#vast abysses inside

[tarjapearce]

Dr. Michael Stone (Pt. 2)

Art and Character by: Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, forced voyeurism, body exploration, edging, double v penetration, female anatomy, rough and drugged induced sex, manhandling, substance abuse, 3some-ish, rimming (m receiving) nudity appreciation, breeding kink, a bit of dacryphilia, Objectification, overstimulation, filthyness undercut, no proofread, bit of cum play, bellybulge, electrocution, Michael is a sick fuck and I love him.

Miguelverse

Summary: Michael Stone has the time of his life.

A/N: I got too carried away and the fanart didn't help jskjs, hope you enjoy <3

Time ran at the speed of a snail. Each blink was torture, like you were removing seconds from the clock with each brief pause of your eyes.

How long have you been here? Certainly too fed up with trying in succeeding to escape. There was no punctual way to determine in which part of the day you were as there was no windows, no clocks, or anything of the sort that dictated the unstoppable force that always outlasted everything within reach.

Just dull pale grey walls, borderline white in every direction your sight stretched. Which wasn't much.

Your new habitat, was minimalistic, decored with the basics to sate physiological needs such as sleep, shower or pee. Ceiling too lowered to crawl or stretch your muscles properly when you tried to keep mobility going.

A fancy cage, nothing much, nothing less.

How long had it been since he slammed the door shut? Days? Week?

You didn't know. And the lack of a sense of time was irrevocably screwing with your head in a way it resembled how Michael had fucked your insides. There was no sun to bath in, no wind to blow and mess with your hair as you swung through the buildings, providing the right amount of adrenaline, no structures to crawl or stretch your muscles completely on. No external stimulus.Nothing.

Just a few meters of space that caged you like a live sample for a maniac's twisted experimenting and amusement. Fed and cleaned whenever you required it. It sometimes blurred the line between being a pet and a Guinea pig.

Just your cell, withering away your spirit. Even the food provided, lacked that homey seasoning you adored indulging in HQ's cafeteria after a mission. The only rift of color popping in the tray and around you were the vast array of vitamins and minerals, shaped in round and squared pills, nested within a metallic cup.

Cause according to him, if his offspring was to emerge within you, your body had to be properly nurtured. Ironically, the food was bland and tasteless, but you didn't starve. And it spooked you how easy your body took a liking to it.

Skin healthier, glowing and silky even, a soft natural flush dressed your cheeks, metabolism in its peak, a couple of pounds were lost, but that was the least of your concerns.

He was set into perfecting the vessel for his future seedling. You.

Michael was... You didn't even know where to start besides being the obvious doppelganger of Miguel. The only way you could tell them apart was because of his eyes. They were brown, like the most scrumptious shade of chocolate you've ever seen.

Unlike Miguel, he just took what he wanted and needed, everything in the name of science. He was the embodiment of 'the end justifies the means'.

Alluring, inviting you to a forbidden and fucked up world where he was the unanimous and dangerous sovereign. Like his whole aura. His impassive act was only a coy facade to hide what was underneath.

Madness, lust and something so dern you didn't want to try and decipher cause in truth, you were terrified to fuck around and find out. He had already gave you a little taste of his abyss, but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted you to drown in him and everything that rendered his mere existence.

He needed to crown a queen for his chaos. And what a better way to do it, than choosing you to give him a perfect offspring.

In his own twisted world the need of a superior being was a must. A need he was creating the proper foundation to sate.

He was prepping you to bare his child. And it scared you to no end. Not that you didn't want kids, but to be forced to fit into that role out of sudden scared you shitless.

And you didn't want to sour and make your thoughts awkward by knowing a variant of Miguel would be the father.

Fuck. No.

If your mind could have arms, it surely would've slapped itself for such thought. Not that you didn't think Miguel was handsome, in fact, you avoided being seen as that recruit that had the hots for the boss, lingering too much around him made you more nervous than you liked to admit.

And when you were paired with him, the anxiety of knowing you could mess up went heavenwards. Your Miguel wasn't one to dwell into conversations if they weren't necessary, canon before personal interests came first and always, awkward social skills that came out stilted and forced almost mechanically, specially when someone caught him off guard or in the high level of stress his gorgeous brain fed him on a daily basis.

Grumpy was his default emotional read, snarky or dry humored replies when dumb questions were asked, overworked to the bone. Secretly labeling himself as a bad man cause of the things he needed to do in order to keep the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse working, a walking failure through and through, weak for meeting his emotional needs and trying to be happy for once and failing at it, and apparently the only one that knew how to keep everything together.

And still, the first one that always replied the call for help by either sending a group, or creating an escape plan route to ensure your and the rest's safety with the help of Lyla.

Unlike him. The man in the flesh and bone, that would easily supplant him physically, and had been watching you ever since you awoke. You didn't have to turn to him to know his presence had invaded your already reduced and secluded space.

Brown coals raked over the slope of your neck, the dip between your shoulder and junction, gaze remained over your rising form in every disguised breath you took, hoping he'd go away. Long and tan fingers tangled softly in the silks of your hair and the touch alone made your skin crawl, and not precisely in a good and pleasant way, no.

Whenever he was around your spider senses tingled, sometimes you'd end up with a headache, unable to shut it off. You didn't have to look deep enough to know he was as messed up and unpredictable as the task he had bestowed upon you.

"Eres tan perfecta..." his impish titter made your heart wrench and anxiety to bubble in the deepest of your gut.

In other circumstances you'd be a flustered mess, flattered even to have such kind of man groveling over you. But this one in specific had you coiling away from his touch, hoping to vanish into thin air or turn invisible like Miles.

God, you really wanted to have Mile's invisibility powers right now, so at least you could have a chance to escape. But dreaming had gone out the window ever since he dumped you here.

He never lingered too much, even when he did routine checkups on you. Blood and other fluid samples were taken, he made sure you ate the bland and soggy looking food 'til nothing but crumbs were left, and then he'd leave to do whatever he did in the lab and wouldn't return until your next feeding time.

The only thing he had in common with your Miguel was the workaholic attitude. He'd spend hours if not days tinkering with canisters and things you low key feared to know their components. You've noticed the little parts of limbs floating in some recipients, none of them human.

What kind of things this Alchemax did? Cause the little you had seen so far wasn't nice nor pretty.

Alchemax took seriously their research, and with this man on charge, you didn't want to even think about what kind of ungodly horrors they harbored. There was a little slapping in the air as he removed his gloves, and it was your chance to crawl away.

Rough pads thrummed over your soft skin, sending shivers down your spine, breath hitched as he beckoned your forearm, the only part of you that budged, towards him in a demanding pull.

"Haven't had the time to properly examine these." he mumbled, more to himself than to you, as his thumbs squeezed soft circles, soothing the previous pressure's discomfort.

You gulped as he narrowed his eyes behind his glasses at the tiny circular slits indented in your wrist, a pale pinkish hue rimmed the tiny hole. The way he admired and looked with child-like wonder at your web shooters was overwhelming.

Cheeks grew warmer as the tip of his nose ran up your forearm to finally stop on the shooters. A soft salty musk emanated from them.

"Organic webbing... Fascinating." He crooned.

He closed his eyes to relish in the smell of your skin. A shaky breath came off your lips as his moist tongue rubbed a kitten lick on it, a bolt of electricity flooded your senses and earned him a whimper. Eyes immediately shifted on you, pupils widening.

Much to your dismay both had accidentally unveiled a borderline gruesome breakthrough. The twinkle in his eyes made your brows twitch in worry. Your neck gulped and his eyes caught the fraction of movement to then smirk.

Pearly whites shone with twisted pride upon the discovery.

"W-Wait-"

The tip of his tongue pressed harder on the slit and you couldn't help but moan. A lovely and surprising melody to his keen ears at your reactions.

Web shooters were a sensitive and therefore an erogenous area.

You tried yanking your arm away, but your knees trembled when he delivered a wriggle of the tip of his tongue, trying to worm into your veins, prodding and tasting unabashedly at your dint.

With every coil of his moist muscle your brain sparked alive, neurotransmitters soaring in wicked delight. Your teeth clamped on your lower lip, stifling another upcoming moan.

The wet sounds and pops of his mouth made your insides clench involuntarily. Legs smothered together, as he now sucked. His lips pursed in that familiar shape it reminded you the way he ate your engorged and sensitive nub.

Head split in two, fighting over what side of reasoning you'd agree with. One side was ashamed such ministrations from your wretched captor turned your unwilling body like puty within seconds in his dexterous hands, and with this newfound information, his power over you just increased tenfold.

Or aghast for allowing such thing, for allowing him to cage you against the bed and his formidable frame while he devoured and toyed with your wrists, and for him to make you feel revered like no man ever had, even if it was for the wrongest of reasons. Brown eyes stared at your countenance with such curiosity and enthrall, as if you were everything he needed. Like his prayers had been answered and delivered in silver platter with you on it, right in his hands.

It didn't help your shaky resolution he squeezed and draped his other thumb in your other slit. Rubbing in lazy circles, pressing the right amount to have your clit throbbing and your mouth panting. The vibrations of his low groan on your skin sent your brain in tiny shortcuts, your synapses were howling.

A shiny streak of his saliva connected with the left wrist. The irisdiscent shine of your webs connected to his bottom lip.

"Tad salty" His tongue licked the web away, His thumb moved in a back and fro motion, alternating between circles and soft licks from his thumb pad.

"Hnng-" Your toes curled in, as your hips stuttered but he grounded his even more on yours, preventing you from shifting too much.

"Stop squirming" He huffed, annoyed, trying to focus his sight on the tiny crevice.

"F-Fucking stop then" you panted in angry breaths

Michael smirked, genuinely amused at your unexpected reaction.

"Why would I? This is the most exciting part of the research."

Shit.

He took your other wrist and kissed the dent, your eyes went shut as he pressed both wrist above your head. Thumbs kneading with a bit more of pressure right above your tiny holes. And God, it was embarrassing hearing yourself mewl like a needy bitch.

How couldn't you notice such thing about yourself after so many years of being a Spiderwoman?

Fuck

And why the fuck were you about to cum while having your wrists stimulated? But more importantly, was he really having a boner by toying with you?

"God, you're a pervert..."

You couldn't help but mumble and he pressed tighter on purpose, sending a muffled whimper through your throat, silencing your yapping.

"I rather the term, Man of science, pequeña. Now stay fucking still."

But you couldn't, not when he kneaded so closely to a spot that send your mouth gaping like a fish out of water, begging to be thrown back in the liquid oxygen. He pressed two inches away from the bitty hole, and that was it.

Jaw clenched and your spine arched. His brow quirked with clinical curiosity at your thrashing despair. Breaths paused and shallow, still deciding whether to moan or sob.

"Nmh-Fuck, fuck, oh my god-" Your eyes rolled back, and your insides clamped. Brain vaporising any coherent thought, mouth too busy catching air and sputtering dumb babble at the consuming climax. Contracting and pulsing at nothing as the little dent squirted a silky and sticky rope towards the wall with a soft Thwipsh. He blinked nearly stupidly at what he had just achieved, cracking his apathetic stare for good.

"Dios mío..." He pressed again and again and you sobbed as the web spurted hapzardly, diverting in every direction and etching to whatever surface it touched or landed. He stared with wide eyes between you and the webs. Limp limb suspended in the air.

Toes curled and clenched at the bedsheets, attempting to anchor yourself at the overwhelming sensations that clouded your judgement. Head spun and buzzed with the thrill not even you achieved when handling those annoying reminders of your solitude in your own hands.

For once your spider senses tingled deliciously. His cock twitched almost painfully at what he just witnessed, he groaned and cupped your face to deliver a deep and breathtaking kiss.

"I knew someday, all my work would be rewarded. All those sleepless nights, those sacrifices, would bring someone like you to me."

He panted, examining you with wicked excitement, shaking you softly in his aroused wake.

"You and I, will create something so beautiful even God will be jealous!."

If it wasn't for the ominous meaning behind those words, you'd be amazed and moved at his overboard thrill. He rested his head on your lower belly, a dark grin plastered over his face, fingers padded your skin, warmth spreading through his hand.

Where are you, Miguel?

"I can't wait to see you swollen, carrying the future of this earth, pequeña."

I'm scared

But as quickly as he laid down, he bolted out of your cell, too enraptured in his musings to actually care for your rattled state.

Now that his motives were clear, your need to escape was greater. But maybe if you played your cards well, you'd have a chance.

I need you.

----

The table landed on the wall, shattering in smaller shards that splintered all over the place. Michael's back rose and tensed so tight, his lab robe wrinkled, trapping the fabric in between his muscles.

The corner of his lip twitched, almost like a tick, teeth menaced with baring, fury boiling underneath his skin. If he could, the steam would blow off his ears, but instead he prowled over your unsuspecting and sleeping form in the very back of the lab. Mind assaulting his reasoning with so many questions, but one in particular made his hands to clench into tight fist.

Why weren't you pregnant?

He had came inside in your most dangerous and fertile days, and still, you weren't pregnant.

As much as he was a patient man, he was throughly disappointed at his own failure. Was his seed defective? No.

He had run studies on himself and his results were everything a desperate man in need of children could ask for.

Fertile, fruitful, healthy.

And still, the screen shone brighter on the 'Negative' results.

Hot and furious breath fanned over the glass wall where he saw you sleeping. He'd have to run even more tests on you, start all over and wait for another two weeks.

But what if your body refused him again? Your womb's rejection was an open slap on his face, when he had been nothing but kind to you. He had been taking care of you with the best things, and this is how you repaid him.

It frustrated him beyond reason. But he was a patient man. Weeks were nothing compared to all the time he had already waited. With a final huff, he returned to his lab to correct your stupid hormonal imbalance that was costing him his valuable time and resources.

However, a Public Eye officer barged in, breath in his throat. His personal hounds, and whenever they came in, it only meant one thing. They had found something, and by the scratches and claw like marks on the officer's bleeding shoulder, meant it was something good.

You had to wait for a moment longer.

-----

"Lyla"

Miguel's gruff whisper came behind the corner of the structure he was in. Lyla appeared right on his shoulder.

"Any readings?"

"Some-" She froze for a second, "Ssft-"

Her yellow shade glitched to then appear right before him, she was speaking, but Miguel could barely understand her.

Fuck.

The place's interference was messing up with her programming. His gizmo popped with a message, your location. Beeping in a bright yellow dot within the ever tall and imposing Alchemax building in the middle of the city, like a watchtower.

Your last signal. Earth S-2015.

If you were here, he was sure you'd quip up something about a movie reference, something about a Mordor, whatever the thing meant, to lighten up the mood. He'd never admit it, but it always made him a bit curious as to what you watched or did to entertain yourself. The things you spoke were beyond absurd and still, he listened, inwardly pondering as to what kind of substances your universe used to get that sort of inspiration, but now there was nothing but silence at his side. And he grew tired of it.

No matter how much he had tried to recover or track you, the signal vanished into thin air. And he wasn't happy. At first he thought the gizmo's self restart feature would bring the signal back, but days kept passing, and nothing happened, he even went to the extent of rewiring the trinket's code to see if there was anything between lines, but there was nothing after the current location he was in.

Miguel swung through the buildings, avoiding the constant and alert drones soaring through the sky. Alchemax safety propaganda was plastered all over the place, but this earth's inhabitants looked everything but happy. Unlike his wonderful and manageable utopia he had helped to improve.

Fear was forever etched in their faces, constantly moving, never lingering too much around those mean looking officers. The Public Eye.

Their image all over the city, with low key subduing messages as 'Keep The order', 'Report any anomaly in the nearest station.' It set perfectly with the gloomy, authoritarian and heavy atmosphere of this universe. Chaos brewing in the darkness, awaiting to be unleashed.

His gut felt queasy. He might not have spider senses, but intuition never failed him. And right now it was telling him to find you and get the fuck out as soon as possible. Precisely in that order. He didn't want to pull out a Miles, even if he wanted to on this wretched world. Frustrating as it was, Earth S-2015 was a necessary evil, like his ruler and his major minion.

Not that you were incapable of fending for yourself, one of the main reasons he  didn't act right away, but knowing who was in this place, and the possibilities, made his chest constrict with a new wave of underlying anxiety and dread as  there was no Spider in this earth to protect it.

His watch buzzed a bit too late with a new message from Lyla.

RUN!!!!

A hoard of drones shoot his way, creating a sequential line of explosions, he dodged, tore, and crashed the drones against eachother, as if they were bugs pestering him.

"Look! Another one!"

Some officers didn't wait to appear and shoot their best shots at him. They fired and Miguel fought back, talons in hands, ripping and tearing flesh.

They had taken you, and a cold sweat ran down his spine.

Mierda...

He took one officer by his neck, masked face came into view as his teeth bared.

"The other one, where is she?!" he seethed but the man was stupid enough to oppose. He thrashed, which only added gasoline to Miguel's already blazing fury. Talons dug in the man's tender flesh, but even so, the officer had managed to impale a needle on his arm. It's liquid immediately melting into Miguel's muscles.

It stung.

With a hiss, Miguel let the man go, too focused on the sudden burning sensation spreading through his arm and body like a wildfire. Breathings took a couple of seconds to turn erratic, lights flickered and dances before his eyes.

Concéntrate, mierda! (Fucking focus)

The remaining officers jumped on him, using their subduing tools on him, an electrical shock here and there, a couple of stabs that had him kneeling, punches that definitely got all air out of his scorching lungs. It hurted to breath, to move, to see. His photophobia was rampant as lights were suddenly on him.

Miguel tried to cover his eyes but punches kept coming, he lunged and swung back to nothing but air, as his faculties were in a painful sensorial overload. The last thing he could manage in between blurry and prancing lights was the officer's wicked smile, stretching. Darkness claimed him.

----

"Me estás hartando, quédate quieta de una vez!" (I'm getting tired of this, stay still!)

The lack of exercising had made you slow, he didn't give you enough time to fight back when dragging you by the ankles while you were in the best of your nap. The alerts in your body kicked a bit too late, and like he had done before, his hips grounded yours, suffocating their squirming as his hand squeezed the wrists, needle menacing on his other hand, a pinkish liquid shook within.

"Fuck you!"

With a low growl he smashed your hands against the mattress, earning him a painful yelp, and it was his chance to sink the needle on your neck, a sting that immediately stifled your body, a brief itch spreaded through before turning into a cool shot of drug.

"Don't worry... We'll get to it later. But I need your body cooperating first."

You tried batting his hands away, but he held your face, and you gulped. He was staring.

Michael Stone was staring at you.

Thrill, joy, and something eldritch within his beautiful eyes. It scared as it intrigued you.

"What did you just put in me!?"

His nose nuzzled on the crook of your neck and crooned, "Nothing you should worry about, pequeña. Just a little enhance that will take my investigation to the next level."

His nose revelled up to your neck, body shuddering with the soft kisses left imprinted on your skin. It confused you.

One moment he treated you like the best thing he had ever had, and the next he manhandled you like a rag doll, pumping whatever substances he thought right into your bloodstream.

"Ger'off me!" A backlash and he chuckled.

"You're amusing. Might keep you as a pet once my child is born." He frowned suddenly, like if an idea had came into mind, pondering.

"Or not, I could grow it on my own... But, no no. It wouldn't be the same, wouldn't it?." His peering landed on your abdomen, ready to see it plump. "Call. me traditionalist in that way, but there is nothing more beautiful than seeing life growing within a perfect specimen." His eyes twinkled. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"You loved having this sick fuck inside, pequeña. Your mouth might be spilling nonsense, but your cunt" He cupped it suddenly, shutting you up right away, "neither data lies."

A thick lump was swallowed down your throat.

"Rest well, I've got a surprise for you."

The smirk on his lips was everything but a good omen. And the heat increasing on your body didn't help. Hormones were slowly coming to a riot, spider tingle ringing harder for a moment.

Great.

Fingers rubbed on where he sunk the needle, wishing that for once he wouldn't use the thick ones. A tiny red smudge came into the pad of your fingertip.

Asshole.

----

Disgust, curiosity and repulsion.

Those were the main reads on Miguel's bruised face when Michael was before him, having a taste of his lips, but quickly backed up upon feeling the prong of his fangs grazing at his tongue. Miguel spat away his taste.

"Vete a la mierda, cabrón!" (Fuck you, asshole)

"Oh" His smirk went wider, almost wicked. He wasted no time in securing his grip on Miguel's chin to probe and poke at his mouth, revelling at every single thing within his structure.

"This is... perfect! With you and my vessel, we'll create-"

Michael jumped backwards as Miguel tried to lunge for him, but to no avail, chains clinked on his feet and wrists, restraining him.

"Now, now. What happened to that... friendly neighborhood thing your species used to preach? Is it a ruse?"

Miguel's fury burned brighter than the sun, he was ablaze, the Ethyl Chloride still railed within his bloodstream. He'd have to wait a bit more, just a bit for it's effects to leave his system and he'd free himself.

Never in his life had the urge of hurting someone came so strong on him, but he needed to be as collected as possible if he wanted to find you.

Even if his evil twin's hand roamed over his chest, measuring and probing his physiology. What's with everyone trying to get a piece of him?

His sight landed on something that undeniably belonged to you, a piece of your suit, under a microscope. Michael followed Miguel's line of sight and smiled, naturally, proud even.

"She's been a good specimen. The best one I've got so far."

A cold shudder ran down Miguel's back, eyes immediately on him, venom dripping in his words as they came out in a growl

"What have you done?"

Michael shrugged nonchalant, pride swelling up his chest. "Nothing but my work, Mr. O'Hara. And now that I've got you, you'll help me too."

"Te juro que si has hecho algo para lastimarla-" (I swear if you've done something to hurt her)

"Oh no, no. Im not that kind of monster." Michael tinkered with some tubes as he pulled a couple strands off Miguel's head. The Boss shook his head away from his tweezers.

"But she can get annoying sometimes. Nothing that pleasure helps to shut her up"

Miguel's eyes went wide, horror and anger in tandem within his crimson gaze.

His talons poked out, itching to tear the man before him, until he was nothing but bloody chum, fuck the canon, fuck this dimension. He'd do everyone a favor, unlike the first time he broke the rules.

"But dread not. Tonight is very special" Michael smiled at Miguel, but it didn't reached his eyes. The same pink liquid he injected on you was now flowing in Miguel's veins, thanks to thw needles in his shackles.

"Mating season is around the corner , isn't it?"

Miguel scowled, wary as Michael made his arms and legs restricted to the metallic wall of his confinement, hitting his head in the process. A wave of pain invaded Miguel's skull.

"I won't hurt her, no. But I won't allow you to take her away from me."

Michael pressed a button, sending shockwaves through Miguel's body, suit glitching out, until it disappeared, leaving a bare, righteous doppelganger of himself at his feet, panting, gritting his teeth and growling in pain.

Michael leered at Miguel unabashedly, smoke oozed from his shimmery tan skin, and the madman nodded, pleased.

"You spider-folk are unique and wonderful creatures indeed."

It was the last thing Miguel heard before another electrical and unexpected shock subdued him to darkness.

----

Miguel

His mind was a puddle. Nothing coherent could properly take shape in his brain. His body was heavy, doused in a borderline painful heat, the same sort of feeling he'd get once his body entered this spider-like urge to mate.

Miguel!

The voice calling him was familiar, but it's tinge sent a delicious pulsation right to the tip of his already twitching cock.

Wake up!

