scene. Ben's hands traced softly along your sides, his touch gentle yet electric as he continued to pepper kisses along your jaw.

"I know I can be a handful", he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I've always been patient with you, haven't I?".

His lips continued their featherlight exploration over your skin, tracing every contour of your face and neck with painstaking slowness. The sensation was intoxicating, consuming your senses entirely.

With a soft sigh, you whispered in response, your voice barely above a breathy murmur, "You have…always been patient".

As his lips lingered against your skin, he paused for a moment before lifting his head slightly to meet your gaze. "I always made you feel good, right?", he asked, his voice low.

You met his gaze, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming as you whispered back, "Yes, Ben".

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours. "Good", he murmured, before capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

As the kiss deepened, Ben's hands gently cradled your face, his touch tender yet possessive. Between breathless moments, he whispered, "You know that Blondie and the rest just hate me? I would never hurt you".

His words sent a jolt through you, realizing that he had overheard your conversation earlier. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his vulnerability hung in the air, a silent plea for understanding.

With a hint of possessiveness, he continued, his voice laced with urgency, "They don't know you like I do. I wouldn't let anyone hurt you".

His words resonated with a protective edge, revealing a side of him you hadn't fully seen before.

With a determined edge to his voice, he added, "When I'm on that mission for the next two weeks, I need to know you're safe. And I don't want any other man near you, understand?".

With a hint of shyness, you asked, "But why? We're not together".

"I won't touch you ever again if anyone else does", he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ben's lips curled into a smirk as he added, "And trust me, sweetheart, you wouldn't want to see me angry if someone else lays a finger on you".

"And just so we're clear", Ben continued, his voice low and possessive, "this pretty pussy is mine now. Got it?".

As Ben's lips trailed down your neck, he sucked lightly on your skin, urging you to answer with a low, demanding growl.

"Tell me", he murmured between kisses, his voice husky with desire. "Whose pretty pussy is it?".

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Yours", you finally whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your racing heart.

Ben's lips curved into a satisfied smirk against your skin as he heard your response. "That's right, doll", he murmured. "All mine".

Ben's smirk turned into a mischievous grin as he leaned back slightly to meet your gaze. "And since you're too sore for me to fuck you properly", he teased, his voice low and suggestive, "I'm gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours so good, you won't be able to think about something else for the next two weeks".

As Ben's lips trailed down your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake, a shiver of anticipation ran through you. His touch was electric, sending tingles of pleasure dancing along your skin.

You let out a soft sigh as his lips hovered just above the waistband of your shorts, the anticipation building with each passing moment. "Ben", you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you with a wicked grin, his eyes dark with desire. "Don't worry, sweetheart", he whispered huskily, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm gonna make you forget everything but me".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 14

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch @mimaria420 @kaz11283 @uncle-eggy @jackles010378 @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @mostlymarvelgirl @meowmeowyoongles

[achlyisdumb]

A Birthday Burden

——AVA One Shot——

[It's Victim's Birthday! So I decided to make this one shot :D]

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Victim sat alone in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across his face. The date on the calendar marked another year since his creation—a grim reminder of his existence. He loathed this day, a mockery of a celebration that highlighted his status as a mere mistake, a disposable toy for his creator. The name "Victim" felt like a curse, a branding that he could never escape.

His mercenaries, the group he had grudgingly come to rely on, had other plans. Among them, Agent Smith was the most persistent. Stoic, nonchalant, and cool-headed, Smith was determined to make Victim acknowledge this day, despite Victim's vehement objections.

Pacing the room, Victim's movements were sharp and agitated, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. "I don't see why I should celebrate the day of my creation," he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "It’s just a reminder that I'm nothing but a mistake. A plaything for that bastard."

Smith stood with his arms crossed, his expression unyielding. "You exist, Victim. That in itself is worth acknowledging. Your creation, regardless of the intent, means you have a presence in this world."

"A presence?" Victim scoffed, his pacing more erratic. "I'm a mistake. A discarded piece of code. That cad created me and threw me away without a second thought. Celebrating this day feels like celebrating my own misery."

The other mercenaries, each as professional and resolute as Smith, surrounded Victim. Their presence was a silent but powerful testament to their respect and loyalty.

"Even if you were a mistake, you've carved out a place for yourself," Primal said, their voice steady and sincere. "You lead us. You have a purpose."

"A purpose," Victim repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "My purpose is to exist in this endless loop of torment, all thanks to that wretch. He created me, deleted me, and left me to suffer. Every misfortune I’ve faced is because of him."

Smith stepped forward, his gaze piercing through Victim's rage. "Revenge won't change what happened. But denying yourself even the smallest moments of acknowledgment only gives him more power over you."

Victim's anger flared, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think a simple birthday celebration will make me feel better? You think it will change anything? I'm weak, powerless against him. Celebrating this day is a joke."

"We're not asking you to forget," Smith said calmly, his voice steady. "We're asking you to reclaim a part of yourself, even if it's just for a moment."

Victim glared at them, his chest heaving with frustration. "You don't get it. None of you do. That miscreant is the center of my world, the cause of all my pain. I want nothing more than to see him suffer as I have."

Smith's voice remained steady, but a hint of empathy softened his eyes. "Hatred consumes, Victim. It blinds you. If you focus only on your rage, you lose sight of everything else. Including the people who stand by you."

The words struck a chord, albeit reluctantly. Victim’s anger didn't dissipate, but a flicker of doubt crept in. He looked at the mercenaries, their unwavering expressions, their dedication. They weren’t just his followers; they believed in him.

"Fine," Victim said through gritted teeth, his shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance. "I'll celebrate this stupid day. But don't expect me to enjoy it."

The mercenaries exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They set up a modest celebration—a small cake and a few candles. Victim watched with a mix of contempt and resignation, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached the makeshift celebration.

As the candles were lit, Victim felt a surge of conflicting emotions. The act of celebrating felt hollow, yet the presence of his mercenaries, their insistence, held a strange weight. He couldn’t deny the effort they put in, even if it felt meaningless to him.

"Make a wish," one of them (Ballista) said, their tone neutral yet sincere.

Victim hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He closed his eyes, the image of that jerk burning in his mind. His wish was simple, fueled by rage and sorrow: to find a way to break free from the chains of his creation, to find a path where he wasn't just a victim.

He blew out the candles, the small flames flickering out one by one. The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. Victim sat down, the celebration continuing around him. He didn’t feel better, the darkness within him still simmering. But for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he felt the presence of his mercenaries, their solidarity, and it was enough to quell the storm inside him, if only slightly.

"Thank you," he muttered, barely audible.

Smith nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Happy birthday, Victim."

The words hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of his existence. As the celebration drew to a close, Victim knew that his hatred for that fiend wouldn’t fade, but he also knew that he wasn’t alone in his struggle. And that, in itself, was something worth acknowledging.

———

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 4/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

More on the siblings' program.

-----------------------------------------------

Lucifer stifled a chuckle as he observed his brother's expression. If only Michael knew that Lucifer had already been informed of his impending demise. He's more shocked that Heaven might be the cause of his death.

Heaven's really keen on killing him, huh.

Lucifer: I'm immortal! You're being ridiculous.

Michael: And you're being a fool! These threads just made a divine move. This had never happened before!

Lucifer: Then why tell me, huh?! Last I checked, you and Heaven could barely give a rat's ass about whether or not I'm still alive.

Michael: Because believe it or not, I do still care about you! You're my little brother, Samael!

Lucifer: I said my name is L̴͎̭̥͎͊̀u̷̧̨̟̻͓͗̍c̷̢̪̱̄̀̊̎̀͝ì̷̘͚̰̖̦̱f̴̻̮̲̮͈͈͑̓̃̃̊e̸̫̒͑͒͊͗͆r̸̨̤̀̂̚͝ͅͅ!

Sue him if he couldn't control the fiery words that erupted from his mouth. Michael always had a knack for provoking him, intentionally or not.

Lucifer: And you have a funny way of showing it. Did you know that the Fall almost killed us?! Lily and I had to lay there, surrounded by darkness, bodies so burnt we couldn't move for weeks.

Despite the looming threat posed by the King of Hell, Michael refuses to back down. Instead, he straightens his posture and closes the distance between them, showing the unwavering protector of Heaven that he is.

Michael: You don't understand! I- it was such a hard decision! It was the best option! I'm Heaven's protector and-

Lucifer: You were my protector too!

The Archangel was taken aback, a rare moment of vulnerability revealing itself in his features. Lucifer, observing this reaction, knows he has struck a chord. Despite Michael's claims of caring for his family, it's evident that Heaven had, and always has been his top priority.

Michael thinks about a lot of things too. Like how everything would've turned out different if he was never given this duty- this purpose.

Michael: They were going to kill you.

Lucifer couldn't remember the last time he had heard his brother speak to him with such softness.

Michael: Your original punishment was death. They wanted you killed. By my blade. We begged them to reconsider. You should've seen it-

The warrior of Heaven laughs wetly.

Michael: -the Archangels of Heaven, on their knees in front of people other than our Lord. It took so many meetings for them to relent. That's why you and Lilith spent a long time held in the Garden.

Lucifer: Shut up.

Michael: So, I'm really sorry that we let you down.

Lucifer: Shut up, Michael.

His brother once again composed himself, his gaze turning cold as it met Lucifer's.

Michael: But if I had the chance to go back, I would do it all over again.

Of course. Heaven always comes first.

Lucifer: You should've killed me when you had the chance. And now you think you can beat me at my own game?

He attempts to crush the thread still held in his hand, its glow resembling the purest gold. It seems to almost be trying to talk to him, to reason with him like Michael every time they meet. But it all sounds like mockery to his ears.

He hates it.

Lucifer lets out a manic laugh.

Lucifer: Divine move? Divine move? You think you have any moves at all?!

He begins to yell at the threads.

Lucifer: Maybe then, Heaven could've killed that weak, naive angel. But me? ME?! Ì̶̢̤̉'̵͙͕͑M̷̱͋̀ ̵̬͌T̴̥͠͝H̸̫́̑E̶̐��̳̠ ̴̠̣̎̐D̷̼̕E̵̢̳͆V̶̳̩̉̋Ì̶̬L̴̥̗̾ ̴̮͝F̸̝̓̀Ų̸̠͗̑C̵͚͗K̷̺̚̚I̵̠̋̕Ň̸͎͈G̵̘̔ ̵̤͛I̸̩͐N̷̥̰̋C̸͓̒̍A̴̙̓R̵͍͛N̴̤͎͠A̵͇̟̓Ṯ̴̯͊Ḙ̴͑̇,̴̰͆̑ ̵̤́ͅÝ̴̙̫̈́O̵͚͐͒U̵̙͂ ̷̱̆͜͝Ċ̸͍̌Á̷̰́N̸͉̈'̶͇̎͂T̵̠̒ ̶͖́K̶̛̲̮̆I̸͎̘͐̃L̴̟̙̔̿L̴̜̾͊ ̶̱̥̌M̵̳̕E̵͈̯͋́!

Lucifer's disguise falters, his emotions resonating through his disguise as his golden hair reverts back to the darkness Roo had cursed him with.

The threads began humming. Were they afraid of them? Of him? That's funny, Fate itself, afraid of him? He wonders if even Death would tremble in his presence.

Michael splutters in disbelief at the sight of Lucifer's transformed appearance.

Michael: Lucifer—what? Why do you look like that? What did you-

The younger doesn't grace his brother with an answer or allow him to finish. Instead, he summons Keekee once more and swiftly opens a portal back to Hell.

Lucifer: Don't worry, Mika. I won't die that easily because I'll be there to watch Heaven fall.

Nothing matters. Not his brother's shouts of concern, not the short thread, not Roo's cryptic words. What matters is Charlie and her future.

He'll defy Fate if he has to.

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Michael slumps on a chair in exhaustion after Lucifer left. He fears for the worst of Heaven and his brother's fates.

He grabs an orb from his pocket dimension and starts to recite and incantation to call his siblings. He knows he should tell the others, to discuss The Fates, Heaven, and Sa-Lucifer. Lucifer who is clearly hiding something.

But he hesitates.

'Knowing them, they would go down to Hell to confront Lucifer and it might just make things worse with their little brother than it already is. '

Before he could make a decision, there's a loud crash from beyond the door.

Michael: Hello?

He vaguely hears shushing on the other side and a bit of arguing. Slowly, he approaches the door. He grabs the knob and swings it open swiftly.

Michael: Gabriel, I told you not to-

Michael stops in surprise as he stares at his eavesdroppers. One lets out a squeak while the other saluted him.

'A young Seraph and a winner?'

Emily: Archangel Michael! We-uh- we can explain!

Sir Pentious: Your Heavenly Grace!

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A Shameless and Teen Wolf reference??

I miss season 3b. Nogitsune Stiles was the best villain to come out of that show.

Edited some stuff! Moved a few dialogues

[knivestothroats]

ITWS/ProVic Crossover Event Of The Century (part 1)

This is a crossover of In The Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez. Part 2 is here. Content warnings: Captivity, discussion of torture, discussion of sex trafficking, drug and alcohol use

Fletcher owned one suit. It lived in the back of their closet next to their old lucky leather jacket. They figured they used up all the luck when they took a bullet to the chest and didn’t die, so it had been cleaned of blood and retired.

