#something like having an obligation to not look away from the terrible things around them

[picaroroboto]

I see you.

[copinghex]

Blood hands | T.S

Summary: After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

She was terrible in biology, never got more than a B, it didn't matter how hard she studied. Every exam period she went to the tiny, dusty Birmingham's library and took notes from the anatomy books. Nothing ever changed.

Analyzing the drawings, she tried to make sense out of them, the muscles, joints and bones, wrapped together in the masterwork of the human body. It just didn't make sense to her, the subject simply wouldn't get into her brain and honestly, it disgusted her too. She had no wish to see beneath someone's skin, aware the reality was much more bloodier and morbid than the books.

Less than ten years later, she did, but unlike she imagined, the bile didn't rise to her throat expressing the deep disgust. Her eyes opened widely, unable to move from the mess of what once must've been a beautiful body.

The curly golden locks hid the agent's frightened looks, gladly, because the murderer in the train station wouldn't bear to face the lack of life in her blue eyes. 

Blood ran down her nose, her hands shook and her left eye stung. The woman who a few ago held her in disadvantage, sticking a sharp nail into her orb, was reduced to nothing by the train's velocity. A push was all it took.

Then, her trance was interrupted by the sound of steps, she ran away like a child avoiding punishment, not many people dared to fuck with a gangster's fiancée, but the ones who did certainly would make her look much worse in the train tracks.

As she headed home, carrying her heels in hand so she could walk faster, another haunting thought crept into her mind, Tommy, the reason why she had blood in her hands. She was sure he'd be dead when she got home, with a bullet Billy Kimber would've put in his brain.

For a moment she considered not going anywhere, simply sitting down on someone's pavement so she wouldn't have to deal with anything. 

If she only could, she'd ask God to allow her man to be alive when she got home, she couldn't, asking Him to save a man like Tommy felt like blasphemy or a joke of poor taste. There was no salvation for the Small Heath's devil, at least not from divine sources.

Swallowing the bitter taste of uncertainty, she walked home with a heavy heart. However, much for her surprise, Tommy stood at the front door, his eyes slightly widened at her awful state. Her throat burnt with the urge to cry as she dropped her heels and wrapped her arms around him, he winced in pain from the bullet hole in his chest, nevertheless, allowed her to hold him.

His name poured from her lips in quiet, relieved whispers. His attentive eyes were quick to capture every irregularity in her figure, bruised knuckles, teary eyes and bare foot. He had never seen her so broken.

"I was coming to pick you up," he explained, "what happened? Where were you?" 

Lifting her head from his shoulder, her still shaky hands hesitated in cupping his cheeks, resting on his shoulders instead. She negatively nodded and peeked at the wound under his coat.

"You're alive, that's all that matters," 

"What happened to you?" he insisted.

"Tommy, please," she breathed out, caressing the length of his arms, "not now, not fucking now," 

His jaw tightened as he fought the urge of arguing, he hated to have things hidden from him, but knowing he'd eventually find out anyway, he obliged to her wish.

Gently, his thumb met the eyelid of her wounded eye, "That's fucking bad," 

"I'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow, they'll give me something to get it better," she drawled, "now, tell me what happened," 

"...Danny whizz-bang is dead," was all Tommy deemed as relevant, guilt weighted heavily on the sergeant's voice, he was responsible for his soldiers' safety and he had failed Danny badly.

"Oh, darling," she muttered, "I'm so sorry," 

Looking away from her merciful eyes, he slightly nodded. Reaching for a cigarette from his silvery pack before saying, "We're at the Garrison now," 

"I'm not up for it, you can go back if you want," with a quick brush on his cheek, she entered home and in a quick decision, Tommy followed after, "I'll take a bath, then take a look at your bandages, who took the bullet out?" 

"Jeremiah," he drawled.

She nodded, glad someone gentle as the preacher looked after her husband when she wasn't able to. Heading to the bathroom, she only hoped the hot water would wash away the weight on her shoulders.

-

Rubbing her hands together, she watched the quiet street through the window, every now and then a lonely citizen walked past and this was all keeping her from dissociating.

The bath wasn't of great help, the relaxation it brought also lowered the adrenaline, making her muscles and wounds ache. A knot tightened on her throat as she tried to convince herself everything was fine. Everything was fine, Tommy was alive, no one was after them anymore, nothing else mattered, nothing.

The door suddenly opened, making her jump. Tommy entered the bedroom with a towel on his shoulder, his bare torso was still wet from his bath and he moved slowly, careful to not get his injury bleeding.

Attentively, she noticed his mind was far away from there, a pout decorated his lips and his brow was tense. Eager to sooth his worries, she whistled the stereotypical catcalling sound. 

"Hello, handsome," she weakly smiled.

Lifting his eyes, a nearly nonexistent smile crept into his face, "Quit that," 

She walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, "Do you come here often?" 

"In my bedroom?" he chuckled, "Yeah, quite often," 

She took advantage of his momentarily good humor to take a look at his wound. Before she could avoid it her eyes got filled with tears, she had nearly lost him today, not all the killing she was able to commit would've brought him back if she'd done so, he'd be gone, simple as that.

"D'you want to tell me what happened now?" Tommy cupped her face, trying to distract her.

"...I love you, Tom," was all she was able to mutter.

"I know, and I love you," 

Slightly nodding, she sighed, "What now?" 

"Well, I-" he hesitated, "I thought of opening a club in London," 

"About Danny," she sat at the end of the bed, "what about his family?" 

"We'll help them, financially," Tommy explained.

"Get his children a job?" 

"No, no more business for the Owens," he sighed, "they'll be normal, his children will never know why he died," 

Hearing his words, her throat tightened, a heavy feeling settled in her chest. Did the woman she killed had children? When she first got into the Garrison Tommy found out she did, but that was before they ever suspected she was a copper, how much of everything she said was lies? How would her child react to knowing its mother was dead on train tracks? 

Tommy watched his fiancée's state with pity in his eyes, he hated her stubbornness at the same time he was well aware of how much they were alike. Both closed off before trouble, hating to burden the other with issues they deemed personal. 

"You know, eventually you'll have to tell me what happened,"

Her watery eyes met his and she pulled him to stand between her legs, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on the soft skin of his stomach.

Gently, he petted her hair away from her face and his rough fingers on her face brought some relief, still, she felt like a wounded beast. A wounded beast is still a beast and she'd forever be a murderer regardless of Tommy's acceptance.

"Tell me, eh?" he whispered.

"Tommy, I-" before she could answer, three knocks on the door interrupted.

Arthur entered the bedroom with a worried expression, "Tommy, hm, I just wanted to tell you we found the body of that barmaid in the train tracks, Johnny Dogs wants to know if he should get rid of it," 

She froze, eyes widened at the news, she was so deep into her own guilt she didn't even think about the further consequences.

Tommy switched a look between her and his brother, with a slight nod, he ordered, "Get rid of it," 

Small Heath had another murderer to call resident, there was no way of hiding it now.

[sp1cy-t0ss]

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?” 

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding. 

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear... 

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?! 

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes. 

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out. 

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving. 

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed. 

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest. 

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.  

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again. 

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head. 

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss. 

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle. 

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak. 

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.)  The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground. 

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it. 

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.” 

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?” 

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more. 

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.” 

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

[spookypete-94]

Dark Horse-Matching Bands

Chapter 8 (Final Chapter)

PriceXFem!Reader

Reader is a single mother, working double shifts at a restaurant. Father of the child starts to become a problem while reader is at work and Price offers a solution. Slight age gap between reader around 25 and Price around 35.

This is it! This chapter is lots of fluff, happy ending. After this is completed plan on working some more Simon things and then have an idea of returning to this, but writing it through Price's POV. Will be darker in influence than this one however. Think our Captain is a little more selfish then what this story portrays. Kind of like the other half of the coin thing.

Thank you all for taking the time and reading this series, just really wanted to do something sweet. <3 I truly do appreciate this fanbase and its readers.

Adrenaline had worn off by the time you had reached your bed. Body heavy like someone had tucked concrete into it making relief fill you by the time you had hit your pillow. After it all, you really thought sleep was going to be hard… but honestly it was the easiest that had been delivered to you all night.

In fact, when you woke up in the morning, you felt so far out of it. Honestly, you probably could have slept for another 5 hours. Finally forcing yourself to come to, you realized it was your phone vibrating on the nightstand. Quickly picking it up, you palmed it until it answered.

“Mornin’, lovie.” Your heart mended and melted at the voice.

“John.”

“How’d you sleep love?”

“Honestly… not terrible.”

“Best you have in a while, huh.” He had wanted it to sound like a question, but instead it came out as a matter-of-fact statement. You both know why you slept so well. You had no reason to fear anymore. Your biggest fear was dead.

“Yeah… How’s Abel?”

“Still sleepin’, him, Johnny and Kyle stayed up late telling ghost stories.” There was a joke hidden somewhere in there, sleep just kept it hidden from you.

“He catch any fish?” You asked instead.

“He did, learned to clean them too. Had a proper day of teaching with him.”

It made you smile. The idea of Abel spending time with a male figure that was teaching him real life lessons.

“Good.”

“I’ll have him call you when he wakes up. Think you should probably go make a cuppa’ and turn the news on for now love.” A hint. An order what had been done last night.

“Ok, see you in a while John.”

Finally doing what he advised, you sat with a cup of coffee in your hands steam still rising off the top. The remote was on the table in front of you, parallel with the TV.

It seemed so far away and the thought of picking it up to turn the TV on almost too heavy for you. Like the concrete from last night had returned all at once. A heavy breath in, you reached for it, powering it on and flipping on the news.

The very first headline BODY HAS BEEN FOUND.

Instantly, you shut your eyes, seeing the murder scene all over once again in your small bathroom. Forcing them back open, you watched. Listening intently while the newscaster explained that a male body had been found in an alleyway after what looked like a bar fight gone wrong.

The face was so mangled from a beer bottle they assumed; they were having a hard time identifying the victim. Your heart pounded so loudly, Blood trying to reach your head filling your ears, rushing like an ocean and beating like a drum. You had done this. You had destroyed any facial recognition of him… all by your hand. The thoughts came in like a flood. The father of your child. What kind of monster were you?

A loud knocking on your door brought you back, making you jump and spill coffee down the front of John’s shirt. Quickly jumping up to look through the peephole, two officers stood waiting. Like the good girl you were, you opened the door for them.

“Morning Ma’am, may we come in?” They politely asked. Giving a wide birth on the door, you obliged.

“We’re here to notify you of some news…”

Afternoon had rolled around. You sat outside waiting for their vehicle to pull up. John had kept his promise to you, and Abel had called you shortly after the officers left. After Abel had passed the phone back to your husband he asked about your visitors. Finding it strange that you had not told John about the officers stopping by yet to give you a death notification, you still told him about it.

 One of the officers had known John, his name Alex Keller, a detective for the force. Alex had called you by your maiden name, politely you corrected him and explained how you were freshly married, what your new name was and who you married.

“Have known John for a long time. Good man.”

Maybe Alex had called John to let him know he met you and what had happened…

Seemingly they asked a few questions about your personal life with your ex. How long you had known him, how you had known him. The basic stuff. News to you however, your ex had been estranged from his family for years now. He had no relationship with them whatsoever. They had tried to reach out to his parents, but they had cut him off due to behavioral problems. How ironic his own knew what kind of person he was and chose to do nothing about it. All the officers were looking for was a few answers and a place to do a proper death notification.

“Do you see it possible that he could have been in involved in a bar fight?”

“Yes,” you honestly nodded.

“Did he have anger problems?”

“Yes.”

From there you told the tale of the physical and verbal abuse from the very beginning… all the way to his untimely end.

“Well Mrs. Price, we are sorry for your loss. At this time, it is still under investigation, but it appears to us that he was involved in a bar fight. Was attacked with a beer bottle and then strangled. His wallet was left behind with his ID, but nothing else in it. It looks to be a murder and mugging. Here’s our contact if you need anything else from us.”

It seemed so routine for them, like they had expected this outcome from you already. The innocent baby momma rid of the evil that plagues her and her child. Towards the end, it was like someone had held up a seashell to your ear. You could hear the conversation… but it was like they were so far away at the same time. Shock was settling in. Thankfully it wasn’t long after that, they had left your humble abode. Pleasantries exchanged and not even a suspect on the list…  How was this possible?

And there you sat on the porch, waiting in a chair outside… Counting your lucky stars you were not placed in a jumpsuit behind bars. Still wearing the guilt all the same. Your happiness finally arriving on 4 wheels as a little boy jumped out to greet you.

“Mom!”

John had stopped to pick up dinner. Your favorite to try to cheer you up and thank you for letting him go on a trip shortly after you were married.

Finding the words finally at the dinner table, you explained to him to the best of your ability about his father passing.

Abel took it in stride. Yes, he was hurt and disturbed someone could do this his father, but he was the sweet boy you had raised after all. Abel did start asking a few questions, where John thankfully took over for you. He could tell it was hard for you to lie to Abel about what had really happened. It was something you would never ever tell him, wanting to take it to your grave now. John and his boys being the only ones who knew what had happened. Of course, none of them saw the sin in it like you did, they only saw justice. Simon, in fact telling you once that if was not you that really killed him, it was Ghost himself that had. Like it was a joke, trying to make you feel better. All it could do was place a sad smile on your lips.

“Worlds better of without him.” John had grumbled into your ear once you were both settled into bed, hand rubbing up and down your sides. That was the moment you tried to explain to John, it was not the fact that it was the man that had hurt you over and over since you were a teenager, but the fact it was a human life in general.

“Happens every day. Eventually bad behavior is answered one way or another.”

“But it makes me bad too.” You argued in a whispered hiss to him.

“No, it makes you a mother willing to defend what is hers. You really expect me to believe that you were goin’ to let him take you away from Abel and I? He paid his consequence. We could have worked it out like adults.” His hand had found your ring finger on your left-hand stroking over his mother’s band, something he seemed to do when you or he needed soothed.

