#Echo is too but he is soaking up all the 'caring for someone else when they're sick' that he can

[the-bi-space-ace]

I've had a really miserable week. Cried a lot of tears. Lost a lot of sleep. Sickness is running through my home again. So, in light of that, have these little snippets from a sick fic I was working on as a gift. Featuring our favorite grumpy duo: Echo and Crosshair. Because they always make me feel better.

Sick of You

draft title bc it made me laugh

Echo pressed the back of his hand to Crosshair's forehead only for it to be slapped away with a grumble. He repressed a sigh at this ridiculous bundle of blankets on the bunk, instead sitting back in the chair to observe him.

Fever, congestion, body aches, stuffy nose. Average cold, nothing to worry about. However the rest of the batch had tasked him with watching over Crosshair while they went on the supply run. That might be the scariest mission Echo has ever taken on.

Amidst the mountain of blankets was Crosshair, bundled up and curled underneath at least four of them. Technically he should rearrange him, make him drink some water, get some hot food in his stomach, but it had been bad enough just getting him off to bed in the first place.

There was a ridiculous little pout to Crosshair's face that reminded Echo of a cadet. Grumpy from not feeling well coupled with being stuck in a confined space. Crosshair didn't do sick well, Echo realized. It was the first time he'd seen any of the batch sick and boy oh boy was it quite the introduction.

...

“Do you want me to tuck you in?” Echo asked with a grin. If looks could kill. Crosshair huffed irritably, folding his blankets tighter around himself and deliberately turning away from Echo. With a shake of his head Echo took pity, finally standing from his seat and giving a gentle pat to the grumpy bundle before making his way towards the cockpit. “Yell if you're dying." He was nearly all the way there before a muffled voice called out.

"You don't have to sit in the cockpit, ya know." It came out scratchy, stuffy, and Echo couldn't help but turn around to consider the man that had done everything but bite him in thanks for all the doting. Regardless, he easily took his seat at the bedside again, grabbing his datapad and leaning back.

“I'll be right here if you need me.” Echo assured. There were a few reports he could knock out while he kept watch. Truthfully he preferred to be in the same room as someone else but was simply surprised that Crosshair didn't want to hide for the duration of an illness. Maybe the silence would allow his prickly patient a nap. Echo would be able to go fix them something hot to drink and maybe coax Cross out of bed. There was this really simple soup recipe Fives used to love. The batch might be able to find some ingredients in town.

Crosshair let out a sneeze, face pinching as if he had a personal vendetta against it. If Crosshair could physically fight the common cold he might. He'd lose but he'd throw a few punches for sure. Echo let the datapad lay on his lap, still reading over the words in front of him, then absentmindedly smoothed his hand over the blankets.

“Shut up.” Crosshair muttered. How disgruntled could one man truly be over a cold? Over someone trying to care for him during that cold? He didn't remove his hand, just found Crosshair's shoulder to give it a good squeeze before continuing slow strokes over his arm.

"Didn't say anything." Echo continued to smile at his datapad, having to bite back a laugh at the glare being aimed at him.

"You're thinking it. I can hear you from here." Crosshair complained.

[dolicekiss]

Apple Of Their Eye

part one here

PAIRING: Aemond Targayen X sister!reader X Aegon Targayen

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), incest between siblings, virgin aemond, possessive behavior, threats, abuse, slut shaming, mentions of forced marriage, voyeurism, kissing, unprotected sex, polygamy, threesome, mating press, hickeys, usage of high valyrian during sex, aggressive aemond, doggystyle, raw filth, hand job, breeding, impregnating, swearing, territorial targaryen brothers, thigh riding, dry humping.

SYNOPSIS: Whispers have a habit of reaching ears, no matter how far and when a whisper about your rendezvous with your brothers reaches your mother, she loses it. Enraged, she strikes you but when your brothers find out, their wrath is enough to burn cities to the ground.

“Brother, someone might see.” Came a soft whimper from you as your brother continued to litter gentle kisses down your jaw, forming an invisible trail to your neck and already had he decided to kiss your collarbones too. It was embarrassing to engage in such actions in the hallways of the Red keep, knowing you were both at your peril.

Aegon didn't care though. He continued kissing you as if he didn't fuck you a few hours ago in the garden. His needs were insatiable and as much as you enjoyed it when your own brother pummeled his cock into your little cunt, you were always worried about getting caught too.

Your brother only let out a soft hum, his large hands moving to grab a handful of your breasts. Your state was disheveled and when you heard footsteps coming near, echoing in the high walls of the hallway, you gave a push to your brother. The expression on Aegon’s face was of complete displeasure as a servant walked passed you two, her gaze lowered but she didn't fail to notice the messed up state of the Princess.

You looked up at Aegon and as he tried to step closer to you, you decided to run off somewhere, with giggles escaping you. The King almost chased after you, but when he was called for a council meeting — he had to solemnly give up the idea of chasing after you and claiming you.

You ran with the assumption that your brother was behind you.

It didn't end well for you as you ended up crashing into someone else. In the arms of another dragon, more ferocious than the one before.

“Going somewhere, sister?”

Aemond’s soft voice was like fucking sugar to your ears. It was unfathomable how he had to speak once and your cunt would get soaked, especially when he would speak High Valyrian while fucking your mouth.

Unlike Aegon, Aemond still had not fucked you like his older brother. He lacked the time to give you full attention and fulfill your needs, as well as his. But today Aemond had decided to put the realm aside once and give you all his time and attention.

You squeezed your thighs, a feeble attempt to rid yourself of the impending feeling of arousal and need. You smiled at him but the way you looked at him, it was an invitation for him to take you right here in this damn hall, against the Iron Throne. Pupils blown out and plump lips parted, swollen definitely by the hands of Aegon.

Your brother reached to put a strand of silver behind your ear with his glove cladded fingers. “I asked you something, sweet sister and I expect an answer.”

You fucking melted whenever he refer to you as his sweet sister. Before it worked wonders but now, you weren't too sure but you'd grown completely obsessed with your own brothers. Last week the topic of Aemond’s marriage was brought up, same as yours and everyone noticed the sour look on the Princess’ face.

The realm’s delight was pissed, for the first time in awhile.

“I was running from Aegon.” You whispered to him, neck craned up to look at your taller brother.

Aemond smiled. “He won't be chasing you, sweet sister. He has the council to attend to.”

You let out a sigh. “Things were much better when Father was alive. I had all your and Aegon’s attention but now the realm demands it more.”

Your words made Aemond realize how good their lives were when you were all children, under the care of your father, the King. If only his father hadn't changed his mind on his death bed, if only his mother hadn't forced Aegon on the Iron Throne. It was all too overwhelming to think about, even for someone like Aemond and he brushed it all aside, replacing it with the thoughts of you.

“You will have all our attention when we win this war, sister. You will be Queen.” His words brought you ease but deep down the fear of something bad happening to both your brothers always tugged at your heartstrings. It lingered, like a threat and even you were not oblivious to the damage that this war will bring.

The chaos, the destruction, the pain.

It was all to real to ignore it.

Aemond’s hand moved to cup your cheek and you smiled, the worry disappearing from your face.

“Let me give you a kiss to ease your worries.”

You were ready for him, lips in a childish pout and Aemond always chuckled at how desperate you seemed for a kiss. It was lost on him why you'd grown this attached to them, to him — a monster he was. Beneath lurked darkness which he knew would one day swim up to the surface and consume your light. He feared that day and he wished for nothing more than to become better, for the sake of his sweet sister.

He had to bend, that's how short you were in comparison to him. The moment his lips met yours, it was a moment of peace but you did not know the chaos it would soon follow.

That single kiss would change the course of house Targaryen. Challenge years worth of tradition, power and would set a new law, abided by both men and Gods.

Butterflies flapped their wings, similar to dragons in your stomach as your brother firmly took your lips into a kiss. His growing need enough to nearly make him lose all control and take you right then and there on the stairs leading to the throne.

Your lids fell shut as you allowed your brother to kiss you, his head tilting and his fingers digging into the cheek he was holding — a testament to his broken self control. Aemond pulled away soon, to restore some dignity in him and you let out a soft breath.

A string of saliva leaving you connected to your brother's lips.

“I will come to your chambers tonight. You must wear a white gown and wait for me.” His command was strong and firm, leaving no room for disagreement.

You were never going to disagree anyway. Pleasing your brothers was all that mattered to you, especially when they had been nothing but kind to you. You nodded your head causing Aemond’s grip across your chin to tighten. “Use your mouth, gevie.” (Beautiful)

You swore you could feel your cunt beginning to grow more soaked each time your brother uttered even a word in High Valyrian. His was the best and even you grew envious of him at times at how dedicated and good he was. To you, Aemond was the epitome of a Targaryen man.

“Yes, brother.” You said in a breathless whisper, nodding your head along.

Aemond let out a satisfied hum, his gaze lingering to the way you rubbed your thighs now and then and fixed his posture. He rested his head on top of your head, patting it a few times. “Don't run around now. You will hurt yourself, little girl.”

You watched as your brother left, going into the same direction you had. Probably to head to the council. At times you wished you were a member of the small council too, so you'd be able to look and stare at your brothers all the time. Their youth had brought them unwanted attention and you were not fond of the idea.

Aegon needed a Queen for the realm, Aemond needed alliances for the realm and in order to secure those, he had to marry someone.

It all worked to agitate you.

Fuck the Realm.

You walked to your chambers and upon entering, you called for a servant to bring you the dress Aemond was referring to. It had always been his favorite on you. It was a lengthy dress with large sheer sleeves and a bow was stitched to its front. It was more of a night gown than a proper dress, if wore without small clothes. Your face flushed at the thought of Aemond seeing you in this, practically bare beneath the pellucid fabric of the gown.

A knock caught your attention and then the doors were opened, your mother’s face coming into view.

You smiled as she walked towards you, completely oblivious to the way she seethed at you. “Moth–”

The sound of skin colliding with skin reverberated in the room, bouncing off the high walls of your chambers. But what left you astonished was the slap your mother had delivered to your cheek. Pain blossomed along with crimson on the pale canvas as Alicent stared at you in pure anger as well as unmatched disgust.

Her hand moved to grab your arm, fingers digging into the soft skin. “You dare to lay with your own brothers, not one, but two of them?”

Your gaze flickered across the room, not having the courage to make eye contact with her as tears welled up in your eyes. This was the first time someone had ever treated you this harshly and the person being your own mother terrified you.

You struggled to speak, because you had nothing to say. All you could do was stand still as your mother reprimanded you, spewing out words which tugged at your heartstrings and forced your tears to run down.

“I was not aware I had given birth to a fucking common whore and not a Princess.” You flinched at her harsh tone, her tight searing grip and the way her other hand moved to grab your chin.