The suit only came out for dinner parties Fletcher grudgingly attended for networking purposes. This one was a business mixer someone had rented out a ballroom at a hotel for. Almost a two hour drive for Fletcher, but it’s not like events were being hosted in the woods.

They combed back their hair neatly. But they couldn’t stand to look at their reflection, so they tousled it again. Stylishly. 

Fletcher scanned the room for familiar faces when they walked in. Not wanting to make an immediate beeline for the bar, they walked to it casually instead and ordered an old fashioned. Something to hold and sip would help them look and feel more at ease, less awkward and out of place. They leaned against the bar for a moment, surveying the crowd again. Still, no one they knew. That meant it was time for cold introductions. 

It was what these events were for, but… ugh.

Fletcher’s eyes landed on an intriguing pair. One was on the taller side. He was wearing a blazer over a turtleneck, silver wire-frame glasses, and his hair in a half pony. One hand held a cocktail, and the other was planted firmly on the shoulder of a slightly shorter man. He had dark curls falling around a gaunt but pretty face. Shadows clung under his eyes, which drifted nervously around the room before returning to the floor. He was dressed in black slacks, a white button-down shirt that hung a bit loosely on his frame, and most notably, a red leather collar with gold details.

If nothing else, they were the most interesting.

Fletcher approached the pair. They held their hand out to the taller man. 

“The name’s Fletcher, nice to meet you.”

He took it gladly, with a firm but non-threatening grip. "I’m Caius, and my friend here is Tommy."

Fletcher managed to refrain from cringing at the name. They glanced in his direction in time to catch Tommy looking at them nervously before turning his head away. Fletcher hadn’t intended to offer their hand to him - the power dynamics were clear here - but now they barely wanted to look at him. 

It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it still struck a chord every time they heard it.

"What business venture are you two representing?" Fletcher asked, shifting their attention back towards Caius.

With practiced ease, Caius pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and held it out to Fletcher between two fingers. "We make dreams come true."

Oh, Jesus. Fletcher raised their eyebrows just briefly as they took the card. An almost velvety texture, sharp edges, silvery print. “Personalized entertainment,” followed by a phone number. Fletcher flipped it over to a blank back. 

"How very enlightening," they said dryly.

"You'll have to forgive me for being discreet. Tommy works for us as a private entertainer, of the torture fantasy variety. He's very responsive to direction, and… stimulus. He's less of a call boy, there are a lot of rules if you want to fuck him." Caius smirked on the word "fuck." He spoke with an even, telemarketer tone throughout.

Tommy wasn't facing Fletcher head-on, but his eyes were focused on them just to the side. He squinted slightly, as if trying to think of something.

"Hm." Responded Fletcher flatly. "So, torture is a free for all, but sex has conditions."

"We have ways of fixing most things, but penicillin can only do so much.” Caius said. “We have a state-of-the-art lab for flash healing and scar-free recoveries. He's a blank slate every time." 

To the side, Tommy's gaze lowered, filtered by long eyelashes. Fletcher turned their sights back on him, sizing him up from a new perspective. He was pretty, in a frail way. Timid, most likely beaten into submission. Collared, but not leashed; that meant he could be trusted to follow orders, at least to some extent. He had the allure of a prey animal to a predator like themself. Caius had chosen well. Or molded him well. 

“Which do you get more requests for?” Fletcher asked, returning their attention to Caius. “Torture or sex?”

Caius grinned wolfishly. "Torture - sex is cheaper from anyone else." He tipped back his drink for another sip, but did not take his eyes off of Fletcher for one long gulp. It was weird. He made it weird. "I'm sure customers like you get it for free."

"Customers like me?" Fletcher echoed. "What makes me so special?"

Caius cocked his head, shifting gears. "You tell me. Who are you, sharp stranger?"

Ok, so definitely the type who thinks flirting with customers will help him close deals. Fletcher answered unaffected. "I run a training operation. People send me new recruits or nepo babies that aren't living up to expectations and I teach them the skills to be productive members of criminal society. Mercs, mobs, murderers of all kinds. Done work with a lot of families and guilds, hoping to make some more connections tonight."

"Aren't we all." Caius looked around the room briefly. "We will be doing a demonstration later, hoping to drum up some noise for our service." Tommy was a statue at his side, staring off into space like he had drifted from his body. At least for now, while he didn’t have pain to pin him in place. "Maybe you could help me out - you see, I don't want to get this blazer stained... and you could use a bit of color."

"Mm," Fletcher took a sip of their drink. "People usually pay me for that kind of service. I come highly requested. Or I did, when that was my game."

"People usually pay me for that kind of service. Or at least… providing the body. But look at us - we could be here, right now, making a connection."

He was laying it on thick. Fletcher tried to retake control of the direction the conversation was heading. "Not sure if I should be surprised that there’s a market for it. Obviously this is a more major industry than people realize,” they gestured around the room, “but in my experience, not everyone wants to get their hands dirty. Not that dirty, anyway. Not everyone has the stomach for it, let alone the appetite. What's the going rate for something like this?"

"It depends on what you have in mind. Time, tools, location, severity. You could get a quote from my associate over there," Caius said, pointing to a neatly groomed salesman with short, ginger hair. The gesture caught the attention of said associate, whose eyes widened upon seeing Caius talking to a potential client. He rushed over, trying not to look panicked. 

"Hi, hello, I'm Rory." Slightly out of breath, he stuck out his hand for Fletcher. "I see you've...met Caius."

Fletcher shook his hand. "Fletcher. Pleasure. You handle the finances for this operation, then?"

He gave a short, biting laugh. His chill, easygoing sales persona was slightly tight on him at the moment. "Yes, I do, you don't have to give Caius any money, all the payments are processed through me."

Fletcher chuckled. "Caius wasn't trying to shake me down. I was just wondering what you charge for this sort of service. Although it sounds like it varies. You have a ballpark, or a range?”

"Well, it depends on a few factors, yeah. Tools, time, location, severity. But if you can tell me a little about what you have in mind, I can get you one right away." Rory flashed a winning smile. "And if I may, you might be interested in a special contraption my associate has made, which we'll also be demonstrating later today. Maximum pain for minimal effort sort of thing, if you don't want to get your hands dirty. Or if you do." He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, leading the upsell with practiced charm.

"Mostly just asking out of curiosity," Fletcher said. "What's the contraption?"

"The Cradle," Caius easily volunteered. "Michelle is making toys now, and they're just so inspired." Whatever the contraption was, the mention of it seemed to snap Tommy out of his reverie. He promptly switched to a more refined look of abject misery.

Fletcher caught the change in demeanor. "It rocks them gently to sleep, I take it?"

"Something like that. You'll have to catch the whole spiel when we do the demonstration. Then maybe you can do a demonstration for me." 

Fletcher had been trying to be diplomatic, but that was a bit much. "Ok, slow your roll, bud. You’re laying it on way too thick right now and I’m gonna need you to tone it down.”

Rory very firmly stepped on Caius's foot, and he dropped his smile suddenly to a more neutral expression. "One hour, ballroom stage. See it for yourself. Come and join the fun, or don't."

He spoke matter-of-factly, betraying no emotion if he was insulted by Fletcher's rebuke. Rory gave Fletcher a tight smile and moved to pull Caius away by his arm. "Caius, come get a drink with me." 

Sweat was beginning to form on the ginger salesman’s forehead. Bags forming under his eyes, slight jitters in his hands - probably due for another bump. Caius resisted for a moment, seeming to consider. Tommy moved in to Caius's other side and subtly touched the sleeve by the man's relaxed arm. Caius turned at the touch and they met eyes, exchanging something wordless shared with just a look. Caius walked away amicably with Rory, but Tommy stood there, staring at Fletcher. Studying their face for a moment before telling them, with a defeated voice, "I know what you want."

Fletcher raised their eyebrows. "And what is that?"

Tommy did not keep a prideful look, he just looked experienced. Performing an unpleasant role that had long become old hat to him. "You like it when they squirm."

Fletcher smiled, flashing teeth. They took a step closer to Tommy. "How long have you been... doing this?"

"A while. Around five years, as far as I can tell. They don't let me put tallies on the walls."

Fletcher folded one arm across their chest and left the other loose to swirl their glass. They thought of a number of questions, but weren't sure if they wanted to know the answers. There was a certain level of detachment that made everything easier. Asking how he ended up in his position may be tempting, but hearing his story could create sympathetic feelings that Fletcher would inevitably have to smash down when they left him at the end of the night. Because they sure as fuck weren't going to rescue him like an abused dog. He could have been an enemy who crossed them and lost, he could be a random victim picked up off the street. It didn't make a difference. 

"Caius said you fulfill fantasies. You've gotten good at figuring out what people want, then."

"I had to."

"You're better at it than your owner." Fletcher glanced over their shoulder to the bar. Rory was leaning in a little too close to Caius and talking fast while Caius glowered at him. They turned back to Tommy. "Five years, huh? When did you give up?"

"Handler,” Tommy corrected. “I guess...it doesn't really matter." There was a low table off to the side of the crowd, flanked by two plush chairs. Tommy took a few deliberate steps towards it to check if Fletcher followed, and then eagerly claimed one of the seats. He seemed to enjoy sitting down in such luxury like a child might enjoy playing in a pool. Scant pleasures abound for him.

Fletcher pushed out the other chair with their foot and sat, somewhat poised on the edge as if they’d have to jump up at a moment’s notice.

"It's hard to place an exact moment, but...I would say, whenever it was when they had to reattach my hand." He smiled numbly.

Fletcher put their drink down on the table and studied his face. He seemed too aware of his situation to tell an easily refutable lie if he didn't need to. Still, Fletcher had been around the block, and that was extreme. They didn't want to seem gullible. "Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm five years in and just - just look at me," he gestured vaguely to himself. "No scars, no bumps. Experimental stuff. They gambled on the right guy. I say guy, because he's not a doctor any more."

Fletcher did look Tommy over. He was right. This was a person who had accepted his place in Hell, which means he'd been there long enough to get through all the stages of grief. He should be covered in scars. He should have a crooked nose and fingers. He should be in pain when he walks. All he really had to show was a sunken face and dead eyes. Fletcher leaned back in their chair and glanced over to Caius and Rory and again. There was a third person with them now, and they all seemed like they were trying not to make it obvious they were arguing. "Any chance your not-doctor is here tonight?"

Tommy opens his mouth with a wry grin and then seems to think better of it, closing his mouth to chew over his answer again. "No, he's not. I'm not sure Caius would share. That information."

"I saw the smirk,” Fletcher said playfully. “You have something you want to tell me."

Tommy chewed on his lip as he thought about it. "You're going to get me in trouble."

Fletcher put their hands up innocently. "How am I going to get you in trouble?"

"You almost talk to me like a person," Tommy said.

God, he was so pathetic. Part of Fletcher wanted to be nice to him and part of them wanted to grab his face and smash it into the table. Either could get a fun reaction. "Look," they leaned in conspiratorially. "This is your chance to get it all out. You probably don't get to talk shit with customers, right?"

Tommy's face was slightly flushed. He was practically bursting at the seams, but he swallowed down the desire and sat back, sinking into the seat. "You think you're the first to try this?"

Fletcher blew out a breath and rested their chin on their hand. "You are a professional, huh?" they said with a smile. "I may not convince you, but... I like you better than your handler, so far. I think it would be fun to know something he doesn't."

Tommy sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a long moment. "You're the type that needs a reaction. You like being feared. You've been doing the 'lone wolf' thing for a while now." He removes his hands from his face and his eyes stare at them in his lap. "You've convinced yourself you're comfortable with it."

The smile faded from Fletcher's face. They paused for a long time, staring Tommy down. He wouldn't look up to meet their gaze. "I wasn't asking for information about myself," they said coldly. "Look at me."

"I don't - I don't know why I said that." He kept his eyes down.

Fletcher reached out, put two fingers under Tommy's chin, and tilted his head up. They fixed him with a hard stare for a moment. Studying his face, thinking, but also... he wasn't wrong before. They wanted him to squirm. "That's quite a skill. I don't know if you're wasted in this role or if you're perfect for it."

Tommy closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them again they met Fletcher's with focus and clarity.

"I'm perfect for it."

Fletcher put their chin back in their hand. They drummed their fingers against their lower lip. "I haven't talked to anyone else here yet," they said. "But I think you're probably the most interesting person in the room."

Tommy sat up suddenly, turning as Caius, Rory, and a third man joined them. Caius wore a grim smile. "Has he told you I'm evil yet? Made you sympathetic to his cause?"

"Um, no, but I can figure that out," Fletcher said. "We’re all at the evil convention." They finished off their drink and pointed to the newcomer. "Michelle, I take it?"

"You may take it," The other man said with a nervous laugh. His hair was divided into twists that nearly touched his shoulders. "And you're Fletcher in the Rye?"

Fletcher laughed. "That's pretty good." They stood to shake his hand. "You're the inventor?"