Reaching for his hand, you realized it had a wedding band in return. Pulling it up out of the sheets glancing at it, knowing you had not given him one yet. It was opal on set in gold that matched yours.

“Had it made with the stone that Abel got on his field trip. The maker rushed it for me so we could match.”

“It’s pretty…” you whispered, holding it up yours. Husband and Wife finally made whole. Married for convenience for you, convenience you would ironically not need any more since your ex was dead.

It wouldn’t change anything for you though, you would pick John over and over in this lifetime and the next. He had shown you loyalty and love in a time and place no other stranger would… Except the other three of John’s that made it clear they envied their Captain that is. Who knew a group of men could care so much for a woman in dire need of it. Perhaps soldiers made the best lovers when created correctly? Who knew.

Life had changed so much in just a few years. Thinking back, you had always just pictured yourself working and slaving away at the diner. Yes, you were grateful for it, but a part of you would always want more for yourself and Abel. Here it finally was. In a new strong and sturdy house John had built for you. Working part time at the diner now, home at night with Abel and John. Sometimes John would be gone for months at a time, not always able to communicate with you either. Worry sometimes would fill your mind, but he always found his way back to you.

On one of his returns, he had given you a child. Now round with his seed, ready to pop he sat with you at the hospital. This time was entirely different. Instead of having to do it alone here John was with you. Not able to go to every appointment, he at least made the milestone ones. When worry and panic would rise within you from the pregnancy, he would quell it down. Thumb rubbing across your wedding band making you reach for his to do the same. Life was perfect. Honestly it left you confused on what exactly you had done to deserve such an outcome, but maybe if you didn’t question it, whatever greater force was out there would let you keep it.

Being thankful rewarded you with a healthy, beautiful little girl, a branch off John’s tree. Her bright blue eyes identical to his with his heavy brown locks. After all John had given you, you let him name her. A man of pattern and devotion, he named her after his mother. Sarah. So here you sat… babe bundled into a blanket in a rocking chair watching John and Abel out in the yard. No longer haunted, you were protected and loved. More importantly though, Abel and Sarah would be defended for their childhood. Something that was not provided to you or John.

Life is good.

Masterlists

Previous Chapter

Dark Horse Chapters

Taglist:

@cutiecusp @angeldemon28 @simplyymee98 @beebeechaos @cadotoast @talooolaaloolla @lhhlver @hon3y-cloud @spktrgantenk @generalruinsexpert @freshlemontea @hearmesingoutfromthelostandfound

[asunflowerana]

mishaps — Itoshi Rin

“I love you, Rin.”

He swallows the rest of whiskey in his glass, the malt and alcohol burning his throat as he tries to chug it all down. He wants to suppress his senses and hush his mind, anything to stop the non-stop aching in his heart.

He just wants to forget, but the remorse keeps whispering in his head, from the moment his eyes found your figure among the mingling bodies in the room. Someone he hasn’t seen in years, that he didn't realised how much he longed for until now. The gentle tone of your voice, your bright smile when you saw something you liked, the twinkle in your eyes whenever you watched one of his matches; the feeling of holding you, having you right there between his arms even though a brief moment, made most of his days in high school. The sound of his name running through your honey lips, excited, apprehensive, sad, hopeful.

Once, Rin had all of you versions. Now, he can only get a small, superficial glimpse, which is still beautiful because it’s a part of you.

He wants to have the whole you again.

But how could he, after what he said?

“Rin.” As if his problems couldn’t get any worse, he hears Sae's voice close to him, taking the opportunity to sit on the free stool aside his. Shoulders tensing, Rin anticipates another pitiful conversation, wondering if he could be fast enough to make up a small excuse and escape to the bathroom. It’s hard enough to have your own mind reminding you of your mistakes; he doesn't want to hear it from Sae too.

Not that he can stop him, anyway. 

“Your teammates are looking for you. That lanky guy wants a couple of pictures for the press” Ego. He almost forgets why he's in this party, among futile golddiggers, instead of the safety of his home. 

With the promising future of Blue Lock 11, the company held a gala event to promote the project and acquire more sponsorships. All the eleven best players were obligated to make an appearance, in addition to some guests of honor, renowned players, soccer club presidents, and some contemplated journalists. 

A game of pretenses, appearances, and a lot of money involved. Another reason he wants to leave as soon as possible. This party was over before it even started for him.

“Not interested.” He lifts his hand to the barman for another round. He doesn't even bother to turn his face toward his brother, keeping his piercing eyes away from attention. The pink-haired man beside him chuckles, finding the scene too amusing. 

“You know, she moved on quite quickly.” Rin clenches his jaw. Sae knows exactly how to push his buttons, and the bastard won't stop until he gets a reaction out of him. “Why are you so pitiful? It's not like you didn't reject her in the first place.”

Words that stings like alcohol on a fresh wound. Why cant' he just leave him alone? His situation is torturing enough. He can’t help but glance at the happy couple a few meters away, slow-dancing on the dancefloor with a sickening fond gaze at each other, as if they're the only thing that matters there.

Red take sover his vision, watching that man’s arm wrapped around your waist, bringing your bodies close to each other in a embrace. An intimacy that not him, but his own teammate created with you.

Hyoma Chigiri it's the name of the man who stole the happiness Rin refused in the past. The man who hasn’t taken his eyes and hands off you, earning your smiles and flustered giggles as he impeccably leads you on, just like in those scenes from fairytales. The man who doesn’t need pointless words to express how beautiful you are, but do it with honesty, just by staring at you.

The man who placed a gold, diamond ring on your right finger, as a promise of his unending love for you.

Rin wants to break him apart right there, but he chooses to gulp down his replaced dose of beverage, the only thing that can hold him down, as ironic as it is. He ends it in one shot, having enough of this terribly and long night.

“Tell them I left sooner.” Not waiting for an answer, he places a tip on the counter to the bartender, poor guy did quiet a good job at bearing his grumbles and sorrow. Ego probably won’t like his departure, he hasn't shown much of himself through the night, but in the end of the day, Rin doesn't give a care. 

“Running away, I see.” Sae scratches his chin, observing his younger brother's. It's not a situation he could intervene even if he wanted to, but man, it’s irritating to watch Rin's childishness, preferring to sulk in silence instead of fighting for what he lost. You loved him before, you could love him again. He might be a good player now, but he's still as dumg as ever.

“Maybe it was for the best. She wouldn’t be happy with a coward dragging her down, anyway.”

Rin stills. His brother should thank heaven for the few steps he took away from him, or he would have a bloody broken nose for everyone to see. It would be unfair, though, because he doesn't disagree with him. He does wants to get you back, but no amount of trys will change the fact that he rejected you. You wouldn’t forgive him, even if your eyes no longer hold resentment when gazing at his

Now, they hold indifference. Maybe a bit of politeness you grant for people you've just met, but it's not the same way you used to look at him. And that's so much worse, ‘cause it means that what you both had lost its significance; as if he's no longer worth keeping in your memory.

“Good evening, Itoshi.” IIt's how you greeted him earlier, with nothing but cordiality. 

He was never Itoshi to you. He was Rin, your Rin.

“I love you, Rin”

“....I don’t.”

Two words. Two cursed words, coming so easily out of his mouth, made him lose everything. Everything, over a stupid teenager pride. Love was not on young Rin's plans, the only goal filling his mind was to become the world's best striker, and defeat his brother. Love would be a waste of time and effort, and he didn’t want anything to disrupt his ambition.

His own mind disrupts him now.

Giving a final, challenging gaze at his brother, he mumbles. “Don't talk to me as if you were better.” And then he leaves, taking the phone from his pants pocket to order a taxi back to the dorm. He’ll probably practice a few extra hours the next day to make up for the misfortune, but he doesn’t mind. 

As long as he forgets, anything will do.

n/a: writing angst is so bittersweet... rinrin will have his redemption, i hope😬

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers: 1x06 Swish (Part 5)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Alright, let's wrap this episode up ;)

Letters

I want to know what book she's not actually reading. Also, picture of me every evening, if we're being honest...

She looks so cute in her fake sickness, I wanna just take all the screencaps!

So. Portia. She comes in going on about some dinner invitation that she's happy to have. Portia just thrives on being in society, and now that Colin and Marina's engagement has hit the ton, people are asking her to dinner all over the place. And, apparently Portia enjoys having spite invitations just so she can laugh in the host's face.

Penelope has other things to do. And she's got a very short amount of time to do it. So she fakes being sick to get out of social obligations so she can get some work done.

The timeline on this is interesting, though... The Featheringtons had dinner with the Bridgertons -- Colin told Marina give him a day. So, this is the next day/evening? So the end of this episode actually takes place on the morning after this one? So, Colin needed over a day for his plans to work out? Idk, time in this world is a little wonky sometimes, and I don't always feel like I know when I am.

I kind of love Pen's nervous determination. I love that she's sneaking around in her own home. She isn't sure exactly what she's looking for -- but she's gotta find something that'll stop this wedding.

Penelope is an adorable, yet terrible snoop. She goes through all of Marina's shit hoping to find.... something? I don't think she even knows. What she does find is Marina's suitcase packed and ready to go. And Penelope gets it -- she gets that Marina is going to run away with Colin, which makes her even more frantic. But girl... you gotta clean up your mess when you're going through people's stuff. She leaves everything everywhere -- Marina will definitely know something's happened in her room.

Anyway... what Penelope also finds is a bunch of letters stuffed in the back of her drawer, and upon looking at them, figures out that the one final letter sent by George is a forgery. I mean, I give this girl some credit, because that's some serious detective shit being able to figure that out based on one signature that's slightly off. But she is a writer, and there's a chance she's savvy enough to notice the content of the letter isn't in character, either.

Alright, so by the time Marina returns (from dinner?) Penelope has put Marina's stuff back in place. Good girl. Also, how long has she been sitting there waiting?

Anyway, so Marina is a little wtf about Penelope being in there and going through her stuff, but Penelope is so excited, she doesn't even wait for Marina to get done scolding her. She blurts out that the signatures don't match, and that she found a letter in her mother's handwriting to compare, to show that Portia was the one who did the forgery of George's letter.

Penelope is so excited about this development, she's practically bouncing. There is a way out of this mess without anyone getting too hurt! (I mean, technically, Colin's getting hurt but this would be less hurtful than what is going to happen, and way less than what would happen if he married Marina.)

And here's where the story really takes a turn. Penelope is excited, because she's found a way to save Colin, but also... she loves romance. And this proves that George never turned Marina away, that there's a possibility that George still loves her, that Marina can also get her happy ending with someone she actually does love. This development is important because it plays into what Penelope greatly desires herself - a great love story.

Marina is in shock, and really not accepting of all of this. She's skeptical of Penelope's claims, most likely because she's been coming to terms that George broke her heart, and has accepted that he isn't coming for her. And the practical side of her is winning out. George hasn't continued to write (though - would she know if Portia was keeping letters from her?) and Colin is a sure thing. And she just can't take that gamble. She won't take the chance on the possibility of love when she has security in her grasp.

And this just perplexes Penelope. She may be young and naive herself, but love is one of the most important things to her. Why would you not do everything you can to be with the one you love? Why would you not fight for your love? Why would you push it away?

Marina doesn't care. She still feels abandoned, and won't give up her one chance for a safe life. So, she burns the evidence, a symbolic gesture to the ending of that story.

And this is just too much for Penelope. Not only is Marina discarding her last ditch effort to stall the marriage, she's turning her back on love, and Penelope can't with that -- especially when she's in the process of trying to protect her own love from an unhappy life.

So, Penelope just blurts out that she knows Marina has a bag packed and assumes she's on her way to Gretna Green for an elopement, and for the first time, really starts to push back against Marina. What will she do when Colin finds out about the baby? How are you going to deal with the fact that you're really going to hurt him when he figures it all out?

Marina isn't necessarily concerned about that. She knows Colin will care for the baby, and won't kick her to the street, and that ultimately is what matters to her.

Penelope, rather emotional now, digs in. What of Colin? What of him and his feelings -- because they do matter, too.

Cause here's the thing about Pen. If this had been a sincere love match, I do believe she wouldn't have loved watching it go down, but she would have accepted it. She wouldn't have meddled. She's always felt that Colin would never pay her any real attention in the romantic sense, and she's come to terms with that. But this isn't a love match. And Colin is being actively hurt in all of this. And Pen can't help but stick on that point.

And... I kind of love this next beat. Marina stands in silence at Penelope's emotional outburst. The score comes in with its omniums score. Penelope's just showed her heart in a way that she hasn't before. Her love for Colin is a very sacred thing, but one that she tries her best to keep to herself, and it's finally burst through to someone.

(Granted, I'll argue they're all dumb for not noticing it sooner, but this makes for a lovely dramatic moment.)

All the pieces fit together for Marina, and she finally gets it, and says the quiet part out loud -- Penelope is in love with Colin.

The look of shock on Pen's face, though... She tries to reign it in, downplay it, be confused by the accusation. But Marina calls her out on exactly what it is. But this is going to be Marina's ultimate downfall.

Marina does not give Penelope an ounce of sympathy here. She calls Penelope's feelings a "childish infatuation" and an "unrequited fantasy". And believes, most likely because of the situation she's in, that she's more understanding of the world because she's lived more in it.

This conversation is so dense and complex. Do I think Penelope is young and in love with the idea of love? Yes. Do I think Pen's feelings should be dismissed? No. And this is where I think Marina doesn't get it. Because Penelope's feelings aren't entirely ungrounded. Not only has she lived with and managed her feelings for a long, long time, not only has she been realistic about her chances, her feelings aren't entirely unrequited.

Colin might be in his own fantasy land with Marina, but he and Pen have a very real friendship and a very real mutual caring for one another. It might not be in the same way, but it's dismissive not to acknowledge that.

And in a way Marina does, but how she does is actually somewhat cruel. She throws at Pen that Colin thinks of her no more than he thinks of Eloise... but she doesn't stop, she adds not even Eloise, but 'little' Hyacinth. Marina is throwing at her that Colin doesn't just think of her as a sister, but as a little girl who follows him around.

