#Black Cemeteries Matter

[ausetkmt]

How Authorities Erased a Historic Black Cemetery in Virginia — ProPublica

Nobody working to bring a $346 million Microsoft project to rural Virginia expected to find graves in the woods. But in a cluster of yucca plants and cedar that needed to be cleared, surveyors happened upon a cemetery. The largest of the stones bore the name Stephen Moseley, “died December 3, 1930,” in a layer of cracking plaster. Another stone, in near perfect condition and engraved with a branch on the top, belonged to Stephen’s toddler son, Fred, who died in 1906.

“This is not as bad as it sounds,” an engineering consultant wrote in March 2014 to Microsoft and to an official in Mecklenburg County, Virginia, who was helping clear hurdles for the project — an expansion of a massive data center. “We should be able to relocate these graves.”

Mecklenburg County, along with Microsoft and a pair of consulting firms, immediately began a campaign to downplay the cemetery’s significance. Their most urgent task was to make sure the cemetery wouldn’t be deemed eligible for the National Register of Historic Places, the federal government’s list of sites worthy of protection. That designation would likely trigger an archaeological investigation overseen by the state and could force the developers to steer clear of the graves. Without such a designation, the graveyard could be moved with relative ease.

After the discovery of the cemetery, the county and its consultants turned to archaeologists, which federal law required they retain. But that didn’t go as they hoped. In a detailed report, the archaeologists determined that the cemetery “is eligible for inclusion” on the historic registry. The report stressed the cemetery’s significance to African American life and death in Southside Virginia, citing the fact that Stephen Moseley and his relatives were Black. “It is recommended that the area be avoided,” the report said.

To the county and its consultants, whose costs Microsoft covered, this was unacceptable. “We will challenge his recommendation,” wrote Alexis Jones, a consultant with a firm called Enviro-Utilities.

The firm and the county pressed the archaeologists to reverse their conclusion that the cemetery belongs on the National Register. And they asked the team to cast doubt on the central finding that made the cemetery historically significant: that all the people buried there — members of a community of landowners who farmed tobacco in the wake of the Civil War and Reconstruction — were Black.

The archaeologists would only comply with the latter request. They edited their report to say, “It cannot be ruled out that the burials are associated with white tenant farmers.” But when they sent Jones and her boss the revised report, they acknowledged that the new assertion was dubious: “All the evidence available at this stage suggests” the cemetery was the final resting place of an African American community, they wrote.

Asked about the addition of the white tenant farmer claim, one of the archaeologists, David Dutton, told ProPublica: “We hadn’t exhumed any bodies. We hadn’t done any DNA. We hadn’t done any analysis. So could we say 100%? I mean, look, this is archaeology, you don’t know until you actually know.”

Jones and her colleagues still wanted the eligibility for the historic registry designation nixed, so they sent the report to another archaeologist, seeking a second opinion. But the archaeologist didn’t go along, and in fact he rejected the notion that some of the people buried there might be white. “Jim Crow would not have had whites and blacks buried that closely together,” he wrote.

He suggested that the original firm conduct additional historical research. “More work needs to be done on Moseley family members to identify who’s in the graves,” he wrote in an email to Jones’ boss, who forwarded it to the county.

The county and its consultants ignored the advice.

What the county had to do, because Virginia law requires it, was run a legal notice tucked among the ads and classifieds in several weekly print editions of The Mecklenburg Sun. Even that, Jones had warned in an email to Microsoft and the county, would “risk” the “chance of a local family member coming forward.”

The second week the notice ran, in November of 2014, the paper published a front-page story about a controversy over new helmets for the high school football team following the death of a player from blunt force trauma. It appeared under the byline Mike Moseley. Moseley is a staff writer. He is also Stephen Moseley’s great-grandson.

“The Moseleys have been here a long time,” Mike Moseley said of his family’s roots in that part of Virginia.

When asked if he’d seen the notice in the pages of his own newspaper, he responded: “Do you read the classifieds and the ads? I do not.”

Mike Moseley would not have been hard to locate, had the county actually tried to find Stephen Moseley’s descendants. The tall, lanky 60-year-old went to high school in Mecklenburg County and played basketball on the school team. After high school, he moved away for a time — he wasn’t interested in following his father into the funeral home business — but he returned to Mecklenburg more than two decades ago. Since then, he’s worked a series of jobs at local papers, including at the Sun, where he is still a reporter.

Mecklenburg County did not reply to detailed questions about the handling of the cemetery and the contents of the emails, which were obtained through state open records requests. But in a phone interview, County Administrator Wayne Carter said that the newspaper notice was sufficient to comply with the law. He added that he asked some people who hunted on the land if they’d noticed anyone visiting the cemetery. “They had not seen anyone down there,” Carter said.

Jones, the consultant, declined to answer questions, referring them to Microsoft. Enviro-Utilities did not respond to emailed questions and multiple calls and text messages. In response to questions, a Microsoft spokesperson said, “the County followed all applicable federal, state and local laws.”

Like his nephew, David Moseley heard nothing from the county about the threat to the cemetery. The soft-spoken retired schoolteacher and administrator, who is now 85, grew up on the land adjacent to where Microsoft was building its data center and currently lives outside of Lynchburg, Virginia. “Yes,” he said, when asked in August about his relatives’ resting place, “there’s a cemetery there.” He did not at first believe that the remains of his grandfather, Stephen Moseley, were somewhere else. “Somebody would have called me if they moved the cemetery,” he said.

In the months after the notice that ran in The Mecklenburg Sun, workers kept finding graves, ultimately 37 of them. Some of the plots were marked with pieces of quartz or with yucca plants, which were used by many Southern Black families who could not afford stones. Each burial site added days to the excavation, to the frustration of the county and its consultants. A crew dug up each of the graves, collecting bones, casket fragments, metal handles and hinges, etched epitaph plaques, a pair of eyeglasses, an ivory comb. The remains and other items were packed in plastic crates and stored in an office. Months later, all of it was reburied in four tightly packed, $500 cemetery plots one town to the north.

David Moseley’s grandparents, Stephen and Lucy Moseley, and great-grandparents, James and Ellen Walker, in 1899 purchased 169 acres in a fertile region near the North Carolina border. His father, Douglas Moseley, inherited the Moseley homestead, and as a teenager, David woke in the early mornings to work with an uncle harvesting their tobacco crop. As far back as David knew, his ancestors had been buried on that land. In one of his earliest memories, from when he was about 4, he joined his parents in the graveyard to bury his stillborn sibling. “I remember being out there and the open grave,” he said.

David, along with his last living sister, Christine Moseley, and their children, nieces and nephews, still own the eastern 83 acres of the property, which they call “the farm.” The family sold the adjacent tract, which Microsoft now owns, generations ago; David said his family entered a handshake agreement with the white people who bought the other half of the property that allowed the Moseleys to continue to visit the graves. Today, the farm is surrounded on nearly every side by land zoned for industrial use, including three of the 17 parcels that Microsoft has acquired in Mecklenburg County for the ongoing expansion of its data center there. Every so often, David Moseley or his niece who lives outside Washington, D.C., gets an offer to buy their remaining land. Sometimes the correspondence is signed by Wayne Carter, the county administrator who oversaw the permitting process for the Microsoft data center.

The cemetery’s disappearance proceeded despite layers of federal and state regulations nominally intended to protect places like it and to facilitate consultation with people who might have an interest in what happens to historic sites.

But in Virginia, as in most of the country, the power over what ultimately happens to these sites often belongs to whoever owns the land. And the labor of investigating what could make the site historic is often outsourced to for-profit archaeological firms working for property owners who have a financial stake in finding as little as possible.

“We are among the only developed countries in the world that considers archaeological sites on private property to be private property themselves rather than cultural heritage,” said Fred McGhee, Ph.D., an African American archaeologist in an overwhelmingly white field.

“Black historic places are some of the first to get maligned,” he said.

African American cemeteries that are deemed abandoned or untended have routinely been treated as little more than a nuisance in the path to development. Historic preservation laws and regulations rarely protect them.

On the campus of the University of Georgia, builders discovered a cemetery of enslaved people, and in 2017 the remains were reportedly loaded onto a moving truck and reburied “in secret,” according to a faculty review. In Texas in 2018, the graveyard of dozens of men held as convict laborers, a site whose significance was long known to community members, was found by construction workers, and the remains were exhumed. In each case, the developers have said they treated the burials with dignity.

Earlier this year, an agricultural company called Greenfield LLC applied for a federal permit to build a Statue of Liberty-sized grain transfer facility on 248 acres along the Mississippi River in Louisiana. An archaeological firm had initially concluded that the development put several notable Black historic sites, including a restored plantation that serves as a memorial to enslaved people, in harm’s way. But in May, ProPublica revealed that the firm changed its report to back away from that conclusion after facing pressure from its client. The firm told ProPublica at the time that no one had forced it to make the revisions and that the report itself was a draft, noting that drafts often change “after clients review them.”

Without first consulting the communities that live beside the development site and trace their ancestry to the people enslaved on the same land, the Army Corps of Engineers, the agency considering the permit, allowed Greenfield to drive enormous metal beams into a sugar cane field — even before the Corps signed off on the project. That field, researchers and community members say, likely holds unmarked graves of people who were held as slaves. Greenfield has said that it considers the protection of historic sites a priority and that it would stop construction if any such sites were discovered.

For decades, the Army Corps has been criticized by other federal agencies, advocates and community and tribal organizations for failing to engage with affected groups about potential damage to cultural sites, as the 1966 National Historic Preservation Act requires.

“The way this is supposed to work is that the Army Corps, or whatever federal agency is issuing a permit, should have told the developers that the descendant community needs to be identified and interviewed and that their perspectives need to be taken into account,” said J.W. Joseph, an archaeologist with New South Associates, a cultural resources firm in Georgia that has done archaeological work in dozens of cemeteries, often as part of projects regulated by the federal law. “Far too often, that doesn’t really happen.”

In Mecklenburg County, before Microsoft took possession of the land — for free, with significant tax breaks, along with state development dollars earmarked for struggling tobacco farming regions — the Army Corps raised no concerns about the development’s compliance with the Preservation Act. Nor did the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, the agency tasked with enforcing state and federal preservation laws, make any effort to step in and protect the site. (The department said it has never denied a landowner application for a reburial permit and preservation experts said Virginia judges almost never do either.)

The Army Corps and the Department of Historic Resources facilitated the cemetery’s legal erasure. The graves were dug up in near silence.

“Although the Department’s position is that those laid to rest should be left undisturbed,” a Department of Historic Resources spokesperson said, “we also understand that this is not always possible.”

Once they had permission from the state Department of Historic Resources to excavate the remains, Microsoft, Mecklenburg County and its consultants showed little concern for anything other than speed and cost. It was a rainy spring in 2015, and the ground was soaked. The graves that an excavation crew dug open would sometimes fill with water. According to one crew member, Eric Mai, who had recently started a master’s program in archaeology, the already-fragile remains were further degraded — exposed, sometimes for days, to the wet muck.

Everyone knew it was the wrong time for the work. “The conditions on site are about as bad as they can be for exhumation,” Jones, the consultant, wrote to Microsoft and the county, explaining why the dig was taking longer than expected. “It’s a nasty sticky wet clay,” she said of the soil that had primed the land decades ago for prolific tobacco yields. But Jones pressed the gas. “THEY need [to] find additional help and work 7 days a week until it is done.”

The “remains were saturated and in very poor condition,” according to a report by the firm hired to do the excavation, Circa-Cultural Resource Management LLC. The Department of Historic Resources agreed with Circa that there wasn’t enough physical matter left to justify sending the bones to the Radford University forensic anthropologist they’d planned to hire to study markers of age, race and sex. It “would probably not add any new information to the record,” a Circa report said.

“WAYNE, this is a GOOD thing!” Jones, the consultant, wrote to Carter, the county administrator. “This would be a huge money and time savings for us.” (This year, Jones took a job with Microsoft, as an environmental permitting program manager, according to her LinkedIn profile.)

Mai said in an interview that he worried that in the rush to dig up the Moseley cemetery, the Circa team may have missed important artifacts and grave offerings. “I think it would probably be concerning for descendants to learn that the people out there doing the work, me included, did not really know what we were looking at,” said Mai. “Nobody on the team knew anything about African American burials.”

Circa CEO Carol Tyrer wrote in response to questions that the team members did have “knowledge of African American cemeteries and burial practices.” Tyrer referred other questions about the Moseley cemetery excavation to Microsoft.

In part because of his ethical concerns, Mai left the field of for-profit archaeological and historic survey work. “There is a disrespect in this process,” Mai said recently. “The people, the descendants, are not really part of what we do.”

Had the county or any of its consultants made more of an effort to determine who they were digging up, they might have learned from public death certificates and census records that in one of the graves lay the remains of Ellen Walker and likely her husband, James Walker, the parents of Lucy Walker, who married Stephen Moseley, a preacher’s son from one county away. They might also have found living relatives like Mary Taylor, who is now 83 and is one of Stephen and Lucy Moseley’s many great-grandchildren. She lives in Norfolk and keeps a worn folder full of records showing that one of her mother’s brothers was buried in the Moseley cemetery. They might have come upon the records of other cousins and aunts and uncles by marriage, who formed their own branches of the family tree, whose descendants still own other plots of land in Mecklenburg County, and who appear to have been laid to rest there, too.

Once the dig was complete, the Army Corps told Mecklenburg County that it had met its obligations under federal law. Construction crews leveled the ground where the cemetery had been. Ownership of the land was transferred from the county to Microsoft.

In response to questions, the Corps wrote that it had consulted with the Department of Historic Resources and with Mecklenburg County before issuing the permit. A spokesperson also stated that the Corps had posted a notice on its own website around the same time the county ran its notice in the Sun “soliciting comments on the project.” Nobody responded.

Aerial photos of Mecklenburg County going back to the 1990s show rows of evergreen trees that wind across both of the old Moseley plots like the whorls and arches of a thumbprint. Then, in a 2016 satellite image of the terrain, the contours of trees and their center point have disappeared. A row of rectangles, the backfilled graves, appear in the tan earth. By 2020, an aerial view shows only an undeveloped dirt patch on the far eastern edge of the Microsoft site, just over the line from the land the Moseleys still own.

In 2019, four years after the Moseley cemetery was dug up, Mecklenburg County began building a sorely needed new middle and high school. On the uncleared land, surveyors discovered a cluster of headstones inscribed with the last name Tunstall, a white family with a long history in the region. The graves would need to be moved for construction to proceed as planned, and the school board put a notice in the newspaper, like the one that had been placed about the Moseley cemetery. But in this case, the relocation was also discussed in open school board meetings. A construction firm that worked on the project trumpeted its effort to help find relatives.

A Mecklenburg County sheriff’s deputy named Dustyne Lett saw the news of the cemetery on Facebook. She is a descendant of the Tunstalls.

“By us being involved, we could have a say about where they would be moved,” Lett said recently.