"Oh, more like tinkerer, but I suppose. Are you looking for any new toys for your collection?"

"Well, your associates keep alluding to your 'cradle,' trying to create an air of suspense to keep me interested, I'm sure. But, it's working enough that I want to know what it is."

He laughed. "Yeah, they're the ones that know how to sell. It's a curved brace that connects into nerves along the spine. Are you sticking around for the little demonstration we have planned?" 

Rory stood by as if waiting for one of the others to say something he would have to try to make up for, but held fast for now. Caius leaned over Tommy's chair and cupped his boy’s face with one hand, his thumb pressed to his lips while his other fingers supported underneath his chin. A peculiar touch, and an almost casual gesture, but some meaning was hidden there. He was touching Tommy where Fletcher had, in order to tip his head up. Caius dug his fingers into the hollows of his cheeks in an almost teasing squeeze before letting go.

Fletcher watched the interaction carefully, studying both their faces. "I'll stick around," they said. "I should work the room more, anyway. And I need another drink." They picked up their empty glass and raised it in a salute. "Gentlemen."

Rory and Michelle gave small, appropriate nods. Caius flashed them one last winning smile before turning suddenly and leaning into Tommy's space to whisper something in his ear.

Fletcher returned to the bar and opted for a whisky sour this time. 

“I’d prefer honey, if you have it,” they said as the bartender set to work. They glanced over their shoulder to scope out perspectives to chat up, but ended up turning back to the bartender. 

“So, do you work for the hotel, or do you work for the host of the event?” Fletcher asked.

“I’m employed by Ms. Hannowitz,” he said, referring to the host. 

Fletcher nodded. “Okay, so you know what’s going on.”

“Indeed I do,” he said, setting Fletcher’s drink on the bar in front of them. 

“Thanks.” They took a sip. “It’s great, thank you.” 

They turned towards the crowd… then back to the bartender. 

“So how does that work - are you solely employed as a bartender for Hannowitz, or do you do other stuff for her, or is there like a catering company specifically for illegal events?”

A pair of women approached the other end of the bar and waved the bartender over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Fletcher before walking away. 

“Oh, sure, sure,” Fletcher muttered. Taking another sip of their drink, they surveyed the crowd. Finally, they saw someone they recognized - a capo in a family they’d done work for in the past, and trained a couple foot soldiers for. He was talking to a couple people Fletcher didn’t know; perfect opportunity for introductions. They made their way over.

~~

The troupe doesn't make a spectacle of it when they make their way to the stage. Caius and Rory each clasp a hand around Tommy's wrists and rush him up to prevent a last-minute escape attempt. Caius had slipped him a little something earlier, which was not pain meds as Tommy had hoped but instead a muscle relaxant. He wasn't running off anywhere any time soon.

Backstage, Michelle opened the suitcase they had loaded in earlier and started to fit together pieces stored inside. Rods interlocked into a surprisingly sturdy frame, and the suitcase was detached from the wheeled base. With a few turns of an allen wrench, the base unfolded into a longer, thinner platform that the metal frame fit into. It resembled a rolling clothing rack, but unusually tall and wide. 

Tommy was watching the construction, his stomach tight with fear. It had been a long time since he cried before the torture even started, but his eyes were prickling with unchecked emotion. Beside him, Caius fussed at the backstage vanity. He had pulled out a little doggy bag of cocaine and poured some onto the chalky desk. He dug in his wallet for a credit card and a crumpled receipt, which he smoothed out and rolled with ease. He cut the ivory with his credit card into two lines before wiping one off the edge into a vial. 

"Head back," He instructed Tommy, and when he didn't respond fast enough Caius wrenched his head back by his hair. He pressed the vial under his nose and tapped it gently, emptying the coke into Tommy's sinuses before pinching his nose shut. "If you sneeze, I'll leave you up for them all to use. Don't waste my shit." 

Tommy's eyes watered at the pain triggered all the way down his throat, but managed to nod. Caius let go and let him wipe his nose while he took the other line for himself. 

"Ready?" Michelle had a hand on one of the supporting polls, wheeling the rack along. 

Caius coughed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Where's Rory?" 

"He's already out there, setting up the table." 

Caius sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, alright, let's do it." 

Tommy wondered what coke was like for Caius. He seemed energetic and focused and jolly. For Tommy, it just made his nervous heart pound harder. He felt like trapped prey, with an overwhelming urge to run, but nowhere to go. Mixed with the muscle relaxant, he felt caged inside of his weakened body. 

They walked on stage to see a sizable crowd already waiting for them - enough people had noticed the set-up begin, and plenty others had been invited to attend personally by a member of the team. Caius slunk off to go about some nefarious business while Michelle positioned the rack facing out towards the audience. He stopped at each of the four wheels to press a trigger down with his foot, the wheels locking stubbornly onto the stage with a rubber seal as each was fastened. Rory was laying the finishing touches on a folding table to the side, covered in a variety of implements to inflict pain. In the middle layed a long black piece of metal, curved and thin with an appearance reminiscent of a xenomorph's detached spine. Tommy’s heart hammered in his chest looking at it, and he took one step back towards the stairs. 

"Hey," a friendly voice said, as a hand gripped him by the arm. He turned and Michelle was looking at him with a curious smile. "Come here, this way." He was led towards the frame by Michelle's push, who gentled him like a wild animal backed into a corner. "Stand here, just like that, good. Strip down to your underwear, please." Tommy gave an anxious glance at the crowd formed in front of them. "Don't be shy. Here, I'll help." 

Tommy didn't resist as Michelle helped him undress, cooperating slowly in a daze. None of this felt real. His head throbbed in time with his heart. A moment later he was strung up to the frame, pulled taut up on the balls of his feet by his wrists chained above him. Michelle took his clothes, and Caius reappeared at his side, one cold hand spreading over his lower back. 

"Let's get started."

In another life Caius was some shithead Shakespearean actor. At least, he knew how to project to the room. 

"Friends among us, we are here to demonstrate a new and original design from our labs." He did not have to clap his hands or ring a bell, the people were intrigued enough by Tommy's public binding that the dull roar simmered to a quiet murmur among the crowd. Michelle stepped up to center stage and took a deep breath. 

"Pain is not evil. It is not inherently a punishment from our bodies. It is a part of our natural homeostasis system, our bodies' need to maintain good, working order. Our body tells us what we need through these systems. We feel thirst when we need water, tired when we need sleep, hot when we are overheating, cold when our body temperature is low. We even crave foods that satisfy nutritional needs - red meat when we are low on iron, maybe some popcorn when we need the salt." It got a very modest chuckle from the crowd. "We have built-in sensors throughout our bodies that tell us when we are injured or wounded. All of our sensitive nerves are there to alert us when the body has been damaged. The signal we receive that holds that information, is how we sense pain.

"Common methods of interrogation - or just play - manipulate the body to create pain. But sometimes, we need to generate a lot of pain without causing a lot of bodily harm. What if we used these nerves, these sensors, directly, to cause pain without unnecessary damage?" 

Caius fetched the Cradle from the table and brought it to Michelle, who held it up to the audience. 

“We are here today to introduce the Cradle, a device for not only generating pain, but immobilizing the subject by it, too. No more handcuff keys to lose. The Cradle conforms to the human spine, and when lined up correctly, slides pins directly into the shallow bundles of nerves along the subject's back. With physical damage no worse than a few pinpricks, you can latch this into a person's spine with an incapacitating amount of pain. The Cradle then locks in place with a simple mechanism that the victim physically cannot reach to unlock. "

There is an excited murmuring through the audience, and Michelle is received well when he holds it aloft. 

"As I began the build and manufacture process, I realized the Cradle could accomplish much more than I had planned. By wiring electrodes into the crest of the artificial spine and running copper filament through the pins, the Cradle is able to directly stimulate the nerves with electricity from the rechargeable battery pack located at the small of the back. Each charge is good for 250 hours of consecutive use, and can be stored without charge degradation nearly indefinitely. "

Caius and Michelle moved to Tommy then. He didn’t even register that Caius was telling him to turn around, but they guided him into it, twisting the rope suspending him so his back faced the audience. He felt distant from his body and his hands were already numb. 

"By lining the dial up with the top vertebrae, which you can feel at the base of the neck here - " A firm few fingers felt along the back of his neck for a moment before circling a low spot. "-minor adjustment to account for varying heights-" Something cold was pressed to his back, and then there was an intense pressure as the pins there threatened to pierce his skin. "-clamp to insert the pins at an angle, and lock in with a further series of hooks to secure the mechanism-"

Almost as soon as it breached his skin, the pain was unbearable. His back seized with the intrusion and he screamed until he had no air left. Dragging in another deep breath agitated the creature biting hard into his spine and he struggled to collect air.

They let him go and he was slowly turned back with the unwinding of the twisted cord. He was forced to face the audience as he trembled and seized, muscles clenching up into painful cramps, only driving the pins deeper. He kept waiting for the pain to plateau, to break, but it seemed to only heighten more and more. He dry heaved and his legs shuddered, his body spasming in some attempt to relieve the pain it only stoked. They let him dangle there, the monster on his back crushing his spine in shocking agony as he screamed himself hoarse. 

"As you can see, it is quite effective at its original purpose. The Cradle has two forms of charge to create different reactions." 

Fletcher watched intently. Tommy clearly knew what was coming. His movements were sluggish - either doped up or disassociating. Maybe both. The moment the device kicked on was clear. His face contorted and his legs gave out, bending awkwardly beneath him as his restraints kept him from collapsing. The screaming was loud, and long, interrupted only by gagging breaths. Michelle explained different settings for pain and immobilization. Fletcher figured they could adjust the settings to make it impossible to scream, hitting that sweet spot where the pain takes the breath from your body. At the very least, cause his muscles to seize enough that he can’t open his mouth, and the cries seep through muffled and broken. But these men were showing off - they wanted the screams. 

It looked like a good device. Sure, there were tasers and jumper cables that could cause similar effects. Paralytics, nerve agents. But the Cradle seemed more fine tuned, most versatile. Portability was a question - does it fold up? Still beats a car battery, but not the other options. And they’d be interested to see if it left any marks on his back when they were done. 

Michelle turned the device off. Tommy hung limp, jerking with aftershocks. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t sob. Just moaned with pain. Fletcher had wondered if they were going to feel conflicted about watching the demonstration. After all, they had enjoyed talking to Tommy more than they had any of his owners. But they ate up every moment. 

Tommy really was good at it - or good for it. Not much participation was required on his part. Maybe if he had gotten a chance to beg. He was probably really good at begging. Hell, he reads people so well, he probably had it down to a science. 

He would probably look good bleeding, too. The contrast of his pale skin and dark hair would pair so well with the rich red of fresh blood. 

The troupe on stage took a few more questions. Blah blah blah warranty, blah blah blah voltage, blah blah blah tetanus. One older woman up front piped up. 

"What is the lasting damage remaining after use? Have you studied the extent of the nerve damage left?" 

"Why don't we ask him?" Michelle and Rory had been fielding most of the questions, but Caius stepped up to address that one. He crossed over to Tommy, who was starting to recover enough to just barely keep himself up. Caius took his face between his hands and lifted his head to speak directly to him. They had a low, murmured conversation for a moment, before Caius dropped his head and turned again to face the crowd. 

"As you can see here, there is some bleeding from the punctures." Caius addressed the woman while he used Tommy's back like a prop, gesturing to his various parts like a ranger teaching children about some animal captured for their wildlife display. "The bleeding is little more than the amount shed for removing a simple IV, as the needles are only a wider gauge by two or three times. Immediate after-effects can include tingling, numbness of the extremities, muscle spasms, cramps, and a low-grade fever. Tommy here is doing quite well for having undergone our trials, though he has reported continuing nerve pain for up to three months at a time." 

Caius gripped Tommy's arm suddenly and pushed, spinning him around on his suspension a few times while he struggled to get his feet to support him. He slowed to a stop facing out to the audience. His dark curls stuck to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat from the pain, and his eyes were red from crying. He still had little drops of his tears down his chest, and he cowered in his near-nudity before the excited audience. Caius ran his fingers through Tommy's hair, smoothing his hair away from his face and adjusting his curls with a few sharp tugs.

"I'm afraid we did not properly introduce him before, but this is Tommy, and he's a very important part of our business. He's not just here to model Michelle's wicked inventions. See, he is our most requested product by far." Caius put a possessive hand on his clammy lower back, pushing Tommy slightly forwards towards the audience. 

Michelle and Rory stepped to the side to let Caius do his song and dance as they moved into a different part of their show-and-tell. Rory seemed to have given up on directing Caius, mollified by his drugs. The same drugs that kept Tommy awake as he already trembled from the strain. 

"What would you do if you had him to yourself for a few hours?” Caius asked the crowd. “Anyone?" 

There was some nervous shuffling before a young man called out, "Bull whip!" 

Caius cracked a grin. "Whipping, certainly. I'm partial to the cane, myself. What else?" 

“I'd make him walk on nails!" Another enthusiast called. More people were getting intrigued. 

“I'd use him like a punching bag." 

“I'll make him beg for his life." 

“I'd skin him to the bone." 