And to add salt to the wound, Marina says that Colin thinks of her as a woman -- as a sexual being as well as a partner, something that Penelope will never have (ha!). And it's just mean.

I get what Marina's doing -- it's part of the self preservation that she's being doing all along, because Marina feels utterly alone and if she can't save herself, no one else will. So she's being purposeful in her confrontation to Penelope. She wants to break Pen's heart. She wants Pen to feel defeated and give up.

And I have to wonder if some of this is self reflection on Marina's part. She feels so jaded and cold from what the world has thrown at her, she almost can't help but dish it out in the same way. It doesn't make it right, but you can understand why she feels the need to do this.

Well, Marina, you just fucked with Lady Whistledown and the man she loves, so you're going to get what's coming to you (which, i'll argue, is the better outcome for her, so it's not really that bad).

And here's where I'll stand up for Pen a bit. Because up until this point she's tried :

Encouraging Marina to keep up her correspondence with George

Appealing to Marina on an empathetic level

Helping Marina find another man who would still be a worthy choice

Going to her mother to try to persuade other options.

Going to Colin and attempting honesty about Marina's feelings for another man, but not spilling the actual pregnancy secret

Trying to prove to Marina that she shouldn't lose hope that the man she loves is actually still out there.

She has tried every avenue, and as I've said before, if Marina had had genuine feelings she would have stepped aside. But Marina has just been somewhat cruel in her actions. And yes, Penelope may be doing this out of her own feelings, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't care about Marina or her well being. Or that she hasn't been trying to help everyone in the situation.

So, Penelope flees, and goes off to write one damning Whistledown article. As Whistledown will say in season three -- when one loses hope, one becomes reckless.

Whistledown

The two plotlines of the episode -- Daphne and Simon's issues and the Marina story are going to collide thematically, and are tied together, rather brilliantly, in the Lady Whistledown voice over, that speaks to both situations.

The narration speaks of love and war and how the human heart is the most fragile of things. And I think, while it's definitely reflecting the intensity of the Daphne and Simon stuff, it hits differently when you know it's Pen. Marina did get to her. Her heart is really broken. But she's going to do what she feels, ultimately, is the right choice -- and reveal Marina's secret.

She knows what it's going to do to Marina, to her family, to Colin, and to the Bridgertons - whom she adores very much. The narration is unsure if it's the right choice, but it feels like the only choice.

This little moment of Pen and Eloise, it's always made me curious. Penelope and Eloise haven't had any kind of contact since their tiff a few episodes earlier, but that's the thing about best friends, is that they'll always be there when you really need them. And Eloise is there to console an utterly broken Pen. I do wonder what she said when Eloise inevitably asks what's wrong because. I wonder if she ends up telling Eloise the truth about Marina's pregnancy and the plans of elopement. Because at this point, that secret doesn't matter, Pen's already told the world.

I have to say, it's a nice little touch of acting that Penelope looks so young, really like a child, as she breaks down.

The Whistledown narration goes on to reveal Marina's secret -- letting the world know she was pregnant not only before she was engaged, but upon arrival to Mayfair.

And i love LOVE the composition of these scenes with the reveal. Colin is ready for his Romeo and Juliet moment, ready to go off and have this romantic adventure, live out his fantasy dreams. And the real world is going to come crashing in.

I kind of love the way Violet and Portia are just standing there, each waiting, each with their own complex looks on their faces as they've both read Whistledown and know. Violet is sad for him, but also frustrated and also a little of... I knew something felt off about this. Portia is just, disappointed and angered.

(Also the contrast of colors in the two scenes -- the Bridgerton blues vs the Featherington yellow/pinks, the lighting is so devastatingly gorgeous in both scenes, it really just amplifies the atmosphere of the moment.)

Colin's world is shattered. Marina looks resigned to her defeat.

And Penelope calls herself out in the narration (even if it's talking about Marina and Daphne as well) -- she knows that she crossed a line with this one. Knows that her actions may be seen as inexcusable. Was what she did worth it? Perhaps time will...

[barefoothighlander]

i loved your simon x sunshine wife can you please do one with konig ? love your work!!! <3

of course, thank you so much!

warnings: none just fluff, mention of anxiety

It was a pretty big shock to the team when they found out you and König were married, he was always quiet, keeping to himself where as you would burst into rooms, chatting with anyone who wanted to.

Contrary to popular belief he was talkative, but only when you were home, he'd tell you about his day, animals he'd encounter on his way home if he saw something he thought you'd find interesting.

He loved listening to you talk, ambling about whatever was on your mind, his eyes practically heart-shaped at the way your face lit up, your infectious smile that he loved.

You'd find things to surprise him with, somedays you'd try to cook or bake something that would remind him of his home considering he spent so much time away.

On his most recent deployment, you made it your mission to try and learn some German to surprise him.

You extended your arms to him as he entered the door, "Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe" You struggle through the words, squinting your eyes as you try to remember them. Even behind his hood, you could see his face light up, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, "Where did you learn that?", "Tried to learn some while you were gone, is it terrible?" You scrunch your face and he shakes his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you, "You're pronunciation is off but, es ist perfekt, meine liebling"

He enjoyed how tactile you were, always having your hands on him somehow, his favourite was when you played with his hair after a long day. Every morning before he left for work he'd wake you up to braid it for him, insisting that you did it so much better than him and you happily obliged.

You were a naturally curious and extroverted person, stopping in the street to have conversations with strangers, asking to pet their dogs as you walked hand in hand with him, the idea of chatting with strangers made him nervous, scared they'd be intimidated by him but you always held his hand through interactions.

If he was anxious you'd pull him aside and wrap your arms around him, providing some sort of pressure on his chest to help him relax, reminding him to breathe.

He was utterly surprised when you first began dating, his face flushed as you asked him out on a date, most people crossed the street when they saw him, his large mask-clad form roaming the streets, but not you, you didn't treat him differently than any other person.

It took him a few months to be comfortable enough to show you his face, nervous you'd dislike the way he looks but he practically melted into your touch when you stroked a thumb across his cheek, tucking loose hair behind his ear.

"It's long, your hair, I thought it'd be short" "You don't like it" "I love it"

The wedding was small, held at your home with just a few friends, the team and minimal family, you had let him choose the food for the occasion while you took to decorations. Picking flowers from the garden that the two of you had made, it helped with his stress to tend to the flowers, having to be responsible for something so fragile.

You had gotten closer to the team and encouraged him to do the same, inviting them over on weekends and stopping by the base when they were there, it was no surprise that you got along with the men and it helped him get to know them better, lightly laughing along as you joked with Soap and Price.

"Cannae imagine how big your kin will be, I mean the man is massive" König practically choked on the air in his throat as Soap joked. "You have no idea, Johnny" You laughed, König dropped his head in embarrassment, laughing while you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

It was a weekly occurrence that you had to remind him that you weren't made of glass, every touch so gentle and careful like it he pressed too hard you'd shatter.

In public his hands always sought some part of your body, whether they settled on your waist or lower back, you grounded him.

He'd complain a lot about how you'd steal food from his plate but the truth was he thought it was cute, how you'd try to sneak bites away while he wasn't looking, or attempt to distract him while he was cooking so you could pick at the food.

Sometimes when he was really tired or stressed he'd slip back into German, forgetting that you couldn't understand every word and apologizing.

"will dich nicht verlassen" He grumbled, you hummed in response, turning his head to peak an eye at you "M'sorry, forgot for a minute" "S'okay, I like hearing you speak" "You can't understand me" "Your face says more than you think" You smile, kissing his forehead while his arms wrapped around you, tugging you into him.

It was a struggle every time he left home, not knowing when he'd be home, but the wait was always worth it, watching him walk through the door and immediately relax his shoulders at the sight of you, his eyes staring at you the same way they did when you first met.

Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe (welcome home my love)

es ist perfekt, meine liebling (it’s perfect my darling)

will dich nicht verlassen (i don’t wanna leave you)

[littlemisslomax]

"C" isn't just for Constantine...

Ch. 1 - "Oh yeah, that's a good idea."

John Constantine x nurse!Reader : CW: medical talk, mention of cancer, mention of su¡cide.

The hospital's fluorescent lights flickered overhead as you made your way down the corridor, the rhythmic beeping of machines and the hushed murmurs of nurses filling the air. Your shift had just started, and you were already tired. All of last week, you prayed to be assigned to the ER or to Triage, but here you are in Oncology and Radio. It’s so… depressing. It's so dismal that it drains you just to walk down these hallways, hearing the things you hear from different rooms as you pass them. You glanced at the chart in your hand, the first patient of the shift: John Constantine, Room 314. Preparing for an MRI. You took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The room was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright, sterile hallway. A pallid, lanky man in an expensive suit sat on the edge of the exam table, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling upwards in lazy tendrils. His eyes, dark and haunted, flicked towards you as you entered, small wisps of his black hair drooping over his forehead.

"Mr. Constantine?" you called softly, stepping closer into the room and shutting the door.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, his voice rough and weary. He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly for a moment before he exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Hello, I’m uh— I’m your nurse for today.” You offer him a weak smile before your eyes trail down to the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. “If I could just ask you to please put out your cigarette…?” The request squeaked out a bit awkwardly. It was always so tough asking patients to do anything, especially considering how much these patients already probably have to worry about.

"I'm here to help you get ready for your MRI," you explained, setting the chart down and moving to gather the necessary supplies. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, mixed with the acrid scent of tobacco. "It won't take long."

He watched you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, his eyes tracking your every movement. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and probing, as if he were trying to see past the surface to uncover your secrets. It was disconcerting, but you pushed the feeling aside and focused on your task.

"Not many people would want this job," he remarked, a hint of sardonic humor in his tone. His voice was like gravel, roughened by years of hard living.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. They were a striking shade of brown, intense and void-like. "Well, someone has to do it," you replied, offering a small smile. Truth be told, you would much rather be in Pediatrics, handing out stickers and lollipops, but you obviously can’t just tell him that. That would be terrible bedside manner. "And besides, everyone deserves a bit of kindness."

He let out a bitter chuckle, the sound low and mirthless. "Yeah, nothing but sunshine and rainbows for me."

"Well anyways, Mr. Constantine, let’s get you ready." You said, your voice steady. "If you could just undress and get into this gown." The paper of the hospital gown rustled a bit as you lifted it out of the exam table drawer and handed it to him. You turned away, working on something on the counter to give him some privacy. “MRI magnets are some of the strongest in the world. Please be sure you remove any and all metal from your being and leave them with your clothes.” You added as a cautionary warning. John wasn’t loving this. What a waste of time—but the blood in his coughing sure was a sight. He had to get this done. So, with a roll of his eyes, he obliged and took off his watch, and removed all metal on his body. But… he was taking a pretty long time getting that gown on. He was more worried about removing all of his protection. For just a moment you turn around and catch a glimpse of him shirtless, seeing all of those tattoos of different sigils and symbols. Your cheeks get just a little bit hot, and you turn around. Suddenly, that jar of cotton balls on the counter is extremely interesting.

You adjust your scrubs and cough before sitting down at the monitor at the desk in the corner to begin the pre-examination questionnaire. “Well, I know you smoke… How many in a day...?” You ask, pulling up his file. “Oh, I swear, I don’t smoke,” John scoffed, a sarcastic smirk spreading across his somber face as his gaze remained glued on the sterile linoleum floors. “Some guy just came in and strongarmed me into trying a cigarette… Peer pressure is a real problem in our world, y’know?” Unamused, you just look at him with a silent expression that speaks volumes. After a few beats and a couple blinks you speak up. “Mr. Constantine.” “Jeez.” He muttered, “No sense of humor...? Fine. I'd say a pack a day.” John finally gave the answer. “Well… It says here on your file that you have previously struggled with suicidal tendencies. Would you say that this is something you continue to struggle with? Preferably on a scale from one to ten.” Typically, this was a heavy question for you to ask any patient, but it seemed John wasn’t your typical patient anyway. “I wouldn’t say I struggled. I was pretty successful in my endeavors.” John gave another dry joke of an answer and a mirthless chuckle.

And he was met with another blank stare. But this time, you were trying to hold back a laugh. That one was kinda funny, but you gotta keep a straight face, this is serious. With a clearing of his throat, he spoke up another response. “About a two…” The only noise that could be heard in the exam room was the sound of your fingers clicking against the chunky keyboard, the humming of the fluorescent lights, and the crinkling of the sterile parchment under where John was seated. You stood and washed your hands before gloving up and going over to him to administer a few run-of-the-mill tests before transferring him to Radiology. The wheels of the blood pressure monitor creak as you roll the small cart over to the table. Velcro rips apart as you open the cuff and wrap it around his arm.

"So... Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You paused, considering your answer. "Because I believe everyone has a chance at redemption. And sometimes, it starts here, I guess."

He studied you, his gaze intense and searching as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your words. "Redemption, huh? Not sure there's enough bedside manner on earth to redeem some people." John said, his tone low and almost derisive, knowing that by 'some people,' he was really talking about himself.

"Maybe not," you conceded, meeting his eyes once more. "But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. It was as if your words had struck a chord, resonating with something deep within him. You pulled the cuff off of his arm and smiled softly.

"Maybe," he said finally, his voice softer than before. "Maybe it is."

The weird tension was broken by the entrance of John’s doctor and a couple of Radiologists, ready to take him over to the MRI. “John? You ready?” John’s dark eyes bolted over to the doctors in the doorway. The dread and worry in the pit of his stomach grew heavier and heavier.

You looked up at him and offered a reassuring smile, your hand gently resting on top of his. "I'll be here when you're done," you said gently. "You're not alone in this. They’re going to take great care of you. I’ll be sure to keep your stuff nice and safe until you come back. Looks expensive."

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something other than cynicism and bitterness. It was fleeting, but it was there—hope, maybe, or the faintest glimmer of trust.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

As you stepped back, giving him space, you couldn't help but feel a strange connection to this man. Something about him drew you in; a sense of shared understanding and unspoken empathy. You knew this was just the beginning, a first step on a path that could lead to something more.