It was all too overwhelming for you, your sensitivity failing you here. Tears ran down your face in small streams, hoping that this would end. “Please mother–”

“Not a word.” Alicent snapped, her anger growing for you even more. It was mostly directed towards her sons, knowing fully well that they were capable of defiling their own sister but she had trust in you. She'd mistaken your love for your brothers as platonic. “Bold of you three to engage in such, heinous and obscene actions out in the open. You think I would not find out? The master of whispers is loyal to me!”

Her voice boomed through the room and with every high octave of her voice, you sobbed and flinched.

It was the comfort of your brothers that you craved. To run to them, wither away in their arms and cry your little heart out. Even as a little girl everyone thought twice before reprimanding you, but your mother had laid a hand on you. For the first time ever and it surely left a scar.

“You will marry Lord Tully, I will see to it.”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, realizing in that moment that staying away from your brothers was something you could not endure. Born from the same womb, fathered by the same man, you three were almost like triplets attached to the hip of one another.

Being apart from them was a punishment even Gods were not cruel enough to cast upon you.

But your mother was.

With all your courage and strength, you pushed at her shoulders and lifted up your skirt — sprinting out of the door with bare feet. You were in the midst of changing your shoes as they'd grown dirty when your mother blessed you with her presence. You had no idea which brother to run to, absolutely clueless to where they were.

If your mother, a member of the small council was in your chambers that meant the council had been dismissed.

Still with little hope, you slammed open the doors of the room where the meetings took place, only to find it empty. Crestfallen, you ran back into the hallway you came from, running outside hoping to find your other brother training.

Upon running out in the open area, your gaze flit here and there, a blurred one it was from all the hopeless crying you'd done in your despair.

You found the silver long strands of your brother flowing in the air as he moved swiftly against Ser Criston Cole. Your lips breaking into a soft smile as more tears fell, your dirty feet taking you to your brother. Everyone in the area witnessed the disheveled state of the Princess, yet no one dared to say a word about it.

Ser Criston stopped moving, dropping his sword and looking behind Aemond’s shoulder where you stood.

He immediately turned around when amidst the stench of sweat, metal and smoke, he caught a whiff of roses. There you were, trembling as you barely managed to hold your own frame. Aemond’s one eye widened, noticing your situation and the large handprint across your face did not go unnoticed by him.

“Who?”

You sobbed, your small hands reached for his chest as you laid your head against it.

Aemond’s fingers that once gripped the hilt of the sword now loosened, causing it to drop and come in contact with the floor. The whole of the training grounds had grown completely silent, witnessing the scene unfold before them. The prince was fucking pissed, the tremor in his jaw evident to everyone else around him and his aura changing.

He was no more composed.

“Who, Princess?”

You couldn't even speak properly without breaking your words apart. “M-Mother found out, Aemond. She will get me married now. I'm scared— I'm scared. I do not wish to leave you and Aegon. I am happy here, with you two. Why must I go? Why must–must I marry Lord Tully?”

Aemond’s mind blanked out, only your words lingering in it. He would burn the whole realm down before seeing you get married to someone else other than him, or his brother. You were theirs, their birthright. Aegon’s was the throne, he was second in line — a prince, a future knight maybe but before all that, you were their true birthright, made for them, crafted by the Gods in the same fucking womb they once nestled in.

Even if Aegon was easily manipulated by Alicent — which he doubt would happen as his brother shared the same feelings as he did for you, Aemond would not allow you to be taken from him. He had grown unloved, a boy broken beyond repair and you somehow still saw the good in him. You sought out comfort in a man the whole of Seven Kingdoms feared.

You, out of everyone, believed he too was deserving of love and you went out of your way to prove it.

Before he'd even proven his worth as a Targaryen by claiming Vhagar, you stood by him. When he lost his eye, it was you who was ready to tarnish the reputation of your own nephews as revenge for your brother’s eye. It was you who went beyond and all for the sake of your brother and most would call you a loyal hound but Aemond saw a beautiful girl that was willing to do anything for him.

His pain had ended — but now his mother, Alicent was going to freshen up old wounds.

He could not allow that to happen.

If you were taken from him, Aemond would mount Vhagar and burn the whole of King’s Landing down. He would not stop, he would descend into absolute madness, leaving nothing for his pretender of a half sister to rule. Everything ashes, destroyed and demolished.

The realm’s delight was a soothing gel, an apology from the Gods, a flourishing flower, a lover for Aemond and he would destroy anything and anyone that would intervene between them.

If the conclusion to this dangerous predicament was betraying his own mother, he did not find himself distressed by the idea.

Aemond didn't say anything, instead his hand wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you along with him. Known about Aegon’s whereabouts, he lead you to his chambers and upon entering, he saw the King engaging in a conversation with one of his squires.

“Out.”

The squire hurried, nodding its head and leaving the King’s presence at once.

Aemond pulled you along until you both were stood before the King. “Look at her. This is the consequence of your actions, Aegon.”

Aegon stared at you in pure scrutiny and as his purple irises ran over the marks of red fingers and palm imprinted on your cheek, his nostrils flared with anger. Your silver hair a mess, hair sticking out of your braids and your lips wobbled — everytime a fresh of tears sliding down and tainting your face even more.

“Who fucking dared to lay hand on the Princess? Give me their name and I will have their fucking head!” Aegon shouted and your previous rendezvous with your mother lead you to flinch, body leaning into Aemond’s in a desperate endeavor to seek comfort.

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “Alicent Hightower.”

“Mother? She wouldn't. Our sister is loved dearly by her.” Aegon’s eyebrows furrowed and Aemond scoffed. “Our sister was loved dearly by her, until she went ahead and broke the fucking rules.”

You sniffled, gaze lowered to the ground. The way your mother had addressed to you as some whore made you feel shame with such intensity, you could not even meet their gazes without bile rising up in your throat. Aegon walked to you, both hands reaching to cup your face. His thumb swiping across the mark in hopes that it would melt within the skin and disappear.

But it stayed behind.

“Aegon, she said–said I was worse than a whore. That she'd given birth to a whore instead of a Pr–Princess.” You bursted into a fit of tears and sobs, breaking apart in your brother's hold and Aegon looked at Aemond, a fire similar to his brother’s awakening in his purple gaze.

They were too eager, to protect you.

To get rid of their mother in this very instant but you needed them, you needed them to comfort you and be there for you.

“Listen to me.” Aegon lifted your head up, making you lock eyes with him. “There is no power in this world that can keep you away from us. Do you understand, my little dove? I will see the whole world burn before letting someone else have you.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Aemond wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Gods, this was all they wanted. To have you for themselves, all to themselves. Just a simple little thing yet customs, traditions and what fucking not got in between.

It angered them both.

If Aegon the conqueror could take two wives, why couldn’t a Princess take two husbands?

Was their house not about securing their bloodline? What better way than wedding the Princess to her two brothers, the King and the Prince. It was the only solution to this mess and both your brothers would see it happen.

“Don't cry,” Aemond whispered against your nape. “I will burn everything down, please. Don't cry anymore.”

You understood what your brother implied with his words and love for him swelled in your chest. Your mere tears affected him to an extent he would commit such a gruesome crime, against his own mother too. You tried to quieten down, sobs turning into soft sniffles as the twitching of your shoulders came to a halt.

“Trust me, my Princess. You must have faith in me.” You nodded at Aegon’s comforting words.

After all he had the bigger play at hand. He was the King, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and had everyone beneath him.

Your small hand reached over to hold Aegon’s face in it, fingers caressing the soft supple skin. “I'm terrified, Aegon. She wishes to wed me to Lord Tully.”

“Fucking Riverrun Lord.” Aegon cursed, shaking his head. “I will bring you his head, put it at your fucking feet.”

Aemond hummed at the idea in satisfaction as he could not imagine you being in the presence of another man. Laying in the arms of another, being bred, giving birth to some dark haired children. The image instilled him with repulsion.

“You belong to us.” Aemond growled in your ear, his bare fingers moving to push your hair aside, revealing your pale neck to him. You whimpered when you felt him press a kiss to your sensitive nape, body tensing up. “Every inch of you, sweet sister. Your beautiful hair, your soft lips, from your breasts to your little cunt. It belongs to us and it will fucking stay that way, forever. There is no one in the Seven Kingdoms that can stand between us.”

Your back arched, lower half pressing into Aemond while the upper half pushed against Aegon. Breasts flush into Aegon’s chest and ass curved perfectly against Aemond’s bulge. Your tears had dried off by now but your lip still twitched from the ferocity you'd faced.

Before things could escalate further, the door was slammed open and Alicent stood there, her calm expression switching into one of anger as she witnessed the state of you sandwiched between her brothers. The woman lost all calm — taking powerful strides towards you but before she could actually reach you and tear you apart from your brothers, they stood in front of you.

Concealing your small, shivering figure from their mother.

“I will not have you continue this debauchery and ruin the honor of your house!” Alicent shouted and Aegon felt you flinch, your small fingers wrapped around his sleeve. Your other hand doing the same to Aemond’s leather tunic.

Aemond swallowed, to compose himself but Aegon had little to no respect left for his mother anymore. “What you call debauchery are actions done by our predecessors. Do you not remember Aegon the conqueror taking two wives, mother?”

Alicent’s eyes widened. “He was a man, a King! You cannot suggest something as baffling as this.”

“I am not asking, I am telling you.” Aegon spoke, stepping forward.

But his mother was not going to have it. The woman reached for you, pushing past her sons and when her fingers managed to wrap around your frail wrist, she tugged and pain shot through your wrist. Your loud cry acting as an immediate order for your brothers to protect you.

“Let her go!” Aegon stepped forward and so did Aemond, holding his mother's hand as he pulled.

All the commotion only made you cry out even more, the metal from your mother's rings digging into your skin, almost piercing through it and evoking blood. “I will not tolerate this. Do not pull her into your sick desires, she is but a child!”

“She is a child for us but is old enough to wed Lord Tully? You were always a hypocrite, mother.” Aemond called out, trying to pull his raging mother apart from you without causing you much pain.

You sobbed, trying to somehow squirm your wrist out of your mother's grasp. “You are hurting me, mother.”

Alicent was too far gone to even consider the fact that she was bringing her own daughter pain. The slap was to reprimand you, how mothers often do their child but by now the metal had slashed through your skin, little droplets staining your mother's hand as well as your wrist.

Aegon glared at the woman. “I am your King and I command you to unhand the Princess or I will have your fucking head.”

That is when Alicent’s grip loosened, her adamance dropping and you were quick to pull out of her hold. Your wrist stung and as you held it, Aemond caught the red peeking beneath your skin. He did not realize when he stepped forward or when his hand found his mother's throat, or when he nearly suffocated her.

It was all too much, and too fast.

“Dare hurt her again and I will kill you with my own bare hands.” Aemond threatened — meaning every word with his whole chest and Alicent knew that this son of hers was capable of harming her.

But as was Aegon now, as he too had seen the blood tainting your pale skin.