“He could clean my house in a thong." 

“I could use a car battery to make him dance." 

“I'd make him dig his own grave." 

Talk amongst the crowd grew as people began to brainstorm, and then to one-up each other. Caius laughed with mirth and called them off with the lazy wave of a hand. 

"So many good ideas! We use top of the line medical procedures that can't be found outside our labs to keep Tommy fresh for his next date. If you can host, we can come. Tommy is responsive, vocal, and sensitive." 

Caius turned and punched Tommy in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of him immediately with the well-placed strike and he struggled to curl in on himself as he wheezed. He could not shield himself with his arms tied above him, and he looked exceptionally vulnerable as he struggled. Mostly nude, strung up in front of a crowd eager to devour him. He had no recourse as Caius dug his fingernails into the tender flesh of his side, raking them across diaphragm and leaving angry red lines in their wake. Tommy flinched and wriggled, a fish caught upon a hook. 

"To demonstrate his uses tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, we will invite a very special guest on stage. Please give a round of applause for Fletcher!"

[continued]

@victimeyez @lonesome--hunter @desert-dyke @coldresolve @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @suspicious-whumping-egg @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump @thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @bloodinthemud @pretty-face-breaker @cursedandtired @morning-star-whump If you changed your url or don't want to be in the taglist anymore lmk

[shroudkeeper]

My dreams are filled with the faces of those who are not long for this world. It is a haze, a dark sea made of bodies, most are unrecognizable to me, people that I have never come across; I perhaps never would if not for the duty passed unto me. When I awaken, the images are embedded into my memory, and in darkness, I seek to set them free. Each one has a name, a life they have lived, and in some cases, barely had an opportunity to exist beyond their youth.

One would assume I would be accustomed to it, to watch life diminish before my eyes, but it never gets easy; as I stare at your face now, I am haunted by the twisted vision of your end, while being wide awake.

❝A gorgeous blade, but that steel has not tasted blood since it has fallen into your hands,❞ Shigure's smile was that of a shark, far too toothy and wide, full of hunger.

Mortals were monsters that I could not willingly fight and kill.. and he knew it.

His eyes darted quickly to the katana held, watching for a tremble, any indication that my resolve had been weakened.

❝But mine has, and it has fought against Hayate, so you know that drawing it against me is pointless, I know every move your dear master has taught you, every deflection, every single attack.❞

Behind his words, stone met with steel with his languid approach. But the blade itself seemed to be wailing under the scraping sound in a pitch no one could hear unless they were sensitive to the otherworldly.

For the first time, I felt hesitation. His silhouette did not match the outline of his tall frame. That is why I did not recognize his gaze, it was a stranger that looked at me now, and behind his eyes, something called out to me.

He was no longer just a man. Something brewed within, corrupting from the inside, dismantling what made him mortal.

He read my expression, the wordless inquiry I wore, and from his lips bubbled out a malignant chuckle, one that struck a chord of caution within me. To execute him outright, would take more than Amanokaze.

❝Each one of those souls, paid to be broken reflections of you. I had them paint their face, wear your perfume, and even found similar pins the old man gave you to complete the look. But none of them could amount to who you were, what you are.

I could not taste the same darkness in them. In the end they were all the same, useless puppets, puppets whose strings I had to cut for their lack of perfection. But they have found a new purpose, sacrifices I offer in worship.❞ He glanced down at the blade, my assumptions were correct, but he continued, forcing my eyes back to his own with a wave of his hand directing me to pay attention before he continued.

❝Then I realized something.. I was still just a man, a man chasing after a monster, to catch one, I must become one.❞

There it was, I suddenly felt my grip loosen and something inside me twisted into sickening knots. He chose this, to give himself to a spirit, to let it infest him, and soon devour anything that made him who he was. The madness that drove him will lead him straight to his grave, he just did not know that dawn would not come to greet him after tonight.

❝The floating world could never compare to the pleasures you will unleash unto this world. No more hiding your nature, no more having your wings clipped and forced to live behind your father's crafted cage. A flower trapped in a vase, nothing but an ornament made to admire. Let me liberate you from that prison; together we may be free to be our true selves. Clans will recognize our strength, our power, and bend to us.❞

But he would not stop there I feared, the Shigure of the past was my teacher of history, he instructed me on the battles and bloodshed that happened between the clans seeking power. He was educated in the histories of their rise and fall. These lessons enriched my knowledge of a land still new to me, I am ever thankful for his patience; I thought nothing of it, only that he simply enjoyed learning about the foundations of our society.

Not use it as his handbook to further an agenda, one I never wished part of.

I could only fathom what delusions he had about me.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of his shadow slithering behind his heels, with each pendulum swing of the lanterns hanging above us, much like too much ink spilled upon rice paper. There is no remorse that I could sense, only hunger was a constant found in his steady gaze; his lips were primed, his blade unwavering and deafening with each step he took closer, making the gap between us smaller. ❝I have loved you and been denied every dark part of you, time and time again. So I fixed it, your pathetic ijin may have not found a treasure to bring to your father's feet, but I certainly found something, and it has brought me every delight possible, except for you.

I deserve you now more than before..and I won't denied anymore, little bird. ❞

[monsterfloofs]

Could you please write something with a travelling adventurer who stumbles in an old castle and meets a king necromancer who hasn’t met any travellers in quite some time and becomes quite enamoured with them whilst being charming because you can’t spell Necromancer without Romancer. (Sorry for the cringy rhyme I just got the idea when seeing the word and finally zeroing in on that fact.) Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely day!

Necromancer King (Unnamed) x Anonymous Reader :3c (Sfw)

—

Heya, heya! Oh my gosh, don’t apologize at all! That is absolutely fantastic! ;O; ) I love jokes and play on words like that! Please send more, this made my day ;3; )

I have been trying to debate for a bit if I should make a new spooky spook, or use an OC of mine who also fit’s this asks criteria, also— I made this funny because I thought it would be hilarious, if he was trying so hard to pretend to be just a normal king and his skelly army of doofuses keep panicking and trying to dodge around you and hide— “Quick they’re coming!! Try and act normal—!” “Oh, for the love of— We haven’t been normal for 30 years Geoffry! We are the living dead! >:(”

—

You couldn’t help but feel that something was a little off in the castle. If the strange purple flames that illuminated the dark and eerie corridors weren’t strange enough. Just about everything was skull shaped, skull platters, skull mugs, skull goblets, even the tea spoons. They were ornate and of beautiful craftsmanship, but it was like nothing like you had ever seen before.

“None of it is real of course!” The King had chuckled as you peered slightly off-puttingly at the soup bowl that had been set in front of you. It was very nearly human sized, with enough fine details you could have mistaken it for a real head. One that had been hollowed out, just for the sole purpose of serving soup.

“You do seem to like skulls,” you reply cautiously as you offer up a smile. He clears his throat, and takes a healthy swig from his goblet of wine.

“It was. . . my fathers’ idea for all the skulls,” He replies hastily, “If you would prefer, I could have someone fetch a different bowl.”

You tense in surprise then shake your head, “Oh no, sire! No need! You have been more than hospitable to me already, I would feel selfish to ask for anything more!” You glance back at the soup bowl on the table, and make your decision. Not one to waste a hot meal that was offered to you, you tuck in. The soup was delicious, just as fine as the meals that had come before. Despite the way it was presented to you.

It’s true, the time you have been allowed to stay at the castle was more than generous. You had been getting ready to leave the night before, but the king himself had persuaded you to stay for another few nights. For the past week you had stayed mostly by his side. Conversing with him and chatting. You can’t remember the last time meeting someone that had hung onto every word you spoke. Especially not royalty, and you had been immensely charmed by the way he took special care in recalling what you had to say.

“I haven’t heard word from the outside world for a very long time.” He confided in you gently one evening. While the two of you had sat in front of a warm crackling hearth. “It’s been like a breath of fresh air to me,” How could you possibly choose to leave after such words like that were uttered in your confidence?

You had taken a liking to him as soon as you met him. A short and stout gentleman with a well trimmed beard and mustache. A few streaks of silver that alighted in his dark hair. He was good natured and seemed to be of good spirits, for he always seemed to be smiling when you were present. He must be a fair ruler, you thought to yourself as you walk the long twisting corridors back to your temporary chambers.

However. . . The other occupants that resided inside the walls struck a different chord with you. The knights you would meet in the corridors seemed to be highly keen on avoiding you. Whenever you passed by, they would turn away, or leave their post. Unheard of and strange, it had surprised you immensely when you first arrived. Soldiers turning their back on a castle guest? It made you wonder if your warm welcome wasn’t as warm as the ruler had made it sound upon your arrival. Yet once you would get to conversing with his majesty, those niggling thoughts would evaporate.

The clatter of armour of two of knights echoes down the hallway as they ran headlong into each other. One had tried to quickly turn the corner, when they had seen you coming. You wince, shoulders rounding up to either side of your face. You peek out around splayed fingers,

“A-are you alright?”

“Of course!” They quickly press their hands ontop of their helmet, “Never better!”

You watch the pair hurry off and a frown creases your forehead.

—

“See what you almost did?” One soldier blusters at the other as they reach a safe place to converse. The other taking off their helmet, revealing the chalky white pallor of bone. Deep eye sockets have a faint light that flickers to life as they grind their jaw to one side of their face.

“Me? Whose idea was it to come charging around the corner! You are acting suspiciously! I bet my left humerus that they already know something is afoot. You haven’t been exactly covert. Dodging around corners and skulking around!”

“Keep your helmet on!” The other hisses, “If the mortal finds out before his majesty can talk to them, we’ll both be buried out in the gardens again!”

The two ghouls glare at each other before they sigh heavily.

Well. They sigh as heavily as one can without any internal organs to sigh with.

“This is happiest the King has been in a very long time—“

“Of course it had to be with a mortal, why couldn’t he have gotten wed to a good normal creature of darkness.”

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Oasis: Day Eighteen (continued; part two)

Note from the author: Sorry it’s been a long time since I updated this (I even forgot what’s going on LOL). So, uh, if you, too, have forgotten the contents of anything between Day Seventeen — Day Eighteen (Continued), you might want to reread them because this contains details present in specifically those parts. (Un)Happy reading!

CW: Heavy talk of real-life religious doctrine… this will continue on throughout the book in varying degrees.

…

When I pressed her further as to what kind of convention it was, she said that I could go to the next one with her and see for myself… in exactly one year’s time. So it seems sure that I will be here for at least that long, or longer… for what purpose, I do not know.

I took her unwillingness to answer the first question as an opportunity to ask another, “Why are there tropical plants growing in the same place tundra animals are living? What is the nature of this place?”

“The whole Earth is a garden” She spoke as if I should have known this already, “There is no place without food because that is the way our planet was designed.” 

“You say ‘designed’ as if you mean by a god—“ The peridot eyes flicked up at me with renewed interest. Obviously I had struck a chord with her, “…what is your faith?” 

She paused for a long while before answering, taking time to clasp her hands and stare into the middle distance with her chin rested on them. I found it odd that she would have to enter a state of such deep thought to answer, what I thought, was a fairly simple question. Most people I’ve met were eager to discuss their beliefs with you, providing a snap answer as to what religion they belonged to, and why they have faith in it. However, I have met a few people who became angry even at the mention of beliefs, taking your honest question as an attack on their person. “Have I said something wrong?” I asked, hoping that was not the case with Sophia.

“If you mean to ask ‘Have you offended me?’ No; you haven’t… but you have said something very, very wrong. You should know by now that there is no such thing as ‘faith’ anymore.”

“So… you’re a— you’re all—“ I stumbled on a word I, for the life of me, could not remember, despite having identified with it myself at one time.

“No, you don’t understand: All faith is obsolete.”

“But that — whatever it’s called — is a complete lack of faith in God, or—“ I was getting frustrated with myself for not being able to remember, “a god… images.”

“Dulce, you were a scientist (assuming you haven’t forgotten that too). How often did the general understanding of science change over the years?”

“Quite a lot. Every year, something new is discovered. That can sometimes change how we do things; or sometimes it confirms we’re on the right track.”

“And if something that was once a theory became confirmed; was it not recognized as scientific fact?”

“Well… I guess you could describe it that way; but that’s not quite—“

“Regardless, once you had seen something to be true, believing turned to knowing, correct?”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her about the intricacies of scientific research when I saw she had no knowledge on the subject. She was driving at a different point, albeit, using an ill-fitting example to explain it; so I merely waited for her to finish with the example so I could learn whatever she wished to tell me, “I think I know what you mean.”

“We, the people of Earth, have seen definitive proof that God exists. We have all but seen God in person. We need no faith.”

I folded my arms, not so much out of doubt than of curiosity, “And what, exactly, did you all see?”

She raised an eyebrow at me, then stared at the picture on the wall, reciting something very familiar, “‘I saw also an angel standing in the sun, and he cried out with a loud voice and said to all the birds that fly in midheaven: ‘Come here, be gathered together to the great evening meal of God,  so that you may eat the flesh of kings…” I started violently, the blood drained from my face. Sophia saw my reaction, continuing even louder, without pause, “and the flesh of military commanders and the flesh of strong men and the flesh of horses and of those seated on them, and the flesh of all, of freemen as well as of slaves and of small ones and great.’ The nineteenth chapter of Revelation, verses seventeen and eighteen; yesterday you were screaming the passage in your sleep. Would you like to hear more?”