And as you left the room, you couldn't shake the feeling that your paths were meant to cross, that in the thralls of fate, you had found each other for a reason. A regular kismet.

a/n: eat up y'all, this is gonna be a slooooowww burn. in all seriousness, i really hope you guys like it, i've had writer's block from hell recently, and know i've been super inactive. hoping this makes up for it

[5tar-5hin3]

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

John Dory x Reader

“A Chance He Can Take”

Part 1 : “An Unlikely Beginning”

Part 2: “And an Unexpected Ending”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Synopsis:

A letter changes everything y/n knows about John Dory’s life.

They learn about how John Dory has brothers, and how he very much doesn’t want to save them.

He’s a terrible brother, and a worse boyfriend…

Well, non-boyfriend.

But someone has to save Floyd. And if John Dory won’t, then y/n will.

Words: 1632

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

A/N:

Thank you guys so much for the amazing support on the first part! Here is the second and final part for this fic!

TW for one swear word.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

A letter arrived addressed to a ‘John Dory’. When y/n opens it, the pieces fall together.

John was hiding all this from them. When y/n thought about it. They really didn’t know anything about John. Just the surface stuff.

The letter said something about his brother, Floyd? Y/n never knew he had a brother, let alone brotherS.

“BroZone? Like THE BroZone?” They muttered to themselves as they read further.

An hour later, John came home.

“John Dory.” Y/n was leaning on the counter.

Hearing his name come out of their mouth stopped him.

“John. Dory. The leader.” They threw the letter at him.

“Y/n?” He began to read the letter. “What’s this about?”

“That’s why JD felt so familiar.” They shook their head. “You hid this from me?” They were hurt. “Did you not trust me? Did you think I’d run off and tell the world?”

“It’s not like that-“

“Explain yourself then!” They yelled, their brows furrowed. A nasty look on their usually sweet face.

“I don’t have to tell you anything!” He rolled his eyes and looked away. “It’s not like you’re my girlfriend or something! You’re just- a friend, with benefits.” He admitted.

Silence.

Even the forest outside went quiet.

It seemed as if time stopped. A collective response from the universe.

A weight came down on y/n’s chest.

“What?” Y/n was taken aback. Their voice very, very soft.

Was everything they did together nothing to him? Did it mean nothing? How could he just admit this? All that time spent together and he said it like this? Were all the times he said ‘I love you’ just lies?

“I didn’t want to tell you about my past, because I didn’t think you needed to know! I didn’t want to relive it either! My brothers left me!” He yelled back. “I just wanted to live without having people to disappoint me.” He growled. “But look at me now. You go poking around in my personal life and broken a trust I’m not sure we can get back.” He paused. “You’ve disappointed me.”

They stood in silence. Y/n struggled to find the words. They pushed back their hair and laughed.

“Wow. So it’s like that? You never loved me? You hate me, and hate your brothers?” Y/n scoffed. “Can’t you grow up a little?” They looked John up and down. They never knew this man could be so pathetic. “Be a big brother, your family needs you. Put the past in the past, JD.” They rolled their eyes. “I don’t care if you hate me now, but you have an obligation to be part of the family. You have to save him. This could be your one shot to get your family together again. So you don’t have to be a sad, lonely sack of shit.”

John was thrown back. He had never seen this side of y/n before. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Like there was more people mad at him than just y/n.

“What you decide to do is up to you. But if you’re gonna sit around and do nothing, then I’ll go out and save him. Someone has to.” Y/n stormed off to grab their hiking gear. They were gonna need help if they were gonna save Floyd. John sighed.

He still cared about y/n. Even if he messed up and said those things. He watched as y/n left Rhonda. The door slammed shut.

What should he do? Go after them?

“Come on Ruby.” He heard it faintly.

Were the last words he ever said to them going to be ‘You’ve disappointed me?’ No. They couldn’t be. His heart wouldn’t allow it. He rushed to the door and ran out.

“Y/n! Wait.” John still loved his brothers. He knew y/n was right. He had to save him. “Let’s go save Floyd.” He said softly.

At first, y/n wasn’t even sure they wanted to go with John. They didn’t even turn back when they first heard John’s voice. They had only paused. He just broke 5 years worth of a relationship down in an instant. He admitted they meant nothing to him. He was already ignoring what had happened.

They growled. They walked back in almost a stomp. But they couldn’t pull it off with their light feet.

“We’ll talk about this,” they motioned between John and themselves. “Later. But right now, you need all the help you can get to save Floyd.”

It got more and more difficult explaining what they were to each of John’s brothers. Because y/n was currently mad at John. John was unsure about y/n. They simply said they were friends. Hiking buddies that met in the Neverglades. But everyone could tell there was some sort of tension. They couldn’t tell if it was a hateful one or a romantic one.

Poppy was the one to speculate most, more so after she saw their attitude towards John. The sweetness they had in their eyes and the warmth in their touch.

Y/n had a caring nature and made sure everyone was taken care of along the way. Even John got the treatment. Though they really disliked treating him so nicely after what he did.

But when Branch was leaving, he said he was leaving first. He didn’t want to be left again. He didn’t want John Dory to have the title of ‘first to leave’.

“First to leave?” They muttered under their breath. They looked at John Dory. They were even more upset now.

Not only did John hide his past, but he lied too. He was becoming a stranger all over again.

Y/n followed Branch out. Someone had to help him. Soon enough Poppy and Tiny Diamond joined too.

*Velvet and Veneer have captured BroZone*

Y/n and the others watched from the vent as the members of BroZone were put into diamonds. They saw Velvet and Veneer throw Rhonda into the closet as the twins boasted about their upcoming concert and how talented they’d be now.

It pained y/n’s heart to see John in one of those awful purple diamonds. Even if they were mad, they still cared. But it served him right for being so heartless towards them. Velvet had taken John and Floyd. Veneer got Clay and Bruce.

“We have to help them.” Poppy said. And they did just that. They took Rhonda and raced after the duo. Confronting them was a whole other story.

They pulled out Clay and Bruce. But getting John and Floyd had proven to be more of a challenge.

“Give me that.” Y/n took a sticky hand from Viva. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” They threw the hand right onto Velvet’s jacket. Before she could pry it off, y/n had kicked her in face. She pried out John but was caught by Velvet’s hand. She growled as she threw the little troll overboard. “Help!” They screamed as the barely clung to the ship’s edge.

“Y/n!” John ran over. He couldn’t help or see but he still tried. “I’ll get you!” Poppy was ultimately the one to help them up. By now Velvet and Veneer were way out of reach.

The bunch was helpless.

Then Branch began to sing. It threw everyone off at first. It was strange. But then John Dory joined, then Clay, and Bruce. It was like watching them get their spark again.

Soon enough y/n, Poppy, and Viva joined too. Y/n was drawn to be closer to John. Just as Poppy was to Branch. It was something they couldn’t deny. Y/n was still mad, but for a moment they forgot and enjoyed John Dory’s company.

The brothers were released from their diamond prisons and every one of them rushed to Floyd’s side. Y/n was anxious. Floyd didn’t look too good. Their heart sank just as everyone else’s did.

Was he gone?

A moment of silence fell over the group. But then Floyd stirred awake. He was fine! His brothers rejoiced and shared a hug.

Brozone had come back together once more. With a couple new additions. John looked at y/n. Y/n was smiling. They were happy to see John happy.

“Y/n.” John walked over to them. “I’m sorry.”

Hearing an apology from John was not something they expected. John was much too egotistical to apologize.

“And?” Y/n pressed.

“I’m sorry I said you were just a friend. You’re so much more to me. I was upset but that doesn’t justify what I said. I’m really, really sorry.” He took their hands. “Can you forgive me?”

Y/n thought about it. They looked at John Dory and sighed. A soft smile across their lips.

“I forgive you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not mad.” They remarked. “You’re still on thin ice.” John was more than happy to hear they forgave him. He knew they were only joking.

He scooped them up into a hug and he smiled. He laughed with y/n. He gently set them down.

“Can I ask you something?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow.

“Of course?” John dug something out of his pocket. He looked at the small box in his hand for a moment. He got down on one knee. “JD?”

“I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. I was scared of taking chances on relationships before. I was scared of actually admitting I wanted to be committed to you.” He looked up at y/n. “But you’re a chance I’m willing to take.” He opened the box and inside was a beautiful ring.

“Will you marry me?” Y/n’s hands flew to cover their mouth. Their eyes already flooding with tears. They laughed.

“Oh John-“ They took a deep breath. “Yes! Yes!” They smiled brightly and kissed John Dory. The brothers were surprised, but happy. And it’s safe to say Poppy and Viva were thrilled to plan a wedding.

After a moment of just holding each other, y/n spoke.

“I love you John Dory.”

He smiled.

“I love you more.”

[airrec]

Let's talk about the relationship between "personal level redemption (i.e. one character starts making changes for the better)" and "the corrupt institution/context in which the characters are developed to hurt each other".

Now, one or two characters reaching the point where they say "that's it, no more, I don't want this, this is not right, I am choosing not to continue on this path" is great, don't get me wrong. Redemption (AKA the path towards trying to do better, to make reparations, to not repeat the mistakes of before - forgiveness is not an obligation here, only that the character has recognised their hurtful actions and has ceased them and is now trying to do better) on a personal level is so important, and should not be diminished in value.

However, it is also simply and factually true that when it comes to the context in which certain characters have made those terrible choices or been forced to become something they otherwise might never have become, that in order for there to be actual long term solutions, those corrupt systems, those violent institutions - those must be dismantled. These things must stop in order for the system to not just keep on chugging, to not just break the next set of characters as it broke the last ones.

Sometimes, a character cannot realistically meaningfully travel very far down their path to redemption before something changes or shifts within that system in order to allow them that. For example, a character who is constantly on the defensive because people are hunting them down to try to kill them doesn't have the option of not defending themselves (usually with violence) unless they choose to die at their hunters' hands. Even if they do not start fights, they can't disengage if others start them first; in order to stop, others must also stop.

It is unfair, in contexts where there is a great and systematic corruption, to place the onus of a "happy ending" on singular people if there is no intention of dismantling the system that gave birth to such horrors. How cruel, how unjust, to take one person and say to them, "this is all, totally and completely, your fault, and it is your responsibility to change because you are the thing that needs fixing here."

Think of it like climate change: yeah, sure, putting your rubbish into the correct bins and reducing your personal carbon footprint etc is helpful. But what change you can make, if you make it alone, if you make it isolated, will never meaningfully chip away at the global level of pollution caused by the whole system. What needs to happen is a lot of people banding together to force the system to change, and for those who benefit from it to be held accountable. Because that's the other element of tragedy: there is nearly always someone benefitting from the tragedy, and it is not often those who are the most blamed or slandered.

Yourself may be a good place to start, but it is not where it ends. It is a long hard road, to the recognition that there are many factors that contribute towards tragedy - to the personal choices of characters, and to the reasons they made those choices in the first place; the action = reaction, the consequences, the pressures, the emotional and mental factors, the physical factors, the numerous interweaving stories of everyone trying to protect them and theirs, and sometimes in doing so hurting others.

Redemption and understanding how tragedy came to be is rarely as simple as we want it to be, and this complexity is a feature, not a bug. If you want to be able to point at someone and say "there; that is the bad thing" then 99/100 times I would first take a good look around to see what made the bad thing bad. Then I would take one good look at yourself in the mirror, and ask yourself if you could have been the bad thing, too, if things had shaken out just that little bit differently - the answer might not be one that comforts you.

[spittingbloodandscreaming]

Vampire!Cis Male Reader x Vampire Obsessed!Gerard Way and can he like be all pathetically horny and just super down bad for the reader. Maybe some humping + reader biting and feeding from Gerard? thanks.

p.s. this part's totally optional but can u do like dick size difference as well? like Reader cuz he's a vampire has a huge dick but Gerard has a bit of a smaller 1 and maybe do some degrading based off that if u do it?

@pinkfor3stt merry Christmas. You didn't get everything you wanted but yk I do your dishes so I think you're fine

Bound to Happen Eventually (Gerard Way x Male Vampire Reader smut)

The TV is bright in the dark living room, flickering colors across the two of you on the couch. Gerard whines, starting up his fit again. “C'monn.” He's practically wrapped around you. He has your leg between his thighs, hugging you from the side so tight your ribs might crack. You pry his head away from you.

“No, I'm not letting you do that. Weirdo.” Gerard has been begging you to, please, just once, feed off of him. It's dangerous. It's weird. He's your boyfriend, he's a partner, he is not food. You will not put him down to that level. That's terrible, that's disrespectful. It's—

“It's hot,” Gerard grabs your shirt, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes. God, he's like a toddler. Similarly, he does not give up when he wants something. Gerard has been bothering you about this for the entirety of the movie the two of you have been watching. Really though, you’ve been trying to watch the film and Gerard has been trying to get in your pants. Your ‘vamp-pants’ as he has begun to call them.

Finally, the credits roll on the screen and you are unsatisfied. “C’mon dude, I have zero clue what happened that whole movie because of your… shenanigans.” You huff, rolling your eyes and turning off the TV, encapsulating the area in darkness, before moving to turn on the lamp next to the couch. The bulb is delayed turning on, but eventually, after a few off and ons, illuminates. When the room is lit again, Gerard lets go of you and shifts up on the couch. Sitting up properly, he puts his arm over your shoulder.

“You’re beautiful y’know, looking extra… gray today.” Gerard bats his eyelashes, supposedly to seduce you, but it just makes him look like someone unexpectedly maced him. “Have you eaten recently?” Gerard says with a sly smile—he thinks that was the smoothest thing anyone has ever said. It was, instead, mildly insulting. Before you can do anything more than scoff and roll your eyes, the lightbulb in the lamp flickers for the last time before dying, blacking out the living room.

“God dammit,” you mutter. That was the last lightbulb, and the one in the ceiling light has been out for weeks. You knew you shouldn’t have put off buying another pack until they were on sale. Gerard slides his arm off of your shoulder and onto your thigh, you feel him leaning closer to you, laying his head on your shoulder. You sigh, going limp against the couch. Realistically, the lack of light does not affect you, but you are no less defeated.