“You will send a raven to Lord Tully and you will tell him the Princess will be marrying her brother, The King, to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” It was spoken strictly but with an underlining of threat and Alicent could only nod.

Aemond released her and her hand immediately flew to grasp at her throat, dragging out choked and strained breaths.

“And then the Queen will have me as her second husband.” Aemond finished with a smug smile.

Alicent shook her head. “This is beyond unacceptable. The realm will not tolerate it.”

You stood there, lips trembling and eyes swollen as you continuously let out more tears. Your mother shot you a look of pure disgust but deep down she knew that it was not really your fault. Your brothers encouraged this mess, all of it but she didn't know that you too were hopelessly in love with both your brothers.

“We're the fucking Targaryens. Rulers of the the realm, we write history and make tradition.” Aegon said, proudly as he glanced at his sister with a softened look in his eye. “If anyone wishes to start a war over the Queen getting fucked by her two brothers, we're more than welcome to engage in it.”

Aegon knew sunfyre and Vhagar alone could clear out the whole of the realm.

Alicent spared you one last glance before turning around, running out of the room. Her state was the same as yours now and you almost felt a sense of pride. Yet the hurt had not subsided. Your own mother harming you like this was something you had never expected.

Once alone with your brothers, Aemond took a hold of your hand, as gently as he could and looked at it. There were droplets of blood everywhere on your wrist and he felt his own boil at the sight. “I shall call for the maester.”

He soon arrived and while he bandaged your wound as you laid on the bed, both brothers at each side, he could not ignore the tension with which the room was elevated. He finished his work as quickly as possible and after giving you a few drops of milk of the poppy, he left the chambers.

Aegon lifted your wrist, bringing it to his lips and you watched as your brother pressed kisses against the bandage. Featherlight and gentle.

“I—I feel bad.” You voiced out your feelings, somewhere feeling at fault for all this mess.

You blamed it on your abundance desire to prove your love for your brothers.

Aemond shifted closer to you, hand in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. “You mustn't. You are not at fault, my sister. You're the most sweetest little girl and you deserve all the love in the world.”

Your cheeks bled crimson.

This was the first time ever Aemond had been this open with you, this raw and maybe it was because he almost lost you. He knew better than to be his usual stoic self with the likes of you.

“She wishes to wed you to someone too, Aemond.” You pouted, looking up at your brother. “I can't share you, I resent the idea of it. It brings me unease and repulses me. I think I might kill whoever you get betrothed to.”

Aemond nearly cooed at how your jealousy was finally pouring out. He exchanged a glance with Aegon who almost seemed proud that his little dove was capable of sounding this strict, but fucking adorable. Gods, they were a lost cause.

“The only person I will be marrying is you, sweet sister. I belong to you, and forever will.”

It was as if his words had magic and the pout disappeared from your lips, replaced by a honey smile. You moved your other hand and tugged at his sleeve. “Do I still get to wear that white dress for you tonight?”

“You're hurt, Gevie. I wouldn't wa—”

You quickly sat up. “I'm fine! Look at me, I'm perfectly fine. Please Aemond.”

“May I also know what the fuck is going on here about this white dress?” Came a very irritated question from Aegon as he looked between the two of you.

Your cheeks burned and Aemond decided to explain. “I told her to wear her white dress for me when I will visit her chambers tonight. Before, unexpectedly, this turn of events happened.”

“You meant to fuck our sister without me?”

Gods, his older brother was as dramatic as they came. Behaving as if he had not claimed you first and multiple times. “You took her maidenhood and then proceeded to fuck her in the gardens too. Let me have my fill.”

“You can have all your fill you fucking want, Aemond. I'm fine with just watching.” Aegon suggested and the idea wasn't so bad, only he knew that Aegon would eventually lose all restraint and end up joining them too.

He sighed. “Alright.”

Then he turned to you. “You okay? Can you go to your chambers and wait for me, hm?”

You quickly nodded your head, sitting up on your knees now. You pushed forward and put all your weight on your palms, leaning in to kiss your brother's lips. You felt your older brother's hand roam over your spine, moving against your head as he pushed your lips deeper against Aemond’s.

“Suck on it, come on.” Aegon encouraged you, recalling the lessons. “Exactly how I taught you, little dove.”

You nodded as your cunt produced the essence of your arousal. Your lips puckered up, closing around Aemond’s upper one as you sucked. His hand moved to grab a handful of your breasts and you whimpered into the kiss. It soon ended when both of you pulled apart to inhale some oxygen.

Your cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

“I need you to go now, my sweet sister.”

You hopped off the bed, not before giving Aegon a kiss too but with less intensity and not that he minded. He knew he'd have his fill of yours sooner or later too. For now it was his younger brother's turn to own you, to claim you fully.

Aegon’s stomach churned with anticipation, thinking of Aemond driving his cock into the walls of your tight cunt and he shuddered meanwhile Aemond’s own cock hardened at the sight of you walking out of the chambers, hips swaying here and there.

Both were painfully hard.

“I want to breed her, get her with child.” Aemond suddenly broke the silence and Aegon chuckled. “Even if it is your child, we wouldn't know for sure. Look at us, we look the fucking same.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond agreed. His brother had a very valid point. Two Targaryen men fucking a Targaryen girl — all of them having silver hair and the same features, only a tad bit different.

Aemond stared at the door. “She has not shown signs as of yet, so I must fuck her over and over again until I know for sure she is with child.”

“Are you that desperate to have your child inside her, or maybe it is the Iron Throne you wish to see your child to ascend.” Aemond groaned, body going slump in the sheets at his brother's words.

It was not his desire, as obvious as it seemed it was.

“You took her maidenhood, Aegon. I want her to bear my child first.”

Aegon stared at his brother, blinking shortly before breaking into a fit of laughter. He could not believe that his cunning brother cared more about petty emotions such as jealousy than actually using this situation to put his heir on the throne. It was too amusing for him.

“You are fucking obsessed, brother.”

Nightime fell.

The hour of the bat had settled in, the moon proudly beaming up in the dark sky, dominating it.

You were already dressed in your white dress, awaiting your brothers but the butterflies of anticipation nipped at your stomach for Aemond.

You paced back and forth in the room, the white end of your dress trailing behind you. The doors were soon pushed open and you saw Aemond walk in. His staunter always filling you with excitement, as heat rushed to your face. His sword glued to his hip and you tried peeking behind but to your disappointment, your older brother was nowhere to be found.

It was only Aemond.

“Brother, where is Aegon?”

Aemond stopped in front of you, hands held behind his slim back. “Oh, did my sweet sister not wish to see me?”

Your face contorted in confusion and you were quick to shake your head. Hand reaching to grasp around your younger brother's, a frown ceasing your delicate features. “Absolutely not, Aemond. In fact I have been looking forward to seeing you, my eyes were glued to my door.”

Your confession made him chuckle as he brought his hand up to your face, caressing the skin with the back of his fingers.

“Is that so?” Aemond asked. To you he seemed normal, stoic and devoid of any emotions but on the inside Aemond battled his demons. Restraint was slowly slipping and the Prince wished for nothing more than to fuck you, right here, against the fucking floor if he willed. His desires were often concealed, kept at bay which made him more dangerous than his brother, Aegon.

He'd kept himself pure, untouched for you.

Aegon encouraged him, to indulge in other women. Whores that would keep his lust for his own sister at bay but as usual, Aemond always declined. He knew that his body only yearned for his sister, not some used whore fucked by countless.

His pure — sweet innocent sister.

You nodded your head with a pout forming on your lips. “I missed you. I waited for you ever since I left Aegon's chambers. For a moment I thought you wouldn't come.”

“How could I not come?” Aemond whispered, breath mingling with yours. “Do you think me cruel enough to make my beautiful sister wait like this?”

With a shake of your head, you covered Aemond’s hand on your cheek with yours. A soft lick of your tongue at your lips made your brother lose the idea of self control, his cold demeanor crumbling apart. His boots tapped aggressively over the floor as he cornered you against the pillar of your bed. Your breath hitched — throat parching as Aemond buried his face in your neck, his nose catching whiff of your scent.

“Iksan ribazmoqitta syt ao, mandia.” Aemond murmured and you whimpered at his High Valyrian, feeling his nose trail up your neck and then back down, grazing against your collar bones. (I'm crazy for you, sister)

Your thighs subconsciously pressed together and Aemond noticed it. He licked his own lips as he brought his face up to yours and locked lips with you. You were take aback by the sheer aggression he held, how violet he was being when his large hands began ripping away at the dress. One shoulder ripped while the other in a perfect state. His fingers clasped around your waist, digging into the skin as he moved his mouth skilfully against yours.

All that you had learned, was now slowly disappearing from your mind as your brother dominated your mouth like a savage. You gasped when he pushed open your thighs with his knee, settling it between them. Aemond took your gasp as a chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth and the moment he did, you reached heaven. His rigid tongue battled with yours, wrapping around it and sucking on it eagerly like a babe sucking milk from its mother’s teats.

“Ae—”

You tried parting from him but he didn't allow it. Simply, he sat down on the bed and pulled you onto his thigh. Everytime Aemond would bounce up his thigh, a whine would escape your lips feeling the rigidity of skin deliver sensations to your sweet pearl. Your hands moved to his shoulders, laying as you tried to hold yourself together.

“Tonight I get to be the one inside your cunt, sweet sister.” Aemond growled, his chest rumbling with unlaced desires. “Your little cunt will be the first I would ever fuck.”

Your eyes widened. Confusion clouding your features as you'd assumed your brothers has already done this before. Aegon had — so why did Aemond hesitate? Before you could question him, your lips fell apart and desperate whimpers orchestrated.

“I-I will be your first?” You somehow managed and Aemond nodded, bouncing you on his thigh.

He was fucking hard, his cock stirring in his breeches. “Yes, my Princess. I made a promise that is it only your cunt I shall drive my cock in.”

You whimpered. “Oh, Aemond.”

Your brother had lost every bit of restraint and had been tipped over the edge. Aemond pushed you off him onto the bed and watched with his one eye as your small body bounced off the mattress, an expression of shock adorning your features. He wasn't going to be as soft as Aegon — he knew that deep down and he was going to make sure that you knew it too.

Jealousy that Aegon had you first riled him up.

Aemond stared at you, dress ripped and hair a beautiful mess, silky strands laying over your shoulders. Your dress ripped in places, shreds of it missing. He swallowed, hands unbuckling his belt and tossing his heavy sword aside, followed by the removal of his gloves and clothes. You stared at your brother in pure awe as he finally stood before you in all his glory.

Aemond was taller, leaner, sharper.

His muscles taut and standing out from the rest of him.

He crawled towards you, like a dangerous animal and in this moment Aemond almost resembled Vhagar. How he stalked closer to you, instilling fear within you as your brother reached for your ankle and clasped his fingers around it, tugging on it and pulling you closer to him.