A county judge issued an order giving the school board permission to disinter the remains. They were reburied in a family cemetery several towns away.

“Family members need to be buried with family members,” Lett said. “It’s not like they get together to have dinner. But for us living people, we want to have one spot where we can visit them, talk to them.”

David and Mike Moseley do not imagine that they would have won a fight against Microsoft or the county to keep the cemetery where it was, though they would have wanted the chance to wage one. They also were denied the chance to decide where their ancestors would be reburied.

“We would have wanted them to be moved here, where the rest of the family is,” David Moseley told me when we met in the Jerusalem Temple United Holy Church Cemetery, where the Moseleys have buried their relatives since the 1960s, after they moved off the farm. David’s sister Dorothy Tolbert, who passed away in New Jersey in May, is buried there, not far from Lucy Moseley’s grave — a grave that had been publicly logged online three years before the Microsoft project. “That would have been respectful, that would have allowed them to be together,” David said. In 1967, when Lucy Moseley died at the age of 96, relatives figured moving her husband’s grave to the Jerusalem Temple cemetery would have been too expensive. They would let their ancestors rest in peace.

State and local officials have actively worked to honor and preserve white cemeteries in Mecklenburg County. In a 2003 book about the successful effort to have several historic town centers listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the view from a white cemetery is described as “bucolic.” That view has been protected by a Virginia historic preservation easement. Another cemetery, with only three visible stones, is noted for its impressive gateposts, which are inscribed with the words “Love Makes Memorial Eternal” and which were donated in 1941 by the United Daughters of the Confederacy.

In August, I met David and Mike Moseley to look for their relatives’ reburied graves in a cemetery in Chase City, 15 minutes north of the Microsoft data center. The final excavation report had said there would be a marker placed “indicating how many remains, where they were removed from, date, and known family names.”

We drove slowly through the cemetery, looking for a sign. We did not find one. Over lunch at a local restaurant, we called the Chase City municipal office. A clerk told us that she thought she knew what we were talking about; in the new section of the town cemetery, past the mausoleum, we’d find “the graves the county sent.”

“There are no names. It just says ‘assorted bones,’” she said, reading off a paper on file in the town office. She gave us directions, listing the names on several other stones in the vicinity of the reburial plots.

Past the mausoleum, we spotted a grave with one of those names and stopped the car. David peered out the window. “I know that stone,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”

Stephen Moseley’s gravestone had been set in the ground. Six feet to the right stood the stone of his toddler son, Fred D. Moseley. There is nothing noting the existence of any other remains, just an unmarked stretch of grass.David and Mike Moseley placed their hands on the top of Stephen’s gravestone. “I would not have known where he was buried,” Mike Moseley said, repeatedly, and then sat down in front of the stone, his hand still resting on the top, and cried. Being here with them now, he said, “this connects us.”

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~Dead on main~Someone is walking over my grave

Jason sits on his tombstone and thinks about..something.

He lazily washes off the dirt that has been stuck on his army boots after the rain. It covers the year of his death perfectly. Grinning, he puts out a cigarette by using the mentioned stone. The cigarette butt throws between ugly funeral wreaths.

Danny: Hey, asshole, stop it!

Jason turns around. A very angry twink is rushing at him. The notorious crime lord does not have time to react when a fist hits him. Red Hood falls into a puddle. Shit! His favorite leather jacket!

Jason: What the hell are you doing?

Danny: No. What the hell are you doing?! Just because a man is dead doesn’t mean you must not respect him. You’re in a cemetery. Behave yourself, shithead. Or I’ll teach you manners.

Jason: You’re not from around here. Right?

Danny: So what? I doubt it’s normal to wipe your feet using a tombstone. Even in Gotham.

A malicious gremlin folds his arms on a chest.

Jason sits in a puddle more comfortably and pulls another cigarette out of his pocket. Damn, it’s wet.

Jason: If you were gothamite, I wouldn’t have to explain. It’s my grave, idiot. I do what I want with it.

Jason throws useless source of nicotine at his photo with black ribbon. The person who convicted him takes a couple of seconds to compare the vandal to the buried one.

Danny: Aw, shit, man. My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break.

Jason’s eyebrow rises in surprise. From the outsider he expected more screaming and running. Not…apologies.

Jason: Yeah? Tell that to my favorite leather jacket. Now you can bury it next to me.

Bad Jason, bad. That’s not how normal people talk.

Danny: I’ll make amends. Tomorrow, okay? It’s my first working day. I’ve decided not to take my wallet. Need to find a safe route.

Jason: First day?

Danny: Yes, new cemetery guard here in the flesh. But I have not had time to meet all of inhabitants. Mistook you for a bad boy in a story. Well, it is your fault too! I understand you’re upset about death or maybe about the color of wreaths but please just put all the shit in the trash. I’m Danny, by the way.

Jason: Ha, I was wondering why there was no regular dude at work. Probably my neighbors drove him to a breakdown. He was an asshole, so no regrets.

Danny: Do you think so? Mrs Dent didn’t seem restless to me, she was quite nice.

The guy didn’t seem to catch the joke. Or was crazy. Why are all the hot people in Gotham are? Doesn’t matter. Why not try, right?

Jason: Don’t worry about the money. You can repay me with something else.

Danny: So you regenerates the suit? Cool. What do you want?

Jason: Um, I don’t get it, but… as compensation, I’m wanna have your number and one date.

Danny: Sure, why not.

Danny looks at the headstone.

Danny:Can you go outside the cemetery...Jason? The place is romantic, I agree, but where I grew up, it’s not customary to bring a mate at the place of rest until you meet parents.

Jason: Seriously? Cheesy horror movies didn’t teach you not to mess with zombies?

Danny: Well, I’ve never had a partner who was attracted to my brilliant brain. It must be pretty nice. And I don’t mind a couple of love bites, zombie boy.

Danny’s playfully batting his eyelashes. Jason can’t help laughing.

Danny: The less fair opinion among my friends is that I’m just brain-dead idiot. But I think they just don’t understand the benefits of adrenaline addiction, miserable humans. *pretends to wipe off a tear*

Jason *pretends to sniff*: Aw, hell, you really are a brainless doll, aren’t you?

Danny: Even so, it just means I’m perfectly safe.

Jason: Don’t think so. I want a piece of you.

Danny: Then don’t be afraid that the feeling is mutual. My teeth are also quite sharp. And when I’m haunting, it’s not easy to get rid of me.

The cheeky smile has given way to a serious look.

Danny: If we don’t get along, tell me right away, I’m not good at reading other people’s emotions.

~~~~~

Red Hood may be the son of the greatest detective but blinded by love Jason realizes that his boyfriend is quite dead only after a couple of months. He used to think Danny was a little…weird. Well, who in Gotham isn’t? It wasn't a problem. But during a funny fight about ignoring Danny in favor of a conversation with Tim , Fenton goes through him to grab his phone and then shouts that 'ghosting him is racist'.

Jason was delighted that he was able to hide his surprise. His boyfriend was too sweet, but sometimes insecure. Jay didn’t want Danny to start being cautious. Evidently, Honey thought from the first day that Jason knows. Let him keep it that way. Nothing has changed.

But now Danny’s promises to haunt Joker for the rest of his life if Jason wants it stopped being just super-hot flirt. So Jason need to make sure he doesn’t sic his darling poltergeist or whoever Danny is on someone. Even if it sounds good.

~~~~~Family dinner~~~~~

Dick: How did you two meet?

Jason: That’s a great story. My brave man beat the vandal who was messing with my grave.

Bruce: What? Who dared?

Danny: Jason, stop. It’s embarrassing.

Jason: No~ My family needs to know that chivalry is dead. My hero. Jason can’t resist a kiss on the cheek.

Danny: Taking this opportunity, I want to thank you all. It means a lot that you accepted Jason even not fully alive.

Alfred: Nonsense. Of course we..He’s family, no matter what.

Danny: Until the death separates us. Even at a wedding, love is promised only for a while. In parenthood, they do not take any oath about it. You’d be surprised how little past relationships can mean to people and how easy it is to hate what we are.

Danny: Damn, I ruined the mood, didn’t I? Sorry.

~~~~~

Jason: B, with all due respect, back off. You should ask Constantine how to help Danny if his family becomes a problem. Don’t mark my babe as a problem.

Bruce: I asked. And he laughed at me and said that you are the one who need protection. not him. Your Fenton is dangerous. Ghosts of such power only emerge in cataclysms after a large burst of energy or reach this level after centuries of battles or cannibalism and battles.

Jason: Seriously, old man? My boyfriend’s not gonna eat me. I’m not Red riding hood and he’s clearly not pretending to be my grandmother.

~~~~~~

Danny: Hi, honey. what’s new?

Jason noted with satisfaction that Danny had eaten all the supplies he had prepared for him.

Jason: Nothing, but now I have an idea for great Halloween costumes for us. They are gonna drive the old man crazy.

Danny: Did you fight again? What is it this time?

Jason: Guess what, now B’s worried you want to bite off my dick or something.

Danny: First, eew, disgusting. Don’t talk about our intimate life with fucking Batman. Why would he think that? I like you whole.

Jason: Whore?

Danny: Idiot.They don’t even sound alike.

Jason: Just admit that I am an eye candy and kiss me already. I need a break from the madness of my family.

~~~~~

Later Danny blackmails Constantine for information about the interrogation from Batman.

Then he sends a short message to the group chat : Tell the future father-in-law that while Jason can cook, he is safe from me.

The chat explodes from questions of Batclan to Bruce. Jay has great brothers and sisters. Danny knew their chaotic energy could be relied upon.

~~~~~

In the morning Jason yells at Tim. Why the hell did Replacement put "Friends For Dinner" from The Land Before Time as his alarm melody?

~~~~~

Bruce *is suspicious of the ghosts at the wedding*.

GhostWriter: Do not think that we like it. The boy is involved in his own version of Twilight. Oh Ancients, I hope the Ancients don't know about it.

Clockwork aka one of Ancients: Come on, that’s sweet. And story will have a happy ending. I guarantee.

~~~~~

Jason's in a date simulator with no chance of losing when everyone thinks he’s in a horror game. Is Danny dangerous? Yeah. Did he hunt when they first met? Who knows. The main thing in the middle of the conversation Danny realised he found a creature with a similar sense of humor. So that made Jason 10 out of 10 aka soulmate and he would kill for him.

[quiet-onset]

fever pitch

pairing: michael berzatto x reader

wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me

summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto

warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!

a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!

The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.

You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure. 

But you hadn’t cried.

You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.

But you still hadn’t cried.

Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”

“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”

You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”

“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”

“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.

“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.

“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”

“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”

“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.

“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”

“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”

Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”

“Save the fish. Got it.”

Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of  the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”

When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”

“Sug. Please.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”

—

Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.

He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.

The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.

Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.

He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.

The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned. 

“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.

He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.

“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”

The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”

After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”

You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”

“Your son?”

“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”

He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”

“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”

“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number. 

You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor. 

That was the beginning of the end.

—

“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”

“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”

“Not yet.”

“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.

You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.

“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”

You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”

“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”

When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”

“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again. 

“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”

He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”

“At The Beef?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh. 

“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”

Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.

“Carm doesn’t know…?”

“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”

You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.

“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”

A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”

“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”

His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.

“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”

“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh. 

You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”

“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”

“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue. 

“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”

“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”

“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”

“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”

You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”

—

“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”

You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties. 

Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.

Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”

He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”

“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”

“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”

“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”

The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”

“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion. 

“Have you been to his grave?”

You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”

“I don’t.”

He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”

“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.

“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”

“‘F course.”

When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.

Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.

“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.

And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited,  in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.

Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Please don’t hate me.”

He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”

You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”

“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”

Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”

“Baby, why—”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re no—”

Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”

“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”

“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”

“Michael.”

“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”

If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.

“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”

Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”

“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”

“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”

“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”

“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.

But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”

Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.

You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”

“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.

You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good. 

That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”

You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.

It smelled like Michael.

—

That fucking fork. 

Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.

Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.

You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”

“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.

Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”

“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.

“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”

Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”

Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.

Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room. 

Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”

“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”

He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”

“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.

“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”

“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.

He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in. 

His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.

Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”

No answer.

“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”

The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”

Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”

Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.

“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”

“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.

“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”

“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.

“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”

And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.

If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.

Knock knock knock.

You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.

“How did you even find me?”

“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”

“You tracked my phone?”

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”

“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.

“Hey, stop calling me that.”

“That’s your name!”

“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”

“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”

“Why do you care so much, huh?”

“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”

Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”

“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”

“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.

“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”

Smack!

You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you. 

It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes. 

“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”

“I hate you.” You spat.

“No, you don’t.”

You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.

You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.

He loved you. 

It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?

“Yes, I fucking do.”

His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”

You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip. 

He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.

He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.

He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”

And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.

Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown  belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.

Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.

“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.

He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight. 

“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.

You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”

Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.

He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.

You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.

He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.

“I know, baby.”

His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.

You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit. 

“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”

His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”

Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.

“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”

One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.

“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”

“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”

“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”

Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”

Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”

“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.

“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—” 

“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”

And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”

The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.

“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear. 

“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”

And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected. 

As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.

His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog. 

There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.

“What’s that?”

Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”

He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.

“Are you high right now?”

Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed. 

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Michael. Are you high?”

He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”

You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”

You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.

But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”

Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”

—

“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”

“And how’s your love life?”

“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”

“Well, are you?”

You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”

“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”

“So, it’s not a relationship?”

“No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was. 

You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.

She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”

You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”

You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest. 

Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”

You sighed, “But what if—”

“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.

Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”

Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”

“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”

Stop enabling him. 

That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;

u busy tonight? wanna see u. 

And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:

meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.

And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”

“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.

“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”

You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“Work?”

“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”

“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”

You snorted, “My hero.”

His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.

And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you. 

You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”

“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”

Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.

“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”

“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.

“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”

“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”

“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”

“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”

“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.

“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”

Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.

You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”

When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.

But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”

“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”

“You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.

When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”

He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster. 

He was gone the next month.

—

“We’re closed!”

“Maybe you should lock the door then.”

You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant. 

Well, at the restaurant his brother left him. 

When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”

You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”

“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”

“We’re going to a meeting.”

Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you prefer NA or AA?”

He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”

“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”

“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”

“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”

He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”

“Carm—”

“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”

“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”

“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”

Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.

It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive. 

Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks. 

But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”

You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”

Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”

His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Carm, it’s ok—”

“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”

A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”

He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”

You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”

His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”

A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”

You nodded, “They are.”

“They?”

“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”

“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”

Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”

[mars-and-the-theoi]

Low energy Devotional Acts for when you don’t have a lot of energy (or time, or money, etc.) pt. 8

💀Hades/Plouton💀

- listen to a devotional playlist for Him

- learn how to budget if able

- if you have a dog- spend some time with them

- if able volunteer at an animal shelter or volunteer to walk dogs

- if able learn about your ancestors

- learn about death magic and spirit work

- learn about death doulas

- learn about the Underworld or afterlives in general

- listen to ‘dark ambient’ soundscapes

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn about cemetery and graveyard etiquette

- learn about funerary practices throughout time and around the world

- wear black (can be as simple as a hair tie or socks to your whole outfit and even makeup!)