Gerard rubs your thigh, turning towards you and grabbing your face with his other hand. He gently rubs your cheek with his thumb, leaning in for a kiss to which you happily oblige. As the kiss ends, Gerard is the first to pull away. He swings his legs up onto the couch, folding them to the side. The hand he has on your face falls to your shoulder. “Y’know, if there’s nothing else to do—” You interrupt Gerard, taking his hand from your shoulder with yours.

“We can always, y’know, go to bed.” You bring his hand, palm up, to your lips, kissing right on the pulse of his wrist. He smells like raw meat and old, sticky soda. Gerard snickers, he might as well be kicking his legs and twirling his hair.

“I was gonna say we could fool around a bit, since it’s only, what, nine?”

“Babe it’s two A.M.,” you quirk a confused eyebrow—not that it matters—even with the curtains drawn, there's barely enough light in the room to make out the outline of the couch. You, though, can see the whole of Gerard's flushed and impatient expression. You let the hand holding his fall to your lap.

“Well, I’m not tired. And I know you aren’t.” You push a scruffy chunk of hair behind his ear, pitying his desparateness. Gerard shifts, swinging his legs over your lap and falling back onto the couch all in one swift movement. He throws a hand against his forehead and sighs dramatically. You laugh, and while you aren’t particularly enjoying his performance, you can’t say you aren’t at least a little amused. He dramatically sighs again as you lift his legs off of yours, but your attempt to stand is interrupted by Gerard whining.

 “Where are you going?” He sits up, leaning against the arm of the couch and tucking his knees to his chest.

“To get a drink, which I assume I’m allowed to do as someone with free will?” You stand, taking a second to stretch after sitting for two hours.

“Why would you need to get up to do that?” Gerard asks, his wide eyes are a bright contrast to the dark of the living room around the two of you. You roll your eyes, a painfully obvious setup, but you let it happen nonetheless. “I mean, I’m right here.” Gerard gestures to himself like he’s some fancy display car, and as bad as his pickup line was you can’t help but laugh.

“Oh my, I think you’re correct, your pure, virgin blood has to be better than even the finest of tap water we have here, right?” Still laughing, you play into the bit more by pouncing on him, grabbing a sturdy mouthful of t-shirt near his shoulder. Gerard laughs, rolling the two of you onto the floor with a thud. Gerard is on top of you, straddling your hips for just a second before you push the both of you back over. You’re on top of him, shaking your head back and forth like a dog playing tug-a-war. Gerard’s laugh fizzles out into heavy breathing—right as you look up to check in with him, he shoves his thumbs into the corners of your mouth, using it as leverage to pry your mouth open. The two of you are so close that even in the dark he can make out most of the details of what he’s seeing, and he just stares.

“Woah..” You wonder what he could find so fascinating about your mouth, but then you feel it. Running your tongue over your teeth, you learn that your fangs must’ve popped during your play fight. You don’t think Gerard has ever seen you like that. Not with your knowledge, anyway. At the beginning of your relationship, he was trying especially hard to watch you drink things. Gerard slowly takes his hands out of your mouth, moving to push himself, and due to your position, you, up. Gerard sits on his knees, and you’re cross-legged not a foot away from him. You can’t close your mouth properly with your fangs out, and you aren’t the best at making them revert. In turn, you're left staring at Gerard with your mouth open awkwardly, forced into bearing your teeth like a middle schooler with headgear.

While you aren’t in your comfort zone, Gerard seems to be thriving. He has his hand on both sides of your head, looking at you up close. He shifts the angle of your head a few times to see if there's any way to catch the light on your teeth better. If he could put you under a microscope, he would. Being this close to you in this state is utterly exhilarating for him. This alone, he thinks, is better than sex.

Wait. You’re his boyfriend. For a second he had forgotten that, along with being a vampire, being in front of him, and having your tubular teeth out, you are his boyfriend. It’s that realization that prompts him to pull your face down to his and kiss you rather aggressively. He takes it upon himself to shove his tongue into your mouth, and you can’t do much more than let him. Most of your attention is going into making sure Gerard doesn’t end up cutting himself on any of your teeth. But even a perfectly paved road can still lead to hell. However, this road wasn’t exactly perfectly paved. This was bound to happen. Gerard, being seemingly deliberate, slices his tongue open on one of your elongated canines. Gerard abruptly pulls away, putting his hand to his mouth to inspect the damage like he didn’t think cutting himself would hurt. For you though, the switch has already flipped like throwing a brick on a hair trigger. 

Twilight may have been wrong about the disco ball skin and the porcelain-sounding kisses, but they were right about self-control being learned. You just hadn’t exactly been in many situations where restraint on this level was necessary, and Gerard has sufficiently gained a huge strobing target. Whatever morals you had about not ‘bringing him down to that level’ were most certainly gone the second you tasted his blood. When you look up at Gerard, he’s wide-eyed with a mouth full of blood. You move faster than you knew your body was able to, grabbing him by both of his cheeks and crashing your mouth into his, not stopping to process anything past the extended taste of blood, his blood, in your mouth.

Gerard was right, you were hungry. You were starved. And now you were the one with your tongue down his throat, grabbing at his hair and squeezing his hips. It's exhilarating, to now be able to say that you've had every part of him, the essence of his being. Your mouth is full—full of teeth, full of his blood, but it's not enough. You need more of him. You need to be able to have every tangible piece of him. The only thing that pulls you out of your trance-like state is Gerard pulling his new patented move; slotting his thumbs into the sides of your mouth like a horse bit and pushing you away. He’s huffing, his blood smeared all over his face. He moves to hold your head in place like a normal person. Gerard leans up and kisses you, brushing a stray hair out of your face as he pulls away. He’s gorgeous—ethereal, even. There’s so much soul behind his eyes, and you’re glad you can experience being with him. He lets go of your face, lowering his hands to help you out of your pants. 

Gerard is in love with you, wholly and completely. You’re gorgeous to him, the most handsome man he’s ever seen. Being undressed by your hands is a privilege he’s honored to be graced with. He's never loved you more, even with shaky hands and dark eyes. Vulnerability is beautiful on you, and he’s glad he’s the one who gets to see it.

With Gerard naked beneath you, you realize that maybe the blood thing should be more regular. Gerard is clearly enjoying himself, his cock is hard and throbbing, dripping precum. From a less heartfelt perspective, he was right, this is hot as hell. You’re sure his tongue is still bleeding, too, since there’s a steady stream of blood dripping down his chin and tailing down his neck. It's making his hair sticky. Both of you will need a shower after this.

You grab the base of Gerard’s dick, languidly dragging your hand up his shaft as you give him another drool-soaked kiss. He’s panting into your mouth already—the little stimulation you’re providing him being amplified by the lengthy delay of the gratification. Gerard snakes his hand into your hair, grabbing a handful at the back of your head. He jerks his hips up, fucking himself further into your hand. You pull away from the kiss to scold him, but before you open your mouth to talk Gerard shoves your face into his neck. Your interrupted complaint turns into a muffled groan. His scent is so heavy, so strong it’s borderline intoxicating.

You lick a wet line up from Gerard’s collarbone to the base of his jaw and after a few gentle kisses, he tugs your hair roughly. “God, was dry-humping me not foreplay enough? Just fuck me already!” Gerard tightens his grip on your hair, throwing his other arm around your waist. It’d be criminal to refuse such a kind request. You smile against his neck, lining yourself up. There’s enough accumulated bodily fluids to make your entrance easy enough, but Gerard still squeals as you bottom out. He’s drooling before you even set the pace. You try to start slow and ease Gerard into it, but when he yanks your head back and starts bossing you around, you can tell that’s not what he wants. You lift him a few inches off the floor, holding him flush against you with your arms against his waist.

Having Gerard pressed up to you gives you the leverage to really fuck into him. He’s gone braindead now, his eyes rolling back into his head and bloody spit dripping down his cheek. If you could think straight you’d be worried for your neighbors—Gerard is almost screaming. His moans are high-pitched and girlish, his body is so warm. Gerard is the most fragrant thing in the room—waiting for him is like waiting for food at a restaurant right next to the kitchen—every second that passes your hunger becomes more insatiable. His hard-on is rubbing against your stomach, making him writhe in pleasure. You’d notice if you could focus on anything but the fresh smell of iron. You’re getting lost in him. You know you have to hold out but you don’t know if you can. You shouldn’t be this worried about cumming too quickly, Gerard barely makes it past five minutes most days, but you’re just so overwhelmed you can't help it. You’ve been gradually getting more intense, speeding up, practically fucking on autopilot.

You have your face buried in the crook of Gerard’s neck, you’re huffing him like an addict. Time is a lost idea to you. You have no idea how long you’ve been inside of him, let alone what time it is. You tune back into reality because of Gerard hitting your back. You’re sticky with cum, a lot of it. You slow to a stop, setting Gerard down on the floor with care. He’s crying and his legs are shaking, for a second you’re worried you hurt him. Gerard is panting, verging on hyperventilating. He reaches a hand up to wipe his face, smearing his blood over more of his flushed skin.

“Jesus Christ babe,” Gerard huffs, sprawling his arms out across the floor. He turns his head to look at you, half-naked in a shirt soaked in his cum. In retrospect, you definitely should’ve taken your shirt off, but he’s not going to mention it. He thinks you look rather nice covered in his mess. Gerard takes his time gathering his composure on the floor. After a few moments, his breathing goes back to normal. He feels great like he just finished a workout, even though he did almost nothing aside from sitting there and looking pretty while you fucked him senseless. He bled, too. That took a lot of work on his part.

After a few more minutes of Gerard lying on the floor and you sitting cross-legged next to him, he sits up. He moves closer to you, making it so your thighs touch as he gingerly pulls your face down to his, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Gerard reaches a hand up to play with your hair. He sighs happily, leaning against you. “You were on a roll, weren’t you? I didn’t mean to cut you off.” His voice is light and tremulous. Gerard drops his hand from your hair down to your back, rubbing lightly between your shoulder blades. “Maybe as an apology, I can suck you after you’re done sucking me.” When you look at him he’s smiling, acting like the cat that caught the canary. You can’t help but laugh.

“That one was bad, Gerard. Shamefully so.” Gerard just kisses you, putting a hand on your thigh for leverage to push himself up. The blood around his mouth has mostly dried, and his tongue has mostly stopped bleeding. As he separates from the kiss the hand on your thigh slips, landing an ‘accidental’ hand around your still semi-hard cock. 

“Maybe,” Gerard says, idly jerking you off with his head lying on your shoulder. “But you know what’s worse? The fact you aren’t drinking my pure, virgin blood right now.” You breathe in sharply. He’s not teasing you per se, but whatever Gerard is doing is making you playfully vengeful. You hum, grabbing his wrist and gently pulling his hand away from your crotch. Swiftly, you pull Gerard into your lap, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. He giggles, throwing his head. He throws a dramatic hand against his forehead and puts on his best damsel in distress voice. “Oh, no! Please don’t hurt me!” Gerard faux begs, and you think he’s adorable. You lean into him, messily kissing up and down his neck. You playfully bite right over where his pulse is strongest, earning yourself a gasp, and upon the realization, you didn’t go all the way, a dirty look.

“I’m not sure if you know how much this kind of thing really hurts my love,” you say, snickering at Gerard's glare.

“Babe, I want this. I know it’ll hurt, and if anyone was going to hurt me like this I want it to be you, okay?” Gerard would let you rip open his throat with his teeth if you wanted to. He’s thought about it a few times, even. In an alternate universe where that wouldn’t kill him, he’d like to try it out, but that’s a thought tangent for another day. Right now he has to focus on persuading you with his big ol’ doe eyes. You respond to his puppy-like begging by kissing in the center of his collarbones. You cradle Gerard’s head in your hand before moving your mouth to the side of his neck. His skin is so warm and he’s so small beneath you, it’s like holding a lamb in your arms. So fragile and full of possibility. And like the lamb, willingly drawn to the altar for slaughter, you draw your teeth back and pierce them into his soft pale flesh.

Gerard makes the sound commonly associated with vampire bites; a sharp cry followed by a strangled moan. He claws his nails into your back and grabs a fist full of your hair with the other hand. He handles it well, though. His initial scream is short-lived, reduced to audible heaving after a few seconds. The feeling of your teeth in his neck is incomparable to anything he’s ever felt before—a sharp fiery pain in his neck that’s so foreign to him, so dirty and abstract, it almost feels good. He feels so close to you. He feels like he’s completely and entirely yours. 

Right now you feel like you finally understand the homoeroticism of drinking another man’s blood. It’s messier than a kiss, more intimate than sex, more romantic than a hickey. It’s the epitome of intimacy, and you’re doing it with him. You are drinking Gerard Way’s blood. Gerard's blood feels boiling in your mouth, thick, and smooth. It’s a dark metallic syrup dripping down your throat and pinking your monochrome skin.

Gerard’s neck goes slack and his eyes roll back, and as you separate from his neck, licking up the final few beads of blood that bubble out of the two red punctures standing out against his grayed white skin, you see that Gerard must’ve found equivalence to you sucking his blood to you sucking something else. Now with the mess of several orgasms on the two of you, Gerard lies partially limp in your arms. His chest rises and falls rhythmically at a slow and predictable pace. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted so perfectly, and god must’ve read your mind because the clouds part, letting moonlight shine through the window and highlight his features perfectly. He’s like a doll in your arms, perfect and untouched by the world around you. There’s nothing beyond this moment, and if you could, you’d bottle it and hold it forever.

You stand up, heaving Gerard up, pressing his side flush to your chest. He smiles softly, leaning his head into your upper arm. As you carry him to the bedroom, carefully maneuvering the dark hallway and pushing the door open with your shoulder. Kicking aside stray clothes on the floor, making yourself a path to the bed, you lay Gerard down on the mattress. He’s quick to stretch out and make himself comfortable. You take your already gross shirt off, throwing it to Gerard to wipe himself off with. You walk around to your side of the bed, rolling in under the blankets. You scoot up next to Gerard right as he makes an unimpressive shot for the hamper near the door. Your shirt hits the wall about a foot away, falling to the floor unceremoniously. You let out a kind sigh, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around Gerard’s waist and pull him against you. 