“Open your legs.” It was a command, that was proven. “Be a good little girl and show me your sweet cunt."

You obliged, thighs parting open and the cold air brushing against your soaked cunt caused heat and chills to take over. Aemond let out a groan at the sight. How sweetly you parted your legs and how your pink pussy peeked back at him — glistening from your creamy arousal. It enticed him like nothing else, sending hot blood rushing down into the veins of his cock.

“Do you grow this wet each time I speak a word in High Valyrian?” He asked with a soft scoff, embarrassing you furthermore. Your hands had fisted at your chest as you slowly dragged your head up and down. Aemond had the most beautiful High Valyrian you'd ever heard and it would be a lie to say it did not work to entice you.

It was alluring.

Aemond didn't waste time getting on top of of you, holding his cock as he aligned it along your hole.

His ache to be inside you was something he tried to suppress since the past few days but he failed. Every time taking the company of his own hand, using it to bring him relief and imagining it to be his sister's cunt. He was a depraved man, worse than Aegon.

“Aemond,” you whimpered when your brother pushed past your folds, his thick cock head stretching you beyond your limits. It proved that it was thicker than Aegon's, more longer and your back rose up from the mattress.

Aemond rested his weight on one bent elbow by the side of your face while his other grabbed your chin, fingers dimpling in your cheeks. “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you, sweet sister. Fucking look at me.”

Though his words were full of aggression, his voice was soft like the clouds. Everything about him was rough, with sharp edges but his voice. It was gentle and it drove you fucking insane. Growing drunk on it everytime you listened.

Your stomach twisted as Aemond buried himself inside you to the hilt with one single push. It sent your body forward and your eyes rolled into the darkness based at the back of your skull. Tears fell as your wet walls sucked in your brother's cock, wrapped tightly around and Aemond groaned — thighs shuddering. It was his first time and Aemond realized it was worth the wait. It was worth turning down the whores, declining their offers or looking down upon them. It was all fucking worth it and your brother had finally found solace from the war in your delicious cunt.

“Gods,” Aemond almost whined like a child at how good you felt, fitting his cock perfectly like you were made for him. “You were so worth the wait, sister. If it is to fuck you, to put a babe in you, to breed you, I would wait a hundred years more.”

His hands shifted to grab your thighs, pushing them up. Your legs went up in the air and your eyes slammed open, widening at the brazen position your brother had contorted your body in. Aemond pushed more and eventually your thighs met your breasts as he began to pound his cock into you, watching how it slipped in and out of your gummy walls — the sound of flesh meeting flesh sending him over the edge.

Your stomach was taut and with a new, strong thrust you felt your brother's cock prod at the skin of your stomach, a newfound pleasure dominated your body. Aemond had not only found your sweet spot but also tore through all barriers, reaching your womb.

“Aemond, my brother. Brother— oh please!”

The aforementioned’s pace only picked up upon hearing you address to him as yours. It was enough to make him go fucking insane as he pummeled his cock deeper inside you, watching the bulge form on your stomach with a frustrated expression. All the pent up tension from war, training endlessly for hours and anger towards his enemies was slowly pouring out.

Aemond knew that he would break you. He wholly possessed the power for it.

“Gevie riña, ñuha gevie riñītsos.” Aemond moaned, his silky hair caressing your face, softly. “Kesan dīnagon iā rūs isse ao.” Your pussy’s endeavor to suck your brother in did not go unnoticed by him. You were truly a sight as your cunt throbbed around Aemond’s cock when he'd spoken High Valyrian. It left you in a complete daze, your own desires pooling in your stomach.(Beautiful girl, my beautiful little girl. I won't stop until you're with child)

A hoarse chuckle escaped Aemond. “It arouses you, my sweet sister? Listening to your brother speak High Valyrian? I can feel your little cunt trying to swallow me whole.”

Heat rushed beneath your cheeks as you nodded your head, fingernails dragging down against his biceps, evoking streams of blood.

Both of you were so occupied with one another, no one noticed Aegon entering your chambers or walking towards the two of you, or when he took a seat on a chair facing the bed. You cried out, tears continuously sliding down as Aemond’s rapid thrusts made him pant like an animal in heat.

“Careful now, you'll break the poor girl.” Aegon interrupted his brother's debauchery.

Aemond’s hips came to a halt, but his cock was still sunken inside you. He glared at his brother, the sapphire dancing in his empty eye socket. A sight he'd entrusted few people with.

“Continue.” was all Aegon said, slumping back into his seat.

He watched with a lustful gaze as his younger brother continued to drill his cock into your cunt, squelching sounds filling the air in the room. You were a sobbing mess and Aegon acknowledged that his brother was the beast amongst them both. With how relentless Aemond seemed, growing impatient second by second.

He soon switched positions, flipping you on your stomach like a rag doll and pulling you up by your frail arms against his broad, well-built chest. His cock was still inside you and as Aemond held you over it, he brought his lips to your ear.

“Hop now, sweet sister. Give our older brother a show.” All you could do was sniffle, tears blurring your vision as you started to lift your ass up. You somehow made a rhythm, bouncing up and down on Aemond’s cock while he put his weight on his palms forced into the mattress.

Your back glistened with sweat and oils — pale skin a replica of the moon. Even compared to the moon, you were somehow the most prettiest. Your hair got in your face, hovering as you grinded on your brother's cock.

Heat emanated from your petite figure whilst your parted drool covered lips let out the most delicious little sounds.

Aemond glanced at Aegon and found him already with his cock in his hand. Erect with precum leaking from his tip. He stroked himself while watching you ride his brother like your life depended on it. The dedication your face was riddled with made him breathless.

“She's so obedient.” Aemond grunted as you pushed down on his cock. “It almost makes me want to devour her whole.”

Aegon nodded in agreement, eyebrows closed in together as the movement of his hand fastened.

Aemond reached for your arms, pulling you against his chest and taking the lead. He thrusted up, his hips finding a rhythm to work with as his grip tightened on your skin. You whined, head thrown over his shoulder as Aemond felt his peak dance around him.

“Invite Aegon in.” He whispered against your ear. “Be a good sister and help him.”

You turned to Aegon, your cunt tightening around Aemond at the sight of your brother this disheveled and out of breath.

You turned to Aegon, your cunt tightening around Aemond at the sight of your brother this disheveled and out of breath.

“A-Aegon, please come here.”You whimpered, patting the bed and Aegon rose up from the chair, shifting on the bed and sitting in front of you. You reached for his cock, wrapping your hand around it. Slick covered your hand as you moved it up and down, your thumb caressing the slit of his head.

The three of you moaned in unison, whines along with groans and grunts filling up the room. The scenario almost reminded Aegon of the brothel he'd often visit and he sighed, throwing his head back as he let you bring him the best of pleasures. Your little wrist moved swiftly, to drag an orgasm out of your brother – his cock throbbing and warm against your skin.

Aemond held you tightly, using your cunt to satisfy himself. You felt so fucking small in his hold and the thought of putting a child in you drove him insane.

“I'm going to taint your pretty walls all white, sweet sister.” Aemond whispered from behind in your ear, his deep voice birthing chills on your spine while Aegon let out desperate whines, close to bursting in your small hand.

He soon came — white fluid staining your pale hand, almost the same color. You sobbed as Aemond’s thrusts increased, growing more relentless. Your brother tossed you on the bed after you'd pleasured Aegon and buried his cock deep inside you, your knees helping you support your ass perched in the air.

Your back arched, face buried in the sheets, Aemond took you from behind. His cock prodding over and over again at your sensitive spot.

“Greedy cunt.” Aemond grunted, large hands cupping the entirety of your waist as he felt his peak near. “You like this, hm? You enjoy getting destroyed by your brothers. Gods, sister. You're such a fucking cocksleeve.”

Holding onto to the tethered pieces of his sanity and humanity, your brother drilled his cock into you. Loud pants concealed by the sounds of skin against skin, Aemond growled as his balls throbbed to fill you with his seed and he did – shooting ropes of his spent inside you. Holding you against him as he filled you up.

“Aemond! Please, please. Too much, can't take it—Brother please!” Your muffled wails echoed, sobbing into the pillows and all Aemond did was fuck into you harder, more rougher. It was too much for your little body but Aemond was too far gone.

With a loud muffled cry, you tightened around your brother and came all over his cock. Your gummy walls so tight, so wet, enough to tear an orgasm through your brother too. Aemond pumped you full of his load, his thrusts slowing down as he moved his hips sensually now, in slow strokes, fucking his spent deep into you.

Surely this would get you with his child.

“Fuck.” Aemond shivered as you milked him dry, sucking him in more and more until you'd drained him fucking dry of any more seed. “You're so desperate to have my child inside you.”

He was right.

The idea of being swollen with your brother's babe was innocent but it enticed you to no ends.

For a moment your body was allowed to rest as Aemond let it go, watching how it fell against the mattress but then you felt it being lifted up again. Your eyes that had fluttered shut now snapped open again as Aegon pulled apart your buttocks, revealing your gaping hole with his own brother's residual leaking out.

Aegon didn't waste a moment sliding his own hardened cock inside the same hole his brother was in not long ago. Your energy was spent and you let it happen, your older brother holding your lower body as he used you to bring himself to a release.

All you could do was sob and let out tiny whines of disapproval.

“Sh, sh.” You felt a hand on your head and turned your head to find a naked Aemond sitting by your side. “Its okay. He deserves this, yeah? Let him fuck my seed further into your womb.”

You could only nod but your strained face let your brother know how tired you were. He glanced up at Aemond and found him already on the brink of his peak — his nails digging into the flesh of your arse as he continued digging his cock deeper into you. Aegon loved how because of his brother's seed slicking your walls, his own cock slid easily in an out of you. The wet sounds arousing him to no extent.

Soon he also filled you up, spending fully inside you and colliding next to you. Aegon immediately began to leech off your warmth, burying his face in your neck as he let out a murmur.

You whimpered, feeling heavy with the seed of both your brothers. Your cunt had grown heavy as you felt the warm liquid seep out of your hole, making a mess on your thighs and sliding down your clit. Your head nuzzled into Aemond’s side for comfort as both brothers laid next to you, cuddling you like their life depended on it.

Days had passed.

You paced back and forth in your room, fingers fiddling with one another. Your heart thumping rapidly in your chest, impatiently awaiting the arrival of your brother – husbands in your shared chambers.

Right after spending the night together, on the morrow both your brothers married you and dared all the members of the small council, lords, high born or low borns to come and challenge them. Prevent your union but no one dared to.

Turns out, one could do anything when you're in possession of three dragons, Seven Kingdoms and the crown.

The doors of the chambers opened and you smiled upon seeing them. One with crown, other with sword. Your feet took off as you embraced both your brothers in a tight grip and inhaled their scents.

“Hello to you too, wife.” Aegon chuckled, bringing his arm to wrap it around you, Aemond pursuing his actions.