 I didn’t realize that, in my night terrors, I had actually screamed the words aloud, and felt briefly, as a result, like Sophia had invaded my mind and rummaged around in my memories. She had recited that which I could barely remember four words of, perfectly, in its entirety. To say I was horrified would have been a severe understatement. I must have said yes to her offer, because she continued:

“‘And I saw the wild beast and the kings of the earth and their armies gathered together to wage war against the one seated on the horse and against his army. And I saw the wild beast and the kings of the earth and their armies gathered together to wage war against the one seated on the horse and against his army.  

And the wild beast was caught, and along with it the false prophet that performed in front of it the signs with which he misled those who received the mark of the wild beast and those who worship its image. While still alive, they both were hurled into the fiery lake that burns with sulfur.  But the rest were killed off with the long sword that proceeded out of the mouth of the one seated on the horse. And all the birds were filled with their flesh.’ End chapter.”

Sophia smiled a reminiscent smile, “So, Dulce, whatever you remembered in that dream of yours is what we all witnessed:  total annihilation of a corrupt and evil system. But not only that,” she held up a finger, moving her head emphatically to the benefit of her point, “We have also witnessed its restoration. That is why we need no faith. Faith is the assured expectation of what is hoped for. We are neither expecting, hoping, nor wanting, for anything any longer. Paradise Earth as we now intimately know it, is the spiritual oasis after a long time thirsting in the desert. The act of faith is complete; we have drunk life’s water free.”

…

Tagging: @astudyinpanda@oldwoolhat@jiminy-cricket-but-gay@gorelabs

@straight-to-the-pain

@hallowgendered

@nova-3-the-exo

@bitalene

[caffeinated-creepshow]

TRATM XIII: The Search for Answers That Could Scar

Chapter thirteen of The Raven and the Mockingbird, a T-rated Deadman Wonderland fanfic from 2013-17. Since this an archive, I am not editing the chapters as they are posted. Follows an OC named Tsumetai and her relationship with canon character, Toto Sakigami.

Word count: 1284 | Original Quotev post | Summary and masterlist

Full chapter below the cut

Lots of time has passed since the catastrophic tag team Carnival Corpse. A lot of time has passed since Toto tried to kill Tsumetai. So much has passed, it seems immeasurable.

Tsumetai hasn't spoken to anyone, other than Sanae and Chaplin on rare occasions, since the incident. It struck a chord deep within her; a chord she thought she'd broken long ago. Remembering her brother, thinking about how angry he'd be at her if he saw her now, thinking of her mother and the disappointment she'd carry, breaks her. Toto trying to kill her only aids the shattering.

Holding herself together has been the hardest struggle Tsumetai has faced since she was put into Deadman Wonderland. It's funny, really. Memories of loved ones usually help prisoners cope, but for Deadmen, it seems nearly impossible for such a thing to happen. Many Deadmen are alone, with no close family to remember fondly. Others have horrible pasts they wish to regret. For Tsumetai, she often wishes she would've died with her mother and brother. None of this would have happened; Toto wouldn't have betrayed her...She wouldn't have to deal with her brother's memory haunting her every single time she closes her eyes.

'No. Stop it. He's gone; so is Mom. There's nothing that can be done now,' she often tells herself. 'You have Sanae, and Chaplin, hell, even Senji! Toto may have betrayed you, but you always knew something was very, VERY off about him. Maybe it's finally shining through?' Often her thoughts circle back to Toto, and his unexpected attempt at her life. What's wrong with him? What's causing this change? No matter how hard she thinks on it, nothing makes any sense. Perhaps a talk with Sanae is in order.

For the first time in weeks, Tsumetai has socialized on purpose. It was, of course, with her most trusted friend and ally, Sanae.

"I need your help," she'd said suddenly, having appeared behind Sanae quite randomly in the packed cafeteria. Someone had won a lot from their Carnival Corpse and was treating whoever wanted to be treated, it appeared.

"What do you need?" Sanae asked, spinning around. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been spooked by the suddenness of Tsumetai's appearance, or the scratchiness of her hardly used voice.

"I can't tell you here. It needs to be one-hundred percent private," Tsumetai answered. Standing, Sanae grabbed her water bottle and led her friend back towards her room. After they entered the room, she shut the door and locked it.

"Now will you tell me?"

Taking a deep breath, Tsumetai asked the burning question, "Do you have any idea what's going on with Toto?" Of course this was about Toto; he had to be the only thing on Tsumetai's mind for all those weeks.

"I could probably take a guess or two, but do I actually know? No, I don't. Why?"

"I've been thinking a lot about everything that's happened since him and I got together, and I realized something. Once before did Toto try to kill me, but he hid it by pretending it was his kink. Now that what's happened has happened, I realized it wasn't just a kink. There's something wrong with him, and I can't tell what it is. I was hoping you knew." Sanae shook her head, sitting down to ponder the new information.

"Now that all of this is out on the table, it does shape up to be pretty odd," she agreed after a few moments. "In fact, I thought that was just who he was; to be spontaneously murderous with no provocation. But would that apply to the person he cares for deeply enough to threaten death if I were to hurt them?" The revelation Sanae had just uttered paralyzed Tsumetai for a moment.

"He threatened to kill you if you hurt me?" she whispered. Sanae nodded absentmindedly as she mulled over everything she'd been told, as well as her personal experiences, as Tsumetai's head buzzed with even more questions. 'Why would he threaten to kill her for hurting me if he purposely tried to kill me? Did he want to be the one to hurt me? Or is killing me something he's not doing by his own will, but someone else's?'

"I think there's something deeper going on than we can figure out without doing any digging," Sanae finally said after a long pause from thinking. "I can do all I can to look into this, but you'll have to as well. I can't get the information we need completely on my own."

"I'll do as much as I can as well," she promised. "I just need a place to start."

"If I had one, I'd tell you. My only suggestion is an Undertaker or something...If you can even find one." Nodding, Tsumetai thanked Sanae before leaving, locking the door again behind her. 'I hope we figure out what's going on...For her sake.'

Sanae has never been a fan of the Undertakers, for multiple reasons. The chief reason is because they all seem to have the desire to cut her up; considering that would be there job if it were ordered, though, she can't necessarily blame them.

Today is an exception, though. The Undertakers work directly under Tamaki, the director of Deadman Wonderland - or so she's been led to believe. If anyone were to know information only the tip-top of the corporate chain would know, it would be them...Hopefully.

She's set off to find Azuma Genkaku, the only Undertaker that seems even somewhat capable of keeping his urges under control...And even then, she doubts he's very trustworthy. However, her decision has been made, and considering she's already snuck her way to his quarters, there's not really any going back. Taking the deepest breath she can, Sanae knocks very lightly on the door. Immediately, the clammer of someone wading through a messy room can be heard, before the door opens to the very person she was looking for.

"A Deadman? Aren't you supposed to be back in G Ward, where you belong?" Despite the harsh undertones of his words, Azuma doesn't make any moves to harm Sanae.

"I need some information," she started, "if you have it."

Leaning against the doorframe, Azuma quirked an eyebrow as he asked, "What kind of information?"

"Information regarding Toto Sakigami." The name made Azuma perk up instantly, and he ushered her into his room.

"What about him?" he asked when he was sure the door was locked. "And speak quietly."

"A fellow Deadman - Tsumetai, or Raven, I guess - has been wondering about Toto because she's observed some changes in him recently." Azuma sat back, mulling over what he knew.

"Did she know him before he disappeared?" he asked after a while.

"No. She arrived here after he had shown back up, I believe."

"Hmm..." And so Azuma fell into thought and Sanae waited, hoping she would get a lead out of the deranged man. After five minutes had passed, something seemed to click in Azuma. "I'm pretty sure that I don't know what you're looking for, but I know who does."

"Who?" Sanae sat forward, scared but eager to hear the name.

"They're twins; their names are Chan and En. If you can find them, you'll find your answers." Jumping up to her feet, Sanae picked her way to the door quickly before stopping.

"What do I owe you for this information?"

"How about, if the Undertakers ever have to fight you off, I get to fight you. Sound like a deal?"

"Deal." And with the deal struck, Sanae unlocked the door and ran off to tell Tsumetai what their next step would have to be.

[icaruseater]

The Most Pretentious Word Ever

You’ve probably seen it presented “aesthetically”: black and white stock footage of people going about their lives and beautiful sprawling landscapes accompanied by dreamy guitar plucks or soft piano. Other videos are less aesthetic, but more real: regular people holding their phones telling the camera that they’ve just discovered a new word. One video with almost 2 million likes shows a man holding back tears as he reads it aloud:

Sonder. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Well, that’s the shortened definition, anyway. The one you’re most likely to see printed on the back of a t-shirt at Hot Topic. The man in tears also reads the second part: “An epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.”

Something about the word has always felt a little off to me. It has struck me as fake-deep and contrived, but I could never quite put my finger on why. It doesn’t help that I’ve never seen anyone actually use the word, just people fawning over how deep it is. The remixed definitions can sometimes insist upon themselves, with some people changing the beginning to “the profound feeling of realizing that everyone has a life as complex as one's own”. Why is a word calling itself profound in its own definition?

Furthermore, the wording of the actual definition was troubling to me. The realization that everyone is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. How selfish, I thought, to be so unaware of the complexities of life that such a thing is worded like an epiphany. That's just empathy, I thought. 

This tossed around in my mind one restless night until I finally faced the aggravating blue light of my phone screen to Google it. This led me down a bit of a rabbit hole of the English vocabulary and my own philosophy on language.

The Search Results

The first thing I discovered is that sonder is not what some would consider a “real word”. By that I mean it’s not in the dictionary. Of course, there are plenty of words (particularly slang) that do not appear in the dictionary, but this was still somewhat shocking to me because pretty much every post I’ve seen on sonder presents it as if it were an excerpt from one. This is perhaps because the word was invented by John Koenig, author of The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, where he makes up words to describe various phenomena. He’s stated that part of the purpose of his dictionary is to “fill a hole in language”.

Well, I thought, that settles it. Rabbit hole over, nothing else to discover, we can all go home now. 

But when I scrolled a little further, I realized something puzzling: no one knows how to use sonder in a sentence. I quickly found that I wasn’t alone in thinking this. I came across a Reddit thread titled “Is sonder the best-ever new word?” where the top comment read: “I like the concept very much. It's humanistic, it's mystical, kind of psychedelic [psychedelic? really??], but I've never heard it spoken in a sentence, or read it in a published work of fiction. I don't know how to use it in an intelligible sentence. Does anyone?” Here’s some examples I found:

“I lay in bed so deep in my thoughts, the darkness was all around me while, slowly, the sonder started to kick in. I then realized that not only me, but all seven point fifty three billion people in this world which they are constantly living despite my personal lack of awareness of it.” 

“As the poet concludes his final verse, the crowd ripples with sonder: tears can be seen and gasps heard before those gathered break into applause. His words seemingly have struck a few chords in the hearts of all those present.”

“I had a sonder, a realization that the random girl sitting next to me inside of Starbucks might have a fantastic life or she might be dealing with a very ill family member.”

The attempts I read further convinced me that this whole thing might just be some big pretentious charade. All this hullabaloo about how deep the word is, yet nearly every example sentence I saw was derivative, trite, weak. Many of them can't help but essentially restate the definition, which makes me think that perhaps they themselves innately doubt that the word can stand on its own two feet. Even the sentences that mostly avoid re-stating the definition were uncompelling.

Input From Profesionals

My search continued as I came across a CBC article about sonder and Koenig’s Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows in general. A good point made by Lera Boroditsky, a cognitive scientist professor at the University of California San Diego, is that shortened methods to communicate emotions are actually good for language. While it may seem limiting to some, putting a name to an emotion can help us better understand it. Koenig appears to concur with this, as the article states that “therapists have emailed him explaining how just being able to name something, can offer people power — even solace.”

Meanwhile Geoffrey Pullum, a professor of Linguistics at the University of Edinburgh, appears to dislike the outlook of Koenig’s dictionary towards language. In the article, Pullum conveys his argument by discussing the difference between how you say machine gun in English versus how it is said in French, mitrailleuse. "It would be absurd to think that if you speak only English you can't form the concept of a machine gun; yet that is essentially the error people are making when they say (for example) that the German word schadenfreude cannot be translated into English."

I understand where Pullum is coming from. My mother's first language is Spanish, and she will occasionally insist that some words “can’t be translated” (she did this most recently with the word terca). But after throwing out some examples, we can always find a way to communicate the same idea in English, even if there isn’t a one-to-one translation for it.