“So are you going to make do with your promise?” You say with a smirk audible in your voice. You rest your chin on top of Gerard’s head, and peaking through the sheer curtains in the bedroom you see the orange sliver of a sunrise.

“Tomorrow babe,” Gerard whispers, already half asleep.

[whenthebirdsings]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader [no smut here but very explicit language. the full thing is also very horny. so mdni]

tags (for this chapter): terrible attempts at banter, very obvious hints of stalking, some dirty talk, fucking in public, sexual tension

word count: 4.1k

ch. 1 and 2

ch. 3

full ao3 fic

Somehow, coffee turned to a short drive in his car. Somehow, a short drive in his car turned to a shopping spree. It’s almost as though Satoru has you on a collar and leash, binding you to him and dragging you along on whatever whim. Not that you mind — especially when he pulls out his shiny credit card and pays for all of your expenses.

“Is this also just a thing with you?” you ask as you carry a few shopping bags. Thanking Satoru as he offers to take some off your hands. “Besides bending people to your will at the snap of your fingers, I mean.”

He blinks at you. “I also bend sluts over my lap, but you wouldn’t wanna know about that.” He pauses. Taking in your red face before tilting his lips into a sly grin. “Unless?”

You do your best to ignore that. Want puddling between your legs and warming flesh before you clear your throat. A roll of your eyes feigned exasperation to cover up your arousal. “I was just curious.”

Satoru snaps his fingers. For some reason, the sound shoots chills down the base of your spine. “So you do want a demonstration. Which works, because I’m more of a hands on type of guy —"

Blood pounds in your ears. Inappropriate thoughts sneaking into mind at an inappropriate time before you shake your head. Stamping them out. “That’s not what I meant.”

Another blink as he’s silent for a moment. Pretends to consider. “Ah, so hands aren’t enough for you. Gotcha.” He nods. As though he’d achieve eureka. Snorting out a loud laugh when you sputter. “Well, I’m also a tongue you ‘til you squirt type of guy and an everything, might-also-include-handcuffs-and-whips type of guy. If you want anyway. I’m just offering.”

You squint your eyes at him. Ignoring how the air simmers around you, how your skin teems with desire, prickling with the weight of his words. You swallow before making a retort. “Let me guess, as a friend?”

He grins. Playful. “As a friend, yes. In which case, as a friend, I think I also have the moral obligation to tell you that you look extremely breedable — I mean, fuckable — uh, I mean, adorable today.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest and it’s low and measured. You’re heady; legs suddenly feeling like they’re ready to give out as everything under you threatens to crumble. He’s been flirting with you all day and at this point you feel like you’re on the verge of combusting. He has to know — the effect he has on you when he looks that hot; he has to know. Has to be doing this on purpose.

Still, you play along. Voice curt if not for the laugh that slips out. “Ah, not the moral obligation. Whatever shall poor Satoru do?”

“I know. I’m at an impasse. I owe you so, so much,” he whines. Sunglasses dropping to the bridge of his nose. His gaze trailing to the sway of your hips. “Among other moral obligations.”

“You’re insufferable,” you huff. Embarrassed flush spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your ears now as you almost stagger in your steps. Would have fallen face first too, had it not been for Satoru hooking his arm around your waist at the nick of time. Pulling you up again, bracing you too firmly against him. So close you think you can hear his heartbeat — can feel his breath fanning at the little hairs on the back of your neck.

His eyes glint in lust before he blinks it away. Hand brushing up the curve of your hip, stopping just a little to hover over your ass. “Funny way to say delectable.”

You part your mouth, but all that ripples out is a startled gasp when he blows a column of breath against your ear. Hot and teasing as you feel his smile growing on your nape. His cologne filling your nose — something sweet and addictive that makes you ache for more. Makes you shiver and your eyes flutter. And you wonder, briefly, if you’d really hate it if he drags you somewhere isolated and breeds you stupid right then and there.

But then he lets go. And you’re almost disappointed from the loss of warmth. Your skin still tingling from where his fingers lingered.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you say accusingly. Smoothing down your skirt as you feel it hiking up your thigh. Hiding the flush there before Satoru could catch it or else he’d never let you live it down. But he laughs, and you think he’s already noticed.

“Yes, I do like treating people to stuff they like,” he answers even if you didn’t specify what you meant. Then again, it’s probably blatantly obvious — with the way you keep telling him no, only for him to brush you off and force you into shyly accepting his gifts. “Especially if they’re as pretty as you. What’s up with the I’m-tired-and-dead-inside look, anyway?”

“Oh, my god,” you sound. Palm dragging down your face as you retrieve your compact mirror from your purse. “Do I look that awful? Sorry, I’ve been working so many overtimes and having a lot of shit on my plate in general. I swear I touched up on my makeup earlier —”

He snaps the lid of your compact mirror shut before you could even open it. Fingers cupping over yours and feathering over your knuckles for only a second before he pushes the mirror back into your purse. Still, your breath hitches in your throat. Everything around you seemingly stuttering on its axis as you feel his thumb tracing the bone of your wrist before he fully pulls away. Gone. Out of your space and out of your grasp.

“You look fine,” he reassures you. Dismissing you with a wave and a scoff like you’re insane to think otherwise. “And by fine, I don’t mean ‘oh, cool, you’re okay, I guess’. By fine, I’d like to do things you wouldn’t want a coworker to do to you. By fine, you’re still drop dead gorgeous even with that expression on your face like you hate everything.” He tugs at the corners of your mouth then. Motioning them upwards into a smile. “I didn’t mean anything offensive. I’m just worried. You ran around a lot at the office.”

“Oh.” You blink. Lips twitching into an actual smile, into a laugh as his hand dips and his nails scrape along your slender neck. Soft and ticklish, teasing and seductive. Another shudder courses through you, but you suppress it. “I did, didn’t I? Yeah, work’s been fucking me left and right.”

He perks up at that. Faking a startled gasp. “So you do fuck coworkers? How scandalous!”

That elicits a strange reaction out of you. Something between a stuttering pant and an ugly snort laugh as you’re confused between lustful and amused.

“Again, you know that’s not what I meant,” you chastise him. Another giggle springing free as he pouts like he’s dismayed. Knowing him, he might be. “I swear you wouldn’t get so many passes if you weren’t so sexy. You make every conversation sexual, but somehow I’m not mad. Talk about pretty privilege.”

Satoru brushes past over everything you just said except for the part you complimented him on his looks. “So you think I’m sexy.”

You level him with a look. “Really?”

“What? I have an inflated ego! A pretty girl calls me sexy, and you expect me to be normal?” He raises his arms in defense. Breaking out into another laugh as you jokingly punch a fist at his shoulder again. Your hand lingering, pausing at his chest before you cough then reluctantly pull away.

“So you don’t deny you make everything sexual,” you say. Changing the subject before you cave into the urge to pounce on him and ride him to oblivion. Even if the idea is tempting.

But, no. That wouldn’t be very befitting of you. Especially so in public — though you have an inkling Satoru would be into that. He doesn’t hide anything; bounces from one topic to another with almost obnoxious sincerity you’re caught off guard. Maybe that’s why you’re so easily swept by his charms. He’s honest and you’re not, transparency while you withdraw into your shell. And, well, he has his good looks.

“No, I don’t,” he snorts. But you catch a glimpse of his mouth twitching.

You lift an eyebrow at that. “Uh-huh, and the sky is falling.”

“I really don’t. You make me sound like I have an ulterior motive to everything I do,” he says again, a little offended this time as he crosses his arms over his chest. You notice the way his shoulders flex, the way fabric stretches with his movements. Your eyes dipping to his collarbone, only slightly peeking from underneath his collar.

You avert your gaze before it can travel lower. “Yeah, sure. You expect me to believe that, Mr. Tongue A Girl ‘Til She Squirts?”

“Believe me,” Satoru whines. More daring than you as he spares an indulgent glance at the swell of your breasts. Eyes looking back and forth between you and the lace almost spilling out of a shopping bag. “I totally didn’t pick out outfits and buy them for you to wear so I can tear them off of you later. Totally.”

There’s a thud as you drop your bags to the floor. Apologizing to nosy onlookers before awkwardly reaching down to pick them up. Satoru laughs — a cocky upturn of his chin as he brazenly leers at your ass. You feel his gaze even with your face turned away, pinned underneath the heat in blue as your heart skips. Racing too fast for comfort.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” you mumble. Face burning hot from the intensity of his stare as he looks at you, steadfast and unblinking. “Sounds like a waste of money, by the way. I’m not worth that much.”

Satoru’s response is quick. Almost uncannily so. “Trust me. You’re worth that and more.” There’s a pause; an odd shift in his expression as something unreadable claws at his face. Sadness that sits foreign before it’s replaced with another grin. Gone so swiftly you wonder if it was even there. “Or, well, if you worry about it being a waste, we can always fuck in them. I can come on your clothes — or better yet, come underneath them so you can walk around carrying a part of me on your skin.”

You drop your bags again. This time, Satoru helps you pick them up. Smiling the entire time. Obviously satisfied with himself.

“Jesus, Satoru,” you breathe out. Surprise and want all at once as fire pools low in your abdomen. Why does he have to be so good at making your imagination run wild? “You need to stop talking like this in public. People are gonna look.”

“Or what? You gonna jump on me in public? Fuck me to the thought of people looking?” he laughs — and you almost whisper out a yes. Almost tug at his collar and pull him in for a kiss before you rein in the impulse at the last minute. Chest rising and falling in quick, heavy breaths. “It’s fine. People are oddly enough not that interested in others. I highly doubt anyone would notice unless you actually jump me and scream my name out loud.”

That sends a rush of excitement downwards and you clench around nothing. Your body quivering only briefly before you force it stiff. You’re studying your surroundings now — noting that people are, in fact, not that interested in others. They shrug past the both of you with ease, glued to their phones or to the friends around them.

“See?” Satoru grins. Taking all of your bags out of your hands this time.

“You don’t have to,” you say, sheepish. Reaching out to steal them back as guilt stabs at your chest.

He pulls them out of grabbing distance. Hiding them behind his back now as he stubbornly shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. Not gonna let you carry them anymore. Besides, I want to,” he tuts at you. Clicking his tongue. For some reason, the sound leaves you dazed. A cog clicking in your brain at the same time as that throbbing ache returns. Settling with renewed force between your eyebrows.

Satoru halts in his tracks as he notices you frowning. Fingers massaging at your forehead as you look through your purse for your painkillers again. “You good?”  

“Yeah,” you manage. That dull pain spreading to the back of your head now. “Sorry. I’ve just been having this weird headaches lately. I’m no stranger to migraines, but these recent ones feel especially uncomfortable.”

This time, it’s Satoru who drops the bags. But he’s calm — way more composed than you as he leans down to pick them up. Not even a line misplaced in his roguish grin. You take that chance to glance at his ass, strangely perky for a man his age. Then again, he’s only, what, twenty eight? And you’ve noticed that his lips glisten too. Does he wear lip balm?

“You’re staring,” he remarks. Not even bothering to turn around to look you in the eye. But you hear rather than see the teasing lilt in his timbre — the lust barely curbed. “That’s sexual harassment, ya know? I can report you to HR if you’re not careful.”

You pin him with a deadpanned look. But your lips curve. A smile before you hide it behind your sleeve. “Yeah, well. You’ve stared at my ass, like, twelve times on the way here so I think it’s even.”

“Twelve,” he echoes. Then he brings up both hands and pretends to count, putting one finger down after another. Blues flashing at you as he lifts his gaze again. Flickering in mischief before they’re hidden. Covered behind dark sunglasses. “Fair enough. I’ll let you stare eleven more times then.”

You can’t help the laugh bubbling out of you. “You’re dumb,” you say, a little short of breath. Your cheeks aching from smiling too much. “Might as well take a picture at that point. It’ll last longer.”

You had meant it as a joke, but you know Satoru took it differently when his whole face lights up. Beaming as though enthused.

“We can work up to that,” he says. And you’re quick to shake your head. He’s quicker to lean close — shoulder to shoulder, ankle almost brushing up yours as he walks by your left. Steps weirdly synchronized with your footfalls. “Oh, we can definitely work up to that.” He suddenly turns wistful, a sigh drawled out like he’s lost to fond memories. “Ah, the imprint of my hand on your ass would look good as my phone’s wallpaper — I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

He laughs, guarding against your light slaps to his shoulder and chest with your shopping bags. It’s impressive you haven’t passed out by now with all the blood constantly rushing to your head.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look good with the sun kissing your skin, by the way? I noticed when we were out getting coffee. Such a fucking nice view,” he suddenly quips, grin stretching from ear to ear as he deliberately bumps into your arm. “Not as nice as the look you’re making right now though. God, you are so cute when you’re blushing.”

You feel hazy; everything in you searing hot at the slightest contact — the briefest of his warmth sapping into you even through the layers. You bite back with sarcasm, but the edge dulls. Dissolving into a breathless laugh. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Do you ever go out?” he banters back. “Like, seriously. Maybe your headaches are because you’re working all these unpaid overtimes — and no, don’t lie. I know they’re unpaid.”

You press your parted lips tight. Remark dying out in your throat as you curl into yourself like a child caught red-handed. “I do go out,” you mutter, defensive. Shoulders tense before you force them to relax.

“No, you don’t,” he scoffs. Pausing for a moment to think something over. “Or… I have a better idea. Maybe I can take you out. That’s a solution, right?”

You fumble, face so red you might as well be a stop sign. “Not if I don’t let you,” you say. Laughing. But there’s a shake in your voice. Uncertainty as you entertain the idea for a bit. And then you shake your head. More at yourself than at him. “Yeah, no. Not letting you have your way. Not indulging you anymore.”

Satoru doesn’t even flinch. “Uh-huh,” he hums. Tries to at least sound convincing as he nods his head. “I believe you.”