You broke apart and pulled the two to the bed, sitting them down and the two exchanged a silent look between them, rather puzzled by your ecstatic behavior. You let out a sigh, bracing yourself.

“I have something to share.”

Aemond raised a brow. “Go on, wife.”

The term of endearment always filled you with butterflies each time you were addressed with it. Gods, your cheeks were swollen from smiling to an extent they hurt from it.

You beamed. “I'm with child.”

Both brothers looked at one another. Aemond was stunned but Aegon stood up, surprise in his gaze. “You–You're with child? I'll be a father, I'll be a fucking father!”

You nodded and then looked at Aemond but all he did was press an open palm over your flat stomach before also rising to his feet and leaning forward. “You've made us the happiest in all of Weteros.” Aemond pressed a kiss to your forehead and then embraced you in a hug, Aegon joining in. Both of them were beyond happy and could not believe that they were going to be fathers.

It mattered not that who the actual father to the child in your womb was — as long as it was fathered by one of them. They would love the babe no matter the gender, no matter who's blood coursed through its veins which made your heart flutter as you knew it.

Despite having such a controversial relationship, the three of you were pleased, content and happy.

[qierxing]

Farewell to Thee?

A/N: (checks last post time stamp) Oopsie. (drops this in front of yall like a bag of groceries and fades into the distance)

Yan! Twst Isekai AU

CW/TW: the Mouse is Real™, graphic descriptions of bodily fluids/injuries, assault and kidnapping Pt. 3 Oh Woe is Me... | Pt. 4

◇ Continue

[Loading…]

“..llo?"

"Hello?" 

"Hellooo?”

Out of the wispy fog comes a familiar voice. It echoes on and on, fading into a whisper. The tenure worms into your brain as you struggle back into consciousness. And as your eyes open and focus, your brain finally recognizes who is calling out.

“...Mickey?” You respond quietly in disbelief. “Mickey!”

“[First]!” The reunion, however unexpected, is still relieving. You never thought you would be so happy to see the cartoony mouse again. But…

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, huh?” He chirps, walking up to your side. “I’ve been trying all sorts of things to get here, even trying to change my pajamas before sleeping too, heh…”

“So…this is a dream?” You ask hesitantly. Mickey smiles up at you, unaware of your inner turmoil. 

“Must be! This is quite unexpected, I usually only see your head and shoulders, not your whole body.” 

That makes sense, in a way. Only white nothingness surrounds you. Although you two are striding forward in a sense of strolling, you can’t make heads or tails on whether you’re actually walking somewhere.

“Normally I’d ask to take your picture but I don’t have my special camera.” You wryly smile in response. Did you succeed with your plan? Interactions with Mickey was usually out of the player’s hands…did you force a connection when you caused a game over?

“That’s a right shame. I was so looking forward to it since you mentioned it last visit.” Mickey sighs with a playful pout. It then changes to something more somber as he gazes up at you.

“[First], I’m glad to have met you again, but be careful.” You stop in your tracks at the warning.

“I sensed some dark aura around you when we first met. It’s gotten even stronger this time.” Mickey explains, worried eyes examining you. “Please be careful.”

“Wh-what do you mean…?” Your mouth runs dry. Something prickles in the back of your head, and to your panic, the vision of Mickey starts fading away, images blurring. 

“M…time….up….watch…” his last words hover in the air as you frantically reach out to him.

“M-Mickey?!” You fumble around, trying to reach out to him, but come up with air. 

“Damn it!” You scream, impatient rage blinding your sight. 

Just when you’re so close to getting an answer out of this damn game! You just wanted to go home! Was that such a sin?

The prickling in your head grows stronger and you grow lightheaded, collapsing in on yourself. You look up to see a bright glowing menu.

[True Ending has not been unlocked]

>⬛⬛⬛⬛ Key has not been obtained. 

>Continue?

–

[Loading…]

Your cheeks feel sticky.

It feels so gross. The smell of iron and rust floods your nose and makes your eyes fly open. Your fingernails scrape the substance as you push yourself off the cold floor. When you hold it up to your bleary eyes, you can see blood and dirt flaking under your nails. Your entire front is also soaked in blood and saliva. The disgusting sight makes you cringe. 

The ground underneath your body shakes. You regard the pool of blood, tears, and snot underneath you with a gaze not fully aware. You’re… in Twisted Wonderland?

Screaming? There’s people yelling somewhere, and it’s making your head hurt. You groan, raising your dirtied hand to steady your forehead.

What happened…?

"Easy, Trickster." A warm voice envelopes your ear. Suddenly, the scent of mint and petrichor overtakes your senses. Verdant green eyes peer down at you with relief.

“R…Rook?” The voice that comes out of you doesn’t feel like you. Someone else speaking in your body, like a ventriloquist. “H-How…?”

“[First]!” Grim flings himself into your face, adding to the pool of snot and mucus. It’s okay though. You hug him tightly, curling in on yourself, trying to absorb the warmth Grim gives. 

The others come and swarm you; trying to check in on you, but you don’t respond to their numerous worried inquiries, drained of all your energy. Something catches your ear though.

“Oh, we were so worried! When Neige told us you got accidentally poisoned, we couldn’t take you to the infirmary right away–thank Seven Rook was there!” Kalim clasps your hands tenderly, not minding the gross slew of fluids getting on his hands. 

Poisoned? How was I poisoned…?

A knife sharp pain slices through your brain when you try to recall what happened. You were with Neige…and then? Everything after that was all coming out as static noise.

“Prefect.”

You know who it is without looking. What a sight. How could Vil Schoenheit look this disheveled? Blonde greasy hair that is out of place, skin hollowed and pale with scratches, and bloodshot lavender eyes. He looks worse than you on death’s door.

"Vil…?" You gaze at him with empty confusion, unsure of why your heart drops at the sight of him. "Did…did something happen?"

Vil's eyes narrow but then close in resignation. Epel takes over, eyes wide in earnest. "Vil had an overblot, so we had to wrangle him back to normal."

Overblot…right…that's what supposed to happen, right?

Why…was that supposed to happen?

"Forgive me, Trickster. If only I had reached there faster with Monsieur Al-Asim…" Rook hums, surprisingly sincere. "Roi du Poison's madness and obsession…even when he had overblotted…how wonderfully beautiful it all was. The ink swirling around him, his stature…"

You shiver as his gaze rakes into yours.

"But, mon amour, you must not do that again, oui?" He leans in, lips ghosting over your ear and your blood freezes. What does he…?

"What a fine mess this is. What are we going to do now?" Ace drawls, eyes scanning behind him. Your eyes follow where he's looking and wince at the now destroyed colosseum. Debris and rocks flung everywhere, banners ripped to shreds, and electronics fried beyond repair.

For some reason, you feel calm despite the scene before you. As if…

"Well, well, if this isn't a sight."

Malleus.

Nothing registers until his gaze falls on you, and you swear his eyes glow for a fraction of a second.

"What have we here?" The question echoes and everyone looks nervously around at each other. “I arrive early to find not a single person and a stage laid to waste.”

You can only muster a sheepish grin in response. That's right. Malleus could fix this all up in a flash, no problem.

“Hornton, thank goodness you’re here!” Dried blood cracks on the edges of your smiling lips. “We could really use some help-”

“HORNTON?” You wince at the cacophonous pitch of everyone yelling. Rook is tactful enough to shield your ears but it only did so much to keep your eardrums from ringing. While Grim realizes who Hornton is, everyone else is flustered, attempting to explain the weight of his identity to the two of you.

You don’t need it though. His magic is enough of a demonstration as he winds back time and repairs the stage in moments. With that, the NRC group’s spirit and morale is renewed and once again, they’re raring to prove themselves to RSA.

The only thing that didn’t change is you.

Malleus gingerly carries you in his arms while Grim worriedly looks up at you. While they were reluctant to continue without you, even they were not foolish enough to let you go without urgent medical treatment.

You managed to stay conscious long enough to hear Malleus talking with the school medics and Grim muttering about stones before the dull ache in your throat and stomach forced you into an uneasy slumber.

–

The vestiges of a strange dream about mice and keys linger in your mind as you blink away the sleep in your eyes. 

Evening has fallen, the only light coming from the dim lanterns the office has set up for patients. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out silhouettes of curtains and several items on the table near you. 

Snacks from Ace and Deuce, herbal medicine from Vil, and colorful flowers by Kalim (you’re sure Jamil was the reason why it was not mountains of flower bouquets). The gestures are enough to make you weakly smile before it drops into a frown.

You turn to scan the room, and find no signs of life.

Did Grim leave?

An uneasiness begins to settle in your chest and you try to quash it. Maybe he just went to use the bathroom. Or if the staff made him leave, maybe he returned to Ramshackle. Anxiety begins to creep through your mind as the seconds tick by on the clock above the doorway. 

 Screw it.

You slip off the duvet covers and although the feeling of cold tiles on your bare feet is almost enough to make you give up, you push through and leave the room in the direction of Ramshackle. 

Soon, the familiar sight of the Seven’s statues come into the horizon and cobblestones turn into granite tiles underneath your feet. Something makes you pause, however. Like a feeling of deja vu, you wonder why you feel like you’ve been in this situation before.

A growl shakes through the underbrush and you whirl to see the devil tips of a tail thrashing through leaves. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Grim!

The next thing you see is glowing blue eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth and dripping black saliva. You stumble back partially in disgust at the sight and partially from fear. What happened to your friend?! 

“Grrr…mine…you can’t…” His words are hardly decipherable, making you furrow your eyebrows in concern.

“Grim!” 

He’s already descended into a rabid, feral monster. Your calls only anger him, and his eyes thin into needle thin slits. He bares his teeth again and you steel yourself. 

Letting out a guttural roar, he pounces and you narrowly dodge and avoid getting shredded by jagged claws. 

You will not lose your friend here. You can’t. Not when–

A fleeting vision flashed in your mind: pitch black ink surrounding your feet, before finally flowing away and hardening into a condensed mass. Your head immediately is wracked in red hot spasms, causing you to keel over in pain. What is…

Unfortunately, this leaves you open to Grim’s next strike, and his attack throws both of you off balance. The impact sends you into the grass and it’s only when your back hits a tree trunk that you shriek out loud. Your fragile medical gown is torn through by his claws, leaving bloody gashes upon your midsection. 

The excruciating pain is enough for feverish tears to run down your cheeks and your vision to start blurring as Grim growls again, no doubt readying to finish what he started.

“G-Grim…” 

Your vision darkens, and your world goes silent.

–

A heart wrenching scream rouses you awake.

“[FIRST]!!”

The sound of whistling wind blows in your ears and instinctively you shiver. As your eyes blearily crack open, a gray figure comes into focus.

Grim is hunched over you, shaking your body with tears in his eyes. The both of you seem to be…flying? What?