The Beauty of Words

The conversations with my mother and Pullum’s point got me thinking about the English vocabulary. Perhaps it is by design that there isn’t actually a single word to describe the “epiphany” that sonder represents. It is clear after just looking up sonder on TikTok that a lot of people think the word is beautiful- but it's true beauty is in the definition, not the word itself. This might seem like an obvious thing to say, but I suppose I am questioning the aesthetic sensibilities of people who find the word beautiful. Why not just take as many words as you need to explain what or how  you’re feeling? Is it really better (or even more beautiful) to have the experience all summed up in one convenient little word? The fact that the true beauty and appeal of this word lies in the picture it paints in its definition only aids my point. It feels almost corporate, the act of putting it all into one word, it's almost like the linguistic equivalent of meal-prepping to me. Convenient, for sure, perhaps even smart for the modern man, but taking away so much of the enjoyment and personality of writing. I think part of the beauty of language is how we string together words to maneuver through our own stories and emotions, and if we condense everything neatly with a nice lil bow, that really takes away the liveliness of language.

I began to think of sonder as a sort of KAWS figure or Funko Pop of words: like it was designed simply to be gazed upon, posted on your social media, but not actually interacted with in any meaningful way.

But that's not really true, is it? Does a word have to be usable in a sentence for it to be valuable? Is it really such a bad thing for it to exist on its own as an Instagram post? Despite how I might feel about sonder, it clearly does impact some people meaningfully. The singer Brent Faiyaz got the word tattooed on his face and named his band after it. I saw somebody wearing a shirt with sonder (and its definition, of course) on the back. I saw a young-ish guy at my job with SONDER tattooed in bold black font going all the way down his arm, and seeing it got such a reaction outta me that it's basically the reason I started looking into the word. I remember thinking (after seeing the guy’s tattoo but before doing my research) “could such a fake-deep word really mean so much to people?”. The answer, obviously, is yes. And what was said in the article is true: being able to put a word to a feeling can be extremely helpful for some people. As an Urban Dictionary definition states: “Sometimes you're hurting so bad and you feel you're the only one. But after all your hardships you start to realize that everybody is so unique and you aren't the only one.” Perhaps not the most well-written couple of sentences, but the message is loud and clear: people resonate with sonder, regardless of whether it can stand alone.

In conclusion: do I like sonder now? Well, yes and no. I appreciate how strongly other people feel about the word (I think the act of loving a word in itself is kinda lovely, cute and romantic, what can I say) and if what Koenig said earlier about therapists reaching out to him is true, that's amazing. 

But overall, I think an expression just as (if not more) beautiful can be made by using a collection from your own vocabulary. There is nothing quite like reading a passage that takes your breath away, and the act of optimizing that by condensing it into one word feels quite robotic. The English language is not less good or in need of “fixing” because there isn’t always a single word to describe such complex emotions, rather see the language as a toolkit: your set of brushes and paint pots that you may then use to orchestrate a story all your own. :)

REFS

Brend, Y. (2022, January 23). What does it mean to “sonder?” author invents new words that resonate during the pandemic | CBC radio. CBCnews. https://www.cbc.ca/radio/sunday/the-sunday-magazine-for-january-9-2022-1.6307530/what-does-it-mean-to-sonder-author-invents-new-words-that-resonate-during-the-pandemic-1.6321644#:~:text=Sonder%3A%20the%20realization%20that%20each,sipping%20coffee%20in%20the%20background

How to use “sonder” in a sentence. WordHippo. (n.d.). https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/sentences-with-the-word/sonder.html

Is sonder the best-ever new word?. Reddit. (n.d.). https://www.reddit.com/r/words/comments/housk7/is_sonder_the_bestever_new_word/

Koenig, J. (2012, July 22). Sonder. Tumblr. https://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/23536922667/sonder

Sonder. Urban Dictionary. (n.d.). https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=sonder

What are the correct ways of using the word “sonder”? Quora. (n.d.). https://www.quora.com/What-are-the-correct-ways-of-using-the-word-sonder#:~:text=For%20example%2C%20%22I%20am%20struck,rigid%20posture%20and%20furrowed%20brow 

[trialbymagicks]

Finding Ikigai or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love What I Do Again

As we break in the new year, it's time to reflect on what motivates us to keep moving forward. Perhaps we need ikigai now more than ever, so let's take a look at what that means and how we can find it!

Existential Dread In These Unprecedented Times

As humans, we spend an awful lot of time wondering why we exist and what gives us the motivation to keep running on our hamster wheels every day. Although there are millennia-old debates trying to provide a definitive answer to the former, the latter is a question that has endless possible answers – all of which are very personal to each of us that contemplate it. As certain parts of Japanese culture can probably tell you (and as many self-help books have tried to), ikigai is that precious little thing that keeps each of us going, the reason we get up in the morning.

For most of us, the past few years in particular have been tough to get through when waking up each day has seemed more distressing than the last. During my search for productivity in an aspect of my life that I could control, I was compelled to read through my personal library again on a mission to reorganize (and hopefully minimize) my shelves. This is where I rediscovered Ikigai: Giving every day meaning and joy by Yukari Mitsuhashi, which had been gifted to me by a friend some years earlier. In the face of all the tragedies the world has to offer, perhaps we need ikigai more now than ever before, so I cracked it open, eager to learn what I could about myself in the process.

It’s Dangerous To Go Alone. Take This!

Reading this book is like having a conversation with someone about Japanese culture and philosophy. It’s informative, breaks down the language a little bit to discuss word choice and how it differs from English, and compares the Western work-oriented interpretation of ikigai to the “appreciation of life’s little moments” that it is more akin to in Japan. This isn’t an in-depth history of ikigai, but rather an easy-to-digest guide to help you find your own, serving more as a means of whetting the appetite of anyone curious enough to check out the references in the back for further research purposes.

In “Chapter 5: Inspiring Ikigai,” Yukari Mitsuhashi shares interviews which offer examples of ikigai in six people’s lives. For one person, ikigai is striving to make the world a more beautiful place to live in. For another, it is helping people to achieve their goals. Ikigai can even change throughout the different stages of your life. It can start out as setting goals to accomplish and it can evolve into your child or family later.

As I read their explanations for how they discovered their ikigai and the concrete ways some of these abstract ideas took form in their lives, I noticed that they mostly shared common advice.

Pay attention to what makes you happy or feel fulfilled and ask yourself why you feel that way.

Consider your motivations for making important decisions.

Look back at your life to see patterns.

After all, Yukari Mitsuhashi tells us that “ikigai is the action we take in pursuit of happiness.” Who says that visiting the local Barnes & Noble to peruse the Manga and Lifestyle sections for potential additions to my collections can’t be ikigai? But that’s just one of many things in my life that have brought me a deep sense of joy, an irrefutable part of my identity and what makes me tick.

It wasn’t until I read the interview with Ryuichiro Takeshita that it really started to click. His ikigai is connecting worlds and bridging gaps by encouraging communication, whether that be through teaching high school students to write stories or using an international video project to set up pen pals between his friends in Japan and the US. Similarly, Dai Tamesue’s interview struck another chord in me. He says his ikigai is about encouraging people, including himself, to look past the limited perceptions in their minds and deepen their understanding of a bigger world around them. To do this, he tries to meet a wide variety of people, read a lot, and reflect on his encounters.

So, I looked back at what all of my interests have in common and what I enjoy about them. Reading, writing, art, teaching, divination – they felt so different to me when I was looking at them individually, but in hindsight it should have been obvious that communication is what gives me a sense of purpose.

It takes many forms and persistently sits at the core of everything I do that brings me joy.

Ikigai?! In THIS Economy?! It’s More Likely Than You Think!

Growing up in my household, healthy communication skills weren’t exactly at the forefront of our education and that took a toll on all of us who were raised there. Looking back, I wonder if that’s why I leaned so hard into art and writing during those crucial formative years. Those creative outlets were a safe and limitless way for me to explore and express my thoughts and feelings, and it was something I could do quietly on my own for hours at a time with no judgment.

I filled so many notebooks and binders with my stories and drawings, and plastered my walls with colorful collages in celebration of the creativity I felt really defined my personhood at the time. But I also felt the need to reach outside of my personal space, so for years I worked with my cousins to write movies, plays, and skits for us to perform. Even though most of those projects never left the page, it was the collaborative process – bouncing ideas back and forth with every rewrite – that kept us engaged. Years of my life were spent wandering into craft stores to bring home materials for homemade sets and costumes, not only for the humans cast in our productions but for the plush toys I used to act out stories with on my own. There was even a period of time when I excitedly created “magazines” with articles and illustrated stories to send to my pen pal and every close family member I could think of.

Writing and creating art are some of the most personal forms of self-expression, communicating thoughts and feelings and ideas to the rest of the world. That has always brought me joy when I was able to do it in any form. In fact, it was so important to me that the only effective way my parents could think of to threaten me into “good behavior” as a child was to say they would take away my story notebooks or my favorite plushy – because even though I called their bluff about the notebooks it was still the only thing that would hurt me.

Parenting, much like growing up, is a near-constant struggle to overcome trials and tribulations at almost every turn. Sometimes, talking out a situation won’t be enough to change someone’s mind and that can be extremely frustrating! Still, it always upsets me when adults take away outlets for exploring concepts and self-expression from children instead of guiding them towards healthier outlets because they personally find it “difficult” to deal with that part of a child’s development. It may feel like the “quick and easy” solution to a problem, but it leaves a lasting impact on the children in question when their parents keep signaling to them that open communication and freedom of self-expression are conditional. So, I make it a point to do better with the kids I teach… because a kid that was never taught healthy communication skills will grow into an adult who either struggles to learn those skills or continues the cycle.

Teaching, whether it’s teaching communication skills directly or teaching some form of self-expression like art and writing, has been what I’ve wanted to do with my life since I was in high school; perhaps even younger, since that was one of the many jobs I used to pretend to have in elementary school. Come to think of it, librarian and journalist were also jobs I pretended to have. What ties these all together is the act of sharing and picking up knowledge, and helping others to do the same so that they may use that knowledge to contribute to a conversation of some kind. Part of what I love about teaching and working with younger kids is getting to see the out-of-the-box ways they think and process the world around them. They constantly challenge me to reevaluate the way I see and experience the world too. Being a part of their development in those crucial years is incredible because of how much we can learn from each other!

As a result of my upbringing, I have consistently been very passionate about making sure people communicate with each other. There are few things more frustrating to me than when a persistent problem could be easily resolved if everyone involved would just talk about it with a mutual amount of willingness to understand. Of course, what made this more difficult was the fact that I had to learn from experience how to open up avenues of communication and offer a comfortable starting point for others instead of just begging them to indulge me. Asking for too much too soon usually results in running head first into a defensive brick wall, a roadblock that leaves me perpetually wondering and feeling very on edge, so knowing when to quit is unfortunate but necessary.

Being able to understand people and how they think and feel can be a crucial skill for survival, particularly for navigating dangerous situations, but it can also be channeled into another important form of communication. Most significantly in my life, I have been able to help the people I care about, usually by listening and offering advice where relevant. Being able to understand what motivates them, helping them to navigate their relationships with other people or the world around them, picking up and offering in return a new perspective about a situation – these things breathe life into me.

Even the divination methods I’ve felt most drawn to communicate stories and intentions through a visual medium, and allow me to express myself and forge these connections with others through them; whether cards or runes, picking them up starts a conversation between the tools, the universe, and the heart. And that has been something so special to me since I started to embrace it.

In the end, to anyone who knows me personally, it’s really no surprise that I grew up to craft long dissertations analyzing media and topics I have strong feelings about. I feel stressed and unfulfilled when I’m not creating in some way, and I tend to avoid websites and spaces that restrict my creative freedom or limit what I’m allowed to say. I even feel immense joy when I read a book, listen to a musical soundtrack, or watch a play/movie/show that I really connect with and have to share my thoughts about.

I have spent many hours breaking down the most minor details about food metaphors in a magical boy parody show and the fascinating sociopolitical climate of a dystopian bird-dominated society for a (mostly willing) captive audience before and I will do it again. After all, that is what blogs are for.

Credits

The photos are all my own, but this section is an obligatory acknowledgment of the books and materials I featured because I think they’re neat.

The first book is Ikigai: Giving every day meaning and joy by Yukari Mitsuhashi, which I was fortunate enough to receive from a friend as a pick-me-up. The second book is For Teachers Only: Practical Secrets of Success for Any Schoolteacher by Vicki Hathaway with George Hathaway, which I collected from a Barnes & Noble as a resource when I first started teaching.

I chose to use the Tarot of the Little Prince by Rachel Paul and Martina Rossi for this because the journey of the Little Prince tackles a lot of relevant themes. I can particularly relate to this child trying to have a conversation with the adults he meets and not being listened to because neither of them understand each other, since the Little Prince has not yet grown up and the adults have forgotten what it was like to see the world as a child. The Little Prince has to learn a lot of hard lessons about life and love, but he always remains true to himself and even manages to teach a few lessons to The Pilot in recounting his story.

The runes I used are from The Runes Pack by Horik Svensson, which was the first set of runes I bought because I was very curious about them and Barnes & Noble was the only access to divination tools and resources that I had at the time.

Note: This article was originally posted on WordPress on January 1, 2023.

[minhyeong]

&. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞

genre: fluff | word count: 730

↳ “You’re lucky my friend here is holding me back, or I would’ve whooped your ass.”