You catch his sarcasm. The way he smiles at you all smug like he knows he’s won.

“I really won’t,” you huff. But Satoru just pulls your bangs back before they could poke into your eyes. That slant of his lips never faltering.

You promised you wouldn’t. That indulging him would be the last thing you would do ever again. And for a short while, Satoru let you have that. Let you believe that it was possible, that you meant it even when you knew it yourself that you didn’t.

But now he’s pushing your breasts up against the mirror in the dressing room. One hand cupped over your face, fingers shoved so far down your throat you gag, you choke. You tear up as he watches you swirl your tongue all over his knuckles. His hips stuttering before doubling down, labored pants muffled into the junction between your neck and shoulder as he pulls your arms back. Using that added leverage to fuck you deeper. To render you at his mercy as he makes you take more than you can handle. Cock dragging along all the right spots — still so big you whine when he presses on the shape of him peeking through your stomach.

You’re thankful for the music playing loud through the mall’s speakers as you catch the sounds of skin smacking skin. Of you gushing and squelching around him as he fucks you standing. Picking you up and off the floor so easily and carelessly like you weighed nothing above a feather. Your panties a discarded heap around your ankles, slick trickling down your knees as his cum follows suit before he forces it back in with a single thrust. Hard — he’s pounding into you so viciously hard you can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop squirting down to his balls as he has his way with you.

“What happened to —" He pulls out only to slam back in. Laughing from the way you jolt from sudden pressure, “— not indulging me anymore, hm? You sounded so determined too that I almost believed you. But look at you now. Whining and making a mess. Swallowing all that dick so well like you’re made to be used like this. Made to be a fucking hole to warm my cock.”

“Shut — haah — up,” you manage to heave out. Yet it has no effect; leaving you in slurred words and muffled gasps as he presses fingertips to the back of your throat. Spit dribbling down your chin as you stare at your own reflection. At the cheeks flushed, the eyes half-lidded and dazed. The tears streaking down your cheeks as saliva drops to your chest. Your hair disheveled, your clothes even more so. Satoru laughs, and your walls pulse around him. Sucking him in as he quickly pistons in and out of you. Clear liquid spurting with every in and out. 

“Yeah, look at that pretty whore,” he rasps. Meeting your gaze through the mirror and sneering now as he digs his teeth into your shoulder blades. “My pretty fucking whore, huh? All desperate and needy and slutty just for me. Didn’t think I’d fuck you like this, did you? Didn’t think I’d pick you up and bounce you on my cock like this, did you? You perfect little slut, you eager little thing — fucking dumb bitch in heat creaming all over daddy’s dick —”

Whatever leaves you after sounds almost animalistic. Something raw and guttural, cacophonous and harsh as you shatter into pieces. Vision cutting to black, to Satoru as blue eyes flash at you. Feral; the slightest of something dark lurking underneath before you blink — and it’s gone again. Brief like it was never even there.

“Good girl,” but then he hushes you and you forget that, too.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s great. Rich and handsome with a weirdly charming sense of humor,” you laugh, phone to your ear as the elevator dings and the automatic doors slide open. Your best friend humming from the other side before asking about Satoru’s age. “Girl, no, he’s not sixty and on his deathbed. I wouldn’t be getting fucked so good if he was.”

There’s a spring in your steps as you walk to your apartment. Your body oddly light, a smile even more oddly plastered on your face. It’s been months since you’ve had any orgasms at all, but with Satoru cropping back up, that issue is so quickly solved it’s almost eerie. But you don’t care about that — relieved rather than perturbed as you exhale a contented sigh into the air.

You feel like all your accumulated stress had ebbed away with just one evening. Water down your back, weights you didn’t realize were slouching your shoulders. Even now, you can still hear his laugh. Can still feel his smile. His length snapping in and out between slippery folds.

You notice the boxes outside the apartment next to yours as you search through your purse for your keys. Silent for a moment before your best friend breaks your train of thought. “Uh, yeah, I’m still here. Sorry. It’s just that I think someone recently moved in next door?... Um, maybe today? I dunno, I didn’t see anything yesterday. No, I don’t know them. Haven’t even met them. You do know that I barely even go out, right?”

She makes a joke about juggling two people at once if your newfound neighbor is hot and you snort out a laugh. “Dude, no thanks. I have my hands full already with Mr. Rich and Handsome. Who — by the way, I forgot to mention — works with me now.”

You barely hear her freaking out over your phone as you breathe in at the wrong time and you catch smoke wafting through your window. Your hand immediately cupping over your nose before the smell could even sneak in as you frown. Your eyes squinting, catching a glimpse of grey and fire coming from the back of your apartment.

“Ugh, it’s that neighbor again,” you grumble. Checking the time on your clock before furiously snapping the window shut. “Can’t believe he’s burning trash at three in the morning. Can’t he be like the rest of us and throw them out like a normal person?”

But your annoyance is brief. Lingering only for a bit as your phone screen suddenly lights up and you notice Satoru’s contact name in your notifications.

“Oh, my god. He’s asking me if I’m free this weekend,” you almost scream. Flopping on your bed face first as you kick your feet up. Unable to contain your own excitement at the thought of meeting Satoru again. The smile tilting then wavering from your lips as your best friend questions your feelings for him. “What? No. I just think he’s cool to be around. Besides, he fucks good. I’ve only known him for a short while, so it’s not like I’m expecting anything.”

And then you pause. Goosebumps up your arms as you look back on today’s evening.

“But — well.” You suck in your cheek, holding back a grin. “I guess I can make time for him this weekend.”

“This is hopeless,” Suguru once told him. Sighing, frustrated as he eyed Satoru curling further into the sheets. “You know she doesn’t remember you.”

But Satoru only sounded a sharp inhale. “She will,” he whispered. A promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Satoru throws his head back. Appreciating the cold gust of wind tickling his hair. The moonlight illuminating his dimly lit room. The bustle of the crowd underneath, flickering lights and crowded roads. Grey and sparks of flames garnering his attention as he looks down to see burnt trash. The scent of fresh paint filling up his nose as he catches muffled giggling. His ears perking up — making out gossip and strings of words even through the walls.

He can’t help but laugh. They’re paper thin.

And then he flits his eyes close. White lashes like dark shadows on soft cheeks as he breathes in. Acid in his bones, a sting in his chest as smoke wafts in through his window.

[agentnico]

Dune: Part Two (2024) review

I’m fully aware that the Dune sequel has been hit by acclaim from both critics and audiences, and I shall share my own thoughts in due course, but also whilst presenting itself as a serious and sophisticated piece of artsy science fiction tackling challenging themes of religion and politics, from a marketing standpoint this film has been a major farcical meme. From the popcorn buckets shaped like suggestive sand worms (or more so accurately as deformed buttholes) to the viral TikTok video of an unnamed man riding a makeshift sand worm around a cinema lobby on his way to Arrakis, or more likely to one of the gazillion screenings of Dune: Part Two. But yes, absolutely mad bonkers advertising techniques, and not at all reflective of how seriously and straight faced the actual film plays. Anyway, let’s talk Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuneee…..

Plot: Paul Atreides unites with Chani and the Fremen while seeking revenge against the conspirators who destroyed his family. Facing a choice between the love of his life and the fate of the universe, he must prevent a terrible future only he can foresee.

Controversial opinion - I was not a fan of the first Dune. I thought it was all spectacle and no substance, and even then in regards to said spectacle, it was just sand. Lots of sand and bland dark visuals. I understand that the first movie acts as a massive exposition piece with lots of world building and introductions of all the characters and various political families and the spice trade and all that sweet jazz, but honestly it all felt so dragged out. Also a lot of narrative choices felt really immature and I did not buy it. In fact, the only memorable part for me was that female voice screaming on the music score every time something crazy happened, and my does that woman have some strong vocal pipe work! Like damn, her screams…. I really felt them!

Going into Dune: Part Two, I was very much of two mindsets. One was more so a feeling of obligation to watch it, as I wasted 3 hours of my life watching the first one that I felt I deserved some kind of closure for my efforts. The other being Denis Villeneuve. Aside from the first Dune, he’s a director that has constantly impressed me with his unique vision and style. Simply look at his past filmography! Prisoners. Enemy. Arrival. Sicario. All impressive pieces of genre filmmaking. Then there’s Blade Runner 2049, that took the classic Ridley Scott movie and managed to improve on it and become one of the most thrilling science fiction epics of the last decade. Also the trailers looked appropriately exciting, and it seemed like the second movie was actually gonna deal with some serious shit finally. Again, my problem with the first Dune wasn’t that it was slow. I mean, I can happily watch Paris, Texas any day of the week and be mesmerised by the empty yet beautiful takes of the American desert. It’s more-so that the first Dune felt aimless and messy. As for Dune: Part Two?

Well, if we’re going to use The Lord of the Rings terminology, and boy am I happy to refer to the dear-to-my-heart Middle Earth whenever I have the chance, then Dune: Part Two holds the scale of The Two Towers. I may not agree with all of it, and there are still some moments that drag, though The Two Towers is also guilty of that - I’m looking at you Treebeard! But overall this is one hell of a cinematic experience and achievement. Visually for one this is eye-candy. And yes, yet again there’s lots of sand, but this time around Villeneuve manages to find very creative ways to add/take away colour to make many sequences truly impressive. There’s an early scene where the Fremen are fighting Harkonnen goons in the desert and the entire thing is seeped in this blood orange palette, reminiscent of the Martian Chronicles, and then there’s the part where we are introduced to the Harkonnen home planet where the entire screen is drenched in hardcore intense black-and-white due to their sun only giving out white and black light, and instead of fireworks there are these watercolour stroked exploding in the sky, to of course the much talked about eye-dropping sand worm riding into battle scene that had the feel of the giant elephants appearing in The Return of the King, and yes that was another most delightful reference to Lord of the Rings! As I was saying though, the entire movie visually is certainly something to be in awe of.

Also Hans Zimmer’s score!! Of course the man’s a genius, having composed so many of cinema’s greatest musical compositions. I can recommend his Live in Prague performance! Hit after hit, and I find myself spinning it on my record player a good few times. Hans Zimmer’s Dune: Part Two soundtrack feels like a thunderously bombastic continuation and expansion of the first film’s more quiet and moody opener, and that shift in tone allows for some truly spectacular weaving of the composer’s thematic tapestry for Dune – with the finest new thread being the absolutely gorgeous love theme for Paul and Chani. A truly beautiful piece that echoes the heartbreaking tragic nature of the central romance of the film. Needless to say I’ve already pre-ordered the limited edition coloured vinyl of Dune 2’s soundtrack from Mutant (the new Mondo).

As for the narrative, as that is where I felt the first film faltered the most in my humble opinion (which I share so publicly online). I really do feel like the sequel is a major set up, for since the first one focused more on the endless word building and set-ups, this movie is all about the character developments. The scope is still big with the various political and religious elements that are tackled and explored throughout, however at the same time Dune: Part Two manages to feel more intimate compared to its predecessor, with the unravelling of the romance between Paul and Chani, but more so the inner struggles of Paul Atreides, as he tries to balance his emotions of revenge with the feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, as well as his denial of being called the so-called Messiah to the Fremen people. Look, the idea of the chosen one has been a concept that has been done over and over again, however I felt here they managed to really make it feel unique and different, with Paul choosing not to take this major responsibility due to visions of the future where he sees this choice result in darkness and dread, yet at the same time realising he has no choice but to follow his destiny and calling. It’s powerful stuff.

The cast list is stacked in this one. Timothee Chalamet is a rising star, having previously excelled his dramatic chops in Call Me by Your Name and his charismatic whimsy in last year’s Wonka, but this is by far his most impressive acting feat. You truly feel his character turning from boy to man, and it’s a real and raw performance. Zendaya shares great chemistry with him, but also in her own right gives a strong turn as a warrior Fremen conflicted with what she sees and thinks. Javier Bardem’s Stilgar adds a slice of surprising humour to the mix, being so obsessed with Paul being part of the prophecy that anything he’d do, Stilgar would find that to be part of what has been foretold. Paul Atreides could literally fart and Stilgar would observe in wonder proclaiming “as it was written”. There’s also a tiny No Country for Old Men reunion with Bardem being joined by Josh Brolin, who’s alright by the way, though it’s a typical Brolin brute role. Charlotte Rampling as the Reverend Mother continues being truly despicable and honestly that wench deserves to be put in her place - the movie’s ending is very satisfying in this regard. There’s also some newcomers to the Dune world too. Florence Pugh as the Princess reminded me a lot of Padme from Star Wars, and Christopher Walken I felt was tad miscast as the Emperor. Don’t get me wrong, Walken is a great actor, but his way of speech has been impersonated and overdone so many times that it is difficult to take him seriously in a role like this. Minus a couple of strong deliveries Walken felt really lazy here. You know who wasn’t lazy though? Austin Butler! This guy understood the assignment, playing the psychotic nutter Feyd-Rautha and he’s truly unrecognisable. Even his voice is different. Gone is Elvis and in cometh his Skarsgard impression! He’s brutal and maniacal and was honestly superb, and I wish there was more of him in this movie.

Again, it’s far from a perfect movie. There are parts still that drag, and certain times where things feel surprisingly rushed, but overall this is an experience through and through, and unlike my feelings after the first film, here I find myself really looking forward to the inevitable third part. In fact f*ck it, who am I kidding - this movie is bloody incredible!! Like I can’t even - it’s abso-fricking-lutely spectacular!! And by the way I read a bit about the Frank Herbert Dune books now and the future sequels are gonna be mad, just saying. Paul’s son becomes this half-man half-worm known as the God Emperor! Things are gonna get weird! Anyway, Dune: Part Two - go see it if you haven’t already. And in Austin Butler’s voice: “may thy knife chip and shatter”.

Overall score: 9/10

[kotias]

We Are In Our Eden - Gentle Winter

Part of the series We Are In Our Eden, co-written with @daneecastle and all set in That South Down Cottage.

Gentle Winter

Word count: 671 words

Winter had settled much quicker than usual in the region.