Leaden-lids parted enough to take in his surroundings again, consciousness returning to his empty body. But as it did, the strong tidal waves of his arousal drowned him in.

It didn't help he kept hearing these delicious mewls and pants, begging for him to do something simple as to wake up. The constant slaps of flesh and the breathless moans made a trail of precum escape his flushed and sensitive tip. Thick veins decored his pulsating girth, aching painfully to sink in something. To be wrapped in nothing but snug zeal.

"F-Fuck... Wake up, please!"

Another garbled moan that ended in an acute whimper. And that made him growl. His toes curled in, bleary sight finally taking focus on what was going on.

He could only blink at the scene. Stupid and high in need. Dying to be free and unleash himself.

"Ohmygod-" you hiccuped, watching him, flushed cheeks, mouth gaping and panting, exhaling deep and sweet mewls his body yearned to induce

"Miguel!"

You called, waking him up despite your insides getting a good rearrangement by Michael. The latter was too keen in watching his reaction as he smacked himself against you, his cheeks reddened in want.

You were spreaded like a book ontop of the sitting madman, back colliding with his bare chest, hands cuffed within two metallic hoops, hooked behind Michael's head; cunt swallowing him inside, choking with his continuous thrustings, slapping the back of your ass over and over as his hands kept your thighs apart and close to your chest, providing Miguel with a 4K image of your bullied and glistening pussy.

The way Michael pushed in so swiftly made Miguel's cock to erupt with another pre cum bead. Your breast swayed and bounced at the rough pace settled underneath. A rhythmic slap, like a perfect metronome for an obscene and wet melody.

The little rational part of Miguel told him, demanded him to look away. To spare you some shame, but his body had been rewired in such way he was unable to tear his oggling away, cause he could feel the need to break the chains and do a better job than Michael. He'd destroy you. He needed to.

Michael's hands made you hold the back of your own thighs, so he could plow deeper. And your spine arched as your toes curled, legs shook and a sweet acute cry echoed through the lab, announcing your first orgasm.

Miguel's sore cock twitched. Begging him to jump into action. His mouth watered as your pussy swallowed Michael's cock so deep and tight that a frothy, creamy ring nested at the base of his tightened balls, contracting as the madman came inside your snug hole.

Your arousal awakened a primal need in him, to the point that his talons dug in the fat of his palm, cutting skin and bleeding, like his bottom lip. Plump mouth heaved, his throat rumbled with gutural growls the more he stared, hypnotized at your post-bliss face.

Miguel whimpered, like a kicked dog, a deep flush invading his heaving countenance.

"Seems the serum is also making effect"

Michael slicked his hair back and gave an excited sigh, "I think it's time to see his performance, right?"

Michael pushed you away from his body, Bambi-like legs failed their attempt to hold your whole frame. You fell on the ground with a wheeze. Miguel immediately lunged, but his restrains held him back, prevented him from achieving his main goal.

Crimson eyes turned darker, nearly matching Michael's. The latter pressed a button and the collar on Miguel fell with a clank on the floor.

"M-Miguel" it was difficult to find your voice when it was scrapped raw and dry, but still, you had to try.

"We... we gotta leave. Do you hear me?"

Of course he did, but his mating cycle was on peak, thanks to Michael. He had messed up the natural process by accelerating his heat prematurely.

Why would he leave when he was about to wreck you?

His feet were unlocked. You gave Michael a pleading look while trying to crawl away. When the last lock clicked free, your breath hitched.

It felt like a slow motion as you looked over your shoulders, marked with hickeys Michael left. Pupils wide blown as Miguel lurched forward, stalking and hovering over you. Cock smearing his pre cum in whatever skin it landed, marking you with his scent as he  manhandled your hips up, aligning them with his girth.

His hand was big enough to keep your whole head on the floor. Michael cackled as Miguel sunk in deep in a powerful roll of his hips, earning a stuttering grunt through clenched teeth from you.

The fat of your ass trembled, your clasped hands curled underneath your torso, in dire need of holding onto something, cause Miguel merciless plows were fucking any coherent thought.

Your whole body shook underneath him, cunt ever tight, your juices and Michael's cum made him easier to delve in a pace you knew would scrap your knees, cause he wasn't stopping nor waning.

Michael circled you both, hand on his cock, stroking himself at the sheer display of primal desire. The whole show made him hard, specially when seeing your engorged clit peeking underneath Miguel's jackhammering frame, flushed from the unceasing beating the hero's balls provided it.

"Just like that" Michael husked, and whimpered as you did nothing but sputter nonsensical and lewd blabbering.

Miguel's fingertips sunk tighter as they grope your hips firmly to keep you from lurching forward, despite him plunging into you with abandonment, as if with every thrust he'd say take it.

Take it for disobeying.

Your toes curled in and your jaw slacked open, unable to keep it together.

Take it for not following instructions.

"M... Mig-"

Bendito... He was just starting and you were already clamping onto him in a grip so tight it only matched the way he was holding your beautiful and generous hips.

"You're almost there, Mr. O'Hara! Keep it going!"

One specific thrust had your eyes watering and rolling back. A pathetic and incomplete scream made Michael to kneel behind you both. His eyes were too dazed in how Miguel fucked you. Dancing up and down, like the strokes of his hands on his cock.

Miguel secured your head in a tight headlock that cut your air supply enough to clench on him, again. Strong biceps trapped your airy head, clouded with a biting desire that came stronger every time you breathed.

Michael groaned when Miguel pulled a last thrust, sheathing to the hilt, forcing a powerful and milky kiss on your cervix. The madman's mouth wasted no time to sink in between Miguel's firm glutes, tasting him, squeezing and pushing him towards his face, tongue fucking the tight hole, earning a low but stuttering growl from a surprised Miguel. Glasses fogging at the rising temperature.

"Fucking delicious." He mumbled with a smack of his lips to focus his attention in your flushed and sensitive cunt. When Miguel pulled out, Michael was already pushing him away, to then prowl at your throbbing cunt, gathering the leaking cum on his tongue, revelling in the taste as he pushed it back inside with a soft dribble.

"W-Wait" You hissed, his moist muscle had been wonderful once, but right now it felt rough. Flesh too sensitive to the touch.

Miguel staggered, body overridden with a relentless urge to be inside you again, but his body screamed for a rest, the venom still lingered on his muscles. Michael on the other hand, cradled and sunk you once more ontop of him.

"The more you take, the more chances you'll get pregnant are." He explained underneath you. Tears rolled down your flustered cheeks, overstimulated and pearled, glowy skin by the thin layer of sweat etched in every slope and dint in your body.

Michael licked them with a groan while his hips smacked yours in a slow but deep, deep rut, pulling the last coherent thoughts through muffled groans and hiccuping mewls, while you shook your head vehemently.

"You're so perfect, pequeña"

"T-Too much" you croaked

Michael sunk you in a swift move, as his slapping hips met yours upwards, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"No, no. you can. You're strong, bonita. You can take me." His crooning was eerie, yet so alluring it blurred the line between monster and devotee.

Pleasure clung to your brain with such force it was dizzying. Every pore of your body oozed with the pheromones the serum produced, creating a tantalizing smell that lured Michael and Miguel's attention.

The grumpy hero could only watch you squirm as another cock that wasn't his, wrecked your insides in a tortuous pace.

"Fuck" He grunted, feeling the consuming and mind numbing drug licking at every inch of his cinnamon skin, imploring to feel you again.

Even though the Ethyl Chloride's effect had been long gone, the serum reacted to your pheromones. Meaning he'd need to provoke one more peak to have the effects completely worn out.

He'd feel sorry and awful all he wanted later, his priority was to get you out of this madman's claws. But...

It was impossible not to think in how good you felt, how delicious your whole body contorted while witnessing the way Michael subdued you to ride him as he captured one of your nipples in his urgent mouth. Lovely and plump bumps of flesh jiggled at the tempo, outer folds that without a doubt would be so sensitive to the touch, parted and guzzled Michael's veiny cock.

Miguel crawled to you both.

How well you had taken them each., Adjusting perfectly at their sizes, like a perfect flesh sleeve.

He hovered over the both and smoothed away the strands of hair that stuck on your flushed and gorgeously fucked out face.

The heat was consuming, and Michael's pace wasn't enough. The madman noted you were reaching the peak of the serum functionality as you urged your wobbly hips clumsily on his.

Despite you not being able to properly verbalise your pleasure, you still sought it. Michael's wicked fantasies came true when Miguel pushed you tighter against him, as if wanting to flush your body and Michael's as one being, just to have a proper glimpse of the sight that had him guiding his tip towards your already stuffed entrance.

Detente (Stop)

But he couldn't, he couldn't stop himself from entering you, knees flexing as he lowered his pelvis, pushing inch my inch deeper. Earning an ascending pleasurable wail from you.

Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched, baring your teeth as he also sheathed inside, womb so full it bulged.

Michael's laugh echoed through the room. Everything had came as planned.

"Let's make you a wonderful mother, mi pequeña."

Oh my god.

A panting groan escaped as Michael moved in first, igniting the painfully delicious friction inside you. He wasn't only stimulating you, but Miguel as well. The snug crevice too tight for them to coexist in peace, yet there they were, fighting over who pulled the last peak and thread of rationality out of you.

Their cocks pumping and prodding had your spine arching. Miguel grabbed a fistful of your front strands and pulled backwards, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, letting your chest exposed to Michael. He wasted no time into pushing both of your breasts together, tongue alternating between the left and right.

Sucking, lapping, wriggling his hot muscle on your taut peaks, making a mess out of them by creating more hickeys in every inch of salty tasting visible skin.

"Michael!" You whimpered and it was enough for Miguel to plow harder. The sinful makeout session of their cocks inside your walls made you pant, beg and laugh like a total loon.

A streak of saliva escaped the corner of your gaping mouth. Head lolled back and fro, fried brain with the lust both men induced you, floating on cloud nine. You didn't want to come down to earth, much less when Miguel and Michael's groans and moans over you, urged you to be the best cum dumpster ever.

Miguel pulled your handcuffed hands underneath your chin, beckoning your lips to his. His mouth suffocated any future moan as you bounced on both.

Your one and only boss didn't need you wailing his name to know you ached for him. But Michael was set into having a proper taste out of you both.

He pulled you closer, pushing deeper inside you. Michael's lips erased all trace of Miguel's on yours, to then kiss Miguel. To his surprise, Miguel didn't oppose, too gone in the sensations this mass of tangled limbs offered.

Michael hands roamed your body and Miguel's, feeling his own climax approach.

Hearing Miguel's animalistic growls on your ear, made your clit throb. He pounded with every fiber of his body, urging you to reach the stars and play with them.

Your cunt soaked them, too wrecked and ruined to care. Like your mind. It didn't matter who fucked better, all your body asked was fresh cum, deep in your womb.

The serum coaxed you to move faster, almost matching the rhythm of their whomps. The sound of your greedy and drooling hole being battered was music to their ears.

Michael whimpered and his spine arched, finally reaching his peak, spurting his hot sticky scent inside. Miguel hissed and held Michael close, watching him.

Limbs nearly cramped as they curled in, hands fisted tightly on each side of his trembling body, eyes rolled back, mouth panting, head too heavy to think straight. And that's when Miguel sunk his fangs on his neck, injecting his paralyzing venom on his bloodstream.

A pornographic and slurred moan erupted from Michael, his wicked smirk widened as his body slowly but surely, lost all control of his nerves, unable to command them to move.

Miguel had to resist the urge to come inside. He knew he had a couple of minutes before Michael regained mobility, and as heavenly as you felt, he pulled out of you, drowning his orgasm with regained self control, earning a small hissing as he pulled you out too, gently, off Michael.

Legs and body refused to cooperate. With clumsy steps he stood, taunting the surfaces for support. He slanted against the table, gasping for air.

Miguel shook his head and threw a quick look to Michael, still on the floor, but now groaning in discomfort. Even his tongue had numbed out.

Miguel didn't waste time and sauntered over the next table where pieces of his gizmo laid neatly arranged in a metallic tray. He swept them all in a container, along the tubes filled with his samples.

Like Hobie, he took other parts of machinery in a quickened pace to finally grab a couple of lab robes. He wore one and covered your overworked body, to then throw you above his shoulder.

"Nos vamos." (We're leaving)

Michael groaned, loudly. Anger was felt in every gurgle his throat did. Despair widened in the only thing that still remained movable in his numb face. They darted between you and Miguel, begging him to leave you there.

He groaned again, losing sight once Miguel swung with you from a window.

"Hold on tight if you can" Miguel's voice cooed as you two escaped.

-----

Michael had to douse some pain killer spray on the two slits done in his neck.

How could he not forsee this? How could he miss something so obvious that ended up messing his one decade old plan?

He let his emotion get the best out of him, fouling up his usual calculating judgment, replacing it with excitement.

A Public Eye squad remained before him, awaiting for his orders.

"Find them. I need the woman alive, understood?"

"What about the... other one? The monster?" The same officer Miguel had sliced through and marked, spoke.

The lights in the screen gave Michael a sinister red hue on his face, light reflecting on his glasses.

"He's not a monster, Johnson." Dr. Stone smirked, copying your information in his database, "There can't be two of us."

Johnson, the captain, nodded. The squad obeyed, and the hunt was on.

-

Taglist: (I apologize if your blog isn't able to be tagged, tumblr is... tumblr)

@smokeywhalee @maomaimao @beingdeluluisthesolulu @byjessicalotufo @darkfairy102190 @angel-of-the-moons @bunnibitez @decaffeinatedplaidwinnersoul

@thealleydog @sariespi @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @barryatsumu @missylo @fistsuptitsup @lazy-idate @crimsonriot06-7 @uraritychain @little-lovelace @llama--drama @deathlypickles @cupidojenphrodite @@nostalgicdaira @homewreckingwreck @millliko  @tatatida @melday0105 @scaryplanetdestroyer @minispidey @miranexx @migueloharacumslut @keepghostly @ion-news @misswonderfrojustice @kishimiest @prctty-birdie @migueloharacumslut @the-true-tato-god @1biggestsimpofalltime @catfwngz @drefear

[misc-obeyme]

When Beelzebub fell, an emptiness ripped itself open inside of him. A vast chasm in his soul where his sister, his home, and his understanding of the world once was. When all he knew was torn from him, when his brothers were all he had, he felt like he had become nothing.

His sin manifested because he was trying so desperately to fill that space. His hunger is insatiable because no matter how much he eats, something is always missing.

Beel can’t replace what was taken from him. He knows this, but he can’t help trying. And the loss itself becomes that hunger - his body supplying him with a need to keep him going.

It starts to change when Beel gives you some of his food for the first time. It surprises him, that he would willingly hand over the one thing that’s meant to make him feel less empty.

It takes a few times, but Beel can feel it and he realizes. He gives you his food because you make him feel full.

Your smile fills the cold abyss inside him with a warmth that he knows has always belonged to him. A cozy heat that had gone out the day he fell, reignited by the love he feels when he holds you. He wants to listen to your heart beating so the sound can replace the craving. His fingers twitch to brush against your skin rather than to find the nearest snack.

Beel will always be hungry. He knows he can never fully repair that piece of him that he lost. But when he’s with you, the ache lessens. When you say his name, the hunger subsides just enough. Enough for Beel to remember who he is, who he wants to be - a beacon of warmth for you, for his family, and for himself.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[outofconcheol]

not yet (ksm x gn!Reader)

pairing: Seungmin x reader

genres/au/rating: angst, fluff, friends (idiots) to lovers, pg

summary: "Not yet" was a phrase that came to define Seungmin's life for the longest time. Until you came along, and changed everything.

warnings: swearing, kind of fake dating, emotionally stunted Seungmin, kissing, a smol but significant fight, Minho being a menace but also the voice of reason

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this was something cute I wrote on a whim and tell me why my whole heart is fluttering (probably bc Seungmin is bias wrecking me a lot lately). This is me being a space and time nerd on main, but I imagine Seungmin as lowkey a math nerd in this too. it'll make sense when you read! i hope you enjoy!

To Kim Seungmin time was always infinite, the universe stretching out like a vast abyss that he sought to understand. He’d grumble when his mother stretched the too-tight party hat around his ears on every birthday growing up. Because what was the point, when every day was a birthday for someone or something?

An infinite series of moments made way for an infinite number of chances, and Seungmin became fearless. Fearless because there was no way he could mess up at life, not when there would always be another chance to try again later.

And so, Seungmin’s favourite phrase, whenever his mother asked him to do anything, was “not yet.”

It was a phrase that came to define his life for the longest time. Until you came along, and changed everything.

“Seungminnie, don’t you ever get tired of showing up to dinner alone?” his mother laments over the yukgaejang, while Seungmin stares blankly at her, unable to comprehend her question. What did she mean, alone? The whole point of family dinners was so he wouldn’t have to resort to eating ramen in the dim light of his own apartment, or risk begging Minho for home-cooked food, fearing the smirk on his older roommate’s face.

As if on cue, the doorbell sounds, and Seungmin is the first one up, spoon clattering on the table and stew abandoned. Within a few strides, he’s swinging the door open, only to be met with burning in his nose and scratching in his throat, the tell-tale signs of a sneeze making themselves known.

Your face peeks out from behind the flowers, flustered and eyes growing wide with concern.

“Damn it, I thought you wouldn’t be allergic to these ones,” you whine, and Seungmin sniffles, ushering you inside. “Sometimes I think you’re faking it, Minnie.”

“___!” his mother runs to the door at the sound of your voice, nearly smushing the bouquet as she wraps you in the biggest hug. “We haven’t seen you in so long, I made extra yukgaejang, come!”

And as she leads you by the hand into the dining room, Seungmin hangs back, a smug smile on his face. The universe had his back, once again.

The dinner table conversation turns lively once again, his parents and sister pestering you with updates about your life in the city, like you and Seungmin aren’t still attached at the hip like you were when you were children.

There’s a lull in the conversation, silence falling over the table with only the clanging of utensils to fill the void, broken only by a heavy sigh. Seungmin knows what’s coming next, and so do you, judging by the way you sink into your seat.

“I always thought the two of you would end up together,” his mother blurts out, tears forming in her eyes.

You pat her on the back, dancing around her confession, telling her you’ll always be ready to show up uninvited to dinner as long as there’s an extra bowl of yukgaejang waiting, and all Seungmin can do is stare into his bowl.

No matter how many times he reminded her that you were just friends, that the realistic probability of you and Seungmin dating moved closer and closer to zero the older you grew, she stubbornly refused to give up hope. 

She’d throw it back in his face, repeating his favourite phrase. “Not yet.”

And Seungmin couldn’t tell her maybe some things were just meant to never come to life. 

The two of you walk back towards your apartments in silence, your shadows dancing on the sidewalk, creating a far livelier scene than the comfortable silence that exists between you.

Seungmin doesn’t notice you’ve fallen behind until he’s at least ten paces ahead of you, turning back to see your lonely figure under a streetlight, staring up at the stars. He resists the normal impulse in his brain to leave you behind, knowing you’ll catch up, and instead backtracks, stopping to stand next you.

“Do you really think it’d be so bad?” you ask the darkness, not turning to meet Seungmin’s eyes. “If we were to actually date?”

Seungmin’s mind is sent reeling at your confession, the neat box in which he’d compartmentalized your relationship suddenly bursting open, exploding with chaos.

“We’re getting older, Minnie,” you ponder. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re running out of time?”

Seungmin’s face darkens, and he knows he can’t answer the question without hurting your feelings. Because to him, time was never something he’d run out of. If he fucked something up, there’d always be something new, something better waiting for him on the horizon.

“You shouldn’t think like this, ____,” he breathes out. “You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The two of you are sitting on the sidewalk now, long legs hanging off the curb. Seungmin instinctively pulls you into his side, making sure your body is shielded from any stray passerby that happen to be inhabiting the sidewalk or the wild people in the bike lane. 

“It’s always yet, Seungmin, but what about now? What are we doing with our lives?”

Seungmin’s never thought about now. He’s thought about the past, like the time he showed up to your house on your 16th birthday, a copy of your favourite novel clutched behind his back. Only to go ungifted when you’d barreled into his arms, raving over the used car your parents had gotten. He’d thought a lot about the future, the two of you going on to end up with faceless partners, settling down in houses whose walls he couldn’t picture, kids whose names he hadn’t thought out, maybe a dog or a cat. 

But he never stopped to think about the present, and looking into your eyes, he remembers exactly why. It terrified him, the faint glistening of tears, the way your breathing sped up, your fists clenching and unclenching. And he’d never had good advice to give, just always ranting on about how “tomorrow is a new day.”

Seungmin bows his head, long strands of hair falling into his face, hopes you don’t see the way his own lip quivers when he thinks about right now, the two of you sitting on a city sidewalk, together but still lonely.

“Okay,” he manages to choke out, and your head whips around in shock.

“What do you mean, okay?” you sniffle, and Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s do it. Let’s try dating.”

He feels your body go still next to him, arm going limp when you suddenly decide to let go, hoisting yourself up.

“Minnie, I was just kidding when I said that. You don’t have to date me if you don’t want to.”

“Who said I didn’t want to? I mean try, at least?” Seungmin rises up to his feet, heart thundering at the blank look on your face. “If we try and it doesn’t work, there’s always another chance, right?”

Your face twists in a strange expression, so brief Seungmin could have almost imagined it, before you let out a dazzling smile, one Seungmin thinks rivals even the brightest star he sees in the sky tonight.

“Right.”

“You’re actually fucking insane,” Minho mumbles through a mouth stuffed full with dumplings, stealing the container away when Seungmin reaches over with his chopsticks. “I shouldn’t be offering you food, I should be signing you up for therapy.

“Everybody always wants ____ and I to end up together,” Seungmin grumbles, snatching a dumpling anyway, much to Minho’s dismay. “Now that we actually decide to date, it’s suddenly a problem?”

“Dating isn’t some science experiment, okay!” Minho grows flustered, the tips of his ears turning red. “It involves real people, and real feelings! Have you even asked ____ if they’re okay with this?”

You were fine, Seungmin convinced himself.  In fact you’d been exceedingly chipper, brighter than usual, chatting about anything and everything under the sun. It gave Seungmin confidence that maybe this could work. That maybe things didn’t have to change between you two, because maybe you’d been right for each other all along and he’d just missed it.

His phone vibrates with a text from you, and Seungmin is shoving the last dumpling in his mouth, ignoring Minho’s disapproving look as he throws his coat over his shoulders, bounding down the stairs to meet you outside his apartment.

“Want to go to a coffee shop—” the air is knocked out of your lungs when Seungmin crushes you in a hug, your fists banging on his back to let you go ten seconds later. Your face is flushed, an eyebrow raised in confusion, and Seungmin thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

“Isn’t that what couples do when they see each other?” Seungmin asks innocently, only to be met with a sigh.

“You’re paying for my coffee today,” you grumble. 

Dating you is easier than Seungmin imagined — the years of friendship provided enough experience in how to spend time together, but now he gets to tell everyone that you’re together together. He thinks his mother’s joyful scream nearly splits his eardrums the moment she finds out, rushing to the phone to dial up your own mother. The conversation between them lasts a good hour and a half, and a smile pricks at Seungmin’s lips at the pride in her voice.

He gets to catch you off guard by randomly deciding to pay for your smoothie, or to wrap an arm lazily around your waist when you’re talking to someone, the subtle squeak in your voice sending his heart aflutter.