Haechan indeed knew how to push every person’s buttons, especially yours. It wouldn’t be wrong of him to say he knew you inside out by now. He could, quite literally, end your whole career if he wanted to. 

Fortunately for you, he wasn’t your enemy but your loving boyfriend instead. 

Usually, he treated you with affection. He claimed even the moments of teasing and bickering with you were done out of affection. You have gotten used to his love language. 

It was your first anniversary. Haechan pranced into your room with a skip in his steps, leaving a wet kiss on your cheek as a greeting before pulling back. The bright tie dye shirt he wore instantly brought colors to your room of mostly monochrome furniture and decor. His brown hair bounced as he swayed side to side, a playful glint in his eyes as he shook the paper bag hidden behind his back. “Guess what I got you for our anniversary!” 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you mused, placing your book down and turning your whole body toward the excited boy. You leaned your head to the side, hoping to get a glimpse of what he was trying to present to you. 

Haechan shook his head and lifted the bag even higher, “You have to guess first!” Whatever was inside made a clear clinking noise—glass bottles or jars of something, you figured. 

You’ve heard about people gifting jars of origami stars or paper cranes, have even tried to fold a thousand of them yourself once to see if you could be granted a special wish. It was way too much work that you gave up not even halfway, so the thought of Haechan doing it was quite heartwarming and struck a chord in you. 

“Stars? Maybe cranes? Unless you brought me some pickles in a jar,” you quipped with a joking raise of your brows. 

He shook his finger with a twist of his lips, “Even better than that.” Haechan reached into the paper bag, the clinking noise louder than before as the bottles slid around.

He fished out two bottles of hot sauce, the smile of an Olympics gold medal winner adorning his face. With a hand on his hip, bottles of hot sauce raised as high as possible in the other, Haechan closed his eyes as if he were waiting for his standing ovation. Only individuals with an IQ over 200 would think of such a brilliant idea, he thought. 

The sound of crickets. 

You waited for Haechan to open his eyes so he could see your death glare. Of all the things he could’ve given you, it had to be something you couldn’t even consume with your intolerance of spicy food. He, of course, was well aware of that.

His face crinkled at the lack of verbal response from you. He peeked at you, just to receive a contemptuous look. 

“You’re lucky my friend here,” you said, jabbing down at the Olaf cushion that sat on your lap, “is holding me back, or I would’ve whooped your ass.” You clicked your tongue and picked your book back up, lying down on your stomach with your back to Haechan. 

Haechan whined, lying down on his stomach next to you, purposely bumping his shoulder into yours. He draped an arm around your back and nudged his head against yours like a pup, his hair pricking your ear. “It was just a joke!” 

“You’re so funny that I forgot to laugh,” you deadpanned, closing your book again, focusing all your energy on side-eyeing him for his prank. 

He giggled and leaned his chin on your shoulder, finger drawing soothing circles on your back. “I’m sorry. I got you something else, though, so don’t be mad.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, a betraying smile already creeping its way up. Haechan had this way of making every moment feel like an amusement park ride, always entertaining and full of exhilaration. Sometimes it was a calm carousel that gently rocked you in a steady spin, and then sometimes it was a roller coaster that thrusted you in unpredictable directions. You could never stay mad at him.

Then, you felt a series of taps on your back, some long, the others short, deliberate pauses in between. 

“What was that?” 

“Remorse code.” A wink, mouth opened, was sent your way. 

“...I’m even angrier at you now.”

[sneezefiction]

please don’t go

Ushijima x Reader - Scenario

@moonlightaangel‘s event request: “congrats on reaching 600 followers!! 🥰 can i request ‘please don’t go’ with ushijima, if it hasn’t been requested yet! i need some angsty feelings in my life”

a/n: mmmm angsty Ushijima is my aesthetic :,,)) i also messed around with some flashback formatting, so i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: angst, breakups

wc: 1640

---

“Please don’t go.” It’s a soft, tearful whisper.

“I thought you would understand, y/n. We had established this.” His reply was blunt. Like a dull knife to the chest, digging deeply only to pull right back out, leaving you gushing and writhing at his words.

“Please don’t.” Your cry reached his ears this time.

“I need to focus.” He sighs, twinging with guilt. 

Why didn’t you understand? Had you not known that his career would come first? Above everything else?

Or had he misspoken at some point, giving you the false assurance that this relationship would work forever? That he could always treat you as though it were possible to balance both you and his life’s work.

“Then I won’t distract you! Just don’t leave me. Please.” You begged, knees painfully falling to the cold floor, but your cries fell on deaf ears. 

He remains resistant to change. Without accommodations. Nothing left to give or take.

“Maybe someday, y/n. But this isn’t working out for me anymore. I have to leave for now.” Ushijima’s response is icy. 

He meant for those words to somehow be heartening. Promising, even. That maybe this was just the wrong time and place for a relationship. Where time could ebb and flow and someday he would be able to draw you back into his life.

Yes, there would be a day where you could take priority.

Because he wanted you… but not above his first love. Not above his skills and lifestyle. Not enough.

Volleyball comes first. Plain and simple.

And for that, he wouldn’t compromise.

---

White, crisp linens and fresh lemony scents.

Fluffed pillows fitted with new covers and soft patterns. Feather filled duvets. Curtains drawn to keep out the early morning light. 

Everything has stayed clean, clear, and Pristine. Even the dust particles, dancing around the room, have always seemed to find their own peace, settling mildly in gentle formations.

You sleepily blink open your eyes, rustling your arms over the bedspread to what should be a happier sight. Soft pillows hugging your sides, the gentle birdsong outside your window, a conceivably delicious cup of coffee to be made in the kitchen.

Yes, you should be filled with contentment. You were safe. Physically you were fine, and nothing was on your checklist for today.

In fact, things had appeared fine for months now...

Yet all you notice is who’s missing.

There’s no longer a delicate divet where his dozing head used to lay. The scent and shape of the pillow had only recently dissipated thanks to your citrusy laundry detergent and the slow passing of time.

You don’t awaken to a recently showered, olive-green eyed boyfriend. You could still picture the water droplets, hanging freshly on the tips of his tufts of hair. How the towel draped around his neck, over his shoulders, catching the drips and drops as they fell.

That warm smile he shared with you before placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead, caressing the side of your face. It was pure. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips. Still lingering. Mocking you.

You were liberated from his presence… but you never wanted to be.

Being absorbed in his chaotic life had kept you busy, but you had never minded it. There was never a doubt in your mind that volleyball would be his first priority. That he would follow his passions. His plans. His abilities.

You just wanted to tag along. To sincerely celebrate his victories and mourn his losses. Supporting him and holding onto him when he needed it. Yes, he got home late at night, left early in the morning, and only connected with you on his very few off days… but you cherished every second of it.

Because you loved him. You poured your soul into watching him flourish and thrive. It made you feel whole.

However, eventually, to Ushijima, you started to rival volleyball, becoming a distraction. He had made space for you in his already complicated life. And at first, it was a welcome change. A breath of fresh air to his methodical and planned out character. You were complex, bringing new perspective and sunshine into his typically boring apartment. Beautiful in a natural, yet eye-catching way. Furthermore, you somehow knew how to keep up with his hectic pace along with his gruff personality. 

In every aspect, you were perfect.

Expect one.

You were a diversion from the life he had in mind.

And even though you never pushed him to give you more… he longed to give you more of his attention. More time. To share his success with you. To love you deeper. To give you what you deserved. Because you are a profound being… and it burdened him to have to choose between his two greatest desires.

But, as most things do, these thoughts of love and devotion go unspoken, coming out all wrong. Mangled, unemotional, and misrepresented. Looking back, Ushijima wishes he’d been able to express it to you with empathy. To erase the tears that followed his brutal narrative. But softness isn’t his strong suit… and he needed you to know that, as powerful as he was, he wasn’t strong enough to balance you and volleyball.

---

“Ushijima, if you leave…” You take a deep breath, tears slipping down your face, “... you have to promise me you’ll never come back.” You choke out, your request came out in a sobering snarl.

For a moment, you question your own words- but your dignity was on the line.

“You can’t just break up with me and expect me to be there when you get back. I’m not disposable, you know?”

His body goes rigid. He hadn’t meant it that way.

You meant more to him than words could express… so why couldn’t he get it out clearly enough? How could he make you understand the gravity of his choices?

“...Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like that. I just need to concentrate right now.” The alarm, though subtle, shines in his eyes.

His usually composed, confident figure began to show cracks of uncertainty. He didn’t want you out of his life… Not at all.

He just needs you out of his mind for the time being. Just until he had things settled. You could come back at some point and he could love you so well. Just the way it was supposed to be.

But clearly he’d struck a deeper chord. He’d selfishly assumed you would wait for him. You weren’t some prized pony.

You’re a person. Someone with worth, plans, and dreams, just like him. He’d failed to acknowledge just how demeaning the truth of his actions were. But it’s too late.

You haven’t replied and the pain is etched intricately across your face.

“Okay, fine.” He breathes in deeply, letting out one final exhalation of defeat, “I... I’m sorry, y/n.” His brows furrow in deep, conflicted thought, but his mind is made.

He won’t be back.

---

Ushijima’s life hasn’t changed much.

It’s the same old routine. The standard, grueling workouts. Typical volleyball practice, group meetings, finances, paychecks, physicals, doctor’s appointments, fan meet-n-greets.

The usual.

But there’s a void settling like glacial frost in his soul. A snowy blue that seemed to melt into his bones, slowing him down.

He didn’t go a week… a day...  a minute without thinking of you.

Even now, lying in bed, the room cloaked in a tranquil darkness, you rest on his mind.

It’s not just the emptiness of the bed or the lack of physical touch. It’s the bitter, clawing memories of what he’d done to you and your gentle spirit. His body is frigid and forever frozen in the recurring visions of his foolish explanations, by how heartless and indifferent he’d seemed.

He’ll never get over the venomous tinge to your words.

You’d felt used.

He’d never meant to make you feel that way.

But since he moved out of your apartment, everything has felt glaringly hollow. The icy, barren tundra he crosses every time he realizes he won’t come home to your sunbeam smile and those thoughtfully lit candles, wears on him. How you would lavish him in comforting words, lulling him into a restful sleep.

Ushijima hardly remembers the last time he slept well.

Those dark circles under his eyes follow him everywhere. His whole team can see the exhaustion seeping into his execution of serves and spikes. He’s never struggled with his game performance before, but somehow the crashing reality of you leaving him has broken his patterns and systems.

He’s weary from searching for an answer to his emotions. Your warmth gave him life… and with that gone, what was the point of all of this?

And then it struck him, the realization sinking its needle-sharp claws into his soul, shredding it in seconds.

He’d found something far more valuable than any unique skill. More remarkable than the legacy he’d built as a world-class volleyball player. Someone who wanted to be with him just for the sake of… love.

And for the first time since he was young, he lets a tear slip into his white pillowcase.

Just one.

But it’s for you.

Because in chasing after what made him feel known and alive...

He’d lost the only person who had ever wanted to show him that he was important all along. The only person who was satisfied with his bizarre schedules. Someone who expected nothing more than gentle kisses and weekend dates.

But you were right.

You aren’t dispensable. Nor are you someone to drop for the purpose of picking up later, like loose change on a sidewalk. You deserved to be cherished. Held tightly. Given the love that you offered others.

He wishes he’d listened when you’d pleaded with him to stay. That he’d thought it through and functioned on more than just logic and reasoning. If only he’d known what it really meant to choose you.

Because if you were here now, he’d be the one begging,

“Please don’t go.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 

[msmarvelouswinchester]

No Strings Attached

Summary - Some words are better remained unspoken but not always. Sometimes it better to just confess.

Pairing - Jensen x Reader, past Jensen x OFC Sarah

Warning - Fluff, angst-ish, secret relationship, smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex (female receiving), swearing, insecurities, mentions of betrayal.

Word Count - 3178

Square Filled - Rockstar!Jensen ( @spndeanbingo ); Confessions ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is written for my challenge "Chan's 500 followers challenge".

Request by @deanwanddamons - Hey hon! Huge congratulations on 500 followers! You deserve it 💞 Could you write ‘3. How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?’ Jensen and Y/N 😘 (Hope you like it and sorry it got so long)

Beta'd by the lovely @miss-nerd95​ (she is such a sweetheart! Thank you so much)

The beautiful spn dividers by @talesmaniac89

I love the Ackles fam, but for the sake of this fic, Jensen is single and was never married to Danneel.

Your eyes were focused on the man on stage, heart beating loudly as you watched his every movement the way his thick fingers were wrapped around the mic, that little smirk on his face as he sang along to the Eric Church’s song. Your head full of thoughts about what his fingers and mouth could do to you.

“Damn you, really turn me on, paintin' your toenails pink.” He sent you a sideway glance, giving you a knowing smile as he sang the lines. His tongue peeked out of his mouth as it swept over his lips, his action so casual yet it sent the audience into a frenzy. The song enriched by his voice was enough to make you squirm and the memories from last night were not helping you at all.