“Subject F and Y secured. Waiting for other units’ reports.” A cold robotic voice drones above you. You force your head up and see a tall robot donning armor and wielding a formidable looking oar like weapon. As your eyes adjusted against the strong breeze, you realized you and Grim were trapped in a steel cage. 

In the distance, your ears faintly pick up explosions and deep rumbling. 

“[FIRST]?!”

Both you and Grim turn to see Ace and Deuce gaping up at you from the forest floor below. You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come out. 

“All targets have been secured. All units fall back and return.”

“No!” Grim yowls. “My henchman, they’re hurt! Someone, help–!!” 

But his screeching goes unheeded by your stoney captors. And although you swear you hear familiar voices calling back, the robots are undeterred and whisk you both away easily. 

The last thing you see is the shattered ruins of a barrier and a school left in burned pieces.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Jealous!Phillip Graves x Shadow!F!Reader

The door to Graves' office slams shut behind you, his grip firm as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand pinning your wrists above your head.

The jeans that were hugging your legs a few moments ago are now barely covering your thighs, his impatience only feeding your excitement like a trained animal fighting between obedience and its true nature.

The heat of his body presses into yours, blue eyes blazing with jealousy and before you can react, his mouth is on you immediately, biting at your lower lip, forcing a gasp from you as he pulls away with a menacing smirk.

''You think it’s funny, darlin’, flirtin’ with that Scottish bastard?'' His voice is sharp, low, words dripping with venom dangerous enough to make your heart want to jump out its cage.

He doesn't wait for an answer, his knee forcing your legs apart, pinning you in place. ''Laughin’ with him like I ain’t watchin’? You know better.''

Your breath catches as he pulls your shirt up, exposing the soft skin beneath his greedy hands. Fingers trail down your sides, possessive and rough, a constant reminder of who you really belong to and his touch promises to make the flesh tender.

''Phillip-'' You gasp, trying to catch your breath but he’s not letting up, not giving you a chance to explain while his hand slips down between your legs, palming the heat building there and the smug grin that spreads across his face is promising, a warning.

''That’s right, darlin’. Say my name.'' He nips at your earlobe, breath warm to contrast the cold sweat covering your body now. ''You wanna act out? Let’s see if you’re still laughin’ when I’m done with you.''

The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes through the room. You’re already soaking wet, your body betraying you as you feel the slickness pooling between your legs and his fingers dip down, teasing at your entrance while he presses his cock against your thigh.

There’s no waiting, no teasing as he thrusts into you, filling you in one rough stroke. The stretch is perfect, your body trembling as you try to stifle the moans rising in your throat. He notices, of course, and his eyes flash dangerously.

''Oh, no. Don’t hold back now," Phillip taunts with mockery. ''You didn’t care who heard you flirtin’, so don’t you dare hold back your pretty little sounds now.''

He fucks into you with a punishing rhythm, his hand coming down to grip your ass, pulling you harder against him.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the quietness of the room, along with your panting breaths and his cocky chuckle every time you get too loud for anyone walking by to hear.

''That’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it?'' His hips snap forward, hitting deep inside you, making you cry out. ''You think anyone else could fuck you like this? Think anyone else would know exactly how to make you drip like this?''

You try to find something to say, some form of apology for pushing every single wrong button but all that escapes is a loud broken whimper as he slams into you again, your body already shaking uncontrollably on the edge.

''Yeah, that’s what I thought.'' The Commander sneers, burying himself deep inside, carving his name over and over. ''Remember this the next time you think about batin’ those pretty eyes at someone else.''

[yan-lorkai]

Hi hi! I really like all of your Yandere TWST stuff, but I admit I’m in LOVE with vampire Pom Trio. I wanted to ask how you think the whole trio would react to a sickly/frail darling. Like maybe darling was spooked and nervous to go in based on the rumors of the manor but their “friends” forced them to. Like friends could be their own.y ride, being sick could limit their interactions so they try to please their friends cause they’re lonely, etc. Like I could see Epel becoming such an overprotective big brother, especially if his new sibling is weaker/cuter/smaller than him. Vil could see the hidden beauty behind their weak/sickly form and try to bring out their “true beauty”. While Rook just loves their naive sweet demeanor and how so much of the world seems new to them. Uh! Just the idea seems so good to play with and darling could legit come to care for/love the trio cause while they are yandere and vampires they treat them better than anyone else ever has.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: This was so fun and cute ngl, Epel's brotherly instincts really shine here when he realized that Yuu is like he is when he was human. And thank you, the Pometrio au was something I writed on a whim but it's my favorite oneshot so far! I hope you like this!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere content, vampire stuff y'know, blood sucking, dead corpses, angst, Ace is an asshole here, Reader has a very bad immune system and gets sick easily.

You were standing in front of the abandoned house, staring at it for a few minutes now. Something about its energy was so dark and draining, though the drops of heavy rain were soaking you from head to toe effortlessly. You had to go in now, you are already here, alone and cold, as your friends didn't want to wait for you to have a sudden change of heart and enter with them.

Your friends, mainly Ace and Sebek were excited while Jack tagged along just because, Deuce tried to make them wait for you but all of them were eager to explore the hidden secrets that the old mansion may hold. So they went on without you. Letting you here alone, in the dark, your only company was a sense of discomfort seetling on your bones.

'I'm going to catch a cold', You thought to yourself as your coat was completely soaked and your whole body was trembling.

You could turn around and go away. Or you could enter and search for them. You were certain if they were in your position, they would go away without a single thought, but you felt a bitter taste on your mouth just by considering this option. It didn't seem right.

With a resigned sigh, you went through the rusty gate, running through a long path to get to the door, passing by a garden full of withered flowers. With every step, the sound of your feet crushing the wet grass echoes around you as you huddle under the hood of your coat, trying to shield yourself from the rain that falls incessantly and the cold that seeps into your bones. You just knew that tomorrow you would wake up with a raging fever and a cough that never goes away, your health was so fragile and weak, a simple rain could put you to rest in bed for several days. You try not to think about it too much.

Without a doubt this mansion used to be a beautiful place years ago but now it was downright chilling, even more right now where your imagination can ran free, making appear as the house loomed over you as it was too dark to see anything clearly. The broken windows and peeling paint only proved to you how much time has passed, how not a single human had put their foot here in a long while.

And if someone was here and now, they didn't have any good intention. Abandoned houses were first of all, abandoned, nobody repaired it or took care of it, so it was dangerous to walk through it.

And second, you knew that in houses like this it was common to dispose of bodies or sell drugs, things like that. It was just common sense.

Swallowing hard, you turned the doorknob and entered the mansion, preparing mentally for whatever was going to happen.

Inside, darkness seemed to consume everything it could touch. The frail light came only from the moon and was not enough to see clearly. The hallway was empty so you took to wander around a little, hugging yourself to not get so cold. It was not working as a sneeze left your lips, your throat starting to get rough and dry.

It was so cold, so cold and wet, and dark everywhere. Your eyes got used to it very slowly and sometimes you kept bumping into doors and walls because the light wasn't enough. Though you really thought you heard at least once someone laughing when this happened.

"Gosh, why did I came here?" You thought out loud. Bitterness rising inside you as you remembered how Ace belittled you and forced you to come. All the rude things he said running through your head as you very slowly walked through the maze of decrepit corridors and forgotten rooms, still feeling that something very wrong was about to happen.

If not right now, then later on.

The dim light filtering through the broken windows casted eerie shapes on the decaying walls, and the silence was oppressive, broken only by the creaking of old floorboards beneath your feet and your breathing. The whole place was devoid of life, of happiness, you looked for it in the portrait faces and all of them were seemed so sad and gloomy. Just like you.

Gloomy just like you are, having to deal with your bad immune system almost daily.

"Why didn't I just said no?" You knew why you didn't said no. Ace was one of your only friends, even if he was mean and rude without reason. You didn't want to be alone inside your room anymore, you didn't want to see your mother's worried expression or your father's frown as you got sick and bedridden again.

It was exhausting.

Even convincing them you'll be alright to go out tonight was hard as they were too worried about you.

"It could be worse" You smile even when your legs started hurting from how much you have been walking. Your stamina was always lacking, contrary to other teens you knew.

You got tired pretty quick so this was nothing new.

Feeling your energy dissipating, you call out for them once more, your voice echoing through the halls and then fading away slowly, leaving you behind. "They left me here all alone, didn't they? Well, it is my fault to allow them to drag me here, I suppose."

Then, you hear it: a strange noise echoing through the darkness. It's a faint, ominous sound, like a whisper carried on the wind or a belt being dragged on the floor, sending a shiver down your spine.

You strain your ears, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise but it seems to come from all directions at once, disorienting and unsettling.

"Really guys, you're going to play a prank on me?" You rolled your eyes. "Here of all places?

Certainly it was Ace idea to scare the daylights out of you and honestly it could have worked if you aren't so tired, another sneeze leaving your throat as you started walking again in a random direction. "I'm telling your brother you're being mean again, Ace and Sebek!"

You heard a giggle behind you but when you turned around there was no one there. Then it happened again and again but there was never someone there when you looked. An instinctive fear was growing on the pit of your stomach as you struggled to maintain calm, making excuses to not get scared.

It could be the wind. Or your imagination, maybe.

Or... Or... You didn't know.

You realized then that with each passing moment, the noise was louder, more insistent, it was as if the mansion's walls were alive with some unseen presence, watching you and waiting for a better opportunity to strike, faint smell of something you can't quite name it was on the air.

The wind was howling sofly at your ears, water dripping somewhere above you. Or was it beneath? Your coat was heavy on your shoulders, entirely soaked.

You weren't entirely sure as it was too dark to distinguish anything on the floor. What you did recognized was the sounds coming back.

I always knew I would die but it has to be here?' You looked around.

You were still surronded by doors who lend nowhere and the sound was getting near, taunting your existence as your friends liked to do, joking how you had more time to rest and the only price to pay was taking some meds or go to the hospital.

How it was easy to exist like this.

You hesitate, unsure of what to do next. Should you stay and investigate the source of the noise, or should you ran? Every instinct screams at you to run, to escape this haunted mansion and its unknown horrors. But a part of you don't want to leave now.

You knew so little of the world, you were drawn to the mystery, to the possibility of discovering what lies hidden in the shadows, plus it was still raining outside.

"If there's someone out there, come out." You added after a few seconds, uncertain. "Please?"

You heard a little laugh behind you but this time when you turned around, there was someone there - said someone was so close that you both bumped your heads by how fast you had turned around.

You stumbled back, almost tripping if the stranger hadn't grabbed both of your hands, you were apprehensive but otherwise curious about this strange boy.

"Ouch, look where ya goin!" He grumbled, though there was a little smile in his voice. He laughed again and the sound was soft.

You protested loudly. "You were the one who was standing behind me!"