Dating you is everything Seungmin could have imagined and more, because those infinite moments he’d always thought about, are moments spent making you laugh at his deadpan jokes, moments spent clinging to your back, begging you to make him some food since Minho stubbornly refuses to, and he thinks there’s no way he could mess this up.

Until he kisses you. The two of you are cuddled up on the couch, the soft soundtrack of the film you’d chosen together lulling Seungmin to sleep in your lap, his eyes heavy-lidded. It’s when your leg shifts that Seungmin wakes up, sleepy eyes blinking up at you, only to realize your hand is resting against his cheek, thumb softly stroking his skin. He wonders if the stars in your eyes are from the reflection of the movie on the screen, or whether they mirror the ones in his own. 

Seungmin moves without thinking, his forehead collapsing against your own, and he feels your surprised gasp against his cheek before his lips are brushing against yours softly. Warmth blooms where your fingertips still rest on his cheek, lighting up his entire body with an unspoken feeling. 

He breaks away from you, still holding you close, but the smile that grazes his lips is gone as soon as it appeared, your downcast face in front of him. Seungmin waits one second, then two, then a whole minute, but it feels like an infinity while he wills you to meet his eyes.

“I can’t do this Minnie,” you finally whisper, your voice bubbling and breaking, a lone tear streaming down your face.

“I don’t understand,” the words feel heavy on Seungmin’s tongue, like he’s numb and struggling to get them out. It was just one moment, there’d be another that followed, but how could everything have gone wrong?

“I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean something to me,” you finally let go of his hoodie, and Seungmin felt the cold he hadn’t noticed before seep in. “To you, this is all infinite, like it’s always been. There’s always a yet, because every moment is temporary. It’s meaningless when you have tomorrow to worry about, right? Wondering where we’ll go on our next date or what random thing you’ll do next to knock the breath out of me?”

“But this,” you continue. “Right here, right now, it isn’t just something to me. It’s everything. It’s everything because I love you and because I’ve always loved you and because you’ve never been able to see that in your infinity, there has to be some kind of beginning and end. And you’re it for me. But I’ll never be enough for you.”

Seungmin wants to tell you you’re wrong, that he’s stopped thinking about infinity and mere moments, because he realized the same thing, that he never started actually paying attention to time until he met you, and you injected all the moments of his life with meaning. But the words that come out instead are wrong, so wrong.

“You’ll get another chance,” he watches you flinch at his words, rushing to slip on your shoes. You linger at the door, hand twisting around the doorknob. “You just haven’t met the right person yet.”

The knob clicks, and the door slams. And Seungmin is left alone, in the vast abyss of his infinity once more.

Minho spares him the lecture, and Seungmin is grateful. He doesn’t need to hear the “I told you so”, doesn’t need to face his mother’s concerned face when she asks why you haven’t been coming by lately. The loneliness cuts into him like a knife, and he wonders if the imaginary future he’d dreamed of all his life would be enough to take the pain of right now away.

The weather grows colder, and Seungmin’s heart freezes along with it. Time stretches out before him as he looks at his phone, waiting for a call or a text, teasing him, threatening him, as if to say - don’t you wish you had enough?

He spends his days staring out the window, watching the world pass by around him, realizing he’s tired of moving alongside it without you by his side. And then the snow begins to fall, a few flakes to start out, until it turns into a sea of white, and he can’t even see outside anymore.

The door clicks softly behind him, Minho’s voice echoing behind him while he stomps the snow from his boots.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Minho pauses, his voice clipped. “I saw ____ at the grocery store just now.”

Seungmin’s head whips around at the mention of you, but Minho, ever the menace, keeps his mouth shut, not knowing whether the next sentence that leaves his mouth will send Seungmin spiralling or not.

It’s silent between them for a few moments, Minho putting away his food in the kitchen cupboard, while Seungmin runs through endless scenarios in his head about whether you’re happy or sad, whether you’re doing fine or falling apart, whether leaving tore your heart in pieces as much as it did his.

And that’s when he spots it, tucked between the cushions of the couch. Your scarf, blue patterned and worn. You must have left it the last time you were here.

Seungmin knows that rationally, you’d probably have a backup scarf. Knows that rationally, with how much he’d chewed your head off about the future, that you’d have planned ahead.

But you’d never been the rational one.

Minho jumps in surprise when Seungmin leaps to his feet, yanking the scarf out from the couch.

“It’s cold outside,” Seungmin breathes out, and Minho raises an eyebrow. “Right now. Right now it’s cold outside, and ___ left their scarf here, and they, and I– shit!”

He’s running out the door before Minho can stop him, your scarf against his chest like it’s a lifeline.

. . . 

He sees you just outside the grocery store, struggling with the heavy load of groceries you’d bought for the storm. The tiny shiver that rakes down your spine is enough to send him running your way.

“Seungmin?” you call out to him in shock, seeing his frantic figure bound towards you in the snow.

“Your scarf,” he heaves, shoving the crumpled fabric into your hands. “You left your scarf.”

“Minnie,” you can’t help the nickname that slips out. “It’s okay, I have another one for next time–”

“This isn’t about next time,” Seungmin interrupts you, wrapping his arms around you, not caring that you drop your bags into the snow. “This is about right now. And right now it’s snowing.”

“Yeah,” your breath comes out in a fog. “It is.”

“And right now,” Seungmin’s voice cracks, unshed tears filling his eyes. “Right now I love you. I think I probably always have and I probably always will, but that doesn’t matter. You’re my past, you’ll be my future, and I hope you’ll be mine, right now in this moment.”

“What about not yet? The infinite possibilities of the universe?” You whisper, clutching his coat while he wraps the scarf around you.

“The universe is infinite because you’re at the center of it - an infinite number of ways to make you smile, to be whatever you need, to tell you I love you. You’re the beginning and the end, and everything in between.”

Your lips are crashing onto his, mouths colliding messily through the veil of your tears, and Seungmin never wants to let go. When you break apart, it’s to lay your head on his chest.

“Come home with me,” he whispers into your hair. “Let me make you some tea.”

You shake your head, burrowing into Seungmin’s neck, humming your response.

“Not yet.”

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[kyloherrera]

 ۫ 𑄼ల۫  ۪ FEB 8 — PROPOSE

featuring: dot, , abel, rayne, odler, mash, lance. finn, abyss x gn! reader

note: hope you like, this is very fluffy, and a big comfort for me <3

summary: how would mashle boys propose to their s/o

genre: fluff || event || patreon

✦ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇

-Mash has decided that its time to take the next step in his relantionship with.

-While grand gestures and elaborate plans aren't mash style, but he wants to make this moment special nonetheless.

-One day, Mash takes you on a walk to their favorite spot in the forest, a serene clearing surrounded by towering trees

-As you stroll hand in hand, Mash's heart pounds with anticipation, but he tries to keep his composure.

-Finally reaching the clearing, Mash pauses and turns to you , his eyes filled with unwavering love and determination.

- He takes a deep breath and begins to speak from the heart, expressing his gratitude for their unwavering support and the happiness you've brought into his life.

-Then in his characteristic straightforward manner, Mash kneels down before you and reaches into his pocket,

-He pulls out a small, crudely crafted ring made from twigs and vines. It's not flashy or extravagant, but it's a symbol of his sincerity and devotion.

-With a voiced emotion reflected in his voice, Mash asks you to spend the rest of their life with him, promising to always stand by your side and protect you with all his strength.

✦𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

-Lance would orchestrate an extravagant evening at the most luxurious venue in town.

-He would spare no expense in creating an ambiance of opulence, with twinkling lights, fine dining, and a live band playing romantic melodies in the background.

-Lance would take your hand and begin to express his feelings, weaving words of love and admiration with his signature charm and wit.

-Then, in a moment of theatrical flair, Lance snaps his fingers, and fireworks burst into the sky outside, illuminating the night with a dazzling display of colors. The crowd gasps in awe, and you look on in astonishment.

-With all eyes on you, Lance drops to one knee, producing a velvet box from his pocket. Inside gleams a stunning diamond ring, reflecting the brilliance of the fireworks above.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Lance pours his heart out, expressing his unwavering devotion and his desire to spend eternity with his beloved. He asks the all-important question, his eyes shimmering with anticipation.

✦𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍

-Finn most likely would propose in a place that holds special significance for both him and you.

-A serene meadow where they often go to unwind and connect with nature. He carefully chooses the time, waiting for the perfect sunset to cast a warm glow over the landscape.

-A vast expanse of wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze, with the colors of the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. show in front of your eyes.

-With a gentle smile, Finn takes your hand and leads you to a spot in the meadow's center, where a picnic blanket is spread out under a towering oak tree

- He invites you to sit beside him, taking a moment to savor the tranquility of the moment.

-As you watch he sun dip below the horizon, Finn begins to speak from the heart, expressing his love and gratitude for you.

-Then, reaching into his pocket, Finn pulls out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Opening it, he reveals a simple yet elegant ring, crafted from a rare wood found only in the deepest parts of the forest.

-With trembling hands, Finn takes your hand and gazes into their eyes, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He asks you to be his partner for life, promising to cherish and support them through every challenge and triumph.

✦𝐃𝐎𝐓

-Dot decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

A quaint café where they shared their first date. He chooses a time when the café is relatively quiet, allowing for an intimate and personal moment.

-He leads you to a secluded corner of the café, where a table is adorned with flickering candles and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Soft music plays in the background, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

-With a nervous but determined smile, Dot takes your hand and begins to speak from the heart. They express their love and admiration, recounting the moments you've shared together and the ways in which you had enriched their life.

-Then, reaching into their bag, Dot retrieves a small, beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside lies a carefully crafted scrapbook filled with cherished memories—photographs, ticket stubs, and handwritten notes documenting your journey as a couple.

-As you flipped through the pages of the scrapbook, tears of joy well up in your eyes. Each memory serves as a testament to the depth of your love and the bond you share.

-With trembling hands, Dot takes your hand and gazes into their eyes. They pour their heart out, expressing their deepest desires and their unwavering commitment to your happiness.

-Finally, with a nervous laugh, Dot presents a velvet box containing a delicate ring—a symbol of their love and devotion. They ask you to spend the rest of their life with them, promising to stand by their side through thick and thin.

✦𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒

-Abyss chooses a secluded and mystical forest shrouded in mist and shadow. They choose a moonlit night when the stars are bright, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape.

-When you reach a clearing deep within the forest—a place untouched by time, where magic seems to linger in the air. In the center of the clearing stands a stone altar, illuminated by flickering torches and adorned with mystical runes. Abyss takes your hand and leads them to the altar.

-Their eyes gleam with determination as they begin to speak in a voice that resonates with power and authority.

-Abyss expresses their love and admiration for you, weaving words of mystery and intrigue with a hint of vulnerability. They recount the moments you 've shared together, the challenges you've faced, and the bond that has grown between you.

-Then, reaching into the folds of their cloak, Abyss Razor retrieves a small, intricately carved box—an artifact of ancient origin. With reverence, they open the box to reveal a ring unlike any other—a band of blackened metal adorned with a single glowing gemstone, said to hold the power of the abyss itself.

-With a solemn expression, Abyss Razor looks into your eyes and speaks from the depths of their soul. They ask you to join them on a journey of darkness and light, of mystery and adventure, promising to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation.

✦𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

-Like Dot, Rayne decides to propose in a place that holds sentimental value for both them and you.

-a secluded beach where you often go to find solace and tranquility. They choose a time when the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the sand and sea.

-As you arrive at the beach, you are greeted by the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the salty breeze, and the soft hues of the setting sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

-With a gentle smile, Rayne takes your hand and leads you to a quiet spot near the water's edge.You sit together, watching the sun dip below the horizon, enveloped in the serenity of the moment.

-As the last rays of sunlight fade away, Rayne begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and gratitude for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—the laughter, the tears, and the deep connection that binds you.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Rayne retrieves a small, intricately crafted shell—a token of their affection. He, offers you the shell, explaining its significance as a symbol of their love and devotion.

✦𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑

-He selected a a serene botanical garden filled with exotic plants and flowers. He choose a time when the garden is in full bloom, bursting with vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances.

-With a warm smile, Odler takes your hand and leads them along the winding pathways, pausing to admire the beauty of each flower and plant you encounter. You share stories and laughter, lost in the magic of the garden.

-Finally,you both reach a secluded spot in the heart of the garden—a hidden alcove adorned with blooming roses and twinkling fairy lights.

-With a tender expression, Odler begins to speak from the heart, expressing their love and admiration for you. They recount the moments you've shared together—your conversations, your adventures, and the deep connection that binds it.

-Then, reaching into their pocket, Odler retrieves a small, leather-bound book—a collection of poems and love letters they've written for you. With trembling hands, they read aloud a passage that captures the essence of their love and devotion.

-In a voice filled with sincerity, Odler looks into your eyes and speaks the words they've been longing to say. They ask you to spend the rest of your life with them, promising to cherish and support them through every moment, both joyful and challenging.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@stvrlightt123 @Mysticalpersonpoetry @mailkyeom03

[cambion-companion]

Echoes of Orpheus

I wanted to write. It's been a while! Exploring the idea that after Tav dies, Raphael isn't okay with just letting their immortal soul slip away.

Raphael x Tav!reader (gn)

The Hero of Baldur's Gate they had named you, dragging you time and again back into the spotlight of a fame you never wanted.

Survival.

That was all you had wanted. The will to escape the worm inside your head had evolved and taken on life of its own until you were teaming up with angels, devils, druids and warlocks to take down an Elder Brain.

With glory and infamy alike you had lived.

Just like every mortal, your body grew weak around the soul it harbored and eventually passed on.

Like a gossamer thread, your soul was freed from its mortal coil, slipping into the next world gratefully. You felt light and young, strong again.

Echoes and shadows surrounded you, an inexorable pull drawing you down into unknown space and time.

Stars whirled around your vision, hues of azure and lilac danced and merged to create a midnight sky. Up ahead, you saw a white light and knew that was your destination.

But something was wrong.

The gravitational pull guiding you to safe harbor lessened, another sensation arose. You heard your name whispered behind your ear, turning your head to see only a vast abyss that drew fear into your heart.

A familiar smell, a purple light replacing the white-golden rays up ahead. You willed yourself toward it, apprehension and excitement roiling through your being.

So close now. You reached out and a large hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you forward with a great heave.

"Raphael." Your first words uttered since your death. In his ironclad grip you felt almost alive again, awakening the tethers to your mortal life. To him.

He wore the crown of Karsus, the source of that purple glow. The silver metal twisted perfectly amongst his sharp horns, his eyes familiar and blazing hellfire-gold.

"Not even a word of farewell?" Raphael did not relinquish his grasp on you. "I taught you better manners than that."

You did not know what to say, shock holding your tongue as you fought to understand how he could interrupt the natural course of your spirit. "The crown." You whispered.

Raphael nodded. "I understand death has not dulled your wit." He intoned dryly, then tugged you a bit further into his plane. "Nor will it succeed in taking you from me. We still have work to do, you and I."

"You have no right to my soul, I made no deal with you."

"Therein you are most grievously in error." Raphael smiles, dangerous and sharp, the touch of his hand becoming more heavy and real with each passing moment you stayed in his presence. "I am your past. I am your present. And I am your future, little mouse. No mortal frailty will alter that law."

Another tug, the draw to him inescapable as it had been in your previous life. Your palm found the front of his chest, pressing until you could feel the fabric of his velvet tunic.

Raphael tucked a finger beneath your chin and raised your gaze to his once more, his tone softening to that familiar sultry purr. "I will give you life anew, more than any god could offer. You were mine since the moment I laid eyes on you, little mouse."

The old nickname sparked a flame within you, defiance and desire. "I will not be trapped in one of your gilded cages, or placed on a pedestal to be drooled over by your incubus."

"There you are." Raphael squeezed your chin before releasing you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Already coming back to yourself, it seems. And no, dear...you will be put to use, not shelved with my other prizes." He held out a hand. "Now come. Worlds anew wait for us to conquer."

[dee-writes-smut]

WINTER (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul.

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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[confessedlyfannish]

Six Years Ago

Part 1

Part 2

Jon wakes slowly, warm and clean and strong for the first time in weeks. His stomach growls and he wants food, craves a thick juicy cheeseburger instead of feeling nauseous at the thought of it. Breathing comes easy instead of the slow rattle that was making its way through his chest, though the straps going around his face and the back of his head are itchy and the air itself is chilly, a strange icy patch around his mouth and nose amidst what feels like the best heated blanket in the world.

Strong arms shift around him, and the relief is so palpable tears of it form in his eyes as he slides them open, ready not to waste another minute of not seeing Superman, because Dad's found him—

Instead he sees a slight smile, inhuman in the jag of the canines and green eyes that glow in the vast abyss of space.

"Hey there, hey—" the man is saying, white hair drifting around his face, and he's saying other things but Jon is still looking for his Dad, his Dad was here wasn't he, those were his Dad's arms—

Except they weren't. They're this man, this alien's arms, one around his back and the other under his knees, cradling him in the flames of Earth's sun, and he was there, in the lab.

One moment Jon had been hiding from the robot that had been hunting him for days, taunting him as he dodged booby traps and ate leaves that made him sick. He'd grown weaker and dirtier even as Damian's voice in his head urged him to fight, to stay alive, and he'd fallen asleep to a violet sky and the ghost of his mother's hand on his forehead, cool against his warm brow.

He'd awoken inside of a tube, a concave shape of a person, holding his eyes open long enough to see the man peering at him as if he was an exhibit. Don't tap the glass. Or do. Jon wouldn't bite. He couldn't remember how.

And now he is here, threads of plasma tickling his skin, feeling better than he has in days. Behind the man is Earth. Home. Jon is only 93 million miles from home.

He can make it. He will make it.

He stares at the man keeping him from his home, his family, and the tickle in his eyes turns to fire in a matter of blinks. Red light hits the alien straight in the chest and with a shout, he releases Jon.

Jon wastes no time, flying in the direction of Earth. He'd struggle with this, all of this, but adrenaline sharpens his abilities. The mask strapped over his mouth and nose provide oxygen from the pack taped to his chest. He wants nothing more than to rip it off but he leaves it be.

His focus is singular, the apartment in Metropolis. He can feel his Mom's arms around him already. He's formulating what he will say to his Dad, how he will explain about Jor-El. He is worried they won't believe him. Ashamed of what he committed to and then ran away from. He told his Mom to go. He said he would be fine.

He doesn't want to think about the floating island, or talk about it, and he decides he won't. He is a runaway, a failed Superson, but he is not the boy on the floating island. He didn't shiver from fever, tearing at his cape to bandage the wounds from the robot's green metal claws. He did not scream in fear when a trick arrow carved a path down his cheek. He did not give up, covered in bush and counting his ribs like a messed up lullaby.

His Dad can make the trip to the Sun in ten seconds. Jon thinks he flies even faster, and later he will think that is the reason he doesn't notice the Watchtower is missing.

But he does notice Metropolis is gone. Instead of the Daily Planet's gleaming golden globe, he lands in a marsh. Herons fly up and away, squawking in startled choir as he touches down, water lapping up to his knees. He looks to his left but there's nothing but tourists on a floating wooden path in the far distance, taking photos of geese as they weave trails through the water that was supposed to be home.

He looks to his right, and the man from space is there, floating above the water.

Jon flies to Kansas.

By the time the man catches up with him, Jon is curled up in his grandparent's corn field, except it isn't their corn field. He digs a hand into the ground and brings up light, loose soil that tastes like citrus, acidic and unbalanced in a way Ma Kent would never let stand (and he lets it fall from his palm with a shudder, reminded of the mud on the alien island he'd eaten, before the nausea had set in but long after pride had fled). The barn at the far end of the field has a blue door, not red.

"Dad," Jon mumbles into the ground. "Dad."

Feet lightly touch down, but this time Jon knows they aren't his father's.

The man has no heartbeat, nor breath. Even the silver robot softly whirred. But the man is silent as he touches down beside Jon, who will not go back to the tube.

Survive, Damian's voice demands. Jon closes his eyes to the world, this utterly wrong world, and he flies.

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses - Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is. Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

here it is! so sorry it took so long, but unfortunately updates will be slow. but i will not abandon this story! i have too many plans :)

-> summary: Nodding, you pull your purse onto your shoulder, and Kyoya barely has time to react before you’re furiously brushing past him. 

“Let me make it less complicated for you, then. Since everything else is.” Your voice is cold as you push open the exit, still avoiding eye-contact. “You won’t have to save me anymore.”

-> tw! descriptions of drowning.

-> word count: (whole episode): 20k

-> legend:

(f/h/d) - favorite hot drink

(s/c) - suit color

see masterlist! masterlist

taglist! @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn @desert-fern @delievia @obeythemasters @luca-nightshade @sweetandsourwrites @wrzloyd @1234567890nono @inactivecrofters @katiebwalczak03 @reader3 @radical-bunny @stevexbucky404 @localgaytrainwreck @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @httpzace @wrzloyd @localgaytrainwreck @kawaii-onikuma113 @httpswilloww @pest-ill-ence @akumakitsune21 @britty-yk @daniels2003 @jade-digital @eleventhdoctorsangel @ozdramaqueen @sadpotatoondrugs @name1nonexistent2 @jstanaxx @yikesarooni 

A Challenge for Lobelia Girl's Academy!

Your lungs have flattened as you float, and your heart rate has ceased its erratic beating, but somehow your brain is still conscious. The comfort of breathing has been robbed from you, and yet you're still awake, still suffering as the freezing water breaks into your skin and rips through your muscles, chilling your bones with a pursuit that had to be admired.

Your eyes are open, (e/c) irises staring blankly up through ripples of water, your eyelids only being held open by the force of the current. Cold water rushes past your skin and pushes you deeper into a black abyss, away from the sunbeams that pierce through the watery veil. 

It’s as if they're laughing at you, teasing your skin with their bright warmth. 

A crash comes from above you, and a body falls from the horizon that you so desperately longed for. The form is small and muscled, rounded into a ball as they plummet towards your limp form. 

Your eyelids widen, only from the force of the splash, as you see Honey’s body tumble towards you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. 

Your consciousness cries as you will your body to catch him, to move, to do anything. Honey whizzes past you, locking eyes with you as you outwardly stare into space. His mouth opens to make sound, but nothing comes out but bubbles of his precious oxygen. A sudden rush of a concentrated current pushes him down out of your view, out of your peripheral vision, and out of any hope you had of saving him. A sense of feeling comes back to you as you scream, unable to move as you feel his presence disappear, the red light of a tiki statue flashing behind you. 

And when your mouth opens, more water files in, hungry and selfish as it not only surrounds your body, but suffocates your insides. Your lungs inflate with the chilling liquid, making your body weightless in the pools of terror, and you start to rise. 

The surface tension of the water breaks as you lift out of the ocean. Water spills out of your mouth and nose as you are pulled up and up. Over the vast sea, over the jarring cliff that wasn’t in clear view before. 

But now it taunts you, its sharp edges barely missing you as you rise. 

As you ascend into the lighter blue of the sky, it begins to morph around you. The cerulean begins to darken into black, the crisp air becoming muddy and warped as the scene changes around you. For a moment, everything seems to pause and you are suspended in black. Then, gravity reminds you of your fragility, and you are sent slamming a firm surface. 

The landing makes the wind rush out of your lungs, and white sheets billow around you. A comforter sculpts your back, and a large window shines into the room. You choke.

This is Kyoya’s bedroom at the beach home. 