- listen to goth music

- carry some coins on you if able

- do Halloween or gothic themed coloring pages

- learn about the roles of hospice workers, funeral directors, morticians, etc.

- honor deceased loved ones (can be pets, friends, family members, etc. doesn’t matter)

- be kind to spirits and respect* them and the dead (*I know there are some folks who don’t deserve respect in death so obviously you don’t have to respect them this is just a more…in general kind of thing)

🌺Persephone🌺

- if able go on a walk (can be as simple as down the driveway and back up if that’s all you can manage)

- if unable to do that try to sit outside or open a window/door to let some fresh air in and open the blinds/curtains to let some sunlight in

- listen to nature soundscapes

- pick some flowers or get a bouquet for yourself or others

- learn about herbalism

- enjoy some pomegranates, pomegranate juice, or something with pomegranate in it

- listen to a devotional playlist for Her

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn, read, watch stuff about ghosts (yes even those weird ghost hunting shows that come on at like 2 am and make you feel like you’re experiencing a fever dream)

- learn about reincarnation

- be kind to Demeter

- if able donate to or volunteer at a battered women’s shelter and learn about their history and importance

- if able do some baking (especially bread)

- learn about the underworld or afterlives in general

[toulousewayne]

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: II

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————-

“They Can Bury Us Deep, But We Always Grow.”

Batman sat perched on the rooftops of Gotham. It was a rainy night, much preferred these nights. Most of the crime was kept to the shadows it made it easier for him.

“Batman,we’ve got a problem,”Oracle’s voice filled his coms. “Fill me in.” He jumped off the building and glided north of his location.

——

A man walks outside of the Stacked Deck Bar, and takes a puff from his cigarette. He walks into the alleyway and takes a swig of his flask.

He rounds the corner to see a shadow figure standing before him.

“It’s the freakin’ bat,” he takes out his pistol but it’s knocked out of his grips my a WingDing. The next thing he knows he’s thrown against a nearby dumpster.

“You murderer.” Nightwing snarled at the man before his feet. He kicked him in the stomach, then picked him up and flung him to the other side of the alley.

“L-look I’m sorry about you friend—it’s wasn’t personal.” He’s met with a powerful shock to the gut.

“AHHH-pplease.”

“That’s enough, honey,”A thin cloud of pink and gold mist surrounded the two men, Y/n emerged be held by tree branches pink petals. “It’s good to see you,Nolan wasn’t it. however, the last time we meet you killed me along with your friends.” Y/n grinned. He sported a new pale green skin tone now, his normal (E/C) eyes were a deep emerald. Leaves and vines woven together to map pants and some wrapped around his forearms and torso.

He lowered himself and walked over to Nightwing placing a hand on his emblem. “You know I should really thing you, you allowed me to be a better version of myself,”

“You’re welcome-“Nightwing kicked him in the gut again.

Y/n crossed his arms across his chest. “Though I could have done without the new color. No matter it’s time you answer my questions.” He waved his hand and Nightwing backed away from the goon. Y/n crouched down and blow from his palm, more of the same pink dust engulfed him squared in the face and almost immediately his grimace morphed into a blank stare.

“Now what I want to know two things. What is the name of the scientist that gave you the order to kill me, and last where is Poison Ivy?”

———

The Batmobile came to a screeching haunt behind several police cruisers. He leaped out and walked past the small crowd held back by officers.

A officer lifted a yellow tape and he entered the crime scene. Gordon stood a foot away from two white sheets, Spoiler and Red Robin stood at the bodies scanning them before joining Batman and the Commissioner.

“They two of the best people on the force,” Gordon puffed after taking a drag from his Pipe.

“Any leads?” Batman turned to the two heroes. Red Robin hand him a zip lock bag with several deep green leaves.

“Posion Ivy, she’s been quiet.” Spoiler folded her arms.

Batman walked past them and removed the sheets to observe the bodies. It’s definitely something Ivy could have done but Batman isn’t so sure. He knows that’s she’s been MIA for months.

He rises his head and looks straight ahead. “Gotham Cemetery.” He mumbles. He stands up and walks towards it.

“Is he himself?” Gordon turns to the two who shrug.

—

Batman enters the cemetery and walks past the stone statues. He moves like a black phantom through out the grounds until he stops in front of what was supposed to be a fresh grave. Red Robin and Spoiler approach and stop themselves.

“What happened?” She questions. Vines and purple flowers grown from the grave and have consumed it. The casket is in the heart of the greenery and is split open. And no body inside.

Batman turned to the two, before worry took over his masked features. “Has anyone spoke to Nightwing tonight?”

“Not since the afternoon, he said he was patrolling the East End tonight.” Red Robin replied.

“You think Y/n did this?” Spoiler looked back at the grave and back to Batman who was practically running towards the entrance.

“Alfred I need to find Nightwing he’s not answering his com links.” The Batmobile came to a roaring stop at the cemetery gates and Batman hopped inside before racing down the street.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate him Sir. His tracker when down two hours ago.” He sighed.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”Any last know location.”

“Allow me to check,”Alfred typed a few keys before giving him the last location,”Robinson Park Sir, the Botanical Gardens.” The Batmobile raced and roar onto Pioneer Bridge towards the other part of the city.

——

One man stumbles and falls down a few stairs and coughs. As he runs down a hallway into a warehouse.

“Please have Mercy!” He cries as he ducks behind a crate.

“Mercy,I’ll show you mercy.” A voice boomed in the dark room. The man cowered in fear before he flew back from his hiding spot and was carried up fifty feet in the air. He was wrapped in an oversized vine and was being constrained.

Y/n moved into his view ontop of an another vine and smirked. He had his arm resting on his knee and leaned forward towards the man’s face.

“So sad isn’t it. We take for granted the gifts Mother Nature can offer us,” he plucks a maroon flower from his vine that looks between a cross of a tulip and rose. He twirled the flower and looked back at the man. Before smirking.

“So tell me Wilson, where can I find the scientist?” Before the man could reply Y/n blow on the flower and black particles landed on his face. He started to cough and scream in pain.

“He’s meeting the Boss I don’t know who but he’s meeting him Chinatown. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed in terror before a massive coughing fit and his limbs go limp.

Y/n lowers himself down and allows the vines to drop the body with a loud crack. Nightwing stood a few feet from where the man landed. He stare at him for a while before Y/n came into his view.

“Where are we going?” Y/n placed a kiss to his cheek. Y/n took his leave with Dick in tow.

“To make one more stop.”

——

Batman crashed through the same skyline Nightwing had to find the place abandoned. He took a look around with a flashlight.

He came to a makeshift bed and found the same leaves Red Robin gave him.

He turned on his scanner and turned the leave over. “Alfred identify and breakdown these leaves basic components.”

“Right away Sir. These two leaves have the same trace amount of pheromones. The scanners indicate they are of a stronger concentration. The combination is similar to the lab where Nightwing and is team were a few nights ago.”

Batman turned and looked at the ground. He found a WingDing and a remnant of a sleep dart. The same Nightwing gauntlet. “Nightwing must of found Y/n and tried to stop him.”

Alfred hummed, “Do you think he killed Master Richard.”

Batman kneeled down a traced his finger to find them covered in a green dust. “Unlikely, what happened to him he still cares for Dick.” He stood up and grappled out of the greenhouse. He glides down to the street and gets back into the Batmobile.

“The attack on Y/n in the lab must of caused a biological shock and rewrite his DNA the same way it did Ivy. But what I can figure out is what’s motivate?” He began to drive before another call rang.

“It’s Ms Gordon I’ll patch her through.” Soon the ringing stopped and Barbara’s voice filled the car.

“Batman we found two bodies.”

“Where?”

“One at the Stacked Deck an hour ago Red Hood is on the scene with Bullock. And another at a warehouse at Dixon Docks,Batgirl is there with Robin now.”

“My word, Sir my analysis is completed. There is another drug mixed in that was scanned at the fire. It’s a drug called Tomgenalixe. It’s a substance used in modern day Hallucinogens and can be used to create mind altering effects.”

“Mind Control.” Batman and Oracle reply.

“So Y/n isn’t just killing people for fun, he’s been controlled too.” Oracle took a deep sigh.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”We need to find them. Alfred can you track Y/n’s pheromones?”

Alfred typed at the Batcomputer. “Sir his tracking is leading to the Diamond District.”

Batman raced back towards the highway. “Oracle take the components of the drugs and chemicals and synthesize and antitoxin. Have someone bring it to me. Alfred, have Red Robin and Spoiler meet me at my location.”

“Working on it, I’ll have Red Hood and Batgirl pick up the antioxins as soon as it ready.” Oracle signed off.

“Sir, when you arrive what will you do?”

Batman didn’t answer as thunder crashed across the night sky.

“I’m going to save them.”

———-

“Where’s my cut?” The scientist hissed at the man in a chair turned away from him.

The man chuckled. “Your cut, you were supposed to bring me a new drug. You burned your research. I can’t get any of that funding back, and now Lex Luthor has questions about fire you caused.” The man stood before as Black Man rises from his seat and the scientist cowers.

“I’m—“ SMACK

“You little runt, you work for me and you’ll get paid when the fuck I say so.” He snarled. He grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it at him.

“Now get back and figure out the poison, you still have the plant woman in holding?”

“Yes, she’s secure downstairs.” He took the cash. But before he could leave he was kicked square in the jaw and crumbled to the floor.

Black Mask turns to see Nightwing giving his a death stare. “What brings you here?”

The doors burst open with three of his goons with green glowing eyes and Y/n strolling behind them.

“I’m here for a little payback.” Y/n smirked. He outstretched his arm and vines bursts from the floor and tied up Black Mask.

“You crazy bitch I’ll kill you.” Y/n yawned. “Boys take care of him,” he turned to the scientist. “I think you have someone who doesn’t belong to you, don’t worry I’ll kill you when this over just like I did you henchmen.”

“Boss!” The large man who had did most of the damage to Y/n emerged through another door. Nightwing sprang into action and brutal fought him. It didn’t take long before he hit the ground hard.

Y/n crossed the room and stood over the dazed man.

“Remember it’s nothing personal.” Y/n dropped seeds into his gapped open mouth and vines and flower rapidly grew from his mouth and stomach.

“That’s sick.” Black Mask gagged before getting punch by Nightwing.

Y/n nodded and then two armed guards took Black Mask away. The other waiting for them and Nightwing grabbed the Scientist.

“Let’s go.” He barked. Y/n and the other guard followed him. The arrived in a basement that was like a huge underground bunker.

They ventured until the came to a catwalk and bellow was a cell in center with Ivy unconscious.

“Well it seems you’ve severed your purpose.” Y/n turned to the man that uttered the order to kill him and before he could grab him a Batarang nearly took his hand off.

Batman leaped down and glared at the group.”That’s enough, you’ve taken to many lives tonight I won’t let you take more Y/n. This isn’t you.”

Y/n pursed his lips and brief a chuckle. “What do you know about Y/n?” Batman eyed down below and saw Ivy talking almost as a puppet.

“Ivy, you’ve been controlling him from the start.”

Ivy/Y/n chuckled. “I can’t take all the credit you seen when they turned Y/n into this new and improved version of himself. We form a connection, and the more his powers grew—“

“The greater your control became.” Batman finished. Ivy chuckled in her cell.

“He makes a fine successor, does need some weeding but no matter he’ll do fine to kill you.” Y/n caused two large vines to sprout beside Batman who leaped down and landed on his feet. He cartwheel out the way of a shock from Nightwing.

“I know you can hear me, don’t make me have to put down.” Nightwing smirked,”Come and try.” He lunged at Batman and the two attacked and blocked each others moves.

Red Robin and Spoiler crashed the room and took out the guard and Spoiler went after Y/n to jumped onto a moving vine.

“Y/n snap out of it you’re still in there.” She pleaded. Y/n formed another overgrown plant to seat her away like fly. He caused a giant Venus Flytrap to sprout and it held him in place.

“This will be your tomb.” He laughed wickedly.

——

Black Mask stood ontop of the building with rifles at his head.

“Jump.” One order. He moved his leg out to jump before he heard gunfire and the sounds of punches. He nervously turned to see Red Hood and Batgirl.

“I’m saved—“ he was lassoed by Batgirl who tied him to a pipe. Before following Red Hood into the building.

“Hell let me Go!”

—-

Nightwing kicked Batman in the chest sending him stumbling.

Red Robin back flipped out the way of a vine nearly crushing him.

“Give up.” Ivy hissed.

Red Hood and Batgirl arrived. Batgirl grabbed a vine and began to run up it to Y/n and Red Hood leaped down and fired a few rounds at Nightwing which distracted him long enough for Batman to land a punch.

He stagger and when to fight him some more giving Red Hood the chance to fire a dart the hit Nightwing in the neck. He growled before he slowly turned and fell into Batman’s arms going limp.

Batgirl managed to get a clear shot and injected Y/n with large dose. He felt tired fell onto the catwalk, Red Robin check on him before injecting an orange liquid into Y/n arm.

“This will break the connection to Ivy.”

Ivy screamed in pain like a part of her had been stabbed. “You’re going to Arkham.” Batman stood before her and she was about to shout before green mist filled her cell and she collapsed.

“Hey Oracle whip up something for her too.” Batgirl chimed in.

Batman grinned and turned to Nightwing and sighed.

———-

Y/n felt like everything that happened was a fever dream. Killing them men that assaulted him, rising from the dead like an uprooted carrot and his finale fight with the Batfamily.

He sat up with an instant migraine. He rubbed his temples from the bright lights and turned to the side to see a shadow.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“You’re in Arkham.” Batman sighed and came into the light of the cell.

Y/n took in his surroundings and it was in a cell in Arkham. He was also in hospital gown with a collar around his neck.

“So I’m in jail?” He raised a brow the Dark Knight. Batman took a stance at the foot of the bed.

“Not exactly, what do you remember?” His voice was full of concern and worry. Not the same voice typical of Batman.

Y/n rubbed his temples for a brief movement. “I remember the taxi driver…I vaguely remember two officers and then everything went black. Did I hurt them?”

“They’re dead. Poison Ivy took control over your mind after you transition into a meta-human.”

Y/n felt all the air suck of his lungs. “You’re here because I know you’ll be under careful observation,” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and Y/n followed. Vents were overhead them.

“This cell is constantly being pumped with an antitoxin that helps with the more advanced powers. It won’t rid them completely but you’ll be in control.” He walked closer to the doors.

“You should be in for a few more days, once that finished I’ll come get you myself. Gordon has already dropped any charges and no one knows Y/n L/N was the new Poison Ivy.”

“Did I hurt him?”