One week, Crowley was basking in the sun in their garden, the next week he was shivering in a blanket and clutching the hot pocket that Aziraphale had prepared for him against his stomach. Shuffling around the cottage like a clumsy ghost, he was seeking any source of heat he could find, desperate to keep himself from falling into his usual winter slumber. But eventually, his body complained loudly enough that he caved, and stayed in bed for the entire day, gorging himself into the angel's lingering warmth and smell.

This. This had to be his best winter yet.

He had tried to convince Aziraphale to stay one hour -two hours -come on angel, you have all day, stay!- But sadly, it didn't work. He did not fully despair however- like the brat that he could be, he would call out to him regularly, asking for undivided attention and for the return of his warmth and smell into the bed, even for just five, ten minutes. And of course, the angel indulged. He was holding him tight, nuzzling into his neck, purring into his ear, peppering kisses wherever skin appeared.

“Crowley! Your kisses are distracting me. Either you do something about it or you let me get up so I can make a hot bath for us. What is it?"

Crowley huffed into his neck, refusing to budge. Oh, a bath sounded tempting! “No moving. Miracle the damn bathwater in and I'll get us in it." He was getting drunk on his smell, desperate to keep him close.

More than once in the past, he had mumbled about only catching up on six millennia of waiting, at times when Aziraphale was gently complaining about having things to do, requiring them to let go. He was so full of it all, of the love he had not been allowed to feel.

“Crowley!" He tried to wiggle free but the snake was not letting loose his coils. “Crowley, dear, I can't miracle everything. Sometimes the good things involve actually going through the process of doing it." He waited for a moment, but Crowley was far too busy growling with content against his body.

“That's a big fat lie, angel, there's nothing worse than waiting for the bath to fill. Look-" He snapped his fingers, and the bath was filled with hot water.

“Crowley, you are being such a brat!" He tried to get free again, but the demon was quite adamant about his need to stay tightly coiled around him.

Of course, he was eventually rewarded with fingers going through his hair, making him purr into his neck. “Your turn now, bring us into the bathtub."

“Ah- hmph. Fine. Then let loose your coils, you wily snake!"

He huffed again, but obliged, letting him go for the time being. "Off we pop then, angel."

Aziraphale sat up and got out of bed. He turned around and pulled the warm blankets off the demon and off the bed entirely, like the petty bastard that he was. “Now get up and get undressed!" He turned away, starting to undo his nightgown. “Or no Hanky Panky!"

Crowley's jaw dropped. “I am in shock!" He slapped the back of his hand on his forehead. “Betrayal! By my own lover! Help me, universe, get me out of this terrible situation!" He cried out, just loud enough that he was confident Aziraphale heard each of his lamentations. But he was fucking cold, and there was no way he'd stay in this situation, now with the covers all gone and having lost their warmth. Concentrating, he let the presence of the angel fill his mind, let himself figure out where exactly he was, before snapping his fingers and leaving his clothes behind as he popped out of the room. “Seriously angel, was it really that difficult?" He mused, now inside the bathtub with barely a splash, an arm resting on its edge, looking at his lover with keen romantic interest.

[ffviidirtyconfessions]

Rebirth has thoroughly drained my enjoyment of the remake trilogy. I no longer feel obligated to try and play the games anymore. I don't even want to play ever crisis. And honestly that's the one I was looking forward to the most, because that was supposed to have a game version of Advent children. But it doesn't seem like it's going to happen because of how shitty and terrible rebirth has been. I waited years for that game, just this whole remake in general, and now I just feel so drained. I, myself, only got 20 hours into the game. Just 20, and I pre-ordered the game. It is safe to say that I will no longer be playing a final fantasy game unless I see play through that I like of it.

I really, truly feel your pain here. After all's said and done, I honestly feel like the best thing Rebirth gave me was the chance to see Advent Children on the big screen. This is coming from a person who's been putting off buying a PS5 until I see a game that's worth it on it. This wasn't worth it. So I can't even imagine what it's like actually having bought it.

Even in those first 20 hours, I'm sure you already experienced so much of what I find weird, offensive at worst, and just off-putting about this game. It extends everything to such a strange point, the opening Nibel Mountain sequence being the first offender of all. Everything takes so much time to do and yet gains so little depth, oftentimes less than the original game, which had limited space. It's an insanely huge game that turns out to feel mostly empty. There's constant "upgradable collectables" around every corner, even serious story relevant corners, a required card game, chocobo racing everywhere I guess, and don't even get me started on the Chadley world intel thing that was literally for some reason just ripped out of Zelda Breath of the Wild (????). It wants to be 500 different other popular games and stops being a Final Fantasy game.

The story, too, is just as distracted. It has what I might call "interrupting cow" syndrome. Nothing is allowed to just sit. You have to see the next flashiest thing right away, even if it feels emotionally dissonant from whatever just happened. Oh yeah, let us not forget the random DEAD MOBILE GAME PULL that takes up SO MUCH TIME????? WHO THE FUCK IS GLENN LODBROK ACTUALLY OR AM I JUST A BAD FF7 FAN BECAUSE I DON'T THINK I AM- ahem. This general problem worries me most in the places that matter most to me- specifically in that they seem to want to erase Cloud's mental illness. His memory problems are suddenly credited to "degeneration" instead of what it is, which is trauma, what they always implied it to be in the first place. This escalates as the half-baked Zack alternate timeline whatever thing continues. I genuinely think they are really hurting the story by downplaying (if not removing) the emotional cores of loss and trauma in favor of... fighting fate?? The multiverse??? Something?????

All around it feels like it needed way more time in development. It feels rushed while being completely bloated with "content". It doesn't even look very good 90% of the time. I feel like they barely got used to the PS4's tools only to be stage-hooked by Sony over to the PS5.

The ending in particular (don't know whether or not you figured out what they did with it so I'll avoid spoilers) leaves me wholly unenthusiastic for the next installment. And yet I feel I can't completely look away from it. Something about train wrecks makes me need to look at them, but I completely respect your decision to step away, especially when it comes to your own hard earned money and time. If it's any consolation, you're not alone in disliking this.

Apologies for the length of this post. Unfortunately, I am an English major.

[jweekgoji]

Hi <3 are you taking requests? If so, could i request some headcanon/senarios of yandere!five x yandere!reader? I love the manipulative reader series you did and imagine this version to be alittle similar with a dynamic sorta similar to joe and love from the netflix show 'you'.

When five first meets reader she comes across nieve but sweet and he falls for her innocence and kindness towards him. Shes always looking out for him and supporting him and he cant help but wanna protect her. Hes so preoccupied with spending time with her, scaring off any looks from other men and taking advantage of her kindness that he doesnt relise that the waitress at the cafe they went to together last weekend who had written her number on the inside of the napkin she gave to five when giving him and you your coffee has mysteriously gone missing..

He wonders if your just too innocent to really understand what hes saying when he vaguely admits hes done terrible things and you respond with a flippant 'me too' with a smile, little does he know you understand completely.

so i had some researchers about those two from 'you' series and now I'm interested in it!! anon, thank you ~

Five couldn't take his eyes off you.

For someone who is so good at controlling his emotions, he seems to have forgotten how he should behave in such situations.

Something about your pretty figure made him truly have an interest in you, forget about his job, about the obligation to be the hero in this story and spend another sleepless nights trying to save everyone.

And he definitely doesn't need to keep staring at you like that. Come on Number Five, you've got a lot to do and you're a very busy man, just turn away and start doing your work— Oh, fuck, now you noticed.

Five's heart beats faster when he sees your gaze directed right at him and his first reaction was to quickly look away and pretend that he was looking at the clock or just zoning out, while you, by a lucky chance, were just in front of him.

'Just a coincidence' , he justifies himself.

He grumbles, muttering something under his breath, until he finally turns away, trying to fully concentrate on his business and try to ignore that cute picture of your face in his head, your pleasant voice when you ask him to help you with something so simple, light touches on his shoulder when...

The sound of clicking pen is so loud that it's probably already getting on the nerves of his colleagues nearby, but he didn't care what they thought, when all he could think now was you.

You stand so close next to your work colleague that your hands can barely touch their body. You look happy, and Five genuinely enjoys the fact that you can stay in a good mood in any situation. That's why he works so hard for you. One of his main points is to keep watching the people he love are safe.

But could you step back for a couple of meters, please? The second, more jealous side of him is louder in his head and telling him not just to watch, but these are just simple work conversations during a break, right?

Five believes you, he is ready to trust you completely, but the people around you are not reliable and after all those years of his long, eventful life, he knows that every potential person that you meet can actually harm you.

Therefore, as your hero, he is obliged to intervene and protect you, the love of his heart, like a beautiful and not quite young prince, from a big and terrible villain.

You hear a noise behind you and a bright short flash of blue appears for a moment, which makes you smile slightly, already knowing what will happen.

You're holding a cup of coffee and you make an confused, surprised face as you turn around to look at Five, then give him your usual bright smile.

The person with who you just had conversation seems to be just as confused, but now for real, when they see Number Five in front of them, still as gloomy as usual.

Five comes closer to you, his hand resting on your interlocutor's shoulder and squeezing suspiciously tight, with a forced smile on his face that made the other person swallow nervously.

“Sorry friend, I hope you don’t mind if I steal them for a while?” 5 says, smugly grinning.

“Actually, we are—” the person starts, before Five interrupts them.

“Great,” he answers casually, focusing his attention at you instead, smile drops immediately as soon as he turns away from them.

Five is not even trying to listen to what they wanted to say, he quickly grabs your hand and blinks away, not bothered by what others will thought about this scene. Old man had enough of sharing you with everyone else today, now it's his time to be with you.

You almost stumble after this unexpected act of jealousy from Number Five, and his hand holds yours tighter, preventing you from falling.

A soft sighs comes from you when you notice that man's arms were held protectively around your waist.

“Please, warn me when you try something like that next time,” you lean closer to Five, trying to calm him down.

“I will,” he rolls his eyes. “If only you will promise me not to be all day around those idiots.”

You laugh at his words, appreciating his overprotective behavior towards you and only nod at him, which causes a soft satisfied purr from Five.

“Okay, okay,” you try to reassure him and give him a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. “ The same goes for you.”

Five just closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, enjoying the time he can spend with you and only you alone. He didn't think twice before giving his answer, just quietly mutters : “Deal”.

⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

You love this old man so much, but sometimes you wonder if he does it on purpose?

Does he have to smile like that at every waitress in the cafe?

Should he call every woman he meets as 'dear?'

Does he have to stare at every woman named Delores? I thought you two go through this line a long time ago.

This might be just his politeness or the ghosts of his past, but it makes you clench your teeth in anger, every time you sit on your goddamn place trying to pick an order in this stupid shit hole.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you try to ignore the conversation around you, concentrating, or at least trying to focus your attention on the clock, counting seconds before your order arrives.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” you ask impatiently.

“Are you in a hurry, hun?” Five turns his gaze to you and smiles slightly.

You smile back at him and shake your head, resting your cheek on your hand as you look at him.

“I'm just so tired...” you say sweetly, sighing, to make your words more sounds like truth. “Can't we just take our order and go home instead?”

Five is silent for a moment, as if trying to see whether your words are true. But after a few seconds, he leans closer to you and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“If you really tired then let's go home.” he gets up from his seat to come and pick up your order.

You just nod and silently follow his every action with your eyes, watching from afar. You wanted to find any reason to leave as soon as possible, trying to exclude any attempts by that annoying waitress who is trying to get close to your lover.

And it was so fucking difficult to control yourself from grabbing that terribly hot coffee from her hands and just splashing it all over her face when you notice those obvious attempts to flirt with your Number Five.

You blink once, then again, interrupting your disturbing thoughts. No, you shouldn't have to think like that, you convince yourself. What will Five think if he saw you like this?

Your slight smile slowly fades from your face and you look rather bored, tilting your head slightly, deciding not to disturb this sweet conversation between the two.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

You were glad to be able to spend a good night next to your lover. Every moment of peace and quiet with Five was very dear to you, especially if it meant that somehow you were able to put this poor guy to sleep.

His hands always holding tightly onto your body, as if afraid to let go and at one moment wake up without seeing you next to him. You were dozing, head pressed against Five's chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. You was so close to fall asleep again until you felt his hand slowly rubbing circles on your back as if trying to calm his nerves.

Slowly lifting your head up, you look at him with half-open eyes, silently asking what made him so worried in the middle of the night. This was not new to you, it's easy to predict that he might have possible problems with his sleep, knowing how lonely and abandoned most of Five's life was.

“I didn't mean to wake you up,” he mumbles softly, trying to avoid talking to you. “Just go back to sleep, don't worry about me”.

You pout playfully at his words, wrapping your arms around his waist and closing your eyes, “Five,” you whisper. “You don’t have to hide everything from me. Please, tell me what's on your mind and it will get better, I promise”.

Five sighs tiredly and it makes you sure that he will try to open up to you tonight. You never forced it on him, expecting that eventually, someday, he would feel comfortable enough to share with you the things that catches his mind. Your attention was focused on what he might said while your eyes were still resting from a hard, long day.

“Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve you after all the shit I've done,” he curses, frowning slightly. “I'm not sure you even understand me.”

“Many people have done bad things in their entire lives, besides, you had no other chance, Five,” you suddenly say, looking perfectly calm. “And me too, actually. We should just move on from that”.

Five pauses for a moment, his eyes concentrated on your relaxed figure next to him, enjoying the warmth between your bodies. It seems like you didn't really think about what you were saying because of how sleepy you were, Five thinks, so he don't have any idea about the significance of your words, deciding that you, as always, were just trying to support him.

Did you feel bad for what you did? Maybe, after all, you were the same living person, you tend to feel at least a drop of compassion. But right now, you don't care. The only thing that matters right now is to be with the person you care about. It seems that tomorrow morning you should remind Number Five not to go to your favorite cafe tomorrow.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, totally not taking your words seriously as he pulls you closer towards himself, finally closing his eyes and trying to rest, ending this conversation. “ Now let's get some sleep, love”.