Panic floods into your system. Why were you in his room? Where was he? You couldn’t see him, not now, not after everything that happened today. Cursing in your mind, you move to leave this godforsaken mattress, get out of here and curl in on yourself till your broken heart heals, but your arms feel heavy. 

Looking at your wrists, you see that they are pinned on either side of your head by an invisible force. Fighting against it, the force lifts for a second before your wrists are pushed down again, deeper into the mattress as it squeaks and wrinkles. And a red shirt appears in your vision. 

Gnarly, curled fingers grip your skin, and you bury yourself into the bed. Ren’s eyes flare back at you, closer than he ever was. His sneer is prominent as his long hair is in shambles over his shoulders, and it only grows wider as you thrash below him.

His voice echoes in the shadowed chamber, wrapping around your throat and squeezing. “Nowhere to jump now, sweetheart.”

Your words are lost on you as fear strikes your heart, making it beat to a wilder rhythm as your body writhes. But he continues.

“You could’ve died on that cliff, you know that, girl? Thrown into raging waters? Very dangerous.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Ren’s voice mixes with one that breaks through the shock, through the terror, and sends more panic into your veins.

In slow motion, gracefully long fingers dissolve into view. Your eyes follow as particles of pale skin form an arm that locks your wrist to the bed, and then a lithe torso comes into view as you look towards the ceiling. 

The smug face of your crush, your director, your best friend appears before you, smirking with a calculating glint in his eyes that used to feel warm. 

But as Kyoya pins you to the sheets, its like ice as he meets your gaze. 

The floor below the bed frame isn’t stable, the mattress below you rippling like evil water as you stare up at him. Shock and dizziness make everything around you hazy except for his distasteful gaze on yours.

“Do you know that? Please tell me you’re smart enough to see it, you idiot.” There’s somehow a sense of desperate anger as Kyoya keeps you underneath him. “You were wrong. You could’ve died, and you were wrong, and now look at what you did, (Y/n).”

Your nerves say your legs are kicking, but his own pin your knees, rendering them useless. Your arms feel like they’re thrashing, but you still feel the sting of cotton surrounding your skin. Apology after apology rushes through your mind, and you open your mouth to plead with him, to cry for him, to say anything. 

But you’re choking again, and a floral scent fills your lungs, causing you to freeze.

Kyoya’s cold eyes flick to your lips, and his raven brows furrow as he releases one of your wrists letting it fall heavily against the mattress. You willed it to move, but like you are drifting in the current of the ocean, you are not in control. 

Coughing, something works up your throat and lands on your tongue. Kyoya’s fingers reach past your parted lips and pluck it out, bringing it into your line of sight. 

A rose petal. A single, purple rose petal. 

Kyoya looks at it confused, his teeth barring. “What is this? What are you doing?” Distrust engulfs his tone. 

But his eyes widen as your coughing turns into wheezing, and your body is jolting as he holds you to his mattress, more petals coming up and filling your mouth, your lungs. 

You're drowning, and Kyoya lets you go fully as he sits back in horror. 

“Stop it. Stop it, (Y/n). Don’t do this to me.” He yells, the moonlight cascading over his sharp features that have twisted in betrayal and anger. “Don’t do this to me!”

Sitting up, you heave, the flower petals triggering an onslaught of spasming lungs as they bloom out of your mouth. Your eyes tear up, apologetic and sincere as you move to look at Kyoya again, only to scramble away in horror. 

The back of your skull hits the headboard as Kyoya’s face rapidly changes. Images of his gray eyes morph into the intimidating brown of Ren’s, then the lighter ones of Haruhi’s. Tamaki, the twins, Arai, your mother, all flash on Kyoya’s neck and torso at a destabilizing pace, screaming at you to stop, to think about what you did. Looking away, you force your body to convulse, reaching a hand up to your neck to soothe the burning of thorns and petals poking into your esophagus so that you could just say sorry.

And that’s how you wake up. 

Your hand around your throat, lungs burning, and Kyoya’s anger resonating through your chest.

The doors of Ouran Academy burst open, your shoes squeaking against the polished tiles and scuffing them much to the cleaning crew’s dismay. 

Sending an apologetic smile their way, you stuff paper upon paper into your backpack as you dodge students left and right, weaving through the crowd of the rich and the beautiful. However, with the addition of your hurried figure, you’ve created an ink spot on a white page. 

You would not describe yourself as the spitting image of beauty as you raced up the tall stairs and long, carpeted hallways of your school. You could see your peers’ eyes linger on the small shadows of purple underneath your eyes, and the untucked fabric of your uniform. Some of them bent down to pick up a few sheets of your assignments as they flew from your grasp, noting your heaving breath and panicked eyes. 

Unusually, you were late. 

You gave them a quick nod of gratitude before practically sprinting down the last hallway that led to Music Room #3. Your footsteps sank into the soft red carpet as you rounded a corner, but when you actually saw the sign hanging above the club room, you slowed. Stopping to rest on a pillar, you caught your breath, staring at the double doors as you heard bustling activity inside. 

Every day for a week, you’ve been stopping outside the room, tracing the painted wood grain and the pink designs with your eyes for what felt like forever. For a week, your heart has constricted into knots while your fingers dug into the stone of the pillar, debating in your mind if you should even walk in. 

And every day, for a week, you stepped in time with your anxious heart as a pair of purple eyes flashed behind your eyelids, begging you to just come in. And who could blame you when an image of devastating gray accompanied them.  

Swallowing, you pressed your palm against the door, opening it as unceremoniously as you can, before a petite body slams into you. 

“Oh, god, sorry, I just-,” Haruhi fumbles over her words as she meets your gaze before trailing off, the worry in her gaze followed by a little bit of awkwardness.

You sucked your cheek into your teeth as you made an effort to look anywhere but her, and settled on a vase of flowers poised near the entrance. 

“It’s okay.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head before moving to push past her. “No worries.”

You hear a small, sharp sigh behind you, and a hand wraps around your wrist, much gentler than your nightmares. “(Y/n), wait.”

Haruhi’s calm voice makes your tingling anxiety bloom to your throat as you come to a halt. Turning over your shoulder, your smile is practiced and pristine, the muscles stretching over your lips. “Yeah?”

Her brows furrow at your soft, bright tone, your voice contrasting with your rounded shoulders. “I just…I don’t understand what’s going on.” 

Your eyes freeze on hers, and your heart cracks even more. 

Since you saw Haruhi lying underneath Kyoya, emotions rattled inside you like a tennis ball ricocheting off the walls of your ribs. Your anger was a bright, fleeting blip. You laid in your bed and frankly abused your pillows. You punched them, screamed into them, or threw them across the room as you tried to process Haruhi’s betrayal. You two had grown so close in such a short amount of time, and she knew you were falling for Kyoya, only to keep it a secret that she had been secretly crushing on him. 

In the middle of another swing at your pillow, that thought in your mind, you froze. 

She kept it a secret. 

Why did she keep it a secret?

Shoulders shuddering with sandpaper breath, you sat back on your knees and faced the window looking out into the ocean. 

Haruhi must’ve been harboring her own feelings, keeping them locked away while you flirted and made eyes at the boy she wanted, and she did it so easily. You watch through her eyes as you play off of Kyoya’s banter, work with him late into the night, keep him for yourself as Haruhi is pushed onto the sidelines. 

A soft gust of air leaves your lips with a quiet whine, and your face curls into your palms as your spine bows. You're crying again, but for a different reason. 

You cry for the friendship you two had. You cry for what it must’ve felt like for her to see you steal all of Kyoya’s time and attention and say nothing. To keep it locked away. Tears rolled for what must’ve felt like the most one-sided sisterhood of the century, and all because of a stupid boy. 

Speaking of the boy.

Your anger had then reignited, and your cries turned frustrated. Digging your fingers into your next feathered victim, your punches resumed.

Now, guilt dripped into your chest, mixing with the anxiety and hurt as you stared back at her, but your smile remained true. “What do you mean?”

“Are you avoiding me?” Her voice is blunt, and you cringe internally. You loved Haruhi for being straightforward, it was refreshing from the usual antics of rich people to passively aggressively beat around a bush. But to be on the other end of it was jarring. 

Clearing your throat, you look to that same vase again, a lie locked and loaded behind your teeth. “No, no, I just saw that you were leaving, and wanted to get out of your way.”

Haruhi’s eyes deadpan. “If that’s the case, you’ve been getting out of my way all week.” She put air quotes around the words. “Did I do something, Senpai? I know you might be a little…shaken by what happened on the beach, but I feel like you’ve practically tripped over yourself to get away from me lately.”

When you look back at her, you can see the concern whirling through her irises, and the faucet of guilt breaks into a steady stream.

You’ve kept her in the dark, you’ve had too. There was no way you were going to out her relationship with Kyoya without her being ready, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of telling her that you saw them together. Empathy floats up in your sternum at her clear confusion, and you fight to make your smile a little more real. 

Sighing, you relax your arm, signaling that you weren’t going anywhere, and she releases you. “I’m not ignoring you.” You say gently. “And don’t call me Senpai, it’s weird.” 

Her confusion fades into relief as you turn to her, fixing your overflowing backpack onto your shoulders. “Sorry, it’s just when you look at me like you don’t even know me, it’s hard to resist formalities.”

A lump forms in your throat when you realize that it was true. Since she has been hiding so much from you, you didn’t know her. Not as well as you thought you did. 

“I’m just tired, no big deal.” Desperate to change the topic, you gesture to her outerwear, the light spring breeze forcing students to wear their light jackets. “Where are you off too?”

“Hikaru and Kaoru asked me to get more instant coffee from the store.” She grumbled, and you almost laughed at the disdain that passed over her face. “I still don’t understand why they can’t go get it themselves.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to help them out.” Turning over your shoulder, you see the two red-haired boys talking jovially with some other guests, chests shaking with gentle laughter. “They seem to be having a good time, thanks to you.”

Haruhi curls an eyebrow. “Thanks to me?”

Sighing, you turn back to her, trying to force yourself through the conversation so that it doesn’t look like you’re avoiding her even though you are, and it’s very complicated and annoying and you hate it. 

But a softness comes to your face as you speak. “I haven’t known the twins for as long as some of the others, but I know that they weren’t always this warm and friendly.” A flashback of the boys in a corner reading the same book comes to your mind before you push it away.

“They were quiet, withdrawn, and didn’t have many friends. I worked for a long time to build the trust that we have together, but it was instant between the three of you. It really pulled them out of their shell, little by little.”

You watch Haruhi’s eyes pass behind you as she watches the twins, a thoughtful look on her face. A shot of adoration for her spikes through you instinctually at the fact that she truly didn’t know how much she has impacted the host club in the time she has been here. It makes you want to hug her with all your strength. Tamaki must be rubbing off on you. 

But then the image of her looking up at Kyoya as he straddles her replaces that warmth with chilling dread. 

“I never really noticed.” She said plainly, shrugging her shoulders. 

A reluctant smile formed on your features. “They can sneak up on you.”

Silence falls between you as the rumble of host club chatter fills the space, and the awkwardness rears its ugly head. 

“Are you sure we’re okay?” Sincerity spills through her, and it’s all you can do not to cry again.

“We’re fine. And if it seems like we’re not, it’s not you, it’s me.” Partly true, in a way. You jab a thumb over your shoulder, needing to leave the tense air. “I’ll see you in there.”

Turning over your shoulder, your eyes immediately fall onto a lithe waist dressed in a lavender jacket. Arms fold protectively around his blackbook as Kyoya’s attention floods into his calculations, but it’s as if you can feel your eyes on you as he meets your gaze out of the corner of his glasses. 

A whole switchboard of emotions alights in your body at the indifference in his eyes as he quickly retreats into his writing again. Blowing out a breath, you spin and walk right past Haruhi. “You know what? I’ll grab the coffee. Be right back.”

This time when you walk across your campus, it’s a slow, deliberate stroll. A paper grocery bag is pressed against your chest as you get lost in your thoughts.

You and Kyoya hadn’t spoken since that day on the beach. Anytime you were around each other, it was terrible and tense. You used to fidget, pacing back and forth in your mind on whether you should say something, anything to him to tell him how you feel, but eventually you didn’t have the energy to be anxious.

The betrayal you felt from Haruhi immediately changed into guilt when you realized what it must’ve been like to keep her true feelings from you. With him, your anger and heartbreak slightly dulled into a constant pressure, always reminding you that at the first sign of trouble between the two of you, Kyoya turned to someone else. 

Kyoya had once called you a child for ignoring him after the whole incident with Renge, and yet he has justified himself enough to do the same thing. He’s been quiet, cold, turned off from anything that you had to say that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

But he never made himself scarce. Kyoya wasn’t avoiding you by any means. In fact, he seemed to be anywhere you turned, always giving you ample opportunity to get on your knees and grovel for his forgiveness, as if he was above all this.

As if he hadn’t done anything to rip your heart in two. 

Now fuming internally, you decided to wait it out. The two of you were exceptionally stubborn people who were skilled at compacting your emotions into a tight star, ready to burst at any moment. 

You decided to see which one of you would be the first to set off a supernova. 

The whole situation felt off, and you had no idea why. You never pegged Kyoya as the kind of guy to be so physical with someone he had relatively just met. The glancing touches and the near-kiss instances that you two shared felt special to you, as if you had gained his trust enough to reach a level with him that almost no one else has. 

You sighed, blinking back the image of him straddling her waist. Guess it was just another testament to how hard they had fallen for one another. 

In your pity party, you didn’t see a rogue banana peel being thrown into your path, and soon the ground is yanked out from under you as you fall backwards. 

Limber, strong arms wrap around your shoulders as you tip backwards, and after closing your eyes expecting an impact, you open them to see green eyes staring back at you.

Chest heaving in surprise, you freeze in the strangers arms. Their presence is familiar in a way. 

The stranger gets closer, and you realize that despite her more masculine facial structure, it’s a girl that has saved you from falling on your ass. 

She poses, dipping you more into her embrace as her smooth, timber voice rolls over your ears. “It’d be a shame for any harm to come to that cute face of yours young lady.”

The startled look in your eye plateaus as you bite your cheek, and you groan internally. This new student steadies you and offers gallantly to walk you back to your glass, and you realize why her energy was so recognizable. 

She’s exactly like Tamaki. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Benibara says, keeping her arm firm around your shoulders as she escorts you through the halls of your school. 

Wiggling in her hold, your jaw ticked as you tried to force a polite smile. “Really, I am. You don’t have to walk me to class, I’m sure your school is dying to get set up for the cultural exposition.”

Benibara, who confidently introduced herself as the president of the Zuka Club as Lobelia Girls’ Academy, tsks and looks at you with a sultry gleam. “Don’t be silly, (Y/n). Let me make sure you get there safely.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but follow her anyway. If Kyoya didn’t already want to kill you, he certainly would if you were rude to a student from another school. Not to mention you were in uniform, so they would know exactly where the rude girl belonged.

Her red skirt and white blouse flowed gently around the corner, and you unintentionally froze again as Music Room #3 came into view. Tall, gorgeous Benio turned over her shoulder, her gaze becoming sharp. 

“You know, (Y/n), when I asked if you were alright, I wasn’t necessarily talking about your fall.”

You suck in a sharp breath and flick your gaze right back to hers, her eyes looking at you with a deep understanding that almost knocks you off your feet. 

And then it annoys you. “I’m fine.” The words are practiced. This is what you’ve been telling yourself on repeat, after all. 

“Are you, now? Think you’re above a hard day here and there?” Benio chuckles deeply in her chest before reaching a hand out to graze your cheekbones. “Come now, little sakura, tell me.”

But you pull your face away from her touch, rolling your eyes again as your irritation motivates you to push past her. You almost make it to the club’s door, hearing voices from inside. 

“...a little harsh? Fine then, what do you think women want to hear?” Tamaki’s muffled voice floats out into the hallway. Another sigh rolls through you as the topic of their current conversation already feels too intense for your emotional state. 

But you don’t have time to open the door yourself as Benibara pulls you back against her from your waist. You feel a bony chest at your back as she seems to levitate towards the club door, her arm firmly wrapped around you as she bursts through it. 

Her feminine baritone fills the air of the Music Room. “Maybe something like…” You squeak as you feel her breath on your ear. “I would never leave my lover alone.”

“What the f–?” Your confusion is cut off but also flamed when the arm around your waist pulls, spinning your 360 degrees before you're caught in a dip by her toned arms. 

Benio’s lips curl into a smirk as her voice holds a fantastical tone that causes your mind to fog a little. “If we fight, it will be together. If we fail, we fail together.”

Again, you’re whisked to another position. This time your arm is stretched out and Benio is on one knee before you, your palm in hers as she brings it to touch her lips. “Even if I were to die, I promise you that I will never leave your side, my love.”

Your eyebrow twitches for a moment, a blush deepening on your cheeks. Looking to the side, you see your host club dressed as knights, armor shining dramatically in the natural light from the windows, and you sigh, eyeing their protective costumes. 

You could’ve been wearing armor against this girl too if you hadn’t left to go run errands. 

The idiotic trio’s mouths fall open as you are spun and held against another student, and Tamaki’s eyes seem to bloom to twice their size. You see two other girls in uniforms similar to Benibara’s run up to her with large, adoring smiles on their faces. 

“Benibara! We thought you’d never show!” One of them says, her short hair bouncing with her movements. 

Another taller girl with a deeper voice and longer hair strides to Benio’s otherside, giving you a long look. “What’re we going to do with you? So, tell us where you found this lovely lady.”

All three women are looking at you with an interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, and you feel a headache coming on. Not just because they were staring at you with a protective interest that you’ve only seen from your guests, but also because they were so goddamn beautiful. 

What kind of blood oath did you have to make to get their bone structure?

Benio’s chuckle rang close to your ears as she stood, still holding your hand. “I just met her outside of the school. She may look plain, but I knew the truth to her beauty. She has such gorgeous eyes.” The taller woman leans in, her lithe finger gracing your cheekbones as she stares deeply into your irises. 

Wincing, you turn your face away from her as you back up, only to run into the shorter, peppier one. 

Her high voice exclaims an excited gasp as her fingers dip under your sleeve, forcing the fabric of your lavender coat up to feel the soft skin underneath. 

Your jaw clenches as she forcefully takes your hand, your annoyance building. “Wow, her skin is incredibly soft!”  

“Could you not?” You ask softly yet firmly, but it’s overshadowed as the third student kneels in front of you, running her hand over your bare thigh and calf with amazement. 

Her hand runs over your healing cut, the band aid with hearts still attached to your skin. “Isn’t it though?” She marvels as her fingers prod over your leg. “I think we found a diamond in the rough!”

Seeing her hand pass over your cut ignites a sharp reaction from you, and you push all three women off, ripping your limbs away from their grasp. “Would you all stop? God, ever heard of personal space?”

Your shoulders heave in the middle of the club room as the women stare you down, their eyes wide in amazement. Looking past them, you see the boys watching you tentatively, knowing where your outburst is coming from.

But then Benio’s mouth curves down, not from disappointment, but in sympathy. Her long legs make their way over to you slowly, and her hand reaches towards you, an olive branch. 

“You’ve been hurt, yes?”

Her words spill over you like ice water, and a shot of embarrassment pierces through your chest. Was it that obvious?

“What?”

“Someone hasn’t treated you well. Someone hurt you.” That same understanding from before shades into her pupils, and it takes everything in you not to retreat from her form. She studies the way that you roll your shoulders with a conjured formidability that had to have been practiced and reconsiders her words. “Or maybe, people hurt you.”

Her bluntness is laced with caramel-like kindness that completely blows the wind out of you. You just stare at her for a long minute, not knowing what to say as she comes closer and closer, cautiously stepping towards the deer in the headlights. 

This time when her hand finds your face, you don’t pull away. She hums in pity, tapping her finger under your chin. “Ladies, this princess is suffering. Trapped in a place where she is underappreciated and lost.”

Their eyes swim with tears with the grace of a celebrity on screen, gorgeous eyes glistening with the moisture. They whine to you as they immediately embrace you again, two pairs of arms coming around your waist. 

“It’s such a shame!” Leaning their heads into your shoulder, their cries dampen the intensity of the moment, and your annoyance rises again to a dull buzz.

Your face falls flat as they fret over you, but you let them. If it’ll get them to leave faster, so be it. 

But Tamaki couldn’t stand it for another second. 

The host club has stood back long enough and watched you run yourself into the ground. Most of them have done all they could think of. Hikaru and Kaoru try to make you laugh, and sometimes it works. Sometimes you’re doubled over, clutching your sides while trying to catch your breath and the twins think that the storm has finally passed. But the next day, you’ll kindly shake your head and walk away, leaving them lost on what to do next. 

Mori and Honey have been feeding you, making sure that you’ve eaten lunch when you are scheduled too, and sending you with plenty of sweet treats and things they know you enjoy before you leave school for the day. Even after Mori had offered their dojo to you, you still had yet to show up, and that was worrying. The cousins thought it was because it was hard to bring yourself out of bed in the morning. 

Tamaki and Haruhi showered you with attention when you allowed it. You did sometimes, but mostly from Tamaki. His heart sputtered in confusion when you would turn your gaze away from his brunette honor student, but he figured it was just because she reminded you of that day on the cliff. The blonde was constantly at your side. During class, club hours, any time you didn’t completely shove him off gave him an opportunity to show him that he was there for you. 

As his purple eyes watched your blank expression while foreign hands touched you, his eyes shot to Kyoya, a dramatic glare in his gaze. Kyoya felt his best friend’s eyes on him and met his stare before rolling his eyes behind his glasses. 

The blonde saw Kyoya’s Adam's apple bob for a second, and he knew that the Ootori son was holding himself back. Tamaki groaned internally as Kyoya kept up the same facade he’s been portraying for the past week. The facade of disinterest. 

And frankly, Tamaki had had enough. 

Another flare of irritation fired into the prince’s chest as Kyoya simply shook his head slightly, stubbornly folding his arms across his waist. But when Tamaki studied him closely, he caught the sharp way Kyoya’s eyes narrowed at the way this tall woman was cradling your face. 

Tamaki huffed when he realized Kyoya still wasn’t going to do anything and immediately rushed forward, wanting to save you like he always does.  

“Don’t you go touching mon ami without asking my permission!” He yelled, reaching towards your form with a protective urge. 

But you watched as a fist connected to Tamaki’s pristine features, and your jaw dropped as Benio sent him flying, the other two women wrapping their arms tighter around you. Your prince’s blonde hair whips with the force as he is sent flying back towards the other hosts. 

He lands on his butt with a whine, and his hand comes up to his cheek. “She punched me! So violent!”

Honey-senpai scolds him as Tamaki sprawls on the ground, holding Usa-chan in his grasp. “Pull yourself together!”

Finally, the female trio lets go of you as they put themselves between you and the host club. A sigh rolled out of your lungs, and you watched two dramatic forces clash together like swords. Beni stands, her long form towering over Tamaki after knocking him to his feet. 

“Guess the rumors we heard are true.” She speaks, utter confidence lacing her tone. “You guys are just a bunch of weak little punks with no sense between you.”

A distinct sigh passes over the host club, one that topples another rock onto the stone pile in your stomach. 

“These uniforms.” Kyoya’s voice is cold, precise as he pushes his glasses onto his nose. “I assume you ladies are from Lobelia Girls’ Academy?”

Benibara’s hair swishes as she twirls, her attention completely lost to you. Another smug grin traces her lips as she strikes another pose, her hand poised just so. “That’s correct.”