“I don’t know what your—“

“Damnit yes you do. I know I didn’t just kill two people. I hope I can..live with that. But did I hurt him?” Tears formed in the young man’s eyes and streamed down his face.

“No.” Batman whispered.

“Oh.” He wiped his face. “Can I see him?”

“I can’t allow that, you didn’t hurt him but Ivy used your feelings for him to make into your mind-controlled bodyguard. You killed people Y/n…He’s still recovering in the cave. Y/n it may be best to give it time.” Batman exited the cell where Gordon was waiting and the two walked away into the Asylum.

Everything began to flash before Y/n and he flopped back on the uncomfortable cot. Before sleep took him back and he dozed off.

[dinneronvenus]

Doesn’t Matter Now

⭑ Gojo x fem reader

⭑ inspired by the song “doesn’t matter now” by flyingfish (listen to that while you read for max effect)

⭑ tags: ANGST ON 100, description of a jujutsu technique that forfeits the sorcerer’s life, death, a funeral, a hopeless and depressed Gojo goes to a medium, hinted reincarnation

⭑ synopsis: Gojo already lost his only true friend, so he never thought losing a woman could hurt him so badly

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Gojo. You didn’t even know.” Utahime spoke softly, her own pain wanting to break through in her voice. “Nobody did.”

Gojo remained silent, eyes glazed over, a cocktail of negative emotions mixing in his mind. He couldn’t even look at Utahime, whose outfit would remind him of you. They stood in the ruins of the shrine your family had built and ran for generations. It had come under attack by many cursed spirits and you had fulfilled your duty to protect the people who lived and worked there, as well as its secrets. With everyone else safe, it would be rebuilt and restored to its original glory, something that should have been a silver lining.

“It is not uncommon for a high priestess to give her life for her people.” Utahime said, voice breaking at the end. This brought Gojo even less comfort.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I hadn’t heard her say those exact words to me before?!” He snapped, still not able to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. It was Utahime’s turn to stay silent.

In the middle of the leveled temple, there was the evidence of your bravery. A set of heavy stone doors bearing an ancient inscription, left open by whatever you had summoned to walk through them, loomed over the two sorcerers. Gojo already knew they’d be used as a gate to honor your memory and remember your sacrifice. His eyes begged to see any scrap of you in the rubble. Maybe this was just a trick, and you were hiding behind one of the doors.

“What could her technique have been to have killed her in the process?” He whispered to the open air, not thinking anyone could’ve heard him.

“Gehenna Gate, it is a technique with the highest of costs,” A raspy voice broke the unbearable quiet. It was your mother, who despite everything, managed to keep a small smile on her face for your surviving friends. “I am sorry she never told you that properly. She wanted to protect you, in her own way.” Her hand came down on Gojo’s shoulder and the kindness in her touch almost burned him alive.

“I didn’t… I wish she…” Gojo stuttered out, hot tears stinging his eyes. Your mother pulled him into a hug, shushing him like a child.

Five days later, your funeral was to be held at your family cemetery in the mountains overlooking the temple. Gojo had no idea how he would survive that. He spent the time until your funeral looking for someone who could communicate with the dead. Thanks to his power and connections, he found one the night before and prepared himself to have one last conversation with you.

“Welcome, sir. I assume you’re here to see Mistress Takemi?” The young man spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jingle of the bell from the door shutting behind him.

“Yeah, and she knows already so I’m just gonna head back there,” Gojo sauntered through the foyer and down the hall to the back room where a woman in black and purple robes standing over a large glass table was waiting on him.

“Welcome Satoru,” she spoke cheerfully with a deep voice that echoed her years of life.

“Don’t call me that. Can we get started?” The overly familiar attitude irked him. The woman cleared her throat and dropped her cheerful act.

“I suppose we can get right to it then.”

The woman had a technique that essentially made her into a human ouija board. Her hands rested on the glass table and it began to glow a soft greenish-blue. Gojo could see the dark circles and puffiness of his eyes in the reflection, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself for being this unable to accept that you were gone.

“Satoru?” His name again, but this time he could hear your voice mixing with Takemi’s voice. He said your name in disbelief, tears of joy in his eyes.

“Yes, yes! It’s me, I wa—”

“You can’t do this, Satoru. It’s against the laws.”

“Please, don’t tell me that right now. You hid so much from me, please just let me ask you one thing.”

Silence. Fearing he’d miss his chance, he went ahead with his question.

“Did you ever really love me?” The depth of sadness and desperation in his voice was unbearable to you, even in your disembodied state. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I could’ve helped you, I would’ve done anything to have saved you.”

“In the mountains where they’ll bury me, follow a trail that begins with pink and white flowers. You’ll find everything you want to know at the end. Goodbye, Satoru.”

“No, no, no,” He wiped the tears from his face and gripped both of Takemi’s shoulders, shouting. “Please come back! I can’t do this again!”

Regaining full control of herself, Takemi pushed Gojo off her and had him escorted out of her shop. The whole world was one hideous shade of grey. He walked for a while with no destination in mind but the grave. He wanted to go find that trail right now but he didn’t have anything else left in him. He wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. Returning home, he set his alarm and went to bed with your instructions in mind.

Utahime and Gojo walked with each other up the mountain to the funeral site. Utahime thought it was odd but refreshing to see him dressed in more traditional clothing. Just one more thing that only you could get him to do.

Everyone took their places, and your father stepped up to the podium. “We are gathered here to send our beloved high priestess to her place of final rest with her ancestors…”

Once the funeral was complete, no one but Gojo, Utahime and your mother lingered too long.

“I’m sorry again for your loss, ma’am.” Utahime said, bowing deeply. Your mother gave her another one of those wise, otherworldly smiles.

“I don’t think I’ve really lost her.” She said before taking a last look around the cemetery and turning to leave. “Why don’t we give him some space?” She motioned to Gojo and Utahime followed her.

Now alone with your memory and your ghost, Gojo began to look for this trail you had mentioned. It took him a while to find it but when he did, his path to the end was quick. It led to a small clearing where the grass was lush, and he was consumed by the smell of many different kinds of flowers and plants. The sight of the small garden was as beautiful as you were to him.

Looking around for anything that could be the answer you spoke of, he saw a faint bit of energy coming from inside a tree. When he got close to the tree, he found it had a hollow spot in it where you’d left a diary. He fished it out and walked to a shaded place in the clearing to begin reading it. Every page was an entry about the two of you together. All of your private feelings from when he was just a crush, and once you had gotten closer, you even glued in pictures you’d taken together.

Gojo couldn’t control his tears or hide his sobs. His body shook against the tree as he held the diary close to his chest. He calmed down enough to continue reading it, with the last entry being dated a week ago.

She knew she was going to die… He thought. You had written about the rise of cursed spirits in the area of increasing numbers and strength and how you felt like it was time for you to fulfill your duty to your people. More than that though, you wrote about how you wished you could have told Gojo. How you wanted to stay with him forever, how he was the only thing you’d ever loved as much as you loved the Gods, and how because of that you wanted to make sure he was safe and didn’t have to fight for once.

It was all too much, Gojo swore he would drown in his own tears right there. The wind picked up and blew the diary’s pages, landing on entry from before you two had met.

6.25 — Training Notes: after a long session of training and studying my technique’s history in my family. I have learned of a way I might be able to circumvent its cost. If I summon a deity of destruction that has the ability to reincarnate, then I will reincarnate too! One of my ancestors did that long ago, although it took 59 days for them to come back.

Gojo couldn’t believe what he was reading. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves furiously and scrambled to his feet. He stored your diary in an inner pocket of his kimono and made his way down the mountains to the temple ruins.

He inspected the gate and found exactly what he needed to be able to accept the loss of the only woman he’s ever loved. Utahime was strolling the grounds when she noticed him in the air, getting a close look at the doors.

“Gojo, what do you think you’re doing? Get down here!” Utahime found his behavior so disgraceful. He chuckled on his way back to earth.

“I was just checking on something. Had to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but his annoyingly cheerful attitude was starting to return. Utahime couldn’t tell if she was relieved or annoyed.

“Checking on what?”

“Eh,” Gojo put a hand over the diary in his pocket.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

💀 HADES: God of the Dead and Riches 💎

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

You’re not claimed in a way like the others. Instead you come across a pale faced boy with black hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a leather jacket. The ensemble he wore screamed something to you and he introduced himself to you as Nico, child of Hades. And you’re one of his half-siblings. 

Whether you’re like him, a child of Hades displaced out of time before the Oath was made after WW2, or a child born after the oath was rescinded, Nico has been finding any Hades’ demigods he could find. If you didn’t know better, you would think it was his life mission.

When you arrive at Camp, whether Camp Half Blood or Camp Jupiter, people already know who your godly parent or blood is when Nico is with you, but the claim over your head is just icing on the cake. It is the sign of the cusp of fall and winter together, the silence that presides over it. 

People give you a wide berth of respect, awe and fear. Not surprising given how powerful Hades is. 

Regardless, Nico sticks by your side and helps guide you. He teaches you how to handle the dead and the more peskier ghosts, but ultimately, he doesn’t let you feel alone. You tell your story to him and he tells his.  

You’re also introduced to Hazel who seems the complete opposite of Nico but you realise that while children of Hades both stick together but are very independent. Solitary but not isolated. 

While it may be bothersome and sometimes unsettling seeing ghosts and spirits, there are perks; you can reanimate and see dead and loved animals. You always tell the doggos they are good boys. That or the hellhounds. 

“Hello Darkness, my old friend”- ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Gafunkel.

Regardless if you’re Greek or Roman, when people diss and don’t believe that the planetary Pluto is not a planet, you will get bad and they will know to never diss Pluto. 

Dried flowers, fungi, antiques, faded memories, abandoned buildings. Once filled with life and encompassed with what could be death. Many do not appreciate them but they open themselves to you, and you and your siblings remember them. You carry old, past clothes on your backs, you gently touch the dried petals of flowers with their faint smell still cling to you. You see the hands that touched the antiques, touches of human life. You see the abandoned buildings and know that they were built and housed life in them with their shelter. 

While you may be part of Death’s domain, you greatly cherish life; the people in your life and that help shape you. When you love someone, you love them to a beyond that transcends death. 

You know about shadow traveling as Nico helped you go through it. At the minimum, you can fold yourself into the shadows and be unseen like Hades, but at the most, you can travel to any place where shadows preside over. You find its easier to travel to places wherever Hades’ domain presides over; you can travel more easily to places of death (i.e. cemetery, battlezones, altars) and riches (i.e. mines, the world trade centre, places of great bounty, banks). A rare power of a child of Hades may call things forth from the shadows, whether its things you place into the shadows or using the shadows to your will. You can grab an objects’ shadow to your advantage or use your hands to create shadow shapes to ‘life’. It is rumoured that once, a child of Hades that possessed that skill was able to freeze a person with their shadow pinned by them, and was able to kill them by simply cutting off a person’s shadow. 

Like Hades, you may seem aloof and stern in matters, but on the other hand, this can be seen as fair and honourable. 

When the children of Hades gather in one place, you all give off an Addams' family vibe. The aesthetics, the attitude toward things. Hades is Gomez and Persephone is Morticia, you can guess where it goes from there.

You looked at Nico, who introduced himself as your half-brother. You tried to find the similarities you two shared and while it isn’t entirely physical, there is an air around him that draws you in. A solace if you will.  It’s been more than 70 years since your original time and now here you are, in the 21st century. You thought you had died and now you were here, breathing.  You could feel the anticipation turning into dread when you would eventually realize the math of your birth era and now.

It was a stark change from your time, yet in some sort of attempt to grasp your sanity, you started to find similarities, things that seemed to be the same from your time and this time. It calmed you down but also at the same time, you were a bit overwhelmed where your half brother had taken you. 

McDonalds, he said. You looked at the meal he had bought and inspected it. It was different yet strangely good? The soda-pop however, was entirely bizarre but still delicious (sickeningly sweet you thought).

You both ate your meal as Nico gave you a rundown of the situation. The existential weight of being children of Hades and Pluto was, especially after the creation of the Big Three Oath after the world war, and how it was absolved not too long ago in this time by a son of Poseidon. Then came the eventual appearances of deceased children of Hades and Pluto, which you found out were either killed in the wars, or were deliberately hunted down by Zeus and Poseidon; much like Nico and his sister Bianca. 

Nico tried to give you a rundown of what times are like now and their delicate situation, but even then, Nico wasn’t too knowledgeable given everything. 

Silence fell between the two of you, as you tried to process literally everything. You tried to speak but the knot in your stomach and the weight in your throat was getting heavier. It was becoming awkward and you looked at Nico, realising he too was out of his depth. You found some amusement that he really must be your brother if the two of you were both socially inept. 

You saw Nico open the two red box with the golden arches, before he took out the two toys. You looked at them, wondering really how the meals costed. Toys weren’t very cheap back in the day, and while you had a feeling manufacturing must’ve improved, to have a toy come with a meal must be costly…but you were sure of how much Nico paid as you watched him to get a handle on today’s currency. 

“So uh….which of the kids meals toys do you want?” he stammered. 

You stared at him with wider eyes as you saw him slowly shift in his seat in awkwardness. Everything came to a head as the hilarity of the situation dawned upon you. You started laughing as Nico looked at you like you had grown a second head. 

“I’ll take this one” you chuckled, taking the toy before wiping away the tears, “Thank you Nico.”

“I mean…I eat here pretty frequently-”

“I mean finding us” you said,  as Nico blinked at you owlishly. You placed a hand on top of his in a reassuring gesture. “You went through a lot and you’re just as young as us, yet here you are, finding the rest of us who may be wandering limbo and offering us toys.”

“Well…it’s not fair” he tried to play off. 

“None of it is fair,” you noted, “But this is.”

Nico stared at you before nodding. “We have to go to Camp to get you settled in,” he started. 

You hummed as you helped clean up, “Perhaps yeah…then where next?”

“What?” 

You smirked at Nico, “If you want to go alone, you can but if you’re going to find the rest of us, count me in.” 

“Are you sure? There’s a lot to digest.”

“Probably, but we’re demigods, I doubt things are going to be normal for a long time.”

[bansurii]

FOMENT

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°) synopsis: of a girl who becomes a mafia femme fatale

relations; yuji, sukuna, suguru, toji, satoru x reader, special scene nanami x reader

codes; NSFW, NSFM, DNI, smut eventually, dead dove, murder, violence and sex, guns and knives, human anatomy, emotional and physical losses

wc: 2193 ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

In the somber shadows cast by ancient, towering tombstones, the funeral procession weaved its way through the hushed cemetery. The air was thick with grief, punctuated by the muffled sobs of mourners donned in the customary black attire. Amidst the sea of darkness, one figure stood out conspicuously – a woman draped in ethereal white.