You meet the boy's gaze with a calm expression, snickering a little at the face he was making. The boy rolled his eyes, seemingly amused by how you didn't reacted at all by his sudden appearance and yet he wasn't in no hurry to introduce himself, letting the seconds go by, instead taking to observe you and the little bandages that adorned your cheek and the little cuts on your fingers.

"Ya alright, kiddo?" He asked after a while. His voice was softer than you could imagine. And there was a special glimmer on his eyes as if he was approaching a wounded, frightened animal.

"I'm fine, thank you," You replied, a little too quickly for it to seem natural as you hid your hands behind your back and straightened your back.

You didn't want to tell him you fell and scrapped yourself just the other day or how your arms were sore because of the injections frequently administered into your veins. You wished to forget this.

But then again, you had no reasons to tell him that, even if his inquisitive eyes searched for something deep inside your soul. "Just a few scratches, nothing serious." You laughed it off, not mentioning the potentially growing fever that seemed to burn your body very slowly.

"I can be a little clumsy sometimes." You lied, averting your eyes from his, a shiver running down your spine as you did so. His eyes, lilac and big, were like two stars staring at you, burning you.

The boy hummed softly, not at all buying your story as his eyes lingered on the bandages that adorned your cheek. There was a thoughtful expression on his face as he observed you, as if he was trying to piece together the story behind your injuries.

He was stranger, more than this, you thought, what was he doing here? Why was he here? He didn't looked much older than you, maybe a year or two. And he didn't look dangerous too.

After a moment of silence, he finally spoke again, a little awkward and unsure as if he didn't talked much with people his age. "Glad to hear that, the name's Epel by the way." He said, a hint of genuine concern in his tone. "So... What brings you here?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal to this stranger. But there was something about him that put you at ease and you found yourself opening up to him more than you had expected. You didn't felt any judgement coming from him, instead he was very warm and friendly enough that he made you forgot about where exactly you two were at that moment.

"It's Halloween. My friends wanted to visit a creepy place, even if I didn't agree to it. Not because I'm afraid, well, I am a little, but because I'm still recovering from a very bad flu. They didn't care about it, though." You answered him, and that made you cringe.

Admitting this out loud - that they didn't cared about you - was a little sad even more because of the things they had called you when you voiced your opinion. "And then, next thing I know they all go in and I'm getting soaked in the rain."

Epel nodded understandingly, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips. "But friends don't force each other into uncomfortable situations, don't call them names and don't hit them either." He stated as if it was obvious then he flicked your forehead.

You flinched, a little groan leaving your throat, not expecting this.

He was right.

And you knew it, of course you knew. But you also didn't want to be alone anymore with your thoughts. If being the scapegoat to Ace's comments and pranks was the price to pay, you found out that you didn't mind at all.

You were used to it by now.

"You don't have to endure this, you don't have to live a life you don't deserve." Epel pondered for a minute, looking at you from head to toe, water still dripping from your heavy coat. "That's what my dads say, anyway. There's a bathroom turning to the left, go dry yourself and I bring you some new clothes."

It was almost comic how you were being lectured by a stranger who didn't knew anything about you but had a little of common sense. But what was more strange was how he knew where to go and even knew where to get some clothes, humming you decided not to voice your suspicious about it and take this opportunity instead.

It would, after all, be easier to run from him in dry clothes if he truly was dangerous.

Not that you'll run that far, a voice in your head told you. But at least I could try, you answered it.

With a hesitant smile, you followed his instruction, turning left and making your way down the corridor to the bathroom. You felt his eyes on you as you walked and that scared you a little but you knew that deep down, he was not a bad person.

Or maybe you were wishing really hard for that to be the truth.

You turned the doorknob and started coughing when the dusty winds slapped your face. The bathroom as any other room was not used for many years now and its age showed. A little light came from a broken window revealing a cracked mirror hanging above a chipping sink and tons of vines still growing over the walls and stretching to the floor. You observed them for a second, in some way this was almost beautiful. You wished you had brought your phone with you. Alas, you didn't.

Your searched for a towel inside the cabinet below the sink and surprisingly enough there was one. A little dusty but it was the only thing you could use. You hanged it on the back of the door and then closed it. The bathroom now was completely dark but this was nothing new, though you didn't really like it how suffocating it could be.

You quickly strip off your wet clothes, shivering in the cold air as you used the fluffy towel to dry your feet and legs, then your torso. Part of you still find this whole situation strange and comical. Maybe you were hallucinating everything? It would not be the first time this happened. And you did spend a while out there in the rain.

As you dry yourself off as best as you can, you couldn't help but wonder about where Ace and the others had gone to. You were separated for a total of ten minutes or that was how long you had counted before giving up and entering the mansion. Could it be that they were in another wing of the mansion? Or did they leave through another exit and left you there?

Honestly you don't even want to know.

Right now, you're just grateful for the warmth of the towel and the promise of dry clothes to come. If this was indeed a dream, then you would feel saddened when you woke up. Epel was the first boy who didn't look at you with pity but with curiosity instead.

He was the first one to be gentle with you rather then offer tips about how to get better soon or how you should suck up and live instead of lamenting that you're sick again.

It was easier to cling to the idea that he was a good, caring boy instead of a total dangerous creep who was wandering around an abandoned mansion.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door and Epel's voice sounded from the other side. "I brought you some clothes," His tone still gentle and reassuring, like an absolute angel. "I hope they fit."

You open the door to find Epel standing there, holding out a bundle of clothes for you. "Thank you," you answered softly, meeting Epel's gaze with a heartfelt smile.

You close the door again, hearing his footsteps moving away while you observed the clothes he brought you, which funnily enough were exactly your size. And were similar to his own. A pair of pants and a really pretty purple coat. It seemed so fluffy and warm.

As you slip into the dry clothes he's provided, you can't help but feel a little curious while you thought about Epel. Who exactly is he and what is he doing in this abandoned mansion with his dads? Why does he seem so familiar with the layout of this place? You might not know a lot about tons of things thanks to your illness and being homeschooled, but you do know that people in abandoned mansions must be here for a reason, usually not a good one.

You're giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, though.

Still you must find your friends and leave soon. This whole game they're playing around is getting boring and you are tired.

Or I could leave alone. You reminded yourself. It's just fair to leave them when they've done the same to me many times before.

Stepping outside the bathroom, you could hear a faint sound. Weak. You couldn't understand what it was though. It was quiet like the wind howling or the house creaking, it was there only for a second before disappearing as if it had never existed. Still a chill went down your spine as if somethine was telling you to run away and don't look back.

"Epel?" You called sofly.

There was no response. The air seemed thicker now and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach again, remembering the noises from before. Did Epel had a sudden change of heart and was going to reveal he is actually a serial killer?

Or that his dad is the serial killer? Or that someone is a serial killer?

You're watching too many documentaries, that's for sure.

You took a hesitant step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. The faint sound echoed again, this time closer, but still indistinct. It seemed to be coming from the end of the hallway, the same hallway that you supposed Epel had gone to after you went to the bathroom.

I should probably run away now. You thought.

But then again, you never had time to be curious with how quick you could get sick. You had to find out more, or you were going to regret when you got back home.

The sound became louder, more pronounced. This time, it wasn't like a whisper carried on the breeze, but like thunder that consumes everything within reach. It was unnerving, almost as if the very walls held secrets they were reluctant to divulge. And yet you were persistent enough to try and get your answers.

You followed the sound quietly, hoping that nothing bad had happened. With each step you took, you turned your nose up at the strong smell that permeated that area of the house.

"Epel?" You called out to him once again, this time louder, as soon as you turned the hallway. "Ace? Jack...? Guys?"

A figure came running in your direction and crashed into you, sending you both to the ground, dust raising as you did. The world seemed like a blur, spinning around, your ears tingling. Before you could fully process what had happened, you felt strong arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling you close.

Instinctively, you tensed, kicking and screaming at whoever was holding you to let go.

Then you heard the familiar voice. "You're alive, thank God."

Relief flooded through you as you recognized Ace's voice, hands still raised to punch him; when you looked up, your relief turned to shock.

Ace was bloodied and bruised, his clothes torn and ragged. His face was a mask of pain and exhaustion, but despite it all, he held onto you with a fierce desperation, as if afraid to let you go. You could see guilt on his eyes, on his frown.

Guilty for how he treated you. Guilty for dragging everyone to this cursed place.

He placed his hand over your mouth and pointed to somewhere behind him with his head. "Vampires. They're real."

A half laugh escaped you. "No, Ace, they aren't."

But as you glanced over his shoulder, you couldn't deny the sublte movement in the darkness, the sense of danger lurking just beyond your sight. For only a second, you thought you saw a pair of lilac eyes and then it disappeared as if it didn't existed.

You remembered Epel. His familiarity with this mansion, how he was walking in the dark as if he could see clearly. You thought about the strange sounds you had been hearing and the bad, metallic smell. Despite your doubts, you could feel fear growing on you, whispering that perhaps there was more to Ace's warning than you were willing to admit.

Before you could think about it, Ace stood up and helped you, looking to the dark that still surround you - the moon hidden behind the clouds, his grip on your hand tight as the darkness only grew.

"I do a lot of dumb shit but there's no way I'm going to pour fake blood on me. You have to trust me on this." He begged you, almost desperately, taking both your hands on his own as he stared at you with pitiful eyes.

But you still couldn't believe him, not yet, there was so many holes on his plot.

What if it was just another prank? Once Ace pretended that he was been chased by a serial killer or something and then laughed when you got worried, being really dismissive and cruel to you. You met his gaze. Could it be true? Could creatures of myth truly walk among us?

No... Yes...? Everything was so confusing.

You met Epel and he didn't seem like a vampire to you. And if he was one, he was a very polite one.

"I doubt it." Is finally your answer. But even you could tell your tone was unsure. "Call Jack, Deuce and Sebek back and let's go home already. My feet hurt."

Ace threw his hands up as a disbelieving laugh escaped him. Dried blood made you wrinkle your nose as he was still close enough for you to catch the scent. Ace paced back and forth for several seconds, like a man convinced of a bad idea but who desires more than anything to pursue it without a second thought.

"You don't understand the gravity of the situation!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with indignation as his hands trembled slightly. "Jack and Sebek are dead. Deuce is missing. They were murdered by that trio of vampires. Why, out of everyone who could have stayed alive, do I end up with the sick and useless burden? The one who can't run? The one who can't do anything? Why did you live while they didn't?"

You felt a lump form in your throat upon hearing Ace's words, laden with pain and frustration. Tears threatened to flood your eyes as the weight of Ace's final words hit you like a punch to the gut, his voice dripping with bitterness and despair.

You felt like a dead weight, a burden only bringing more pain and suffering to those around you. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

Impotence. Sadness. Yes, you knew them well.

You searched for any trace of regret in Ace's eyes, hoping there was something there. But there was nothing, as if the red of his eyes was just a facade for the darkness behind them.