Flashes of color and cloth pass by your vision as the three girls rip off their uniforms, revealing extravagant costumes underneath. Bouncy skirts fall to the pink tiles from the waist of the taller girl, the shorter one sporting something pink that went to mid-thigh. Beni rises in a tux, perfectly tailored to her slim figure. It seems like spotlights shine down on them as they pop up from their poses one by one, glitter in their irises. 

“Lobelia~” Benibara stands, a baritone note rising from her lips. 

“Lobelia~” An alto sound follows as the middle-height blonde rises, her toes pointed and chin lifted in the air. 

“Lobelia~” Soprano fills your ears as the last one sings, her arms stretched out as she picks one leg up. 

You stared at them incredulously, confusion and a little bit of admiration in your thoughts as they harmonized. How many times had they rehearsed this? When did they rehearse this?

…Did the host club need a theme song too?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Benibara pulled out a flower and you realized, Oh…it wasn’t over. 

“St. Lobelia Academy, high school 2nd year, Benio Amakuska.” She said as she passed in front of you, placing a lily in your hands before posing again. “Lady of the Crimson Rose, A.K.A Benibara.”

You stopped the rude scoff bubbling into your throat. God, they even had nicknames? The blonde steered toward you, her walk graceful as the blue dress flowed at her ankles. “2nd year student, Chizuru Maihara.” Chizuru’s right hand unfurls a small fan as her left places another lily in your hands. 

Lastly, the shortest one twirls, placing the last lilly into your hand before posing next to her friends. “1st year student, Hinako Tsuwabuki!”

“We are the members of the St. Lobelia Academy’s White Lilly League.” Beni said, posing her top hat in front of her face with a flirtatious grace. “Also known as…!” Sending her hat into the air with pizazz, the three girls twirl, the arms opening so wide that you have to make your way over next to Hikaru and Kaoru to give them more room. 

They spin with so much force that the petals on their lilies fall off the flower and are sent around the room, twisting in a flurry as they cover the girls. When the flowers dissipate, the Lobelia students have somehow changed outfits again, poofy dresses and intricate fanned headdresses adorning their heads. Their hands are outstretched, large smiles on their faces as they fall into a final pose. 

“The Zuka Club!”

Blinking slowly, you close your agape mouth. The silence in the club room lengthens, before you and your twins could no longer hold it in anymore. 

Deep chuckles expel from your chest as you wheeze, tears quickly filling your eyes as you drop to the floor. Hikaru and Kaoru are quick behind you, their backs arching as Hikaru slaps the floor with each bellow of his laughter, trying to catch his breath. 

“The Zuka Club?! Oh man, what a stupid name! My stomach hurts!”

Kaoru can barely agree with his brother, his voice cracking with an effort to breathe. “The Zuka Club?! That’s priceless!”

“They-They had those get ups under their uniforms!” You shout, clutching your side as you lean on Kaoru’s shoulder.

You three continue to bellow, and it feels like old times for a moment. The ease of being around the host club returns into your bones like muscle memory, and it felt like nothing had changed for you. 

But then the ground begins to tremble, machine’s whirring in a dark, unknown place. Your laughter halts, and as your gaze follows the tiered platform as it rises from the polished tiles of Music Room #3, you sigh, your mood rotting the peacefulness you felt. 

“You shouldn’t underestimate the Zuka Club!”

A certain brunette sits atop this tier, a tea cup perfectly placed in her hand, her fingers bringing it to her lips. She seemed almost serene atop a patio chair and table, an umbrella shading her from the artificial ceiling light. 

And then she spoke.

“I may not know much about instant coffee, but I am fascinated with girls’ schools.” Renge’s voice fills the club room, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. You wonder who else will come into this room and play with the frayed edges of your patience? 

She takes a sip out of her cup before spitting it out immediately, instant coffee splattering down onto the second tier of her platform. “St. Lobelia Academy! It is truly a woman’s world there!” Renge stands, and she gets that distant, dreamy look in her eye you’ve seen too many times before. Despite the perfectly good table in front of her, Renge discards her tea cup and saucer to the floor, the porcelain crashing with an annoying clang. 

“The Zuka Club is a group of young maidens who consider women to be superior in every way! The club prides itself on it’s 30 year history. It’s a society of maidens, by maidens, for maidens! Their activities include maiden tea parties, debate forums, and the musical reviews performed by their top members.”

Glancing over to Benibara, you see a satisfied smile on her face, pride gleaming in her green irises as she watches Renge recount her successes. You can see how people follow her so easily. She makes you want to be apart of that feeling of comfort, of accomplishment. 

“Well.” A clang of armor sounds against a desk, and you tense your shoulders. Slowly following the gaze of the crowd, you watch as Kyoya fixes his tie onto his button down. During Renge’s speech, the men had switched out of the knight costumes with a speed that is only achieved through years of practice. Or in this case, weeks. 

You let your eyes catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline before you direct them to the floor again. It was too hard. 

Kyoya cleared his throat, his voice resonating. “You sure have a vast world of knowledge, Renge.”

The brunette laughs, flicking a hand at the director. “Well, I’ve always admired Lobelia Academy. I just couldn’t go to school there, though.” She put her hands on her cheeks as if she was facing her worst nightmare. “Just what would I do without any boys?”

With that, she descended into the floor, waiting like a jack in the box under the tile; to spring up when least expected. 

Chizuru places her hands together, the tips of her delicate fingers tracing her lips. “A maiden’s beauty.” Her voice was soft but determined, as if passing on a valuable piece of information. “It means possessing a spirit pure enough to not give in to power or to lust.”

Hinako’s bobbed hair bounces up to the side of her friend as they face the host club together. “As a girl, you…for a girl, you…! We’ve had quite enough of all your oppressive male contempt for womenkind. 

“And our pride,” Beni’s baritone floats through the room, vibrating lightly against the host’s club’s windows. “It comes from having meaningful relationships based on equality.” Beni holds her hands out to the two other girls, and they cuddle into her side. It would’ve been sweet if there wasn’t a migraine blossoming it’s way to the front of your skull. 

“Because we are the same sex, and yes, that means relationships of love.” A mischievous sparkle floats in her eye that confuses you. Does this woman think she invented lesbianism?

Shrugging, you sigh, turning your back and stepping away from the chaos, mumbling a small ‘whatever floats your boat’ as you cross the ever spacious club room. 

You catch a glimpse of blonde hair and a hunched lavender form at one of the windowsills, and you make your appearance at Tamaki’s side. 

“Tamaki?” You ask, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder, only to find it shaking. “What’s going on with you?”

He looks to you, eyes wide, his purple pupils shrunken to violet dots. “Th-these girls! They’re talking nonsense!” 

You laugh slightly, putting both of your hands on his shoulders and massaging them. “I think they are just trying to scare you.”

“Well, it’s working!” His voice carries, but you turn to find that the host club is too preoccupied with the Zuka Club to notice. “Who does this girl think she is anyway, huh? Touching you like that? Saying these…these…words that I can’t bear to hear!”

“Tamaki, Tamaki…” You say softly, a fond amusement warming your smile. “Just chill for a second, okay? I think you might be having a bit of a culture shock.” 

“Culture shock?!” His wide-eyed attention locks on you, and he brings his voice down to a hiss. “What’s that?”

“How about we just lay down, yeah?” You suggest through a giggle. Putting his arm through yours, you lead him to the bed that Honey-senpai uses for his naps. Pulling back the baby blue comforter, you sit him on the edge of the bed. You flip the pillow over onto it’s cool side, and Tamaki immediately realizes how much his outburst took out of him. Sleepy, violet gems become hooded as he looks up at you from his restful cloud. 

“This is not how it’s supposed to go.”

Still humored, you tilt your head, playing along. “And how is it supposed to go, exactly?”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

Your heart drops, your chest heaving with a sigh. Flashes of Tamaki greeting you at the door of the music room, a little bit too eager and standing a little too close play in your mind. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pat him on the head, turning on your heel to leave him to rest. “We can take care of each other.”

Rejoining the rest of the club, you sink into the red couch as the Zuka Club continues to brag about their progressive ways, making you swallow another scoff.

The host club wasn’t listening to them either. Honey and Usa-chan watched Mori practice his sword skills, while Kaoru fiddles with the groceries you had brought back. Your eyes travel over Hikaru’s shoulder as he plays on his DS, Mario bouncing across the screen. 

A shadow casts on the other side of the couch, Kyoya’s spine curled around his book. Your curiosity catches a page that was filled with writing, but blank in the edges. No spirals. 

Hikaru interrupts the Zuka Club’s ramblings, his bored tone piercing their flirty air. “Whatever. Honestly, we are so over it.” He leans back, his shoulder brushing with yours as he props his feet up on the table, his gaze never leaving the game.

Kaoru examines another thing of instant coffee from the brown paper bag, his tone, like most of his mannerisms, mirroring his brother’s. “What don’t you gals just scram?”

The Zuka Club stands there stuttering at their rudeness, and your gaze flicks to Benibara’s, her eyes suspiciously watching the six of you. 

But Hinako huffs, a haughty tone lacing her words. “I find it hard to believe that you silly boys have nothing to say about our sublime female love.” 

But Hikaru just leaned towards you, speaking out of the side of his mouth without breaking his attention from his game. “What the hell is she even talking about?”

A giggle caught behind your lips, and Kaoru continued to show disinterest, facing towards you and showing you the label. “I’ve never seen this brand before, it’s clear (Y/n) bought the groceries this time around.”

This time, a scoff left your lips, and you picked up a throw pillow and chucked it at his head. 

The blonde Zuka member rolled her eyes, pitifully sighing as she caressed Beni’s cheek. “You should feel sorry for them, Benio. Now they are all flustered, and they don’t know what to do with themselves!”

Benibara just nodded gravely before another smirk lit up her lips. “True, though I must say that I’m glad we decided to perform here. It was fun to sneak a peek at the notorious host club.”

Honey perked up at that, swinging his legs off the edge of the couch as he looked at his cousin. “Hey, are we really notorious?”

Mori swings his sword before gracefully setting it onto his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Someone yawned. 

Benibara huffed, the lack of attention drawing irritation from her gut as she quickly scooped forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards her again. She holds your arm up around her shoulders, her other hand lightly cradling her chin. Your jaw sets. 

“And to think, they’re dragging this sweet, young girl down with them.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” You argued, your voice steely and taut.

But she ignores you, pushing you away. As you stumble out of her grasp, you straighten your uniform, watching as she basks at the hosts’ attention once again now that she had grabbed you. You were only a means to an end. 

“Well, the host club’s president may be a pretty little halfer, but he shouldn’t be using his looks to create a fictitious romance!”

Another flare of annoyance sparks at her words, and you take a step toward her. “Don’t call him that.”

But she ignores you, relishing in the rising of emotion. Much better than the clear, piercing boredom. “Oh, attempting to fool the heart of a poor maiden is demeaning! Your so-called club activities are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies! I promise you, we will bring you guys down, the Ouran Host club will be abolished!”

You stopped in your tracks, the tiles on the floor almost seeming like glue traps, your black dress shoes wanting to sink and never budge. 

Abolish the host club? For what, creating fun little scenes?

You had never thought that your club was playing with the hearts of the boys and girls at this school. You thought they relished in the attention, the fantasy. But your mind rushed to the sweet girl who had kissed your cheek, hope in her eyes.

And now you were one of the maidens, your foolish heart in the hands of a raven-haired puppeteer. 

Is this what you made your guests feel like? 

“I see.” As if someone had whispered your thoughts in his ear, Kyoya closed his book, the leather-bound pages snapping closed as he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose.  His voice fell into a practiced politeness, but his eyes flared. “I understand your concern. But do you think that maybe we could finish this later?”

Beni’s chest puffed, her voice challenging the words of the megane, twisting them. “Are you saying that you’re not going to face us?”

The edge of Kyoya’s lips twitched, and he met her gaze. “Not at all.”

His pale hand gestures to where Tamaki still slept, his face exhausted and weary as he mumbles in his dreams. 

“It’s just that our president is still bed-ridden from his initial culture-shock.”

You wanted to ask him how he knew that, but you knew the answer. Kyoya was always observing. 

Honey giggles, having no problem with his nap spot being used. “You see, Tama-chan is having his nappy right now.”

Benibara clenches her fist at her sides. “Then wake him up!” She yells, and you fume. No matter how much she has shaken your day today, no one needed to interfere with Tamaki. 

Your feet unstuck themselves, but before you could give her a piece of your mind, Haruhi appeared in front of you, a full tray in her hands. The honor student shot a glance back at you, a look telling you she could handle this, and placed a sweet smile on her lips. 

“‘Scuse me, I just made some coffee.” She offers, her face calming and nurturing. “Would you ladies like to have some?”

The tall, handsome girl looked like she was about to faint with gratitude, and her sour mood lightened immediately. “Why yes, aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

The three of them smile at Haruhi as they take their respective tea cups, complimenting her whole-heartedly. 

“You know, coffee made by a maiden always has a more fragrant aroma.”

Haruhi’s hands tighten on the tray, her surprise mirroring the rest of the host club’s when Benibara confirms Haruhi’s sex. 

“What? Wait a minute…” You begin to stutter, the other hosts frozen instantly without knowing what to say. 

The flirty Lobelia student just scoffs, soaking in the scent of the coffee as she dismisses you immediately. “Oh please, don’t try to hide it. She may be dressed as one of these boys, but I knew the truth. What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t appreciate and recognize the beauty of my own sex? And the way they make their coffee.” She serenades, winking at Haruhi over the edge of her tea cup.

“But, uh…” Haruhi starts, her brain reconnecting its wires. “This stuff’s just instant.”

Hinako just coos, walking towards Haruhi and twirling her hair. “How about we all have a tea party?” She asks, smiling your way.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” The entire room jolts when Tamaki bursts out of his bed, his teeth baring as his eyes zero in on Hinako’s finger tangled in Haruhi’s locks. “Don’t you see that our host club isn’t what you think it is? We give them hope! Love! Fantasy from their daily routine!” He stomped over, almost running as he crossed the pink floor. 

“If we really were stooping as low as you believe, then why do people keep coming back?!” He cries, his arm jutting out to rip Hinako away from his precious honor student, but his momentum didn’t carry him that far. Instead, somehow, with impressive accuracy, his bare finger lands smack dab in the center of Hinako’s tea cup, dipping into the boiling coffee. 

“Hot! Hot, hot, hot!” Tamaki staggers backwards, wagging his finger before he trips over himself and falls, ungracefully, to the floor. 

Haruhi’s eyes widen, and she quickly hands the tray over to you before crossing the room. Before you can blink, Haruhi is kneeling in front of Tamaki, rummaging through her school jacket before she is taking a thing of bandages from her coat. 

“You have to be more careful, Senpai.” She sighs, her eyebrow creasing slightly as she holds out her hand for his. 

Tamaki blinks slightly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Slowly, he places his hands in hers. Her fingers work gently, spiraling the bandage around his finger, her brown eyes concentrated on healing the burn. 

So she may not notice, but you do when Tamaki’s gaze trails over her soft features for a millisecond longer than you might expect him too. 

You swallow, focusing on the shining porcelain on your tray, your reflection warped against the tea kettle. There was a time when you looked at someone like that, and had thought they had seen you similarly. 

“Thanks, Haruhi.” Tamaki says, his voice soft. You look up to see him staring at his finger, the pair kneeling next to each other. “Do you always carry bandages around with you?”

Haruhi just shakes her head, simpering at him with a smile that makes his eyes drop to her lips before flicking back to her gaze. “Nah, the supermarket gives them out for free with the purchase of instant coffee. I got them when I went yesterday.” She tilts her head just so, and you watch the blush darken on Tamaki’s cheeks. “You always get free stuff at the supermarket.”

“Free stuff?” His voice is drifting, clearly lost in some other thought that didn’t include any bandages. 

A deeper voice ruins their moment, and your hands grasp tightly on the tray. “Well, this conversation isn’t going anywhere.”

With gusto, Beni raises Haruhi to her feet, making Tamaki gasp and almost reach out for her. 

Almost. 

Two arms encircle your waist as another pair relieves the tray from your grasp, and you are tugged into a group hug with the Lobelia girls and Haruhi. Their arms drape over your shoulders as you're pressed into the blonde’s chest, Hinako leaning against your arm. 

“Now that we know what is going on,” Beni announces, her hand wrapped neatly over Haruhi’s waist as she presses the honor student to her chest, “We can’t allow these maidens to stay here! We will prepare their paperwork and have them transferred to Lobelia at once! And, we’ll welcome them to the Zuka Club!”

You gasp against Chizuru’s chest, before breaking away from the group. Stumbling, you shake your head. 

Keeping your composure was trying, your voice shaking as you reminded yourself to keep up appearances. Your wits were already worn, your headache growing exponentially at these girls’ antics. But you swallowed, shaking your head and willing the social training you had experienced your entire life. 

“Listen, I understand that you are trying to help here, I do. But the way you are going about it is abrasive, assuming, and quite frankly, ignorant.” The three girls tensed at your tone, Beni folding her arms. Your anger from the past few days simmers into an urge to put yourself on a pedestal, to stand as if you’re better than them in every way.

Your posture straightens, but right before you are about to give them a piece of your mind, Haruhi interrupts, standing in front of you. 

“Just, everyone wait a second, okay?” Haruhi reconciles, her hands waving in a peaceful gesture. “I think there may be some misunderstandings here. I mean, first of all, you called Senpai a halfer!” She says, giggling.

You step forward, peeking out from behind her shoulder. “Cause he is. Even though the term is outdated,” You spit, sharply looking at Benibara, “Tamaki is half-french and half-japanese.”

Haruhi stutters, trying to correct herself. “Well, uh, I don’t think it’s fair to pick on the host club just because they might not have the same history as you!” She claims innocently, and you deadpan.

“Actually,” You wince. “We barely have any history, we were just founded two years ago when Tamaki started the club when he started high school.” 

The honor student’s shoulder’s slump, and her head lolls to the side. “Be that as it may, saying their club activities are just held to satisfy their appetites is wrong. I mean, we don’t even charge them.”

You plant your face in your hands. “Oh no, Haruhi…”

“While I wouldn’t call it a charge, we do have a point system.” You all turn to see Kyoya leaning casually against one of the tables of the Music Room, his laptop sat on top as he pulls up a website. 

Haruhi’s eyebrow creases, and you lead her to the laptop. “We offer a kind of priority service,” you explain, moving to the other side of the laptop and presenting it. “They are based on the winning bids of auctions held on our website.”

Kyoya hums. “Check this out, Haruhi. Your mechanical pencil just sold for a winning bid of 30,000 yen.” He smiles back at her, the fake one that stretches his thin lips. “Good for you.”

You nod curtly, trying to read Haruhi’s shocked expression as you move to close out of the window on the laptop, but Kyoya had the same plan. Your fingers brush his on the same button, and both of your gazes sharply meet, snapping like a rubber band. 

And suddenly, you’re back.

Back to when you were Kyoya’s right-hand man, back to the study sessions in your room, the moments on moonlit piano benches. The dances, the cherry blossom trees, late-night phone calls, and the sunset-colored glances and grazes. It takes everything in you to swallow the ball of sunshine that engulfs your sternum, and remind yourself of the darkness you had seen. And the shapes in that darkness. 

He’s the one that breaks eye contact first, and that’s when that darkness turns to ice, settling deep into your stomach. 

Before you could take your own hand off the keyboard, Haruhi rushed forward, rattling off complaints. 

“I thought I had lost that pencil!” She whines as she scrolls through the items up for sale. She looks up at you. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I didn’t know you were collecting money.”

“To be fair”, You shrug, putting on your best ‘I-swear-I’m-more-innocent-than-you-think-I-am’ face, “I don’t choose what goes on the site. That is the director’s job.”

Kyoya scoffs, fixing his glasses with a sharper shove than normal when Haruhi’s accusing gaze lands on him. “What, you expect us all to work as volunteers?”

More gently, you try to explain. “While it’s not much, our club makes a small profit off of these auctions.”

“Oh, really? You’re okay with this?” Haruhi asks, huffing as she continues scrolling. 

“Okay with it is a stretch, but it isn’t the worst thing-”

“Then look at this.” Her finger freezes on the mouse pad and flips it around, shoving the computer in your direction before folding her arms across her chest. 

Leaning in, you gasp, the pixelated image forming the last thing you thought you would see on that site. 

Four pictures were being sold as a bundle, two you had unfortunately seen before, and two others that shoved your heart into your throat. 

Two of them were the pictures that had been offered as the prize for the Scare Challenge on the beach, your drool and your middle-school Ice Bucket fail had been put up for the world to see. 

But the other two were more intimate. A sparkling blue dress dressed your figure as the twins hurried around you, sparkles in their eyes. And another where you had lifted the camera with a cheesy smile, catching Kyoya off guard after being enlisted as the club’s private photographer. 

Only one person had access to these photos anymore, since you had wiped them from all other accounts. 

“Kyoya…” Your voice was chilled and rough, this was the first time you had said his name in days. “What…why are these on here?”

There was silence on his end, causing you to flick your eyelids up to see him completely ignoring you and writing something in his notebook. 

“Kyoya.” You try again, more firmly. Spinning the computer his way, you enhance the image. “What the hell are these doing here?”

Still no response. He instead flips a page and begins walking around the table the computer is perched on and out of your path. 

But you stop him.

Your frustration flames and you’re in front of him in minutes, ripping his book from his fingers. That gets his attention. 

His eyes meet yours for the first time in what feels like centuries, and apparently that time had erased any warmth those eyes once held for you. Now, his gaze is piercing, the gray that used to represent a calm fog sculpted into a thunderstorm. 

“Give it back, (Y/n).” Even the way he said your name was strained, every syllable stretched and unnatural. 

“Not until I get an answer.” With his journal tucked neatly to your side, you harshly point to the computer screen. “Why are those pictures on there? You know those are not meant to be public. They were just for you.”

“They’re optimal items to sell. Anything that can humanize our hosts is extremely valuable to our guests, which I shouldn’t have to explain to you.” The muscles in jaw pulses, and you heave a breath at the superiority in his voice. 

“You were the only person with those copies, and I asked you to never share those with anyone. You knew how embarrassing, how personal my life can be, and you said you would keep them to yourself. You promised-”

“I never promised anything.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “You were so proud to have those pictures, and you just gave them away like that? What were you thinking?”

“I no longer have a reason to keep those pictures in my possession. They were taking up space in my books, and I needed to make room.”

You scoffed, emotion blocking your larynx. “For what?”

“For more important matters.”

The room was so quiet, you were sure everyone heard your heart break. 

Your grip on the leather material of his black booklet tightened, and your chest stuttered. But you held your ground. Once again, you knew that if you let your emotions take over, they would never stop, and you just had to get yourself together. Yanking the booklet from under your arm, you slammed it so hard into his chest as you walked past him, you heard him grunt as he caught his balance. 

“Hope it was worth it.” You breathed, willing your voice not to crack. 

You stormed towards the entrance, only to be blocked by glowing blonde hair. 

“Oh, you poor thing. I can’t believe they’ve been deceiving you.” Chizuru whines, sympathy potent in her voice as she wraps her form around you. 

Before you can snap at her, Beniobara comes around and pulls her off of you, her strong hands on the younger one’s shoulders. “Give her a moment, Chizuru, both of these young maidens have had quite a day.”