(Name) , the daughter of the deceased, moved gracefully through the mourning crowd, her alabaster gown billowing like a specter in the wind. Murmurs spread like wildfire as eyes followed her unconventional choice of color, a stark departure from the customary mourning garments. Whispers of disapproval and surprise danced in the air, but (Name)  remained undeterred, an enigma wrapped in the purity of her mourning attire.

As she approached the gaping maw of the open grave, a mysterious man emerged from the shadows. Clad in a tailored suit that seemed to absorb the ambient darkness, he exuded an air of intrigue. His eyes, shrouded in mystery, locked onto (Name) 's with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

"I was a friend of your father's," he declared, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to echo through the melancholic atmosphere. (Name) 's gaze lingered on him, a cocktail of curiosity and suspicion swirling in her eyes.

"Friend?" she questioned, her tone laced with skepticism. "You must forgive me if I find that hard to believe. I thought I knew all of my father's associates, and you, sir, are a stranger to me."

The man's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Your father was involved in matters that required discretion," he replied cryptically. "The doctors may have deemed his death undefined, but I assure you, there are truths lingering in the shadows that go beyond their diagnoses."

(Name) 's heart quickened as she sensed the weight of his words. Her father's demise had always been shrouded in mystery, the details concealed even from those closest to him. The man's inscrutable aura left her with more questions than answers, sparking a relentless determination to unveil the secrets buried alongside her father.

As the final clods of dirt fell upon the casket, the funeral dispersed, leaving (Name)  alone with the mysterious man and the looming specter of unanswered questions. The unraveling of her father's tangled web would lead her down a perilous path, where the line between loyalty and betrayal blurred, and the truth lay hidden in the shadows of a world she had never fathomed. 

In the days that followed the funeral, (Name)  found herself haunted by the cryptic encounter with the mysterious man. Determined to unravel the enigma surrounding her father's death, she delved into the depths of her father's past, discovering hidden connections and clandestine dealings that transcended the boundaries of legality.

Her investigation led her to dimly lit alleys, smoke-filled rooms, and the backdoors of establishments where whispered conversations carried more weight than any written contract. The underworld her father had inhabited unfolded before her, revealing a dangerous dance between power, loyalty, and betrayal.

As (Name)  navigated this treacherous terrain, the mysterious man continued to hover at the periphery of her life. He appeared when least expected, dropping cryptic hints and urging her to tread carefully. Despite his ominous warnings, (Name)  felt a strange connection to him, a connection that seemed to transcend the shadows that cloaked his true identity.

The more she uncovered, the more she realized that her father's demise was a result of a power struggle within the mafia. The undefined cause of death, as stated by the doctors, was a mere facade to shield the truth. (Name)  grew increasingly aware that the mysterious man held the key to unlocking the secrets buried within her father's world.

One fateful night, as rain poured over the city in torrents, (Name)  received an anonymous message directing her to a desolate warehouse on the outskirts of town. Clad in the same white dress she wore to the funeral, she cautiously approached the dimly lit entrance, where the mysterious man awaited.

"You've been persistent, (Name) ," he acknowledged, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "But you're stepping into a realm where the shadows have eyes, and the truth can be more perilous than the lies that shroud it."

Undeterred, (Name)  pressed on, demanding answers. The mysterious man began to unveil the intricate web of alliances and betrayals that led to her father's demise. Each revelation brought her closer to the heart of the conspiracy, painting a picture of a clandestine world where alliances were fragile, and loyalty could be a deadly illusion.

As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, (Name)  realized the gravity of her father's role and the dangerous legacy he left behind. The mysterious man, now revealed as a former confidant of her father, guided her through the labyrinth of deceit, helping her navigate the dangerous currents that threatened to consume her.

In the end, (Name)  faced a choice: to expose the truth and risk the wrath of the underworld, or to retreat into the safety of ignorance. Armed with newfound knowledge and a steely resolve, she emerged from the shadows, her white dress stained with the echoes of her father's secrets. The funeral might have marked the end of one chapter, but for (Name) , it was the beginning of a journey into a world where darkness and light coexisted, and the thin line between justice and vengeance blurred into obscurity.

–

Three months earlier…

The scent of aged leather and mahogany permeated the air in her father's expansive home library. (Name)  entered, finding him seated behind a grand oak desk, surrounded by shelves laden with dusty tomes and secrets. His weathered face carried a mixture of weariness and resolve as he looked up to acknowledge her presence.

"Ah, (Name) ," he greeted, his tone laced with a peculiar mix of solemnity and urgency. "Sit, my dear. There are matters we must discuss, matters that transcend the boundaries of the world you've known."

(Name)  took a seat across from her father, her eyes searching his for an explanation to the mysterious summons. He folded his hands, fingers adorned with heavy rings that seemed to whisper tales of a clandestine existence.

"Time is a relentless adversary," he began cryptically, his gaze fixed on a distant point only he could see. "And it spares no one. There are shadows within shadows, my child, secrets that define the balance of power in our world."

(Name)  furrowed her brow, sensing an ominous undercurrent in his words. "Father, what do you mean? What shadows are you speaking of?"

He leaned forward, his eyes piercing hers with a gaze that hinted at the weight of untold burdens. "Our family, (Name) , has long stood at the crossroads of power. The threads of destiny are intricately woven, and now, the mantle must pass to you."

A hush settled over the room as her father unfolded a map, tracing lines that connected their family to the Ryomen, a powerful and elusive clan within the mafia hierarchy.

"The Ryomen family," he intoned, "they hold the keys to alliances that will safeguard our legacy. You must forge an alliance with them, my dear, for they are the guardians who will assist you as you ascend to the throne that is rightfully ours."

(Name) 's eyes widened, the gravity of her father's words sinking in. "But father, I know nothing of this world, of alliances and power plays. Why must I take on such a burden?"

He sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to carry the weight of a lifetime of decisions. "In our world, (Name) , choices are not always ours to make. Fate has set its sights upon you. The Ryomen will guide you, support you. You are destined for more than the sheltered life you've known."

As he spoke, (Name) 's heart raced with a mixture of fear and determination. Her father imparted the legacy of a hidden world, and she found herself standing at the precipice of a destiny she had never imagined.

"Embrace your destiny, (Name) ," her father urged, his voice a whisper that echoed in the quiet library. "Forge alliances, navigate the shadows, and when the time comes, rise to power. The Ryomen will be your allies, but remember, the path to greatness is fraught with sacrifice and choice."

–

As the moon hung high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the city, (Name)  decided to temporarily escape the weight of her newfound responsibilities. She invited her closest friend, Yuji Itadori, to accompany her for a night on the town. Yuji, always up for an adventure, readily agreed, his infectious enthusiasm providing a welcome respite from the shadows that loomed over her.

The city's vibrant lights illuminated their path as they strolled through bustling streets, laughter and music permeating the air. (Name) , dressed in a gown that mirrored the night sky, felt a fleeting sense of normalcy. The weight of her family's legacy momentarily lifted, replaced by the carefree energy of the city at night.

As they entered a chic, dimly lit lounge, the atmosphere buzzed with lively chatter and the soothing melodies of a jazz band. Yuji guided (Name)  to a secluded corner, where they settled into plush chairs, clinking glasses to celebrate the ephemeral escape from their responsibilities.

The night unfolded in a whirlwind of laughter, shared memories, and the warmth of friendship. Yuji, always the life of the party, danced with infectious energy, pulling (Name)  into the swirl of music and laughter. In those moments, the complexities of the mafia world faded into the background, allowing (Name)  to savor the simple joy of camaraderie.

As the night progressed, they encountered a mysterious figure at the bar – a man whose eyes seemed to carry the weight of unspoken stories. Yuji's demeanor shifted subtly as he exchanged guarded glances with the stranger. When (Name)  inquired about their connection, Yuji's usually open demeanor turned reticent.

"That's just an old acquaintance," he dismissed, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere. Despite her pressing questions, Yuji remained tight-lipped, the lines on his face betraying a mix of nostalgia and caution.

Curiosity gnawed at (Name) , but she respected Yuji's silence, knowing that some chapters of his life were meant to remain untold. The enigmatic man, acknowledging their presence with a nod, slipped away into the shadows of the crowded venue, leaving behind an air of mystery.

As the night waned, (Name)  and Yuji emerged from the lounge, the city's nocturnal pulse still throbbing around them. The encounter lingered in the back of (Name) 's mind, a puzzle piece that refused to fit into the larger picture of her life.

As they walked through the quiet streets on their way home, (Name)  stole a glance at Yuji, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The unspoken connection between him and the mysterious man added yet another layer to the intricate tapestry of their intertwined destinies.

In the days that followed, (Name)  couldn't shake the feeling that the encounter marked a subtle shift in the winds of fate. The shadows that clung to her family's legacy seemed to stretch further, intertwining with the enigma of Yuji's past. Little did she know, the threads of their stories were destined to weave together, revealing a tapestry of alliances and betrayals that transcended the boundaries of the clandestine world they inhabited.

Arriving back at (Name) 's home, Yuji started to speak, though his inability to find the right words about the evening kept him from loosening his tongue. (Name)  realized he wouldn’t be able to find a single syllable until she spoke, “it’s alright, Yuji. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. But you seem different, do you want to stay here for the night?”

His bright smile lit up her porch and the heavy energy that once lingered. “I really appreciate your understanding, but I should get back home. – I wish I could stay… but maybe another time.”

(Name)  acquiesced and watched with lightly saddened eyes as Yuji stepped off of her porch slowly. She turned to enter her own home and stalked up her steps to her bedroom where she would sleep off a long day filled with confusion and stress and the end of a good time with a great friend. 

—

“You know what you need to do, Yuji.”

Yuji sat in the armchair, however comfortable it was, he couldn’t appreciate it with the burden of a new action in order for him. He sat silently for a moment, thinking of how to tell these people, his family, that he just fucking couldn’t. 

He finally looked up at the man sitting across from him, black hair wavering in the cool air of the home with similar dark eyes burning into his soul. He fought back the fire with his own, winding his energy up to say, “I won’t do it. You don’t know what she means to me, or who she is. She isn’t just some string to play with and cut down. She means more to me than this family does and if you think for a second that-”

“Fine. I’ll give you a week to decide. It’s her… or her father.”

[btdemaru]

hi could you do the obey me characters reaction to like a male mc with long hair/piercings and is just really into like goth/mallgoth type fashion/makeup/music in general?

Obey me! Brothers X M!Goth reader

Note : idk much about this style/fashion so please i apologize if it's not correct! I tried doing alot of research of what the style looks like tho

Warnings : -

🖤 Lucifer

Would love your style alot, i like to think that he'd love to match with you from time to time. And will be intrigued to see your piercings, even perhaps asking to see it up close or touch it.

He loves every goth style that you choose and will not question you and no matter what part of the style you prefer.

Lucifer does listen to the music you play and sometimes would ask if he can join in or share headphones/airpods (ykwim).

If you do your makeup, he'd secretly glances at you from his desk. Probably trying to be subtle too 😭

💛 Mammon

Will swoon. Will be lovestruck. Will be in awe. Mams in LOVE.

of course this mf wouldn't show it (it's obvious though). Would ask alot of question like your color palette or why you like this style and basically just loves to hear you talk about it.

He doesn't mind metal/dark music and is open to listening to the playlist you have or even the one you made for him!

If you try to get him going to the cemetery or basically doing some scary stuff like even going to a so called 'haunted house' or a scary escape room it'll be a huge no no for him, even if he did go mams wouldn't be much help as he'll only be loud.

Will try to do your eyeliner (if you wear) or eye shadow but fails miserably making your face look all bad and messy makeup everywhere.

💙 Leviathan

He wouldn't mind, not big on it but he doesn't judge or hate it. Will let you do your thing, he doesn't know much about it so he'll ask you a few things to cure his curiosity.

Doesn't really listen to the music you do but isn't opposed to trying, turns out he actually does like ot after playing a song or two.

If you have a tongue piercing he'll zone out while staring at it. Totally not thinking about you using it on hi-

💚 Satan

We all know he likes to read, so when you walked in the room he's already analyzing your style all the way back from the first originated in the '80s following the punk subculture of the '70s.

Compliments you from your hair to piercings to makeup and clothes or even your boots.

I dont think Satan really listens to music but he does like to write/read and literature generally so maybe dark poems are things you guys can do.

man probably can't stop looking at you and would buy you jewelry or matching silver rings.

🩷 Asmodeus

Literature isn't really his thing but probably watches and admires you while you're doing it.

Will try matching you clothes with his own color palette and asks your opinion on it.

Asmo thinks you're hot. Definitely. 100%.

He's the type to bring you bouquet of black or red roses (whatever you prefer really), or even do your hair

Feel free to do his hair in return or putting your style of makeup on him, he'll take alot of pictures and posts it with the caption that you did the makeup.

Music? Yes. Listens to any music you play if he's in the mood he'd even asked for a a little makeout

🧡 Beelzebub

He doesn't mind it tbh, since i like to think that his twin also has a similar style.

50/50 on the music, he prefers pop punk but open to any music genres you exposed him to.

Would ask if you could do his eyeliner. (He moves alot) so you practically have to do it again and again for it to match so it's not lopsided.

Beel still loves you no matter what style you wear or what you do/listen to.

🩵 Belphegor

DING DING DING. love at first sight.

Belphie always asked you to dress him up or pick his clothes jusy cause he's too lazy to do it himself 💀.

Blasts music together while he just lays there like a dead person while you do your makeup/hair

Would always crawl to your lap whenever you're doing literature or writing about some gruesome poems he'll be there just deep asleep.

Doesn't really bother to go to those creepy dark places unless you're the one carrying him.

Would fiddle with some of your piercings if it doesn't hurt you.

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

Again im so sorry if there's a mistake i did about goth styles while writing this.

[cupids-scream-queen]

-> Bo Sinclair x f!reader

Warnings: Sex in a cemetery. Also drugging. And rape, I guess. And fucking in a mausoleum.

Summary: Bo takes you out on a nice little date to the cemetery. Unfortunately, it is Bo, and ensuing shenanigans are loud enough to wake the dead.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

"It's pretty this time, ain't it?" Bo's voice was quieter than usual, his eyes staring straight ahead at the cemetery that was sprawled out in front of the two. It was past midnight, the moon a dark orange—a bloodmoon. It was big and it was vast, a beautiful lady adorning the night sky.

"It is," She stared at the moon, her eyes transfixed on the beauty that was in front of her. Eyes wide, she was like a child, her imagination struggling to comprehend the beauty of it all.

"It's quite romantic, isn't it? Wouldn't you like to go out on a midnight stroll?" It wasn’t a question, not really–Bo never really allowed her to have a say in their activities. But that was something she was okay with, and she was used to it.

"I suppose, if you'd like," She offered, and it was an answer Bo found satisfactory enough. He got out of his truck, and hopped over to her side, where he opened the door for her. It was unusual enough for Bo to propose a romantic stroll—no matter if it was taking place in a cemetery—and she was quite shocked when he did this act.