You should have seen this coming ever since the moment you had stepped into the green room that day, right before the Saturday Night Live. You had smirked to yourself when you saw Jensen's eyes slightly widening at the sight of you in the tight little skirt that you had paired with a see-through button down and matching bra, as you had walked up to him with a glass of wine in your hand.

A blush had crept up your neck when you had felt his eyes all over your body. You had taken a seat right beside him, just to rile him up a bit more. You knew he couldn't even kiss you because no one in the cast knew about your hidden rendezvous. You had furtively glanced at the actor beside you. With one brow raised slightly, Jensen was staring right at you.

“You want to go out there?” You jumped at Richard’s voice, pulling you out from your sinful thoughts. “I know you can sing.”

“You sure? Jensen has set the stage on fire. I don't think I have enough fuel to match that level.” You chuckled, looking out towards the stage as the said man wrapped an arm around Rob’s shoulder, jamming out to the music of the guitar. You hadn't even noticed when he had switched to another song because you were too busy staring at how his biceps flexed under his black shirt with every small movement of his arm. A puff of air left your mouth as he hit a high note in the song.

“Trust me, he will definitely not mind.” Richard winked.

“Um-thanks Speight, but I'd rather stay here and enjoy the show.” You politely declined Richard’s request. Tonight, the stage was a dangerous arena.

You took in a sharp breath as the last notes of the song strung in the air, the crowd erupting into a loud cheer as Rob struck the last chord on his guitar. “Thank you!” Jensen gave a dramatic bow, waving his hands in the air as he was exiting the stage which caused an uproar in the room. Handing over the mic to Rob, the actor left the stage.

“Enjoyed the show, sweetheart?” A smug smile tugged on his lips as he stalked towards you, the look on his face making you go weak in the knees.

“You put on quite a show out there.” You said, placing a hand on his chest.

“What can I say? I am a good performer. There is nothing better than seeing the audience satisfied,” Jensen replied and leaned towards you, bringing his mouth near your ear. “And then leave them begging for more.” Your heart was beating wildly making you gasp as his teeth grazed past your earlobe, a shiver running down your body to your core.

“Jackles!” Jared’s booming voice made you two jump apart. “We are going out for drinks, wanna join?”

“Yeah! Go ahead, I'll...uh-catch up. Y/N’s coming with me too.”

“Uh-okay!” Jared hesitated a bit before he rejoined the awfully jolly group of actors, making their way towards the bar a few blocks away from the convention.

“Ackles, anyone caught your eye yet?” Jared questioned his tv brother, which piqued your interest.

“So, I'm picking up random girls from the bar now to get my dick wet? Jare-” Jensen looked at his best friend with a look of pure disgust in his eyes.

“Jensen, that's not what I-”

“Now, don't start with your relationship crap. You know I don't do relationships anymore.” It wasn't like you didn't expect him to say this, but deep down it still hurt to hear him say that there was no one special in his life. You tuned out the rest of his words as you reminisced about your first night together.

The relationship between you and Jensen was complicated. A few months ago, you had hooked up in his Vancouver apartment after a drunken night and that had started the whole friends with benefit thing. No one knew that you two were sleeping together. It was something you two had decided to keep between yourselves because it wasn't like you were in a relationship, you two just fucked to relieve some tension. Or so you thought. You didn't even realise when you had fallen head over heels for the man but you had managed to keep your mouth shut.

Your eyes roamed around the room until it landed on Jensen to see him staring intently at you. An involuntary shiver ran down your body under his strong gaze. You left your seat and went to sit beside him at which he was taken by surprise.

“Miss me already?” He smirked, an eyebrow raised at you.

“Don’t shave.” You said.

“That doesn't answer my que-” the words got stuck in his throat as you placed your hand on his thigh. Jensen stiffened under your touch but thankfully the action went unnoticed by everyone else.

“What d'you think you're doin’?” He asked, his southern accent slipping through.

“Nothing.” You smirked as you hand travelled upwards towards his crotch but no one could see your little teasing session underneath the table. Jensen swallowed thickly as he fidgeted in his seat, trying to adjust his pants and to remove your hand but you were adamant. You coyly palmed his growing excitement as he sucked in a breath.

“Don't challenge me, Y/N/N.” He growled into your ear, your own panties were now ruined. “I can take you right here, right now. You want me to do that, to teach you a lesson for being a bad girl?”

“Where's your self control, Ackles?” You mocked.

Without answering your question, he suddenly stood up. “Y/N’s not feeling so hot. I think it's best if she goes back to the hotel.” Jensen told the cast. You licked your lips when you saw his dominant side jumping out.

“What ‘bout ya?” Jared drunkenly asked.

“She is in the room right beside me and it's too late. I'm going back to the hotel with her. I'm just being a gentleman.” Jensen said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. Everyone said their goodbyes and if anyone suspected anything, they didn't speak up.

A few minutes after leaving the bar, Clif pulled up in front of the bar. You and Jensen slipped into the backseat. That fifteen minutes drive felt like the longest time you had ever been in a car. The tension was so thick between, it could have been cut with a knife. Jensen did his best to restrain himself, so much so he barely looked at you because even Clif wasn't in on your little secret and you wanted to keep it that way.

You had barely closed the door before you felt Jensen’s hands all over your body. He abandoned his leather jacket before pushing you against the wall.

“I wanted to rip off your clothes the moment you walked into the room.” He murmured as he pinned you to the wall, kissing you roughly. “Do you have any idea how hard you made me tonight? Huh?” He breathed into the skin of your neck, making you whimper.

“Jay-uh, you were a t-tease as well. You sang that song tonight o-on purpose.” You breathed out. A gasp left your lips when Jensen hungrily ripped off your shirt and skirt leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You hooked your legs behind his back as he effortlessly picked you up and took you to the bed, putting you down before he climbed on top of you. Impatiently, you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt at which Jensen smirked and pulled the shirt over his head before throwing it on the floor. You took in the perfectly toned muscles of his chest and stomach like you were seeing him naked for the very first time, which of course wasn't, when he put a finger under your chin, making you look up at him.

“Like what you see?” He smirked as your hands travelled up to feel his hard pecs. Jensen grabbed your hand and moved them away from his chest as he leaned down to leave a trail of kisses down your body. You shuddered when his mouth found the sweet spot on your neck. He swiftly removed your bra, leaving only in your lacy panties. “You are so beautiful.” He murmured as he took in your naked form.

There wasn't a single part of your body that he didn't touch. His hands travelled all over your body, squeezing and pinching your skin as they moved until finally stopped on your breasts, kneading and massaging them.

“Jay-” you moaned as he continued to nibble at your sensitive skin. His mouth left your neck before latching onto your right nipple, his tongue flicking the bud making you cry out his name. “Oh fuck,” you whimpered as his fingers worked on your other nipple. You could feel him smirking before his mouth released you from its assault, pressing a kiss on the valley of your chest before moving south.

“Fuck baby, you're so wet. Where's your self control?” Jensen grunted when his hand brushed your damp panties before making a quick job of pulling them off you. He left kisses along the inside of both your thighs before you felt his hot breath fanning against where you needed him the most. He pressed a kiss on your aching pussy as you moaned for the hundredth time that night.

“Mhm, you always taste so good.” He growled against your pussy, the vibration of his voice making you shiver in anticipation. He started licking your clit slowly but then he picked up his pace as his tongue worked overtime. Your hands moved downwards, your fingers entangling with his hair. Jensen’s scruff scratched against your thigh, giving you a sweet, burning sensation which you knew would stay as a reminder of his unholy ministrations. His mouth and tongue continued to give you pleasure as the latter went in deep, hungrily eating you out.

“Fuck Jensen!” You exclaimed when you felt the pressure build up. You pulled at his scalp, making him groan against your pussy before he put a finger in you, at which you whimpered. He pumped in twice before adding another, successfully stretching you open.

“Shit!” Your back arched with pleasure as his fingers curled inside you, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. The coil inside you tightened as he kept pumping his fingers.

“Fuck! Fuck Jay!” You mewled as you came on his fingers. He pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, while you tried to steady your breathing. Giving you a quick kiss, he pulled down his pants along with his boxers, his hardened length making you lick your lips at the sight. He took his cock and ran his hand up and down the shaft, the tip of his cock beaded with precum.

“Jensen.” You croaked.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His deep voice growled as he sat there in all his naked glory.

“I-hm, I want you inside me.” Jensen quickly obliged as he lined himself with your entrance. Your mouth both sucked in a breath when he slipped his cock into you.

“You need to move.” He almost pulled out, leaving only his tip inside you before pushing all of him back in again. You buckled up your hips to match with his thrusts, making him groan. Your pussy clenched around him as the knot in your stomach tightened once again.

“Fuck Y/N!” He growled as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“I am gonna-Jay!” your back arched as the coil in your stomach snapped and you felt yourself coming undone for the second time that night. Jensen thrusted a few more times before he spilled his seed inside you, coating your walls. “Shit Y/N!” He panted as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Pressing his lips on yours, he pulled out of you and rolled over, both of you panting hard, as you came down from your high before he got up to get a piece of cloth to clean you both up.

You were lying in his arms, basking in the post-coital bliss, both of you still in an euphoric state when those fateful words were muttered. “I think I'm in love with you.” The sentence slipped out before you could have stopped yourself and that's when you felt him beside you stiffen up.

“I thought we agreed this thing to be no-strings attached.” He said, his voice hard as rock as he spat the words out, making you wince at the sheer intensity of disgust in those ten little words.

“I-I thought, I'm sorry. I know what I got myself into,” you scoffed, “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?” You left the soft hotel bed, wrapping yourself with the white sheet to cover your modesty and self-respect or what was left of it.

“Where are you going?” Jensen asked as he watched you pick up the pieces of your clothing strewn about the room, putting them back on as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat.

‘Was that concern in his voice?’ You wondered but you decided not to voice your thoughts instead you retorted, “No-strings attached, remember? I am going back to my room.” And that was the last thing you said before you left hurriedly.

Closing the door behind you, you burst into tears. You almost ran back into your room because you didn't want to be seen by anyone and read some nasty headline on the celebrity gossip page the next day.

You didn't know how long you cried, lying there in your bed as you blamed yourself for completely messing up a good relationship. Wait, why were you even calling your arrangement a relationship?

That man didn't do relationships. How could you be so stupid to say those words to him? Maybe deep down inside, you had hoped that Jensen felt the same about you but after tonight all your hopes had been turned to dust. You laid motionless in your bed with tears streaming down your cheeks until two short knocks on your door interrupted your pity party.

A sense of fear seeped into you. Did someone see you in the hallway? You wondered. Gathering up a bit of courage you opened the door to find the man you least expected to show up on the other side.

“Wha-” Jensen barged into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Sarah, my last girlfriend she-I loved her, God did I love her but she took advantage and stabbed me in the back, left me there in the pool of my own blood.” He let out a shaky breath.

You still remembered that night in the trailer clearly. You and Jensen were still getting to know each other and you had never seen him have a breakdown like that. Sarah had used Jensen's name to get further in the industry and used his money but then she had owned up to never loving him and cheating on him with another man. Thomas was sick so Jared had to leave immediately while you had stayed with him that night in the trailer because you knew if you left him alone, he would have drowned himself in alcohol.

“I swore off dating, then you came along. After our first night in my Vancouver apartment, I didn't want to let you go. You were also healing from your last breakup and we both needed something to release the tension so I asked you to be my friend with benefits.”

“Jay-”

“Let me complete because I owe you an explanation and I'm here to give you one. All this time I was thinking that my feelings towards you were not romantic because I was scared to fall in love again until tonight when I watched you storm out of my room. I realised that I was lying to everyone including myself and I don't think I can live with that. ” You searched his face to find any sort of pity or a lie but all you saw were eyes filled with adoration for you. “Now I know I'm an idiot and I have royally fucked everything up but I think I'm ready to take a leap and I don’t want anyone but you by my side.”

You didn't even know when you had started crying. Jensen came closer to you, cupping your face, he whispered, “I want you, all strings attached.”

“Am I really the person you want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” A look of confusion descended on his face.

“Okay. I can give us a chance but I need you to be all in. I want you with all your strings attached as well.” You said, your lips curling up to form a soft smile.

“I am all in.” He said and leaned in, capturing your lips with his. Your one hand moved to the back of his neck and another gripped his bicep to ground yourself. It was a soft kiss filled with love and new promises.

“I do have one condition.” You said after breaking the kiss.

“I agree.” Jensen said, pecking your lips.

“You didn't even hear it.”

“I don't have to. I agree with it.” He smiled.

“Well then, no sex for one month.” You smirked as you Jensen's mouth fell open.

“One month?”

“You already agreed to it.” You giggled when he pouted at you. “Oh don't make that face. You have two hands, use them.”

“What about kissing?”

“I think I can allow kissing.” You chuckled making him sigh in relief.

“I love you and I'm a dumbass for not realising it before.” Your heart swelled in your chest as you heard him say those words back. “And I think Jared is going to earn some betting money in the morning when we walk into the room hand in hand.”

“We are telling everyone about us? So no secret meetings?”

“No secret meetings. I will shout it from the rooftops that you're mine because like I told you, I want you with all the strings attached.”

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