Benio leads the three of her girls towards the doors, which blow open dramatically on their own somehow. “We will give you both some time to think about it, and will be back tomorrow for your answer. Adieu, Host Club.” Waving with the grace of a queen, the Zuka Club disappears around the corner, leaving the aftermath of their intrusion unattended. 

The safety of the hallway is too tempting this time, and your feet make their way towards your exit before you can even think twice. 

“Wait, (N/n)-chan-” Honey’s voice calls for you, but you just call over your shoulder. 

“I have to go. I have some thinking to do.” You say, voice low but reinforced as it echoes across the pink walls of the host club. 

The host's watch with concerned gazes as your figure disappears, Haruhi’s lips settling into a line. 

“Yeah, I better head out too.” She says, but Tamaki’s hand shoots out to grab her shoulder. 

“Wait, Haruhi, we’re sorry! It’s not like we were hiding it from you, you can have my pencil!” He whines, and he holds out his own mechanical pencil, a small teddy bear taking the place of the eraser. 

“I don’t want your pencil, Senpai. You boys can’t just go doing whatever you want, whenever you feel like it.” She says, turning around and taking a turn out of the Music Room. 

Suddenly, Tamaki’s sad whimper turned into a growl as he whipped around, his gaze targeting a certain megane. 

“What have you done, you stupid man! You just added fuel to the fire!”

“Facts are the facts, Tamaki.” Kyoya breathes, boredom flowing into his tone as he perches his glasses on his nose. “If they can’t handle a few inconveniences, then they’ll have to deal with it themselves. They’re smart.”

“But they’re not made of steel.” Hikaru said, folding his arms as he went to Tamaki’s side. “How could you do that to (Y/n)?”

“Please, she’s fine. She just needs to blow off some steam-”

“She is not fine.” Kaoru explains, less aggressive than his brother but still fiery. “She hasn’t been for days.”

“And Haruhi is already indifferent, but we know she tends to favor men’s clothing, and she said that getting fussed over by a bunch of girls might not be that bad.” Honey said, worry etching into his features. 

“And we know (Y/n) loves us, but how long is she supposed to deal with Kyoya icing her out?” Tamaki expresses, jabbing a finger into his best friend’s chest. 

“I am not icing her out. We are simply not speaking until she apologizes for what happened on the beach. She knows this.”

“She already apologized, you dimwit! She came crying to me with a cut on her leg about how bad she was feeling!” 

“Yeah!” The twins agreed. “At dinner, she said she felt bad…”

“I haven’t heard any of this from her.” Kyoya stated, feeling a pit grow in his chest. You had apologized to everyone but him? That thought shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. 

“No, no, I pushed her out of the room and she was definitely on her way to you.” Tamaki insisted, his anger diffusing into hot confusion. “She didn’t talk to you?”

“No, she didn’t.” His words were a lot shorter than he had meant them to be, but Kyoya was done hearing about how little you thought of your relationship with him. How you had put him so low on your list of priorities, pushed him aside like everyone else in his life. 

“You should talk to her.” Mori’s voice added a base to the confused mumbles that rumbled through the club room. 

“I will not.” Kyoya almost scoffed. “She is the one who needs to apologize, as she is the one in the wrong.”

“You both are!” Hikaru emphasized, getting into Kyoya’s face. “You’re both so fucking stubborn, neither of you see how much you’re affecting the other.”

“Her behavior has not affected me in the slightest-”

“Oh, give us a break!” Hikaru was about to give Kyoya a piece of his mind before Kaoru took over, pulling his brother back to his side and shushing him. 

“Give it up, Hikaru, he won’t listen to us.”

Tamaki leveled his gaze with the Ootori son. “Do you want Haruhi to leave the club, Kyoya?”

“She can’t. Her debt is too substantial to pay back within such a small time frame-”

“Lobelia academy could easily pay her debt off, Kyoya-senpai.” Kaoru said, both brothers seething at him. 

“Well, it would be…unfortunate, if she was to go, but if that was what she wanted-”

“What about (Y/n), then?” Tamaki interrupted him. “Do you want her to leave this club? This school?”

Kyoya paused, his gaze snapping to Tamaki. “She isn’t going to leave over something as little as this. She loves the Host Club.”

“She loves this club because of us. Because of you.” Hikaru says, his voice grumbly. 

“What happens if that goes away?” Kaoru adds. “Does (Y/n) think so little of herself that she would just take the rude comments and invasions of privacy?” 

“That is not what I-”

“Stop being mean, Kyo-chan.” Honey warns, his face crumpled into a scary pout. “It’s hurting her feelings.” 

“She’s thinking of leaving the club, Kyoya. I can tell.” Tamaki’s mouth twists, as if he is so uncomfortable with that fact, that it makes him squirm inside his own skin. 

The megane stops talking, and the boys can tell that he is registering their words. Slowly, he takes off his glasses and wipes them with the tail of his shirt, taking a deep breath. 

“I won’t be apologizing. This kind of thing needs to be worked out between the two of us, without any interference from any of you. It will be resolved within its own time.” The hosts deflate as Kyoya works on a stubborn smudge within his lens, and Hikaru is about to step forward and give him another piece of his mind before Kyoya speaks up again. 

“However, you’re right. (Y/n)’s services have brought in a great number of guests, and therefore income, to this club, and it would be a loss to let her leave without some effort.”

Kyoya picks up his glasses and gently places them back on the ridge of his nose, the light catching onto the frames. “What can I do to help?”

Tamaki just sighs, rolling his violet eyes. “It’s not enough, but I’ll take it.” Clapping his palms, he brings his friends into a huddle, his leadership skills beginning to shine. 

“Listen up gentlemen, we will keep our ladies no matter what! It will be alright. If you listen to me, I have come up with a plan!”

Bunkyo’s city streets bustled with noise. Footsteps falling on the sidewalk, voices calling over car horns and barking dogs. But nothing was louder than your thoughts. You had long dried your tears, and after sitting in the rose maze for a little while, you were able to collect your thoughts. 

You picked yourself from that gazebo, feeling lonely in the absence of someone beside you, and decided to treat yourself to a pastry from a favorite cafe. You need support from yourself now more than ever. 

Everything had become clear at that moment. You didn’t mean anything to Kyoya anymore. You were simply one of his acquaintances that he kept arm’s length, offering them fake smiles and short words. And how were you supposed to work in the club like that? Without the warm glances and small touches? Without the words of encouragement, the quiet nights of working in each other’s space?

How could you sit back and watch as Haruhi took your place?

You cursed your lip as it trembled, and you looked up at the sky to keep your tears at bay. You didn’t want to cry anymore, you just wanted it to be over. 

But just as you were about to walk into the cafe, you collided with a torso longer than your entire body, and you gasped as hot, hot coffee drenched your school uniform. Flinging back, you peeled the wet fabric off your torso, cringing at how the brown color stained the pristine, white cotton. Dropping your shoulders, you were about to confront this long torso, or at least whine at them while you suppress your second breakdown of the day, before you see the head attached to it. 

“Oh my god, oh no, (L/n)? God, I am so sorry!” Brown eyes scan over your form in worry, and before you can protest, Arai is shoving his long brown jacket off his shoulders and shoving it into your arms. “Clean it with this! They’re the same color anyway. Dab the stain, don’t rub it in, it will just make it worse.”

He tries to do it himself as he scrambles out more apologies, but then he realizes that he is dabbing too close to your chest and immediately throws the jacket at you. “Oh god, sorry! I didn’t mean-I mean, I was just trying to help, because I didn’t see you! So I thought-”

“Dear god, Arai, calm down.” You clutch the jacket with one hand, the other extending to rest on his shoulder. And then you’re seeing his wild expression, worry and horror clear as day on his freckled face, and you’re laughing. 

The noise lifts into the air, above the commotion of the city, and it feels good. You try to remember the last time you laughed like this, but it’s been too long, so you just decide to relish in the moment. And it feels even better when you hear a lower, quirky laugh join yours, and you see Arai’s shoulder’s bouncing in your peripheral vision.

“You’re okay.” You say, giggles still shuffling out of you as you grab the coat to wrap around your torso. “Although I don’t think the shirt can say the same.”

“I’m sorry, those shirts are so expensive.” Arai says, another wince rolling through his body. “You can keep the jacket until you get home. I know how bad your father can get with stains.”

“Oh my god, remember that time you came over when we were little? You tracked mud all over our floor and-”

“-and your dad nearly cussed out an eleven year-old? Yes, I remember. Unfortunately.” He smiles, and it’s big and wide and a little crooked, and his image solidifies a little more into the friend you had made way back when. 

You both chuckle again before a silence falls over the two of you. Arai raises his eyes to yours, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’ve been crying all afternoon when his brown irises flood with concern. 

You try to stop him from asking. “Oh no, I’m fi-”

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve been…” His arm reaches out for you, but you meet his hand half way and put it back by his side. 

“I’m okay. I’ve had some time to think, so I’m alright now.” You reassure him, and he nods, thankfully dropping it. 

“Okay, I’m glad.” There’s that smile again. “Were you heading inside?” The farmer asks, pointing a thumb at the door to the cafe. 

“Yeah, actually. This place is my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” His whole face almost lights up, and he opens the door, waving you inside. “Wanna grab that cup of coffee you promised me earlier?” He raises his empty coffee cup. “Mine is empty for some reason.”

Another laugh bubbles out of you, and even if you are drenched, Arai’s energy is refreshing, and you don’t want to leave it just yet. “Sure. My treat.”

He shakes his head. “No can do. Not only will I pay for your dry-cleaning, but also your coffee- I mean, tea. Or something else. Whatever you want, because you just like the atmosphere.” He playfully mocks, and you roll your eyes, surprised he remembered that part of your conversation from a week ago. 

Brushing past him, you walk into the cafe, Arai close on your heels. The door closes, muffling the chaotic rumblings of the outside world as whiffs of coffee grounds meet you. Warm, sparkling fairy lights swathed the ceilings, reflecting the natural sunlight streaming through the windows. 

Soon, you both have ordered, your (f/h/d) in front of you as Arai’s lavender latte steams in front of him. 

“Thank you for paying, you really didn’t have too.” You say, relishing the hot liquid that warms your throat. 

“I really did, though. Your poor shirt.” Arai whines, his fingers running through his brown hair anxiously. 

You laugh again, shaking your head to calm his nerves. 

“It’s fine, god knows we have the money to replace it.” 

“Especially if this deal goes through.” Arai says. “How have you been adjusting to the whole idea?”

You shrug, tracing the rim of your mug with your finger. “Fine. My parents have roped me into business deals before, but this is the first time they want me to be so…involved. No offense, but I think they might be using our friendship to get a better deal.”

The delivery boy just laughs. “I absolutely agree. But I’m not surprised. It seems to be my father’s tactic to get into business with my rich friend’s parents.”

“Really?” You scoff. “He’s done this before?”

“Mhmm. Twice actually. Your mom hasn’t pulled this act before?”

“Never forcefully. But I was always encouraged.” 

“You know, that’s what I always liked about our friendship, way back when.” Arai noted, a sincere look in his eye. “Nothing forced us together, we just were.”

“Yeah.” Your breath catches in your throat when you think of the contrasting relationship you had with a certain Ootori. How it had all started with the proposal that merged Ootori Hospitals and (L/n) Tech. Would he even have talked to you if the proposal hadn’t been accepted? Would he have noticed you at all?

Something must’ve shown on your face, because you felt a slight pressure on your palm as Arai grasped your hand from across the table, that sweet look of worry creasing his brow. 

“I, uh…” He pauses, the farmer sifting through his mind to find the right words. “I know you said that you were okay, but you don’t seem okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, no.” You squeeze his hand before pulling it away, choosing to warm your fingers with your drink. “I’m okay, really.”

“Sure.” He says, but you can tell that he isn’t going to give up because his brown eyes are still piercing through yours. “But, hypothetically, if there was something bothering you, you could talk to me. If you want to.”

You simper at him, sighing deeply. “Yeah, I appreciate that. I will if something comes up.”

But he wasn’t satisfied. “Because I know, hypothetically, if there was something bothering me-, I would definitely feel better talkin–”

“Arai.” You say, cutting him off a little harshly. Taking a breath, you lean forward a little, placing your cheek in your hand. “I’m good, I swear.”

“Right. Sorry, I just–” His hands wave around before they settle back onto his coffee cup. “I want to make sure you’re actually good.”

And that warms your heart to levels that your (f/h/d) couldn’t reach, and you tilt your head, studying the sincerity of his gaze. Maybe you could open up a little bit, just so he wouldn’t have that wounded puppy dog look on his face. 

“Well, I guess there is one thing.” You say, picking at your fingernails. “I have a big presentation tomorrow that I’ve been working towards for a while.”

“Yeah? For what class?”

“Foundations of Marketing.” A nervous sigh escapes you as you realize just how close your deadline is. “We have to present an original product to a panel of mock-investors, and it’s an idea that I’ve had from the start of my highschool career.”

“If all goes well,” You continue, swallowing the butterflies in your throat. “These fake investors could take it to real investors. Which could mean the start of my own product launch.”

“Which would be…good, right?” Arai asks. “Why does it not sound good?”

“I’ve…been working on it with a partner.” You say, looking out the window to catch a couple holding hands strolling by. “We were on good terms at first, and we even worked well together. But, now, it’s not working out so well.”

“We’ve been in a fight recently, and, I don’t know. It’s making me question things.” 

“What kind of things?” 

You shrug, playing with the end of a sugar packet. You want to tell him, but you’re just not ready to be that open with someone you’ve just met. Instead, you skirt around it a little. 

“Was it hard? Moving schools?” 

Arai quirks an eyebrow up, but takes your change of subject in stride. He just leans back in his chair and blows out a breath. 

“Yeah, I’d say it was rough at first. But it worked out in the end. Things always do.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, he met your gaze again. “Why? You want to change schools?” 

“I don’t know what I want.” You groan, exasperated at the war going on in your head. “I’m just conflicted, I guess. So conflicted that…” A sigh breezes past your lips. “I talked to my mother earlier today, about finding a transfer application to Lobelia.” 

An image runs across your mind of you in a Lobelia uniform, performing for the Zuka Club. 

“Maybe I just need a fresh start.” 

“(L/n).” You don’t look at him, but you show him your listening. “You’re happy at Ouran, aren’t you?” 

“Well, yeah, but things feel…different now. Ouran is the best high school in the area, but this project has just shown me that people who I thought cared about me might not anymore.” 

You hear Arai tap his fingers on the table before he draws a breath. “You’re not going to let that stop you, though. Right?”

Your gaze whips back to him as he looks at you with so much apparent trust in your abilities, that it almost makes you double over. 

“What do you mean?”

“(L/n), you have to be one of the most capable people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I mean, even when we were kids, you still had more raw, immeasurable talent in your eyelashes than most people do in their whole body.”

You shake your head. “That’s sweet, but–”

“But nothing. Anyone who is worth their salt will see that you are the true passion behind your project, no matter what this dimwit of a partner does.”

“Thank you, Arai. But you’ve only known me for a short amount of time, so-“

“Then it makes it even more obvious when I can already see that you deserve to feel happy in the high school you fought to be in.” 

Shaking your head, you do your best to fight your smile, but you can’t. Instead, you’re almost glowing at him, and you bite the inside of your lip, trying to shove your blush down from your cheeks.  Looking out the window, you try to think of something to say that could possibly match that, but Arai interrupts your thoughts again. 

“You’re still doing that?” 

Blinking, you turn back to look at him. “Doing what?”

“You used to bite your lip when you were anxious in school.” He says, taking a sip of his latte. “Looks like you didn’t grow out of it.” 

Your lip falls from your teeth on instinct, a small blush running to your cheeks at being caught. “I’m surprised you noticed that, I barely even notice it myself half the time.” You chuckle sheepishly, looking into your mug. “I should probably break it, but-”

“No, don’t.” He says, shaking his head with that crooked smile of his. “It’s cute.” 

Your lashes flick up to meet his, surprise evident on your features, and Arai blubbers when he realizes what he said. 

“No, not like cute cute, you know? I mean, you-you are-wait, I meant, it’s not like you’re not–god! What I meant was that it’s sweet, and nothing’s wrong with it, and I should shut up before I say shit I regret.”

Arai groaned, letting his forehead fall onto the table. But your giggles made him pick his head back up. 

“You think it’s funny?”

“I do.” You say, silencing your laughter with a sip of your drink. “I really do.”

“I’m glad my embarrassment is funny to you.” 

“I promise, I have my fair share of embarrassing stories to share, if you stick around long enough.”

He gave you a long look then, his smirk growing wider. “I think I will.”

go on ahead to part 2 :)

this isn't proof read btw, haha

[thewailingbells]

hiiii! for jason voorhees can i request him and his s/o having a cuddly afternoon while its raining outside and they're laying by a nice cozy fireplace🥺 for reboot jason if thats ok!

Midnight Rain

AN: I tried to make it so the story can be read as either reboot Jason or og Jason since I’m not too familiar with the reboot. Also instead of the afternoon it’s the middle of the night, I hope that’s alright!

A loud strike of thunder awoke you from your sleep. Your body jolted upright in your bed, surprised by the sudden noise. You looked around the room as lightning flashed through the windows and thunder roared outside. The bedroom was dark apart from the dim moonlight that barely shined through the windows. You were about to lie down and go back to sleep when you realized something, Jason wasn’t in bed with you.

You slipped out of bed, your feet softly landing on the wooden floor. You quietly left your bedroom and walked to the main part of the cabin.

Jason stood facing the window like a statue, gazing out into the dark abyss of the forest. His body was perfectly still and his gaze was fixed on the nothingness that lay in the vast wilderness of Camp Crystal Lake.

You approached Jason and peered your head out the window. Nothing was there. You sighed and gently touched Jason’s arm.

“Jason, no one is out there. Come back to bed.” You softly pulled on his shirt sleeve hoping he would do as you asked him. However, he didn’t move an inch.

“Jason, look at me.” He once again didn’t move. “Jason, please,” you pleaded. Your sad voice broke him from his thoughts. He slowly turned his head to face you.

You reached up and gently cupped the sides of his face, your thumbs caressing the plastic of his mask. “Love, no one is out there. No one. It’s almost December. It’s freezing out. No stupid teenagers are going to want to come camping in this weather. If I’m wrong in someone is out there, we’ll handle it. We always do. So, please, come to bed.”

He anxiously looked out the window one more time before shaking his head. Jason quickly grabbed his machete and headed outside. Before you could protest he was already gone.

You let out an angry huff and began pacing around the room. You knew he could handle himself, that was obvious. But you loved him, and you always worried for his safety.

Soon, Jason returned with dry logs of wood, tossing them into the fireplace quickly and with ease. He lit a match and quickly threw it into the pile of wood. The fire roared to life, warming the cabin.

Jason walked over to you and grabbed your hand. He led you to the rickety old coach in front of the fireplace. Jason gestured for you to lie down. You did as told and he placed a heavy blanket on you.

He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, gently helping you to the rickety old couch in front of the fireplace. He sat down on the couch and hit his thigh. You lay down facing away from him and placed your head on his lap. You watched as Jason gently covered you up with a heavy blanket that was nearby.

You smiled to yourself, his presence making you feel safe and secure. The feeling of fatigue started taking over, and the sudden sense of calmness and tranquility inside your body made you feel more and more drowsy. You let out a loud yawn, your body slowly sinking into a deep slumber. Before falling asleep, you felt Jason’s lips press against the top of your head.

[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: The day after the devastating news, you try to navigate through it. The day has come when the other group takes action against the horde. This is an angst heavy chapter.

☝🏻 I WILL NO LONGER BE ADDING NEW TAGS due to some of them not working as they should, despite me tagging, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

There’s so much death.

You think you’d be used to it by now. You’ve lost so much already. And will probably lose so much more. It's inevitable. It’s a thought that keeps you there, stuck inside a shell of fear and acceptance in equal measure.

Why bother anymore? It's pointless. Futile. A waste of energy that you no longer have. 

It’s chemical, the way it burns and doesn’t relent. Sulfuric acid melts away everything inside until there is no pain, only numbness. And you ride it with.

Because feeling nothing is better than feeling this loss. 

In the cold solitude of permeating now in this grief-stricken world, the numbness morphs into a bone-deep chill that seems to penetrate every fibre of your being. It isn't merely the absence of sensation but an all-encompassing void, an abyss that threatens to swallow the remnants of any piece of you, no matter how minute, that may be untouched by it.

The once familiar contours of your existence in the shack with Joel, are now distorted, and the world has become a desolate landscape once more where joy is an ancient memory.

You’ve walked this path before, only this time there is no knife in your hand.

The numbness settles like a suffocating shroud, rendering your heart an inert organ, useless and left to still and calcify inside your chest, incapable of feeling anything but the persistent ache of loss.

You've lost something, something is missing, you’re certain of it, somewhere in the fog.

Moments flood in where you're certain you know he is gone, and others try to convince you he’s still here. Still waiting for you at the commune safe and well. 

They taunt you, flout his face at you in their brazen attempts to confuse you. A labyrinth of torment, a maze where the spectre of Kelper looms around every corner. Your mind, a battleground of conflicting emotions, replays scenes of shared laughter and whispered confidences with a sadistic precision.

Each memory is a double-edged sword, cutting through the numbness to expose the raw nerves of the chasm-like depths of your sorrow beneath.

The sobs, when they come, are silent convulsions of anguish, choked by the grip of a deep, intense darkness, one that you can’t see through. In the vast expanse of your isolation, the numbness is both ally and adversary, a paradoxical dance with pain that leaves you suspended in the timeless limbo of heartbreak.

You want it to stop, will it to.

You cling to the numbness as a drowning person clings to a lifeline, desperate to shield yourself from the full force of the emotional tempest battering you and trying to pull you under. The pain, when ultimately surfaces, is an avalanche threatening to bury you beneath the weight of its enormity. You can't find your way out.

You can’t take it anymore. You just can’t. You’re done. 

You win, world. You win. 

So you embrace the numbness, a fragile fortress that keeps the floodgates of sorrow at bay. You shut it all out and lock yourself up tight. An impenetrable fortress unable to be conquered by anyone. A shield; a prison. It locks you in a suffocating embrace, a straitjacket of emotional anaesthesia that stifles the raw, throated cries of anguish.

You're just a pair of eyes, vacantly staring, but not seeing anything.

Words seem so feeble and barren in moments like this. And Joel has none to offer you. All he remembers is his own drowning.

Before that? Not so much these days. His recall on memories aren’t so sharp any more. Age, brain rot from the pills and whiskey binges - call it what you want, he still won’t remember despite wanting to.

Perhaps it's his brain saving him from reliving the horror. Doesn't matter. There are no photographs anymore so his memories are all he has, or lack of them. 

All he feels is the pain and grief that still walks with him daily, clasping tightly onto his hand and crushing the small bones in it.

Sarah’s face, he tries so hard to remember it all some days. But there are features missing somewhere, like he doesn't have all the pieces of her anymore. 

Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved once. Joel wants to say something reassuring and comforting to you like that, but can't bring himself to.

He knows you won’t want to hear it anyway, because he didn’t - and still doesn’t. There is nothing he can say to relieve you of this suffering.

Nothing anyone can say, it's only yours to keep.

All he can do is sit beside you and ride it out with you in silence with an arm tightly around your waist. He’s got you and he’s not letting you go.

He's there if you should need him. 

But you don't feel him. You don't feel anything.

You’re gone, and you don’t know anything anymore. 