"Aren't you a gentleman tonight?" She teased, giving Bo a peck on the cheek. He smiled, something a little agast in his eyes. A predatory glance, though it was there only a second. She hadn’t noticed it, much to Bo's chagrin.

"Only for you," He replied, taking her arm in his. They walked at a slow pace, the moon illuminating their path. "Ma's buried here, somewhere. Ain't visited her—Vincent's always done that."

"Do you know where she's buried?" She asked, and Bo shrugged, indicating that he didn’t. He wasn't the type to dwell on the past—at least, not in public.

"I have something to show you," Bo grinned, and she took this as yet another romantic gesture, her naive nature taking over. She trusted Bo, a lot, and to some extent, Bo trusted her. Not nearly enough to tell her all of his doings, but enough to keep her alive.

They walked for ten minutes, weaving around the cemetery until they came across a beautiful mausoleum—with the door open. Bo led her inside, her shoes clacking against the concrete floor.

"BP, ain't this illegal—and full of bodies?" She asked, and Bo grinned one of his trademark grins.

"Only if we get caught, sugar, and let's face it—Ambrose ain't exactly full of people," He walked, leading his girl farther into the mausoleum doors.

"Oh, that's pretty!" She said. A fluffy white blanket on the ground, black and red candles lit around it. Rose petals sprinkled the floor, champagne bottles and empty glasses surrounding. It was a pretty scene, one that would be romantic if it weren't for the face that surrounding the scene was the tombs of dead people.

"Ain't it? Nice and private, too," He moved her farther in, pressing his body against hers in the most delightful way. She moaned a bit when he gripped her waist, moving her as if she were nothing but a doll. His doll.

"What about them?" Gestering to the tombs that were stacked next to them, Bo shrugged, completely unaffected by the prospect of the souls of the people around them.

"What about them? We're the most exciting thing here in a good while," Bo stated, moving her to lay down on the blanket. "And we'll put a good show on for them, won't we?"

It wasn't exactly a question, nor was it a statement, either; the man was simply ready to fuck—it was her that the final decision was left up to.

"If that's what you want to do, honey, but isn't this kind of...?"

"Naw, it's a family mausoleum," Bo smirked, winking at his girl as she suddenly realized why Bo had been able to open the doors in the first place—he wanted to fuck in the family mausoleum.

"Oh," that was all she could say, her face mixed with emotions of digust, adornment, and admiration — the man certainly knew the most strange and unusual placed to fuck.

"Would you like a sip of champagne?" Bo sprawled out on the blanket, basking in the candlelight. He popped the cork, pouring two glasses of the sparkling liquid. She sighed and accepted the drink.

One sip, two sips, three. She noticed she felt different. The spinning of the mausoleum. The feeling of wanting to vomit, not quite able to determine if it was real or not.

"Bo? What's going on? What's going on?" She stumbled on her words, not quite able to speak.

"Don't worry about it, sugar, you'll be fine," Bo moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her, and she tried struggling against him, but she couldn't fight against it. She melted against him, and he parted her lips. Against her, he was fully in control, his movements like fire in the candlelight.

"Why can't I—"

"Shh, love. You're alright," Bo started undressing her, and she fell limp into his arms, her body not moving when she asked it to. She was under Bo's control, and it was not her choice—but she knew she'd get out alive. She had to, right?

He started pressing his fingers against her nipples, and she made a strange noise in the back of her throat. Bo took this as a sign to keep going, and he carefully —but roughly—kneeded the soft and tender flesh.

He loomed over her, licking the nipple and enjoying as it got hard in his mouth. Swirling his tongue, Bo then started to bite on the tender piece of flesh, enjoying the tiny whimpers she made in protest. She couldn't run, much less fight against him. And that was what he liked.

He then moved his hand down to her pussy, gathering the slick in his hand. He moved to put his finger inside of her, and then quickly pushed another in. She tried to shift, but she couldn't—she was at his complete mercy.

His fingers moved quickly, his other hand busy fondling her tits, and his mouth attached to her neck, marking her completely as his. She was his sex doll, and he was half tempted to keep her there in the mausoleum; keeping her as his own. Forever.

He thought she was beautiful, her body playable and molding to fit his needs, his fingers mercilessly scissoring her, prepping her for his dick. Sex was his end goal, it was inevitable—the only question was when it would happen.

He finished with her pussy, deeming it ready to fit his length. He unzipped his jeans and got his cock out, lining it up with her entrance. He pushed in, not giving her any time to adjust to his length. He was huge compared to her—her petite frame covered by his large, looming build.

"Ah, fuck, you feel so goddamn good," he pushed in farther, and his tip hitting her just right, and she moaned, encouraging Bo to keep going. She wanted this. She needed it. She needed his cock to satisfy her, and Bo was more than happy to satisfy this need.

"Shit, you're gonna make me cum early," he tightened his grip, his fingers leaving marks against her skin as he fucked her aggressively, his dick continuing to assault her. He slapped her ass, slapped her tits, desperate to mark her as his—everything in him was animalistic, begging to be let go and to make her his. And he was going to.

He came in her, his cum coating her pussy and filling her up beautifully, her eyes brimmed with tears as she came as well, milking his dick for more. She needed more of him, so much more.

He smirked, satisfied with the length of the fuck, but not yet satisfied with her. He needed to push her to her limits, and he was going to.

He took a candle, and her eyes went wide as he dripped the hot wax over her, tantalizing her with what could become of her. It was a threat, and an arousing one for him, and he felt himself wanting to fuck her wax corpse.

He pulled out of her, and dipped his fingers in the cum that was leaking out of her pussy. He smeared it on the wax, coating her in a mixture that was seemingly harmless to an outsider, but to both of them, they were aware of the true meaning.

She was terrified, her body spent and her limbs weak, she wasn't sure how much more of this she could handle. Bo wasn't sure how much more he could handle before he caved and let Vincent cover her in wax, immortalizing her beauty forever.

She heard the rumblings of a truck outside, and so did Bo, who stopped his activities.

"Bo? You's in here?" Lester called out, and Bo sighed in heavy annoyance.

"Yeah, just checkin' some stuff out. Gonna head out now," he smirked, and slapped her ass before standing up and brushing himself off. He walked away, leaving her in the mausoleum. He'd come back, of course, he couldn't leave her—but a little bit of Stockholm Syndrome wouldn't hurt, now would it?

[ausetkmt]

A rusted fence surrounds a tombstones at the Lincoln Memorial Cemetery in Portsmouth, VA. Many Black Americans excluded from white-owned cemeteries built their own burial spaces, and their descendants are working to preserve the grounds.AP Photo/Steve Helber

The remains of 328 likely graves have been found from "relocated" Black cemeteries in Florida.

The graves were meant to be moved in the 1950s but were instead simply paved over.

The city of Clearwater is reckoning with its history of racism, CBS News reported.

The remains of 328 likely graves have been found paved over after bodies in supposedly "relocated" Black cemeteries in Florida were never actually moved, prompting the city of Clearwater to reckon with its history of racism and segregation.

Graves from two cemeteries were meant to be relocated in the 1950s to make way for the construction of a swimming pool and department store but were paved over instead, CBS reported. Ultimately, a school and office building were built atop some of the graves.

It wasn't until the 1980s that the cover-up began to be revealed. In 1984, O'Neal Larkin, now 82, watched as a construction crew dug through one of the "relocated" Black cemeteries — though any exhumation of the graves would not occur for nearly 40 more years.

"I remember the parking lot where the engineers — traffic engineer was cutting the lines through," O'Neal Larkin told 60 Minutes correspondent Scott Pelley, "and they cut through two coffins. That was my first knowledge of seeing it because I walked out there, and I seen it myself."

In 2019, reporting by the Tampa Bay Times about the history of paving over Black graveyards resulted in the city of Clearwater exhuming the two desecrated sites in town.

With help from an engineering services company called Cardno, CBS reported, the North Greenwood Cemetery and St Matthews Cemetery were identified using ground penetrating radar and mapped, and some of the graves were exhumed. Of the 550 graves listed in the cemetery records, 328 likely graves — many under the parking lot of an office building — were identified. Additional remains are likely underneath the office itself and beneath a school building where human remains were found.

"All of the information and the data that we collected does indicate that there are additional burials likely below the footprint of that school building," Erin McKendry, an archaeologist for Cardno, told 60 Minutes.

Representatives for the City of Clearwater and Cardno did not immediately respond to Insider's request for comment about the project.

Though forgotten grave sites such as those in Clearwater are found across racial and socio-economic divides, experts have identified that cemetery desecration appears to occur more frequently and systematically in the sacred resting places of minority residents. Other such graves have been found of indigenous students who died at government-run boarding schools in the US and Canada.

"There are abandoned cemeteries across the board," anthropologist Antoinette Jackson, who leads the African American Burial Ground Project at the University of South Florida, told CBS. "There are cemeteries that are not only African American cemeteries or Black cemeteries that have been in some way desecrated, but the issue is more acute with Black cemeteries because of issues like slavery, segregation in which this particular community were legally and intentionally considered lesser than or marginalized by law."

The City of Clearwater remains undecided in how to navigate the exhumation of the bodies beneath the office, parking lot, and school building, though several residents have told CBS and the Tampa Bay Times they prefer to see the cemetery restored and memorialized.

"It is still a cemetery — period," Barbara Sorey-Love, a Clearwater resident who has no family buried in the desecrated graves but has friends who do, told the Tampa Bay Times. "That road should be closed. All the cemetery land should be treated like a memorial site."

Read the original article on Insider

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts no 31 (part 2)

Red Robin was thrown through the air, landing safely in a crouch next to Robin, who had his sword ready, "So much for boring."

The entity preventing them from escavating the bones showed itself. The boy looked almost like a superhero, decked out in black in white and glowing all over. He even had a symbol on his chest resembling a comet. Maybe his powers were space themed when he was alive?

Then again the kid was claiming to be the ghost of the person they were trying to dig up for the investigation and the symbol did kinda resemble a sideways bedsheet ghost. Maybe he needed more coffee. At the moment it didn't matter, they needed to get this investigation on the way before more problems arose. The kid claimed to be the one to bury his own body here so he should have answers, right?

When asked why he chose to bury it on the Wayne estate he looked sheepish and admitted he didn't know it belonged to anyone, rather he thought it was city property or something. When asked why he didn't have his loved one bury him in a cemetery he got defensive, saying "They didn't mean to! It was an accident!" And "They'd never believe them!"

Instead of further answers they got a fight and were forced to retreat after thier weapons proved ineffective. A fact Robin hated.

They returned later after the teen had calmed down and he was willing to talk a bit more.

Appearently his parents were a pair of crazy mad scientists whose invention got him killed. The more Phantom talked the more curtain the entirety of the batfam were curtain this kids death was no accident.

The portal having an on button on the inside??? Being fed foods mixed with dangerous chemicals known to cause mental health problems and mutate people? Constant exposure to dangerous substances that the parents wear hasmat suits for but let thier kids be around unprotected? Trying to power household electronics and kitchenware with the same hazardous material? Phantom also described "check ups" his parents did from time to time that the ghost couldn't really understand. But the batfam did, and it made thier stomachs sick

It sounds like the parents had been expiramenting on the children.

Now the batfam are racing against the clock to try to get Phantom out of denial, cause now that he's gone they might turn all there focus on the surviving science expirement. The worst part is that the bats are right.

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

Comfort {Sebastian Michaelis}

A/n: So obviously I didn't write this now, it's actually part of one of my ✨️unfinished✨️books and it has nothing to do with Sebastian. But in honour of black butler season 4 announcement I thought I should post a little something. Obviously I know we know nothing about his past. Keep in mind that this takes place while Sebastian was still human. Anyways Enjoy

Pairings: Sebastian Michaelis x fem!reader

Warnings: gossiping, bad mouthing, hurt/comfort

“Good morning, my love.” Sebastian said and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. A kiss on his lips was what he received in return before diving in the breakfast you had so kindly prepared for him. “Have you eaten?” 

  “I ate on my way back here. I bought three croissants.”

  “I suppose you went to the bakery near your house?” You took a deep breath before answering. That was when Sebastian knew something was wrong. 

  “No, actually I went to the bakery near the church.” His eyes farrowed at the sound of that. 

  “The church is further from here than your house. Why?”

  When you didn’t meet his stare, he set the trait aside, at the black wooden nightstand and with his right hand, made you turn your head to face him. You still averted his gaze though. 

Sebastian could see the pain and anger in your eyes. He had to learn what had happened!

  “Love?” you didn’t respond. “(y/n) look at me.” He took your hand, gently pulling you close so that your face was at the same level with his. Still, you hesitated.

Sebastian let his eyes travel to Othelo, your cat, who was now trying to reach the food trait. 

  “People are scared of us, Sebastian.” You whispered when he wasn’t looking. 

  His heart sank at the words. He knew that it would get to this point someday, but hearing it from your own lips was still painful. 

  His family, even though they were rich and bearing a very important title, didn’t have a good reputation in the village. Whispers and gossip didn’t mean anything to him. He had gotten used to them after having to deal with them throughout his entire childhood. Sometimes he even wondered why your family even let you play with him as kids. 

  Of course the main route of the problem was that damned cemetery. His grandfather had built their estate behind the cemetery for an unknown reason to him. That was the reason why most of the villagers called him and his late parents ‘The Haunted Family’. It had followed Sebastian and his family for as long as he could remember. Despite the wealth and power that his family held, they were always considered outsiders in the village. They lived in isolation, away from the rest of the community, and few people dared to cross the threshold of their grand estate. 

  But even though their neighbours kept their distance, they couldn't avoid the gossip and malicious rumours that circulated throughout the village. Some claimed that the estate was built on top of ancient burial grounds, and that the spirits of the deceased walked the halls at night. Others whispered that the family was cursed, and that any visitors who stayed too long would be haunted by the ghosts of past residents. 

Sebastian knew that none of it was true. He had lived there since he was a baby and nothing scary had happened. It was pure superstition. 

  Still, he couldn't help but wonder why his grandfather had chosen to build the estate so close to the cemetery. It was a strange decision, and one that had only brought trouble to their family. Sebastian knew that he couldn't change the past, but he could ensure that the future was different. He would never allow anyone to treat his future wife the same way his family had been treated for generations. He would break the cycle of fear and superstition that had plagued the ‘Haunted Family’ for too long.

    “They don't trust us. They think we're... dangerous.”

He drew you closer, holding you in his arms. “Don't listen to them,” he whispered. “We are happy together and that is all that matters.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest. You felt safe and protected in his arms, and that was all that mattered. Sebastian would always be there to protect and support you, and together you could face anything.

  But no matter his warm embrace, the anger was still there. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get the image of the ladies in the bakery whispering about you out of your mind. You would never forget the way this mother with her little son crossed the street the moment they saw you walking next to them. 

You had a vague idea of what this was about but the truth was that you didn’t care. You were simply angry and a small voice inside you screamed to let those people know that you were everything they whispered about. Just to see what would happen if you proved them right. 

  A witch. 

  The cursed wife. 

  Yet you said nothing. You just kept on walking with your back straightened and a cold expression on your face. And when it was time for you to open the cemetery gate, you turned around, raising a brow at the small group of women who followed you. 

  There was a pause, as if you were weighing the wisdom of speaking. “They say the screams of the ones who died due to the disease can be heard at night.” You didn’t know why you had said that, it wasn’t true, but a small smirk made its way on your face the moment you saw the terrified expressions on their faces.

  “(Y/n)?” Sebastian’s voice snapped you back to reality. “You look quite pale, love.” 

  “Hold me a little longer, Sebastian… please.” You responded right away, not wanting your beloved husband to get a better look at the angry look in your eyes. “Sebastian…” You finally whispered and raised your head to look at him. He gently rubbed your back as he held you close. “I'm sorry,” you whispered. “It's just... the things they say about me, about us, Sebastian. I can't let it get to me, but it feels like it's eating me up inside.” 

Sebastian didn't speak, he just continued to hold you close, offering a silent comfort that only he could give. But you didn’t mind. 

  “Don’t apologise, love. You are the kindest person I know. The most beautiful woman I have ever met and the smartest one. You are not what they say you are, you will never be.”

  You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling a sense of calmness wash over you. You took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent, and then you finally allowed herself to relax in his arms. 

  For a moment, you forgot about the rumours and the whispers. Instead, you focused on the warmth of his embrace, on the steady beat of his heart, and the comfort of his love.

  The sound of his heartbeat was all that mattered to you at the moment. And it was all you could hear until Othello began meowing. You and Sebastian broke your hug and looked at the small kitten who was desperately trying to get between you. 

  “What does he want now?” Sebastian sighed, trying to hide the adoration for the small kitten. 

  You chuckled and leaned over to pick up the small kitten. “I think he wants attention.” You said, as Othello purred contentedly in your arms. 

[thought--bubble]

She is Happy Now Part (1/5)

Modern Aemond X (Ex Girlfriend Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,816

She is happy now Master list

Modern Aemond Master List

Full Master list

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cheating, angst, a little bit of fighting.

High-school sweethearts was a term that actually made you sick. You hate the fact that your memories of those oh so important teenage years are tarnished by the memory of him.

Aemond Targaryen. The boy everyone who knew you as a teenager knew was your High-school sweetheart. As well as the man who crushed your heart just a mere 6 months after graduation.

The two of you met freshman year. He was a bit nerdy, and you were one of those alternative girls wearing as much black as possible and begging your parents for a nose ring. You grew super close super fast. All of your firsts were with Aemond. The first time you ran from the cops drinking with friends in the local cemetery. Your first kiss. Your first dance. Your first break up. Your first angsty reconciliation, your first fuck. Everything.

You had been doing well for the past few years, not thinking about him at all. You had graduated from university and started your job as a revenue analyst for Lannister & Co. You had a sweet, kind boyfriend in Cregan Stark. Everything was going well for you. Until you got that invitation.

You had been invited to the wedding of Aegon Targaryen and Cassandra Baratheon. Two people you loved very much and were incredibly happy for. But you under no circumstances wanted to go to any type of Targaryen family gathering. You may have moved on and are doing well now, but there is still a deep-seated anger that rises in you when you think about Aemond. The idea of seeing him in person makes bile rise in your throat.

You're halfway through your shift. You're excited for it to end. this week has been exhausting, and now that it is finally Friday, you want to just curl up on the coach all weekend and watch mindless TV.

Your phone buzzes in your pocketbook on your desk, and you groan. You know who it is. You have been ignoring her calls all day. You pull your cell phone out of your bag, and just as you suspect, Heleana's name and a photo of her smiling with a butterfly on her finger illuminates the screen. You hit the end call button and shove your phone back into your bag. You know that you haven't RSVP'd to the wedding yet, and she is calling you to try to talk you into going. You hate ignoring her, but you really don't want to talk to her about the wedding and the reasons you don't want to go. It doesn't matter what you say to her because she will know the real reason and she will try to talk you into it.

She doesn't call again that night much to your glee. Your shift ends, and your phone dings with a text message from Cregan, letting you know he is downstairs. You pack up your laptop and throw your dooney & bourke leather satchel over your arm and head out waving to a few co workers as you make your way outside.

When you get out front, you see Cregans black range rover idling and slide into the passengers seat, letting out a long sigh as you reach to buckle yourself in.

"Long day love?" He says while shifting the SUV into drive.

"Yes very" you say exasperated.

"You know, I got a strange call from Heleana today"

Your eyes shot open and you clenched your jaw.

"Hun...." he continued

"Why don't you want to go to Aegon's wedding?"

"I just don't want to, there doesn't always have to be a reason for everything. Sometimes the answer is just no and everyone needs to accept it " you snap.

"Is this maybe about a certain brother of his?"

You roll your eyes "nope" short, curt responses are all you can muster at the moment.

"Should I be worried?"

This makes you turn your head to look at him

"About what?"

"When someone is over someone, truly over them, they don't harbor this kind of anger"

You open your mouth to respond but can't find the words your looking for.

Cregan releases a sigh

"I'll drop it"

"No Creg. It's OK. Trust me I am completely over him. I just feel like he got away with it ya know? Makes me want to gouge his other eye out. You know settle the score. His brothers wedding would probably not be a good venue for that" you huff.

Cregan laughs. " the best revenge is to show him how much he doesn't effect you. How happy you are now without him. How much better your life is without him."

You sit there silent looking out the window of the car watching the sidewalks fly by.

"If you don't want to go I support that, but I don't think you should miss a good friend's wedding because his brother is a dolt"

You laugh at that "I'll think about it ok?"

He laughs, too. "That's progress, and I'll take it!"

Two weeks later, you are standing in front of your mirror in a baby blue slim summer dress staring at your reflection. You ended up agreeing to go and were confident about your choice until right now. Now that you were actually ready to go, you were feeling nauseous.

"Well daaaaaaamn!" Cregan yelled as he came in the room whistling

"Aren't you just the sweetest little thing?" He took you into his arms and kissed you on the nose. "You ready to go?" You took a big gulp and nodded.

The car ride to kings landing was about 20 minutes. You stared out the window as memories flooded your mind.

"Make sure you record his reaction! I want to see it. He's gonna be so excited to see you!" Heleana gushed over the phone

"Oh I will, I have never come to visit him at school before so this is going to be epic. OK I'm at his dorm building I'll text you later"

You hung up the phone entered the building and made your way up to room 3F. Where you always addressed all your letters.

You get your phone ready, turning the recording function on and knock on the door.

No one comes to the door, so you knock again a little louder.

Aemond swings open the door

"What man. ....." he freezes. Sweat on his forehead and a blanket wrapped around his waist.

"Hey baby, what are you doing here?" He asks you with a look of utter terror on his face.

You freeze. You can feel your heart beating in your throat. You don't say anything and just push passed him into the room. You see an older black haired woman naked with a sheet wrapped around her, trying to tiptoe her way into the bathroom.

Your legs start to shake and your stomach lurches.

"Shit! Baby, Hold on let me explain"

"Oh, ummm. Nope. No thanks." You push passed him back out of the room.

He grabs your arm "wait please give me just one second"

You swat his arm away "do not fucking touch me. Forget my name. Loose my number. I no longer exist to you." You're not yelling or screaming. This all comes out as more of a growl.

"Love?"

"Huh" you shake your head.

"Hey, we're here." Your stomach lurches, and your palms begin to sweat as you reach for the latch to open the door.

You both get out of the car and he comes around to your side and wraps his arm around your waist.

"We can sit in the back ok?"

"Yeah sounds good"

You enter the grand Sept to see a septa urging people to the left or right side. Left for guests of the groom and right for guests of the bride. You go to the very last row on the left and slide in.

People finish filing in, and the music starts. Cregan is at the end of the aisle with you beside him. First, the flower girl, Jaehaera heleanas's daughter, with her husband gwayne and then the ring bearer Jaehaerys , her twin brother. Then the grooms men and bridesmaids. The first pair is Cassandra's sister Floris with Aegons brother Daeron, then Heleana and Gwayne, followed by Cassandra's other sister Maris and Aegons long term friend Criston Then your face starts to heat up, and your stomach tightens as you see that stupid head of shaggy silver hair enter the room with his arm linked to Ellyn Cassandra's other sister. You immediately look down, not wanting to make eye contact.

They pass by your row, and you finally raise your head, seeing just his back now as he makes his way up the aisle. He takes his place, and you turn your head back to the entryway, seeing Aegon standing there with a huge smile plastered on his face. You can't help but smile. He was such a fuck boy in High-school and college seeing him so happy and proud to be getting married now was such a beautiful thing. You chastise yourself for almost skipping such a wonderful occasion. He makes his way up to the altar, and your eyes only follow him halfway there before turning around to look back at the entryway. Once the wedding March starts to play, you see Cassandra. She is in a beautiful white flowing wedding dress adorned with pearls with a beautiful veil that goes down her back and to the floor trailing behind her. Her father borros has his arm linked to hers and is walking her up the aisle to Aegon, and she has this huge smile plastered to her face.

"Would you want to get married in the grand Sept or on the beach?"

"Anywhere, as long as I'm marrying you " Aemond leans in kissing you softly.

"I'm serious! " You squeak hitting him with a pillow."I want to have it all planned out way ahead of time"

"Then plan it out, baby. Because no matter where it is, I'll show up to marry you"

Your eyes are watering through the rest of the ceremony. You keep your gaze locked on Aegon and Cassandra making sure to not look at the members of the wedding party at all.

Aegon and Cassandra kiss and everyone stands as they make their way out of the grand Sept to cheers and well wishes. Behind them the wedding party starts to filter out and on instict your turn your head and for the first time since your surprise visit to his dorm you make direct eye contact with Aemond. His good eye staying glued to you until he walks passed you and out of the Sept. Your stomach feels cold and your palms are sweaty.

And standing there wracked with nerves you think to yourself that you still need to make it through the reception.

A/N: I have a pt 2 for this almost ready to go. Just fixing it up a little. :)

Part 2

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[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 8: Graveyard date - Loki Laufeyson x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spooky theme, graveyard date, smut, all kinds of nasty stuff idk. Squirting/fingering/non-protective sex/tiny bit of dd/lg

Type: One shot 

Request: N/A

Word Count: 2,493

Prompt: Loki decides to take the reader on a graveyard date, what can I say, he has a flair for the dramatic, probably one of the hottest most goth smut/romance writings I’ve ever written so far. Enjoy I know I did

Notes: No I didn't proofread, when do I do that. This is just vampiric smut; quickly turned into nsfw I am sorrie what was I thinking 

This night was so elegant, you never expected anything less from your beloved Loki. You were incredibly enamored with him and his romanticisms, he seemed to always exceed expectations. 

Loki had taken it upon himself to give you the most beautiful vampire-esque kind of nights for Halloween. He set you both up at a graveyard that oversaw a small forest, prone to fog during these late times of the night. He had dressed himself in a black suit, fitting to his figure with a tailcoat that added the flair to his look. Though you couldn’t make sight of it clearly, earlier you noticed he matched his suit with the blood red button up beneath. 

You matched him with an elegant black velvet dress that hugged your waist, big sleeves that draped as you moved your hand around, but lined to make out your figure. The makeup helped complete the look, with a sultry deep red and black eye and a velvet burgundy finish. 

There were no complaints when he was the one to plan date night and he seemed to constantly outdo himself as the dates progressed. 

After an elegant picnic at the far end of the cemetery field, you were both now propped up against the biggest tree in the area. Bold and soothing you from any would-be sunlight.

The night was behaved itself, the moon beamed upon you two, sharing the beauty with the stars that brimmed against the dark skies, both occasionally covered by the scattered clouds that would wave by as the night descended.

Your eyes traveled down the dim grass, watching the fog swim through the ends of the clean shaven field when you felt Loki lean in closer to you. Before you could react, his lips pressed against the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Turning your head over to him, a faint blush seemed to appear across your cheeks, nothing uncommon when it came to Loki. You felt your stomach swirl around in anticipation when his lips pressed another kiss along your neck, then another, until he pulled away, keeping his eyes on you for a response. 

A sly chuckle splayed across his face as he noticed your pout, even in the darkness. 

“Come here sweetness.” His voice soothed over your ears like rich honey, you did as he instructed, following his open arms, he shifted you to sit onto his lap, leaning back against the oversized tree.

 You squirmed at his touch, already frantic with eagerness to have him all over you. Loki, of course, was well aware of the effect he was having on you. His hands, twice the size of yours caressed along the backside of your dress, as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. 

Following his movements, you allowed him to dictate the intensity of the kisses and now, he seemed to use it to his advantage. Pressing his lips against yours with more passion, then easing from them, leaving you with an ache for more. You knew this was the best part for Loki, aside from watching you unravel underneath him. The concept of your devotion and ability to remain under his control, no matter how much you wanted him to pick up the pace.

His right hand traveled rapidly alongside your body, grabbing a hold of your hair, by the roots of it, pulling your head away to fight against his grip. You felt his smirk as his lips hovered just barely against yours. A soft moan escaped your lips as Loki tugged through your locks, then pressing his lips against your needy ones again. 

This time he took the liberty to beacon your lips for an entrance with his tongue, to which you didn’t hesitate to oblige. Your body almost went limp when his left hand pulled your lower side towards him, another uncalled moan escaped your lips as you felt Loki roll his hips from under you. His stiffness rubbed against your aching clothed folds as he continued to assult your lips. 

Your eyes fell closed as Loki left your lips and trailed down to the side of your face, then the curve of your jawline, down to your neck and left merciless marks. Loki couldn’t help his scoffs of joy when you’d continue to squirm, unable to stay still as he continued the wet opened mouth kisses alongside your neck. Sucking particularly hard at the sweet spot that made you whine louder than the rest.

While he moved your hair over to the saliva stained side of your neck to the other, his hands then worked their way to unzip your dress, motioning you to drop your hands and let the top side of the dress fall down with it. You wouldn’t dare disobey, not when it felt this good and you were already so worked up. 

A small gasp fell from your lips when his mouth fell lower and lower, his hands then cupped your breasts, squeezing them then tugging them up and down, only for a moment until his lips fell down to it.

Your head fell back as you helped Loki pull you closer to him, your own fingers tangling between the ends of his hair as he tugged at the skin, kissing and leaving bruises from between his lips. 

Moans of pleasure kept vacating your lips, which was all fuel for him as he continued. His right hand then wrapping around your lower waist, hips bucking up against you for a split second before he pulled you forward, allowing your ass to rest on the inside of his forearm. 

This new position allowed him to have your boobs smother his face, keeping you distracted by his continued attention to them, you almost didn’t notice his free hand sneaking underneath your dress, pushing your underwear aside and plunging his ring finger into you, then letting you fall back onto his lap, face to face with you.