Time, your name, where you are… None of it registers. The world outside your grief-ridden cocoon carries on, oblivious to the hurricane within.

Time, once a reliable companion, now mocks you with its indifferent march forward, sludging in the mud adding to your torment.

You don’t know that Joel tries to feed you, tries to get you to eat something.

You don’t know that you refuse, your face turning away as he gives up and leaves the plate beside you. He takes it away later when he sees you’ve not touched it. 

You don’t know that Joel sits with you on the floor in the same spot where you’d collapsed, unmoving for hours until his ass goes completely numb and he has to stand, cursing at his knee when the joint clicks horribly. 

You don’t know that he leaves you for a few moments in the shack by yourself whilst he goes outside, staring up at the stars and silently asking for help.

Asking for it to stop. He just wants it all to stop. For you, for him; for fucking everyone. 

One man can only take so much.

You don’t know that he hears rustling in the bushes and an infected stray happens upon him before he puts it out of its misery.

He goes to town on it, beating its skull and caving it in with his bare hands, long after it's dead.

You don't hear his croaked yells into the bloody pulp as his rage swallows him up, and for a while, he too is lost.

Numb. Checked out mentally. The ache persists within him, an unyielding agony that refuses to be dulled by the passage of time.

Nor do you see him wiping his bloodied hands down his worn jeans as he returns to you and helps you to the cot in your catatonic state.

You don’t remember sleeping. Or maybe you do. It’s hard to tell. All you remember is Kelper’s face staring back at you.

He’s sitting cross legged opposite and his smile is warm. You don’t know how he can smile at you like this, knowing he’s left you.

You bastard.  

He tells you that you need to get your shit together. That he’s okay now and you’re going to be okay too. Max, Sal and Guthrie need you. That you will endure and survive. That Joel will take care of you.

He’s a good man, Goose.

Kelper looks over his shoulder at Joel sitting by the window, staring out like a lost little boy.

Handsome, too.

You plead with him to come back. That you can't do this without him. 

We both know that ain't true.

Kelper smiles and reaches for your hand but you don’t feel that either.

You got this. I know you do. 

You look at him and hiccup an audible sob through your lips. 

“It should have been me,” Joel hears you whisper a little while later, rousing him from the window as he keeps watch. 

And it paralyses him because it's exactly what he’s told himself every single day since he lost his daughter.

It should have been me. 

“We have to go and help them.” You say as Joel comes to. 

You’re standing over him with dishevelled hair and sunken eye sockets. He sits upright in the chair wiping the crust away from his eyes and the dawn hasn’t quite risen yet. 

“I can’t leave Max and Sal on their own. Not without…” The thought of mentioning his name slashes at your gut. 

Joel stiffens. “We can’t. Have to stay here n’ do our bit.” He affirms softly.

He knows it's futile, that sense won’t pull your conscience. There will be nothing he can say that will sway your decision, no matter how reckless it is.

But he has to try.

“The commune needs us here.”

“Then I’ll go without you.” You say defiantly, and he expects you to say it, could almost predict it as your eyes burn fiercely, your mouth pulls tight and he remembers that look from times gone by. 

Joel stands and reaches for your elbow, pulling you back gently. He’s surprised that you don’t shake him off.

He feels you sag, and that's worse somehow. His head is shaking and eyes boring into you, searching you out to try and bring you back.

“I need ya here with me.” He confirms with a little authority to his tone. 

It also surprises him when your fist collides with the side of his jaw and it knocks him back a little.

He doesn’t react; the punch isn’t that hard in the grand scheme of things, and he knows you don't mean it.

He knows you need to let it out somehow, even if that means he bears the brunt of it. 

Your eyes immediately water, tears spilling down your cheeks as he cradles you into him to the point of suffocation against his broad chest. 

Something broke in; wormed it's way in through the cracks as you fall.

“I know, darlin’,” he mumbles, tasting a little blood around his back teeth. ���I’d punch me too. S'alright. Ya let it on out now. I got you.”

Wails, like thunderclaps, punctuate the numbness finally, each one an anguished plea to a universe that has callously snatched away what little scraps of happiness you have left in this barren and scorched world.

The tears, imprisoned behind vacant eyes, overflow like a dam teetering on the brink of collapse. They aren't gentle streams; they’re torrents of searing agony, carving deep rivulets down your cheeks, leaving salty trails that etch the map of your suffering and absorb into the soft plaid of Joel’s shirt.

“I got you, darlin’. I got you.” He shushes, over and over again. 

You sob uncontrollably, and it's like Joel can hear the elastic bands wrapped around your heart keeping it together snagging and tweaking as they break, one by one. 

Joel switches the walkie-talkie on again. He stands by the window waiting, one giant hand resting up against the boards that cover the full pane. 

You’re sitting in the wicker chair below him, staring out at nothing, slowly feeling your limbs register again. That you have fingers and toes, and they move and ache. 

Your stomach rumbles, your tongue feels overly sucked on. Your hair is a tangle of knots.

Twelve in the afternoon comes and goes and Joel keeps the walkie on.

Today is the day. Crunch time. The fifth day when the rest of them will be launching the attack on the unsuspecting infected. The never ending war on death that has taken, and still continues to take, so fucking much. 

The numbness that has settled into your bones, an ache that seems to leech vitality from your very essence, has been extracted a little. You can feel Joel shouldering some of that for you, even if it’s not expected.

You glance up at him now, fingers twitching to reach out and touch him; to pull him close and let him absorb you into his bones and keep you from further harm. 

Joel had spent the morning readying everything on a silent autopilot whilst you lingered in the air around him like a ghost with foggy tendrils.

The shack was tidied and replenished ready for the next watch. The horses were saddled and waiting outside; their reins tethered to a branch in case of a swift exit.

The rifle and shotgun were loaded and extra ammo weighed in your pockets ready, even though you didn't put them in there.

His gun was holstered on his hip again and yours too, although you don’t remember him belting it on you either.

A selective amnesiac, erasing not only the pain but also the joy. An anomalous emptiness that denies you the solace of sweet recollections and the closure of confronting the bitter moments. The void left by the missing memories feels like a phantom limb, a sensation of something absent yet profoundly missed. Grasping at the fragile wisps of memory, only to find elusive shadows slipping through your fingers. 

You can't let Joel slip through them.

You sigh out and Joel glances down at you. All you can both do is wait now. Left dangling precariously on the precipice, not knowing if you’ll fall right off into the abyss below.  

“Are you okay?” You peep timidly after some time. 

Joel stands wearily and runs his hand through his hair, messing it up further as he goes. A constant fluff resides in it despite it not being washed for days, a wildness that can't be tamed. 

“M’runnin’ on two hours sleep... I dunno how m’not dead yet.” He replies stoically. 

His hand engulfs his face rubbing at the bristly hairs around his jawline and then he looks down at you again with molten brown eyes.

"Know it's stupid to ask, but... how ya holdin' up?"

You shake your head. "It's not stupid."

His face is a cocktail of worry, confusion and something else that then pulls you up onto your feet and crashing into his arms. 

You kiss him, gently nipping at his lips until it mutates into a desperate need that explodes between you both. He feels it, reciprocates by pushing you back against the boards, perhaps a little too hard as your breath wheezes out of your chest.

His hands around your waist are squeezing as you clasp him close to you and breathe him in like you’ve surfaced from the current trying to drown you.

He’s the light when you're lost in the darkness and you never want it to go out.

You can’t let it. 

“Joel,” you whimper and it speaks to him; speaking to his heart crashing in his chest and his cock stiffening painfully in his jeans.

He tastes you, all around your unbrushed mouth and suckles on your tongue, your bottom lip; down your jaw and your neck that washes of days old salt. 

You’re panting, begging for mere threads of affection from him as he smashes through your brick walls and brings you out of that dark place, carried in his strong arms.

For a moment, it stops all the pain dead in its tracks as he muffles words of want and desire inside your ear with a growled carnality.

Hungry for you, wanting in his medicinal cleansing. 

His fingers are at your flies and you feel him start to tug down your jeans with grunts against your lips, when the rumbles in the sky break the contact at your mouths abruptly. 

You both feel it; the vibrations of the explosions in the distance, and Joel is at the window letting you fall out of his touch, and off that ledge, as he scans the horizon. 

“They’re closer than we thought.” You say, zipping yourself back up. The blood still pumping in your ears.

He shakes his head. “No. Travellin’ on the wind. They're twenty miles out.” 

He turns to look back at you, eyes brown and cheeks flushed with the remnants of his desire. 

“You think they got them all?” You question coming up by his side and once he feels you there, his hand instinctively reaches for yours.

You feel his fingers entwine with your own as you both hold onto one another; your eyes never leaving the window. 

The smoke, a black smear on the horizon, pulls both your attention and weighs it heavy in your gut.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Joel gruffs. 

Still reeling from Kelper’s sacrifice, no matter how stupid Tommy feels it is, and tastes it around his teeth still, he pushes forward. He has to.

He feels the weight crush the bones in his shoulders to a dusty pulp, but still his feet propel him forward. Aching and blistered.

The sombre mood has carried them all, given them a renewed zeal to get the job done so Kelper’s death isn’t in vain. 

Some swill of regret stings like grazes. He wonders briefly if Kelper would have gotten them here differently.

“...Heading up now, almost there…” a voice crackles over the radio in his hand and it startles Tommy, bringing him back to the situation at hand. 

“Few more minutes. Hold steady.” He responds.

He glances at Max, kneeling still beside him. A pregnant silence envelopes the surroundings, aside from the low chorus of groans and shrieks below them.

The air seems to still, as if nature itself holds its breath in anticipation of the cataclysm about to unfold

The last of the horde moves in, shuffling around the lip of the canyon as they amble towards no pre-ordained destination. Just moving by the sheer drive of hunger and the need to spread, quietly steered and manipulated. 

Fungus ain't so smart afterall.

“Come on ya bastards…” Tommy mutters from the vantage point. “Come on.”

“We can't wait, we gotta do it, now.” Max says. “They’re gonna pass it.”

Tommy glances up at the front of the horde, where the majority swell in numbers and draw close, dangerously close, to passing the tip of the canyon entirely. 

“No. Few more seconds. Get the last of ‘em.” He scans down the length of the horde; the stragglers hanging back slower in their dotted droves. 

“Gonna be close.” Max urges. “We can clean up. We gotta detonate, Tommy! Now!”

“Fuck!” He seethes. His hands tremble, sweaty around the grip of the radio.  

The full horde are lining up, a few more seconds. One… two… come on, come on!

"Tommy!" Max urges again.

“Now. Now!” Tommy yells into the radio. “Blow it now!”

He's suspended as he watches, those few beats where nothing happens lasts a lifetime, and the dread pulverises him.

Flooded with every worse case scenario when the air remains still and unmoving.

No...

Then, a low rumble emanates from the canyon's depths, growing steadily into a crescendo that vibrates through the very core of the earth.

The canyon walls tremble, and a shockwave ripples through the air. The ground beneath Tommy and Max quivers, and a collective gasp escapes their lips as the walls of the canyon seem to bow outward. 

For a singular, captive moment, Tommy holds his breath, caught in the transient space between destruction and salvation.

He watches, eyes wide in elation, fear… relief, as the horde starts to topple inward; the ground beneath them breaking apart. A hungry mouth swallowing them down into the pits of Hell.

The shockwave blasts outward, sending dust and debris into the air like a macabre celebration of their victory over the horde.

Tommy and Max shield their eyes from the intensity of the explosion, the heat washing over them in waves, even at their vantage point above. 

The sound is deafening, and once Tommy opens his grit filled eyes, he searches frantically through the dust.

“Did we get them?” Max asks, coughing, and with a mild ringing in his ears making him shout louder. 

“I dunno, I can’t see a fuckin’ thing!” Tommy raises the radio and speaks into it. “Did we get ‘em, did we get ‘em all?” 

The radio is silent, save for jarred crackling, and Max glances at Tommy wearily through the wispy smog. 

“Somebody talk to me! Did we get ‘em all?”

The walkie-talkie crackles into life startling you both, and Joel reaches for it. 

“Tommy?!” He speaks fast into it. 

A voice comes through. Wiry, static. There’s a lot of background noise, it sounds like wind and whooshing. It's hard to make it out clearly.

“Tommy, you copy?” Joel asks, his tone more frantic. 

The walkie crackles and Tommy’s voice is on the other end. 

“We did it! We fuckin’ did it!”

You sigh out, fingers that were once gnarled start to relax, and the relief that floods through you both is apparent, especially in the way Joel’s hunched shoulders deflate. 

You can’t help but let a choked, bewildered sob escape your lips as you glance out the window and see the smoke in the far distance. 

Joel lets a small smile flee from his lips as Tommy’s voice comes through again.

“We got those fuckers, Joel. Every single one of ‘em.”

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged & who re-blogged my teaser.

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[fatalheart0]

'Silence' Part 1

Fanfic written for @sleepyconfusedpotato for Jade and Ghost.

Warnings: Angst

Originally, I was going to make this extremely sad by having ghost find out jade was KIA. But I didn't have the heart to do it.

Ignore any grammar mistakes. I'm a bit sleepy, lol.

—---------------

"It's too silent-..."

Ghost quietly sulked behind the back of the pick up truck he and soap just escaped in, from Graves and his men. When the ambush happened Jade, Ghost and Soap were quick to break off to avoid capture, unfortunately Vargas was caught. Throughout the remainder of trying to avoid Shadow company they all continued to have small talk through their coms. I guess you could say it was a way for them to keep their heads on right, especially soap who was injured.

But after a while, Jade had gone silent. Not one word was spoken from her end. Ghost figured she was in a tight spot and had to remain with 0 contact to avoid being spotted, but that was difficult for him. Memories of the small moments they shared rushed into his head and he immediately tried to brush them off. She was a strong woman, she would be okay. Right?

He pondered in silence on whether they should turn back to pick jade up, but that risked getting them both caught and soap needed medical attention.

"Ghost?"

Ghost turns his head to soap who is still standing there clutching his bleeding shoulder. They had made it to a safe house Vargas showed Ghost on a map, one he made sure to keep a mental note of in case anything went to shit. And what do you know? It did. Ghost remains silent and nods, getting off the truck and making his way back inside with Soap following in suit.

Rudy, who had been holed up in the safe house greets them once again to which soap offers a nod.

"Why is it so silent?.."

Is all Ghost can think, the radio silence bugged him. He should have heard from her by now. It shouldn't be this silent- but at the same time it felt so loud. The world around him began to ring in his head, the voices of the past haunting him. Her voice haunting him. He could barely hear the conversation between Rudy and Soap, who was helping him with his fresh wound.

3 hours pass -

It was very visible.

No one could not see it.

The irritability Ghost wore was like this giant cloud of darkness swarming around him. At the first hour mark, they still heard nothing from jade and Ghost had begun to worry. By the 2nd hour Ghost became antsy, the smallest things setting him off to argue with everyone who was now gathered at the safe house. When the 3rd hour hit, Ghost had become unwilling to work with people, even Gaz and Price. He was starting to lose the grip on himself that he worked so hard to build. Why hadn't she called in yet? What is her location? Did her radio break? Is she too far away to use her radio? Is she hurt? What if she's screaming for him right now and he's sitting here doing nothing.

So many questions rushed through his head, how was he supposed to keep himself calm in this storm when she was the very thing that helped him through the rough waves of a vast ocean or the dark abyss from swallowing him whole. She was the very thing he needed all his life, every fear, every doubt, every dark thought that plagued his mind was instantly gone with just her presence alone.

For the very first time Ghost felt weak and helpless. He should be doing something, not just sitting here. Not sitting here. Ghost's eyes lit up for a moment as he quickly made his way outside. Merging with the shadows he effortlessly made his way to a truck without being seen. He takes a deep breath, the engine revs loudly as he turns the key. He speeds off leaving price and the others yelling to become distant background noise until it's gone. He didn't care if he got reprimanded for his actions, the woman he loved- truly loved was out there and needed him.

For hours on end he searched the last place they were at, going through every house and every room checking under staircases, in dumpsters. Anywhere she could've hidden herself from view to stay safe. He felt all hope vanishing as he dropped to the floor. Was this his reality? Did he really have to let go of her and move on? He could feel the tears well up in his eyes and he lowered his head to the ground.

The slight shimmer that bounced off the ground reflecting in the corner of his eyes grasps his attention, saddened eyes slowly drift to the sparkling speckle within the short distance fron him. The longer he stared the more he could make out, he quickly crawled over picking up the item and let out a strained sigh of relief. What had been shining in his eye was the bullet necklace he had given Jade one day off duty. Ghost was silent as tears flowed down his face as he realized through all the bodies he'd seen, not one was hers. Not a single one.

But that left him with one question. Where was she? There was no signs of Graves men having been present in the area, giving Ghost a moment to attempt to call for jade.

"Jade. This is ghost do you read me?"

Static.

And once again silence. He huffs out an annoyed sigh and stands back up looking around taking in his options. He can't give up yet.

"Jade this is ghost do you copy"

His head perked at the slight noise that echoed from a small alleyway. Pressing his radio button he holds it then releases it, and he hears it again. A beeping noise, one that happens when radio signals bounce off each other when they are close. Quickly he dashes around the corner and looks around. Nothing but dumpsters and trash. But there, on top of a few garbage bags slightly covered with trash was a flashing light. It was small but easily visible. Moving the trash away he picks up a entire radio set and ear peice. He reads the number that's used to keep track of the radios on base. Jade's radio number was #12095.

Slowly he read them off before tightly holding the radio, he brings it to his chest. Holding it there, happy knowing there was still a chance she slipped away. Suddenly prices voice comes out into his ear piece.

"Ghost we need you back here at the safe house. We have located jade. We will discuss more when you get here"

'Don't need to tell me twice' ghost thought as he bolts back to the truck speeding back to the safe zone. Once there, he bursts through the front door. "Is she alive?" Was the first thing to leave his lips as he shoulders rise and fall with every deep heavy breath.

"Alive yes, but she's been caught by Graves and his men. She's being held in Vargas' base. The same one Graves took control over." Ghost can feel the blood moving through his body. He clenches his hands, knuckles cracking. "Let's do this.."

Nothing more needed to be said. For the rest of the night, the group planned how to storm the base, where the guards were posted up in towers and the places that could hold prisoners. Nothing was going to stop ghost from reaching Jade. Nothing. Not even the devil himself could stop him from getting to her.

The next morning was miserable without jade there. Even though he knows she's alive, it still doesn't make the empty feeling go away. Throughout the day ghost did nothing but train and check to make sure equipment was clean and operational. Nothing was allowed to go wrong, not on this mission. When night fell, everyone went over the plan once more.

To start was to take out the guards in the towers, climb over the wall, and quietly make their way inside without alerting anyone of their presence. The battle was to be fought when they left with Vargas and Jade, so they weren't moved or killed on sight. Everything was in order, and the 141 set out to get their team back.

—-------

Authors note: if I kept writing, I probably would've filled out tumblrs' word limit, so to keep it safe and in order I will make a part 2.

[pipi-un-kaki-in-pipi-land]

the knife i turn inside myself

summary: you get seriously injured when pursuing the hyde together with wednesday, and the aftermath of it takes a turn for the worse

Throat tight, heart racing against time, you were carrying your legs, desperately trying to get out of the vast forest which seemed never-ending. You clutched your wounded rib tightly, blood staining your torso and hand as the gash continued to overflow. It felt like your soul was slowly being sucked out of existence, and you were hopeless about it. Sweat enveloped your face as your tongue absorbed the taste, your mind slowly but effectively losing consciousness.

Before you knew, you had tumbled to the ground, completely knocked out.

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

“y/n,”

“y/n,”

“y/n,”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to the call of your name. Mind foggy, eyes blurry, you painfully lifted up your head to see a cleanly stitched line along your rib area. When you averted your gaze to the girl who was right in front of you, your heart couldn’t help but thrum in anger.

“You should rest, your wound is beyond worse,” Wednesday said, packing up the med kit that she had entirely used on you.

“And expect me not to complain?” you scoffed at her, fingers gripping at the mattress beneath you. “I could’ve fucken died, Addams. If it weren’t for your sheer foolery, I wouldn’t be here right now, with a bloody horrendous wound on my ribs that would take a painstakingly long time to heal,” you ranted, tears filling your eyes. You didn’t completely hate Wednesday, you just loathed that she didn’t have the compassion to simply give a damn about others before going somewhere threatening.

The ravenette opened her mouth, but no words spilled out of it. “I-” she gulped, “I’m sorry, y/n. But you should know that this came with the purpose of finding out more about the Hyde, and you accepted the risks,” she said, not even showing a sign of pity for you.

“I didn’t know these ‘risks’ included getting gashed by a goddamn creature,” you answered, fury boiling in your veins. “Everything is always about you, Addams. You don’t care about anyone, or, in fact, anything at all. Had you known the actual ‘risks’, you wouldn’t have even brought me along, would you?” you seethed angrily, wincing as you tried to get off the bed.

“Don’t.” Even with rage twirling inside you, that command felt like a powerful wave as you sat back down on the bed for a split second before getting back on your exhausted feet. “Huh. So you actually do care after all,” you muttered bitterly, heading towards the door. You glanced at Wednesday. “I’m sorry we didn’t work out, Addams. I always thought that no matter what happens, I’ll go back to you, and you’ll go back to me. We were like opposite poles, Wednesday. But I can’t let this slip so easily,” you threw those meaningless words at her before heading out the door.

But deep down, you knew you meant it.

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

As the door shut behind her, Wednesday took a glance at her bed which was always overflowing with your presence. But now, her heart felt empty, as if something was missing from it. Her feelings were like a box, but now with your absence, the box had started leaking. If she had known finding more about the Hyde came with consequences like this, she wouldn’t have done it. Not for anything else in the world.

You were the light to her abyss.

You were the spring to her steps.

You were the hole in her head, you were the space in her bed, you were the silence between what she thought and what she said, you were her night time fear, you were the moments when it was clear.

She should’ve been the one with the wound, as she could never accept to lose you.

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

Back at your dorm, you plummeted down on your bed, tears flowing out uncontrollably onto the sheets. Now with Wednesday gone and your roommate heading back to her homeland, you had no one to catch your tears. You wallowed in regret and roughly kicked your bedframe, but that caused your neatly stitched wound to tear up slightly. You screeched in agony but was too exhausted to do anything about it.

Drowning in your own tears, you fell asleep, surely hating yourself tomorrow.

The sun shone into your puffy eyes as you jolted up, looking under your back to see a small pool of blood. You couldn’t help but be thankful that Wednesday was good at suturing wounds, or else your entire bed would’ve been a crime scene.

As you headed to the toilet, you noticed a piece of paper under the door through the corner of your eye. You carefully picked it up, and it was a sealed letter with the initials of W.A.

And you instantly knew who it was.

Y/n,

You and I are the prime love story destiny has ever scripted. When our gazes intertwine together, that is how our universes collide.

I will always treasure you, mon étoile.

I’m truly sorry.

Yours,

Wednesday Addams

You instantly teared up at this magnificent letter the ravenette wrote. With no hesitation, you ran to Wednesday’s dorm, ignoring the aching pain in your ribs. Once you saw the familiar figure standing outside her dorm, you leaned into her, wrapping your arms around her with no warning.

Her first instinct was to push you away, but knowing that it was actually you, she embraced you even tighter. Before you could utter anything, Wednesday apologized again, meeting your gaze.