Your eyebrows knit together as you felt the intrusion, then pumping in and out of you. “Loki-” You whimpered out as he continued his rhythm, Your lips pathetically attempting to kiss his as he fucked you with his finger.

Something about having you half dressed, in a place that wasn’t yours all while he pleasured you, really really made him lust for you. Loki looked incredibly sinful with a messy hairstyle, evidence of your fingers running through it and a half buttoned shirt with some lipstick stains, curtesy of you. Still, it was the same Loki, only dressed as if he belonged in the Victorian era.

Going back to “still the same Loki” it was. He still treated your lustful encounter as if it was a mission he had, to make you scream louder than last time, no matter where you were.

It wasn’t long before Loki added another finger, his middle finger, which allowed more depth. Your mouth fell open to pathetic whimpers as your eyes stayed on Loki’s. This was his favorite thing, watching you beg to him with your eyes.

“You okay there princess?” Loki grunted through his own struggles of maintaining a steady breathing cycle, just from watching you become a mess on top of him. 

“Yes daddy.” You whimpered out as Loki kept plunging his fingers into you deeper than the last thrust.

When your walls began to twitch, Loki then removed his hands, causing you to nearly cry in frustration. Before you could utter a complaint, Loki tugged you to sit against his chest, looking off onto the hill that you were both on. The gates kept you from exploring the wild trees and unexplored land that seemed to add to the spooky factor of this affair. 

The fog continued to smother around you two as Loki’s hand then found you again, your legs squirmed in all directions as you felt more sensitive in this position.

“Think you can squirt for me again? I’ve been kind of yearning for that sweet liquid all over my hands again.” Loki sinfully requested. He was nothing of shy to ask of you what he desired, often looking for your eyes when he did so. Perhaps it was common in Asgard, but nothing down here on earth.

Your cheeks burned as you heard Loki's soft voice whisper such obscenities. “No, Loki please-”

If you were being honest, you were kind of embarrassed of squirting, you never have before.

Loki, of course, was the first time you ever did and you were both scared and embarrassed, no matter how much Loki tried to convince you otherwise. He didn’t seem to leave you alone after that, always trying to get your body to do the same again. It was obscenely tasteful for the god.

“Please princess, don’t make me beg, I’m not even in you yet and you’ve already made such a mess.” 

He teased as his hands pulled away for only a second to show you the way they glistened in the moonlight due to your arousal. “Loki-” You whimpered as you fell back in defeat when Loki plunged his fingers back into you, overstimulating your body into another overwhelming orgasm.

You felt the slick wetness spew out of you and into Loki’s hands, a dark chuckle came from Loki’s lips when he felt your body contract and squirt out into his hands. Your legs clenched along with your stomach, a squeal escaped your lips as you closed your eyes at the effort.

“What a good fucking girl.” Loki hissed as you attempted to come down from your high. 

“I’m sorry-” You whimpered out when you could come back to enough of your senses. Though Loki never punished you for the messes you’d make, there was a manner in which he ravished in how you’d come undone, knowing it was all his doing, but if there was anything he hated- it was when you’d apologize.

“Don’t be sorry, you know how much I love toying with you.” You felt him shift in his position, but you weren’t able to move much, not immediately at least, falling onto his arms you had your eyes half open, watching as the fog continued to flow through the spaces of the land, outlining both of your bodies that set against the giant tree that overlooked the hill.

“The only thing I’m not too fond of is the fucking precum that pools up in my pants” He complained to you with such a hot vulgarity that seemed to only keep you pooling between your legs. You looked to him with a plea, whether you knew it or not, your eyes had a manner in which they begged for him. 

Loki allowed you to take a few seconds, before he pulled you up away from his lap for only a moment, thinking he was instructing you to stand, you attempted to, almost falling to the side before he helped you sit back down. Suddenly another warm intrusion teased along your folds, this time bigger. The warmth of Loki’s member then slid into you. 

Another filthy moan trickled out of your lips at the familiar entre. Knowing you had little to no strength, Loki pressed his hands against the sides of your ass, helping you ride him up and down attempting to conjure up a rhythm in which he bulged into your warm insides.

Given your position, your legs were closed, allowing your folds to squeeze him more than any other position. You listened to Loki’s groans like they were prayers along with his worship.

“You feel so good princess. You ride me so well.” Loki would repeat into the side of your face, causing your mind to spin and surrender into his viscous lust.

Wet and weak kisses would fall along your exposed glistening skin. “Good girl, you feel so tight and perfect.” He’d mumble in between grunts. 

You felt like you were melting, falling apart, you weren’t sure. All you could feel was Loki, just as you always loved. His steady thrusting built up a rhythm that only made your folds squeeze tighter. Your lids fell shut, unable to utter any words other than pathetic whimpers that were all music to Loki’s ears. 

“Good girl, just like that, keep going-” He hissed into your ears as you surrendered your body to the god. Weakly falling back against him, you felt the warm breath onto your neck, knowing it came from a devilish smirk. Loki had you exactly  how he wanted you. Weak and willing. 

There was no way you could keep yourself together anymore, you had lost count of how many times you were orgasming. “L-loki” You panted out as you felt yourself almost about to fall over, tired out from the continuous movement.

It felt as if Loki could plunge himself into you for hours, there was a small conscious part of you that did wonder how much he was able to hold out for you. Your eyes shyly looked for his, to which he met instantly.

Though the night was at it’s darkest, the moonlight was able to help you decipher his now enlarged pupils, staring into you as he ravaged you. Your helpless face only encouraged him to keep bouncing you on his lap while you squealed.

Your face fell forward, along with your hands, attempting to stabilize yourself, you held yourself with Loki’s shoulders. His hands continued to mercilessly bounce you as his eyebrows now formed a frown, a big indicator of how he was close to coming undone himself. To label you as speechless was an understatement, you were entirely his and he knew it. 

Feeling his cock twitch within your insides, your legs couldn’t hold still, squirming around as Loki’s hands continued to firmly grip your waist. Finally, he let you fall onto his lap, filling you entirely. Tears of lust began to fall out of your eyes as you stared up to him, though you were used to his size, this angle always seemed to bring him further into you each time.

A faint “Oh” Fell from his lips, you watched his mouth form it, your favorite expression of his besides his hopelessly in love one. You leaned up to try and kiss him, but his hands kept that firm grip on you, letting his cum fill you entirely. You were stumbling over your words, feeling your eyelids heavy as he continued to claim you.

Loki’s face descended to meet yours, his lips clashed onto yours desperately. You were already breathless as is, but he always found a way to intoxicate you.

You both clutched onto each other, breathing out heavy sighs, trying to regulate your breathing. Loki’s hand ran through your hair, soothing you in your newfound state. 

“I love you” Loki reminded you as you curled into his chest, still exposed. You sleepily replied “I love you too.” Feeling his hands lean down to cover you with the blanket that was bunched up beside you both. 

[xiefuyu]

Brother, I'm here.

-- Kurokawa Izana x little sister reader

🖤 — Tokyo Revengers

📝 — spoilers from manga (around tenjiku arc), angst, brief implication of domestic abuse, mention of blood, mention of murder

:a/n — surprise ! my ass was productive today and managed to sneak in writing the next part for B,IH so here it is. will we be getting a happy ending based on how this is currently going? we shall see hehe.

— PT. 1 / PT. 2/PT.3/PT.4/PT.5

Kurokawa Izana only wanted one thing.

Family.

Maybe two things.

Family and to get rid of Sano Manjiro who stole Shinichiro from him. He’s just a simple boy with burning desire and jealousy seeping in his bones for his wants. His needs. And if getting them came as a form of violence, mistakes, and wrongdoings, then so be it.

He already knew that he’s beyond saving. Already knows that his brain had given up on thinking rationally and logically when it comes to decision-making. But there’s a feeble part of him that wants to go back to the times when he’s just riding Shinichiro’s motorcycle, back to when he and Kakucho are just little boys with dreams too big to be concealed in their little rough palms due to fighting.

But he also knows that it’s just another feeble thing to dream. He wasn’t bestowed by the Gods with the gift of turning back time.

You're beyond saving, a voice in his head says and it sounded like a broken him.

So with a smile, he agrees with Kisaki’s outright sick plan of killing his little sister, Emma, who he promised that they will see again.

Kakucho tried to stop him but just like any other royalty hierarchy, he’s just a peasant whose opinions don't matter. He wants to stop his king. He wants to make him come down from his throne and act like dirt on the ground like how he’s treating them. Just for once.

He wants Izana to be normal just for once. For his mind to not be clouded, for his being to not shelter a monster whose head rises with its green flames, engulfing everything, inside out.

So he seeks you out again. Hoping, praying, desiring, dumping a responsibility, a duty for you to stop his king.

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes at the new information suddenly thrown to you. Apparently, your brother whose name is Izana- it’s such a pretty name, you think- is thinking of killing someone.

Killing.

His little sister at that.

“Please stop him.” Kakucho, whose name you learned yesterday, pleads. You look at him as if he had grown two heads. You think it’s ridiculous. If your brother is capable of killing someone whose existence is known to him, what will that do for you? If he’s capable of killing his little sister who he knows, then what about you?

Will he…kill you, too? Hurt you without hesitance?

You shudder at the thought, unconsciously curling into yourself, the thought of getting hurt again by someone you know, by a family, makes you sick.

But you found yourself nodding.

“Okay…” you whisper in a hush tone, expression further softening at Kakucho’s hopeful smile.

You stood outside a cemetery, blinking. Kakucho wasn’t able to accompany you but you saw a silver-haired head and your breath hitches. His tan skin, silver-haired head, and eyes that you just somehow know are painted in lilac like yours, it was all so familiar. He doesn’t notice you but you notice him.

He was talking to a boy, his hair is long and blonde and a girl whose hair is a different shade of blonde, standing behind him and besides another blonde boy.

Wow, they’re all blonde, aren’t they?

You caress your black hair unconsciously. Well, should you colour it silver like your brother? So you both match? Why not, you think. You already love him, after all. You’re willing to sacrifice the health of your hair for him.

“Visiting the grave with your sister? How sweet.” you hear your brother say. “Takemichi, take Emma away.”

Now you’re aware of their names. Takemichi takes Emma away and before you know it, you walk away a little to give them space. You watch them as Emma says something, “that’s my brother, Izana, isn’t he?”

Your breath hitches. She is the sister that your brother wants to kill.

With a strained breath, you listen as she talks, how she wants to help someone named Mikey, the long-haired one, you assume, and smiles at how sweet she was. Without knowing it, your feet took you to them when they bought drinks. You look like someone close to them but they didn’t mind your presence.

Emma being busy with her drink and Takemichi looking like he’s figuring something out. Out of nowhere, the three of you hear the roar of an engine. As if one organism, all of you look at the direction of the source. You see two guys on a motorcycle, one having a bat in his hand, ready to swing.

And for one moment, it all slowed down for you. You see Emma freezing and see Takemichi shielding himself.

And for one moment, you found yourself hugging Emma, shielding her, your arms wrapping themselves around her head while yours remained vulnerable, and turning the both of you away just a bit late from the bat coming for the both of you. But that was enough. It was enough to get Emma out of the harm’s way as you feel the bat coming in contact with your head instead.

The both of you fall to the ground with a thud and you feel yourself coming in and out of drowsiness. You hear someone curse, asking you who you are- the one with the bat, you assume- and you hear someone telling you to stay awake, apologising and thanking you for protecting her.

She was so sweet that you can’t wrap your head around your brother’s decision of killing her.

“I’m okay..” you manage to say as you forcibly sit up with the help of Emma, letting you lean on her. You see her and Takemichi staring at your eyes and you smile. “Are they familiar?” you weakly asked and Takemichi nodded.

“This wasn’t the way I imagined meeting my brother’s sister, my sister, too, I guess, but hi. I’m Y/N, Kurokawa Y/N.” you greet, smiling weakly as if you’re not bleeding in the head. “I apologise, Emma-san…my brother…I heard Kuya Izana wanted to kill you…” you feel her stiffness under you.

“I don’t know why…I just got here in Japan not even a week ago,” your eyes are slowly closing, breathing stuttering, “he doesn’t even know I exist.” you finished.

“Y/N-chan, stay awake! Please!” Emma pleads, sobbing, and you can’t help but think that she’s such an angel, crying for a stranger. You hear footsteps and see blonde long hair. “Mikey! Mikey, hurry!” Emma says, wanting his brother to carry you.

“What happened? Who is she?”

Their conversation was drowned when you see your brother behind Mikey, a few feet away. Your eyes met his and all you could think was a future where the two of you are happy and bonding with uncontrolled laugh stumbling out of your mouths.

Your eyes meet his and your heart breaks when he looks away with a frown as if he’s disappointed that it wasn’t Emma who was bleeding on the ground.

“Izana, you asshole! Are you going to walk away from your sister?!” you hear Takemichi shout and oh, he was also sobbing. You feel yourself getting lifted and warmth spread through your chest as you’re now being carried by Mikey.

You briefly notice Izana stopping before he is out of sight as Mikey turns around, carrying you to the hospital.

“Y/N-chin, right? Hi, I’m Mikey. I’m Emma’s and Izana’s half-brother which means I am also your half-brother. Stay awake, yeah?”

You’re baffled at how shaky he sounds, at how his body trembles as he carries you. He’s worried, you figured, and that made you happy. “Oh…hello, Kuya Mikey.” you say and chuckles when he lets out a sound of confusion. “Kuya means older brother in Tagalog.” you explain.

You're not even sure if he's older or younger than you but calling him Kuya, an older brother, felt right.

“I see.” he was smiling, you can tell. “Don’t close your eyes, Y/N-chin. We still need to go to Izana and hit him in the head for not taking his time and checking up on you. He probably didn’t recognize you with all of us surrounding you, don’t worry.” you just hum, grateful that he’s trying to make you feel better.

“Kuya…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what, hm?” Mikey asks, ignoring the fact that your arms lost their grip around him. “I should be the one thanking you, silly. You saved Emma, didn’t you? She told me you protected her.”

Silence answered him.

But he carries on.

He carries on because he could hear you faintly breathing and he could feel your weak heartbeat against his back.

“When you wake up, we’ll be introducing ourselves again, yeah? I’ll introduce you to gramps and to Ken-chin. Maybe not Toman yet.” he smiles, grip on you tightening. “So…you better wake up, Y/N.”

And with that, he hesitantly lets go of you as you get taken away by the nurses.

A few metres away from the entrance of the emergency area stood a silver-haired boy, fist clenching as a wave of emotions, ones that he thought he wasn’t capable of feeling anymore, surged through him.

And for the first time in a long time, the king falls from his throne and onto his knees as his mind goes blank at the memory of him looking back at the same set of eyes similar to his.

Eyes that were dim yet shining in hope before he turned away, unaware of how it completely dulled.

A/N: I don't know if anyone will see this but hey, love, feel free to request scenes for tokyo rev and dc <3