“It’s my fault, Addams. I shouldn’t have said those things,” you swallowed, regret already building up in your gut.

“It’s fine, y/n. I just wanted to make sure we’d come back to each other,” she replied, muffling into your tear-stained shirt.

You embraced her even more tightly, and everything felt right in this moment of time.

[geekywritings]

The Dark Side

Every Jedi faces the Dark Side. And it’s so easy to fall... But you won’t ever let Cal lose the fight against the darkness. Not as long as you’re around. 

Fluff. Pure Cal x reader fluff with a very supportive and loving reader :D

____________________

Every Jedi faces the Dark Side. It was a lesson instilled in Cal and you since childhood. The challenge was not to give in. To always have control of your emotions. Even better, not to feel certain things at all.

Looking back, those rules were impossible to follow. Holding in love, hate, jealousy, fear, and affection was more destructive than the Dark Side could ever be. However, accepting this fact didn’t protect you from the temptations still facing you.

War made it only harder, requiring you to make difficult decisions on a daily basis.

Jedi didn’t seek aggression, but you had learned that it was either kill or be killed these days. And both you and Cal had taken your fair share of lives already, each one bringing you closer to the edge of an endless abyss.

You were both staring into it, fighting its pull and hoping you could retain the best possible version of yourselves.

But it was getting harder every day. You saw the fatigue in Cal’s eyes, felt the way he clutched you tighter at night, as if your presence alone could save him from the darkness. The constant fighting was taking its toll on him. Badly.

At times, he was close to losing control on the battlefield, allowing his rage rather than his instinct to lead his blade. He cut down his foes with more ferocity, showing mercy only when it was absolutely deserved. It started to worry you, so you decided to approach him about it.

You had landed on a tiny moon in the Outer-Rim to refuel your ship, picking the inconspicuous location to stay hidden. The people here cared little about the galactic conflicts all around them and would not sell you out. As long as you paid good credits, you could relax.

Theoretically. Not really.

Cal’s shoulders were tense as he stood outside the Mantis, staring at the distant setting sun at the horizon. Nothing but vast empty plains stretched before your eyes, making you wonder what was captivating him so.

“Cal? You ok?”, you asked and he nodded, eyes still on the sunset. You joined him, hand automatically slipping into his, with him instantly returning the gesture by intertwining his fingers with yours.

“And now the truth. Are you ok?”, you asked again, sending a small smile his way. Now his gaze did move toward you and his lip twitched upward.

“Why did I have to fall for a woman who can read my mind?”, he asked, tone jokingly exasperated. But seriousness quickly returned to his features, as he sighed. “I am just exhausted. No need to worry.”

“I will always worry about you.”, you were quick to retort and silently invited him to sit with you for a more comfortable conversation. “It’s about our last mission, isn’t it?”

The two of you had infiltrated an imperial base to retrieve some vital information regarding new weapons. You thought they were merely in their planning stage, but once inside, you shockingly came to discover they were already in mass production. Improved blasters with additional fire power, long range detonators and other tech that would make life for the rebellion even harder.

Discoveries like this always made you wonder if you even stood any chance to defeat the Empire. If all you did was merely scratching the surface and giving the Inquisitors something to do. It must have been the same for Cal.

“We killed civilians back there…”, he whispered and you shuddered at the memory. It hadn’t been intentional. You had wanted to sabotage the factory, but had come face to face with several imperial guards. The fight had spiralled out of control, resulting in an explosion. One thing had led to another and you had barely managed to escape the building before it collapsed. A lot of Stormtroopers and Imperial officers had died back there… but so had many factory workers. Honest people, who were just trying to get by under Imperial rule. It wasn’t their fault weapon factories were the only work available.

“It was an accident…”, you started slowly, as if your nightmares and conscience weren’t plagued by the event.

“I know… but still… I feel so much guilt… so much hate.”, Cal spoke through gritted teeth. The Empire was forcing your hands more and more, but stopping wasn’t an option either.

“Cal…”, his name fell from your lips in a soft whisper. “I know it’s hard. I really do… but you can’t let this turn you into a monster. Into them.”, you began, louder this time, underlining your words by resting a hand on his shoulder. It didn’t seem like enough, however. So you moved to sit in front of him, placing both of your hands on his cheeks and making him look at you.

“I am giving you an order, Cal.”, you spoke firmly. “Every time you feel the hatred consume you, you come to me. Every time you feel guilt swallow you, you come to me. I will always be there to keep you from falling. The Dark Side won’t get you as long as I am here.”

Relief washed through him and you could clearly see it in his eyes. Moments later his arms were around your waist, pulling you toward him. The "thank you" he mumbled into your neck almost didn’t reach your ears, but the gesture showed clearly enough what he felt. Your own arms wrapped around him, holding him as close as possible.

“We will get through this together.”, you kept whispering sweet assurances, while you stroked his back. “We might not always make the right decisions, but we will never become like them…” You forced as much confidence as possible into those words because you needed to hear them as much as he did. “We just have to stick together. I’ll be your light and you’ll be mine.”

Cal’s face emerged from your neck and his lips sought yours in a sweet, yet desperate kiss. You were alone, just allowing passion to drown whatever fears and worries you had. Just for a while, you could forget everything: The war, the loss, the very existence of the Dark Side. And for now, these moments had to be enough.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Blessed Heir of the Abyss (Abyssal Prince Childe x Reader) Part 2

Synopsis: After centuries of conflict, Teyvat and the Abyss are attempting to make peace with one another. To solidify new alliances and let go of past grudges, the Abyssal Prince Tartaglia will choose a spouse from the people above to rule over the Abyss with him.

That spouse happens to be you, an ordinary, Visionless citizen of Liyue.

Chapter One: Dreams and Twilight

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Warnings: Mentions of crying, Abyss Heralds and Lectors basically hating you, Childe not caring, you generally having a bad time, Zhongli almost cries, you’re on the verge of panicking, mentions of fear, SLOW BURN

~ * ~ “Be safe.” Those were the last words Zhongli said to you- anyone said to you, before you were torn away from the Harbor, your friends, your calm, ordinary life. It had been dizzying, the Abyss Lectors and Heralds surrounding you, the Prince directly in front, and you struggling to put one foot in front of the other, and through the haze of voices and fear Zhongli’s voice had rung out in your head, a simple “Be safe,” and nothing more. He had sounded frightened. It sent a chill down your spine, hearing such a normally unshakable man so worried and uncertain, anguished that the only advice he could give you was to survive. You weren’t allowed any belongings- no, “everything would be provided”, a Lector told you shortly, and you wouldn’t want to humiliate the Prince with your shabby commoner’s clothing, would you? Yes, something more… suitable is waiting for you in the palace. You hate the way they all look at you, like you’re something small and revolting under their gaze, only putting up with you to honor their agreement with Liyue. The Lector scoffs and turns away, clawed hands waving as if to bat away an irritating insect, and you shiver inadvertently, keeping your eyes steadily on the ground. Your nails dig into your arms as you hug yourself, the small pricks of pain keeping your consciousness from giving out into darkness, putting all your effort into moving one foot in front of the other, step by step. The people of Liyue stare at the monstrous procession, moving away, running inside, shutting doors and windows yet still watching, unable to tear their eyes away. A few of them look at you, curling in on yourself, and shake their heads sympathetically. But no one offers to help, too fearful of the Abyssal influence slowly seeping into the city and taking hold, and the little hope you have left disappears like smoke. And the Prince, the heir to the throne- your new husband- doesn’t even bother glancing at you, not even as you cross the bridge between the Harbor and the outskirts of Liyue, unwillingly leaving your home behind. A Pyro Lector waves his hand once civilization is out of sight, a flash of stellar magic sending the birds flying, cries shrill with indignation as a portal suddenly manifests before you. The tear in the universe glimmers darkly, hushed wind raising goosebumps on your neck before you’re violently shoved from behind and tumble in with a sharp scream. Tendrils of glittering mist engulf you, stars filling your senses as the dizzying transportation pulls you under the earth, falling head over heels through a seemingly endless sky until you slam into a lightless ocean. You let out a groan, bones aching and bruised, the elegant floor beneath you silently laughing at your pain. It’s much too cold, shining like ice, but your cheeks burn with embarrassment when you look up and see Prince Tartaglia and his entourage watching you, fingers tapping his leg with boredom. Hastily you climb to your feet, ignoring the awful, aching sparks going through your bones, and dust off your clothes. “Foolish sunchild.” You snap your head up, but they’re just the same as before, waiting and looking at you with thinly veiled disgust, and your chest tightens with shame. “Take them to their room.” The Prince’s voice echoes in the vast hall, the entirety of the Abyss seeming to bow as he speaks. “You’re not coming?” You blurt, the first thing you’ve said in hours, and Tartaglia pauses, then turns to you, deadened eyes appearing near-black in the gloom of the palace. “I have important matters to attend to,” he replies, tone flat and unmoved as you take a fearful step back, and with a flick of his grand cloak the Prince vanishes down the corridor, copper hair a stark contrast in the dark. Dread pools in your stomach as you watch his retreating figure until you’re pulled in the opposite direction, a Herald and a Lector leading the way. You don’t matter. You’re just a little toy to be claimed and chewed up and thrown away, after all. The long halls of the palace almost glitter, despite the lack of light, every wall and ceiling faceted like it was crafted from one single enormous crystal, pillars wrapped with swirling wave-like structures and windows that span the length of entire rooms, looking outside into the night. It’s pitch-black outside, and your skin crawls. Your room turns out to be a small, unassuming door in the corner, the Herald practically throwing it open before marching off in the opposite direction, muttering words you can’t quite catch. But the Lector waits until you glance back at him, giving you a small, almost polite bow before taking his leave, following the same path as the Herald. Suddenly you’re alone, a mortal in the vast chasm of Teyvat. The room is small but surprisingly comfortable-looking, furnished with everything you might need, and carefully you perch yourself on the bed, gaze flitting from your hands to the ceiling and back again. Everything in the room, while plain, is finely made- even the mattress feels like it’s full of feathers and clouds, clearly not designed for your commoner’s touch. You grimace, and scoot to the center of the bed so you’re not touching anything but the floor and the covers- everything is too fancy, too delicate, and your heart sinks with loneliness. It’s so cold, too cold- you hadn’t noticed how chilly it was- and so, so quiet. Slowly you bring your knees up to your chest and encircle them with your arms, shoulders tense and rigid, shoes on the floor so you don’t sully the blankets. The silence weighs heavily on you, your ears twisting and warping the quiet fog until you swear you can hear the stars themselves twinkling. You don’t bother opening the curtains over the window in your room- why should you? It’s just going to be dark outside, something your pitiful eyes can’t see, so used to the sun are they. You’re in the Abyss, after all. It’s a lonesome place, the kingdom underground, and your heart squeezes like it’s cracking and breaking at the seams. With your head buried in your knees, finally away from prying, judgemental eyes, you cry, and the Abyss swallows you whole. It’s warm here. Cozy, even- sunset-colored clouds cushioning your feet as you walk along a starlit path, admiring the evening dusk. There’s a simple table in the distance, chairs carved out of stone and inset with glittering stones; gold, amber, pale green. It’s set for three, cups filled, and when you hesitantly sit down you find the one nearest to you carries the scent of your favorite drink. You take a small sip, feeling your muscles unclench and relax, the seat comfortable despite the material it’s crafted from, and you lean back and shut your eyes. Soft, heavy footsteps climb the stairs, and you rise from your chair and turn to greet Zhongli, the beaming smile on his face matching your own. “It worked…” His voice is hushed, amazed, and you flow into his open embrace with a wobbly laugh, his arms steadying your shaky steps as you sob in relief, clinging to his ornate tailcoat. “Of course it worked.” You whip around to see a small girl with white hair sitting on one of the chairs, daintily sipping tea like she had always been there. “Dreams are the flowering buds of one’s subconscious, you need only find a path to connect your mind and another.” Zhongli simply chuckles, giving the girl a bow. “Thank you for your assistance, Lesser Lord Kusanali.” “Lesser Lord Kusanali?” Your eyes widen as you hastily scramble out of Zhongli’s hug and scrub your cheeks to bow deeply to the Dendro Archon, as you were taught to do when worshiping Rex Lapis, but she simply waves a hand. “Please, Nahida is fine. When I heard of Zhongli’s wish to know of your wellbeing, I couldn’t help but offer a hand to him!” She giggles slightly, hiding her mouth behind a hand. But then her expression turns serious, a frown spreading across her face. “It was more difficult to find your dreams, though. You were buried under an ocean of silence and regret.” You perch yourself on a chair, drinking slowly, the taste filling you with a calming warmth. You can smell the tea filling Zhongli’s- osmanthus- the sight of his square cup making you bite your tongue to keep from laughing. But he doesn’t drink, merely watching you, worry flooding his amber eyes. “Are you well? How are your living conditions? The treatment? Have you been hurt in any way?” Questions slip out, one by one, and you choke on your drink, overwhelmed. “You’re fretting again,” Nahida says, giving Zhongli a stern look, “They’re already stressed and most likely tired. At the very least, you know they’re alive.” She tilts her head towards you, elf-like ears flicking up. “Don’t give up hope yet, my friend. As Sumeru’s Archon I heard a little of Liyue’s agreement with the Abyss, but this…” she sighs, shaking her head. “If they’ve hurt you, they’ll pay.” Zhongli’s voice is a near growl, his hands clenching his cup so tightly you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter in his grip, and instinctively your shoulders tense at his furious tone. You stare into your own cup, the liquid’s reflection displaying your disheveled appearance, sleeves frayed from worrying the fabric so much. Zhongli exhales deeply, a heavy hand coming to rest gently on your arm as he forces a smile, like he’s trying his best not to give in to rage or tears. “Everyone will be glad to hear you’re alright,” he whispers, thumb swiping underneath your eyes. “Hu Tao has been worrying herself sick since you left… although, I cannot say I have not been doing the same.” “Tell… tell her I’m okay. Really, I am.” You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Hu Tao… it’s strange to imagine such a plucky and cheerful girl fretting over anything until you see it with your own eyes. Zhongli softens further, ruffling your hair as Nahida watches with a knowing smile. Then a harrowing shriek pierces the peace and everything around you shatters like glass. You lurch awake, panting and looking wildly around the room in terror, the seemingly peaceful gloom taunting your fright. It’s freezing, your skin like ice and head heavy from exhaustion, but you haul yourself to your feet and stumble towards the door, opening it just a crack to peer outside. Shadows dance along the pearlescent walls, spiny shapes and dust made of stars. For a moment you lean towards the sight, enraptured by the pinpricks of darkness and light, almost reaching out a hand to catch them. But something slams against the floor, a horrible metallic screech raising the hairs on the back of your neck and you slam the door shut, heart frantically pounding in your chest as you dive back onto your bed and wrap the covers over your head. Childish mortal. You listen, frozen in terror, as heavy, scraping footsteps plod down the hall, louder and louder, closer and closer. They stop, so close you can almost see them, and your body goes cold when you hear what can only be described as a terrible, low growl. I’m going to die. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears leaking out from the corners as you whimper. I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die- But miraculously the footsteps resume, trailing away from your room until they’re nothing more than steady taps in the distance. Your breath comes out raggedly, almost wheezing as you lay on your bed, listening to faint, awful screams. With a chokingly difficult inhale you curl into a ball, holding the blanket in a vice grip as you attempt to forget you saw anything, forget you were ever here in the first place. Silly child of Teyvat, how could you last in the kingdom of ice and stars? When you awaken again, the events of the previous night are lost in the haze of your memories, only the vague scent of osmanthus flowers remaining.

[zedif-y]

"We can just stay here," Impulse says, his voice small against the vast emptiness. His gaze falls on the back of Tango's head, just a couple feet away. "Hunker down, hide for the rest of the season."

"Just you and me." He adds, a wistful note in his voice.

Tango turns to face him, his tail hovering over bedrock. His expression is unreadable.

"Yeah," Tango breathes, looking back at the void when Impulse steps closer, closing the gap until their shoulders brush. "D'you think the border's here?"

Impulse shrugs, following his gaze. Nothing but bedrock for miles and miles, stretching into the distant fog. "Do you want to check?"

Tango huffs a small laugh.

Their fingers brush, pulled together like the tide to the moon, like crushing magnets. Tango keeps his eyes forward.

The silence pulses against their skulls.

"We could pick a direction and run," Tango says after a while. "Who knows how far we'd go?"

Impulse hums. "Hopefully far enough."

"A thousand blocks, maybe more?"

"Something like that."

A laugh, "That's a lot of walking."

"I'd carry you halfway."

"Ha!"

Fingers link together, warm hands curling around each other.

"We'd win," Impulse tells him, squeezing just a little. "We'd win together."

Tango swallows.

Impulse continues, "Nobody would even think to look here."

His chest feels tight.

Tango's tail brushes against his leg, "Nobody would find us."

Impulse stares at the horizon, nothing but murky greys and faint reds. He stares until his vision swims and warps, a little dizzying as his mind spins with the possibilities-

Tango's voice breaks him out of it, "The timers don't stop, though."

Impulse blinks.

He looks down at his wrist. Bright numbers tick away even now, embedded into his skin like a brand. Impulse bites the inside of his cheek.

"Guess not."

Tango squeezes his hand, "So it's not worth it, then."

Impulse focuses on the warmth that seeps into his hand, letting out a breath. "Probably not."

Neither of them make a move to leave.

Tango's eyebrows furrow together. Impulse wants to smooth it out, press a kiss on the crease.

They don't say anything.

"Would you leave?" A voice asks- It takes a second for Impulse to register it as his own. "If you could. Would you leave?"

Tango's grip borders on painful.

Impulse makes a quiet noise, frowning as he faces him. "Tango?"

Slowly, his hold starts to relax.

"Would you?" Tango asks.

Impulse deflates.

Fair enough.

Their communicators ping!

The sudden noise makes them jolt. Tango fumbles for the device, the faint green glow reflected on the reds of his eyes.

Skizzleman: Windsor!

He sighs, "That's our cue."

Tango darts towards the portal, Impulse hot on his heels. Impulse feels a familiar floatiness overtake him, his vision filling with the swirling mass of purples, blurring at the edges.

He looks back out at the Nether ceiling, mind whirring with half-formed what ifs.

We would've starved to death, anyway, His mind supplies. Bad idea. Bad idea all around.

And yet he can't tear his eyes from the abyss.

Just before the atmosphere shifts- that snap between planes, the heat dissipating in a flash- Impulse catches Tango doing the same.

Would you? Tango had asked. Would he leave?

(He thinks of scars. He thinks of blood, and a wariness that never quite leaves. He thinks of the rush of adrenaline that poisons his thinking, gnashing teeth and sharp claws.)

Impulse thinks he wants to. Impulse thinks he still won't.

[arcane-abomination]

I recommend reading my blog on Void Magick before this one. As it explains the basics of Void that will not be covered here. This may cause some readers to be a little lost.

Leviathan’s Guidance

This information on the void was presented to me when I descended into a deep gnosis to make contact with lord Leviathan. He taught me the construction of the void and helped me to understand its makeup a little better. This seemed to be the missing piece I’ve heard many people talk about when traversing the void. And while it still holds truth that the void’s appearance is reflected in the individuals own perspective, it’s still important to understand the general structure of this vastly mysterious space.

I have taken the liberty to attribute my own terminology to each part that was shown to me in an attempt to bring further understanding and much easier categorization to the plains themselves, but you’re free to disregard these terms if they don’t suit you. In all there are 3, categorized by the upper, middle and lower spaces represented by the colors White, Grey, and Black. Now, please take note that these colors are rather arbitrary in the long run as each level presents itself uniquely to the individual. These are simply the product of my own journey, what appeared to me and thus how I label and associate the structure of the void that I experienced.

The Atherial Plain

We begin in the upper level I call the Atherial plain. Aptly named because it’s associated with the color white. While in this plain it appeared to me as though I was walking in the sky. It was bright, with clouds beneath me and around me. And all manner of things hung in the air, moving and shining without constitution or purpose. At least none that I could see. Stars, planets, comets, orbs, and a multitude of other items and creatures to unique to accurately convey in words, shimmering and shifting endlessly. There was no rest here, no silence. There was noise, endless whispers in the wind, music in the distance, and the random bustle of the many object’s collisions with one another. It was beautiful but intense. An energy compelling me to take action, not to wait or calculate. Just simply do without thought or meaning. This is the realm of everything and all things. Of motion, sound & fullness.

The Abyssal Plain

Or next stop is the lowest level, I call the Abyssal plain. You descend downwards into this place, into the vastness of an empty space. The association here is the color black, and all manner of silence, quiet contemplation, and letting go completely hang in the air. Energy here compells you to empt yourself of all things, and simply wait. All around me was blackness, a deep black that went beyond the understanding of simple darkness. Beneath my feet was an ink-colored ocean. Still, and calm, but full of power and strength laying in wait. It was from this ocean that lord Leviathan arose and greeted me, teaching me of the void’s structure. You see, like most people, it was this realm I came to first, like most people do. In fact it was the only real I had ever come to, until my work with Leviathan began.

It seems most of us who work with the void descend down into the abyss and the reason for this is simple. As mortal beings our subconscious has been taught that when we go up we come down. Gravity is always pulling at us. So, when we enter into the void, we can unconsciously descend, especially when we are overwhelmed with the intensity the void can bring. Once inside that comfortable place of familiarity it can be hard to ascend, especially since naturally speaking, falling down is easier than climbing up.

All in all, the energy of this realm beckoned me to listen, to wait, and patiently calculate my next move. It’s a plain completely opposite of its upper Aetherial counterpart. A realm of Stillness, Silence, and emptiness.

The Echo Plain

This was the final plain I visited, named the Echo plain, represented as the color Grey. It’s a special plain, a space full of liminal energy from the overlapping of the upper and lower plains. It was the most intense of the three, resembling a foggy wasteland with the faint light of the Atherial floating high above and the deep darkness of the abyss far below. The ground was as reflective as a mirror yet as clear as a window, that rippled like water wherever I took step. It was a confusing place, a space at which energy contradicted itself. It wanted me in motion and stillness, silent and loud, empty and full all at once. I felt like I was being pulled apart and smooshed together at the same time. It was confusing and overwhelming, but then…in a single moment, all the pieces fell into place.

Before me stood a group of creatures. Both beautiful and hideous all at once. I understood almost immediately what they were. Epithets…epithets of myself. Bits and pieces of who I was represented before me in kind. Some smiled warmly, some grimaced, and others showed no emotions at all. We did not speak to one another…we didn’t need to. But it was from that brief acknowledgment that I understood. This was the realm of reflection. A space where the conscious and subconscious became one, echos of one being existing in symbolic detachment from itself. None of us looked the same and yet we were. All knowing and understanding yet complete strangers to each other.

This is the space of contemplation and action. A realm in which one could truly reach into themselves and strengthen, build, heal, and empower in every way imaginable. A space not many seemed to know existed. Ascending and descending past it in their journeys through the void. It’s a testament to our need to learn quickly, and our unfocused and often misplaced goals. Sometimes we need to stop and look inward, to truly meet ourselves head on.

In Conclusion

The void is a wonderfully powerful and mysterious place. How these realms look to you and what you feel will ultimately be tied to your own perspective. How one sees the void isn’t always how another does. The lower realm may appear white to some instead of black. What makes it the abyss is not its color but it’s emptiness. How one acknowledges and uses that emptiness is always going to be unique to them.