Sometimes he talked before thinking. That was one of those times but this didn't excuse his behavior.

"Well… This sick burden here won't bother you anymore, if you want to run, then run. If you want to escape, then escape, I won't delay you."

Tiny tears finally escaped your eyes, rolling silently down your cheeks as you felt yourself sinking into the darkness of your mind. Burden, burden, burden, being repeated over and over again.

"Oh, Ace, my feet hurt, oh, Ace, you hurt my feelings and now I'm crying like a fucking baby. For fuck's sake, we have no time for this!" He exhaled hard, his frustration palpable in the air.

You took a step back, pulling away from him. Your head was a mess right now, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts fighting each other. And it was so hot here, unbearably hot.

The weight of Ace's words hanged heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt hurt by his harsh words and the way he had dismissed you so callously. Like he always did, always used to do in front of his friends. You wiped your tears away roughly, feeling a surge of frustration building within you.

With a final, determined glance in his direction, you turned and walked away, a little awkward and feeling really hot all of sudden. Each step bringing shivers down your spine, feeling as if thousands of eyes were staring right at you.

"Fine... I'm going to prove to you that there's nothing there." You pointed to the dark corner. Too tired to care about the possible danger lurking around.

"Wait- get back here!" Ace whisper shouted. Almost desperately.

You paid him no mind, couldn't find the strength to care. If there was a mystical monster then at least you could ask it some questions and you had so many. If there wasn't, you two could go home and reunite with your other friends tomorrow.

"I'm going to count to three and then I'm going to run." Ace warned you.

You were almost there. The air was a little heavy now but you knew it was just fear acting up. Sweet, heavy air that didn't seem to want to reach your lungs. You breathed through your mouth instead, counting the sound of your footsteps and the whistle of the wind.

There was nothing there.

"One." He started, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead and coating his shirt. Fear was visible in his eyes when you turned to face him.

"There's no one here, Ace." You gestured to the dark corner. Though you felt uncomfortable there, you shifted from one foot to another, looking around.

Yep, nothing there. Or so you thought.

Slowly Ace started to move away, still facing the dark you so willingly surrounded yourself. He made a vague gesture for you to follow him, audibly gulping large amounts of saliva, wetting his lips with his tongue.

Is he being serious about this whole vampire thing? You ponder about. The human perception truly was something curious, the mind capable of creating something with so little. Or perhaps this was all a prank? You couldn't quite decide what to think about.

"Tw--"

An unexpected noise sounded behind you interrupting him. Both of you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Gentle hands settled on your shoulders, drawing you back until you were pressed against someone's chest. All that escaped your lips was a small gasp.

Feeling the cold of the person's body against your back, you couldn't shake off the tremor of fear that ran through your whole body. There was someone behind you, someone you didn't know who they were. You could feel whoever it was breathing, cold air trickling down your neck, a smile on their face as their arms wrapped around your mid. Too tightly.

Slowly turning your head, you found yourself face to face with Epel. As Ace had said, a formidable figure - a vampire. Though he wasn't the same gentle and soft boy you met minutes before, now he was dangerous, and his fangs were exposed, his eyes glinting with an unsettling hunger and yet, playfulness.

Behind him, stood a beautiful man. A long, black coat wavying in the air as he walked out of the shadows, blood dripping from his chin. Unashamed, he licked it, savoring it.

"Why...?" You ask the boy who held you. Tired.

Epel's grip on you tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Why?" He imitated you, his voice a mix of amusement and something darker. "Because I hate people like your friends. They can'tsee anything beyond their limited world vision, everything is so easy to them so they don'tcare about the feelings and thoughts of people like you."

Ace, who had been standing frozen in place, finally found his voice. "w'dya mean? I didn't do shit!"

The beautiful man in the black coat stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ace. He wiped the remaining blood from his chin with a casual swipe of his thumb. "So you say but you see... The way you talked about your little friend here made my son very mad. You aren't very fond of them, are you?"

"I don't understand," you whispered, looking at Epel. "Why are you doing this? What did Ace do to deserve this?"

Epel's expression softened for a moment, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes before he hardened again. "It's not about what Ace did. It's about what he didn't. He didn't care about you at all, and that much was obvious since he invaded our home. He was joking and telling his friends all your most embarrassing stories to whoever wanted to hear."

He sounded sincere. He sounded sincere and you hated because you believed in him, his breath icy agains your feverish hot skin. "But don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. Or him for that matter, but father will."

The man in the black coat chuckled, his laughter sending a chill through the air. "That I will, for he dare enter in my territory, dirtying our portraits and damaging our coffins. And I suppose, insulting your little friend too, Epel."

You could see how Ace wanted to run, to escape the madness that was about to unfold before you, but his legs, like yours, felt like lead. Instead of running, he found himself rooted to the spot and he was shaking like a leaf about to fall to the ground.

His bravado had disappeared.

"Are you trembling, mortal? Are you afraid?" Epel's father hissed, his voice a chilling whisper that slithered into your ears and sent shivers cascading down your spine. His eyes, cold and piercing, bore into Ace's eyes with an intensity that made your breath caught up on your lungs.

The air around you seemed to grow colder, as if his very presence was siphoning away the warmth. "Good," he continued, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You should be."

At any second now you were about to have a panic attack or faint. Your body was still deciding what to do, really.

Epel's father moved with an elegance that was terrifying in its beauty, each step deliberate, his presence commanding and predatory. Before Ace could even think to react or to run, Vil was on him, faster than a flicker of light. There was no hesitation, no room for escape — the vampire’s hand shot out, slamming Ace against the cold, cracked wall with such force that a strangled gasp tore from his throat.

You froze, helpless, as Vil’s fingers tightened around Ace’s throat, lifting him just high enough that his feet barely scraped the ground. Ace struggled, his nails digging into Vil's hand. It was like watching a wounded animal fight a hawk.

“Is this all?” Vil murmured, his voice as soft and smooth as silk. He had the kind of voice that could calm anyone, his soft german accent coming out. “Is this the best you can do?” He tilted his head regarding Ace with an expression of mock disappointment.

"Indeed, how pitiful." A third voice. You turned around to see Epel’s other dad; another blonde, but this one had savage eyes and a strange smile on his lips.

And he was bloody all over; all over his lips, all over his white shirt. And he didn't care at all about it.

"Tsc, such a messy eater, you are." Vil looked at him with a disgusted stare. The other vampire only smiled.

"Plea-se..." Ace’s breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, but there was no strength left to fight back. The couple turned to face him.

"He is not worthy to be killed by you, mon amour." The smaller blonde said to his lover. The taller one giggled.

You took a step forward, your heart pounding painfully in your chest, but Epel caught your wrist, stopping you. “No,” he whispered, pulling you back gently, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful understanding. “It’s already over.”

“But… he’ll die,” you whispered back, tears blurring your vision, your voice barely a choked whimper.

Epel’s grip on you tightened, his expression soft but resolute. “He brought this on himself. Don’t look. You don’t have to see this.”

But you couldn’t tear your gaze away as Vil leaned closer to Ace, his lips brushing against the pulse in his neck.

"Are you hungry?" He asked Rook.

"Je suis satisfait, love." His answer was instantaneous.

Vil nodded. And then, without warning, his fangs sank into Ace’s flesh.

His body jerked violently, his mouth opening in a silent scream as Vil began to drink. The sight was horrifying — watching as Ace's life was drained away, the color fading from his face with each passing second. You felt your knees buckle, but Epel held you steady, his touch the only thing anchoring you as you fought to keep from collapsing.

Vil pulled back after a moment, blood staining his lips, his eyes glowing with an eerie, predatory light. He watched Ace with a detached, almost curious gaze as the boy’s body sagged in his grasp, barely conscious, trembling with the last vestiges of life.

“Such a waste,” Vil murmured, his voice tinged with a faint hint of regret. Then, with a swift, effortless motion, he snapped Ace’s neck.

The sound echoed in the silence, sharp and final, and you flinched, biting back a sob that threatened to escape. Vil released Ace, letting him crumple to the ground in a lifeless heap. He turned back to you and Epel, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief, his expression once again composed, as if nothing had happened at all.

“There,” He said, his voice calm, almost bored. “One less distraction.”

You trembled, unable to find the words, the sight of Ace’s lifeless body burned into your mind. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, tried to force yourself to breathe. But the weight of what had just happened made it feel impossible.

Epel moved closer, wrapping his arms around you again, his touch gentle as he guided your head to rest against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” He whispered, his voice soft, almost soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

But even with Epel’s arms around you, you felt anything but safe. All you could see was Ace’s pale, lifeless face, the blood staining the ground, and the haunting, satisfied smile that still lingered on Vil’s lips.

“Mon trésor,” Rook murmured, his voice smooth like velvet as he addressed Vil. “You were as breathtaking as ever. Such skill, such grace.” His eyes drifted toward Ace's lifeless form before settling back on Vil with unrestrained admiration. “Tonight we've found so many little treasures. Yet the most interesting is still here.”

Vil sighed softly, shaking his head as he finished wiping the blood from his lips with a cloth. “What is it you want, Rook?” His tone was gentle but tinged with exasperation, as if he were used to indulging Rook's whims.

Rook gestured to you, his eyes alight with excitement. “This one. Look at them. They’ve endured so much yet still remain standing. Such resilience in one so delicate — it is rare, mon amour. I believe they belong with us.”

Vil’s gaze softened as he took in your form - frail, trembling, and clearly unwell, your breath labored. He stepped closer, moving with a kind of grace that seemed almost otherworldly, until he stood directly in front of you.

He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and warm despite the chill of his skin. “You’re burning up,” Vil observed, his voice laced with concern. “How long have you been suffering like this?”

You couldn’t find your voice, throat dry and tight, but you managed a small shake of your head, a weak attempt to dismiss his worry. Epel, who still held onto you, answered in your stead, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve been like this for a hour or so, Father. They got caught in the rain.”

Vil frowned, his brows knitting together in a way that seemed almost heartbreaking. “You should have come to me sooner, Epel,” He scolded, though his tone remained soft. “You know I would have helped.” He looked back at you, eyes now filled with a gentle determination. “You poor thing. You must’ve endured so much on your own.”

Rook’s eyes gleamed with something akin to pride as he watched Vil’s interaction with you, his smile growing wider. “See, mon amour? I knew you would understand. They need care, guidance. They need us.”

Vil nodded slowly, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Yes… they do.” He turned back to you, his expression softer than you’d ever thought possible, even more because he was the killer of your childhood friend.

“I used to be a doctor once,” He confessed, his voice quiet, as though sharing a secret. “And I have not forgotten the duty I took upon myself to care for those who needed me.”

You felt your eyes welling up with tears, unable to fully comprehend the kindness he was showing you. “You… you don’t have to…” you tried to protest, but the words died in your throat, the exhaustion and fever taking their toll.

“Hush,” Vil murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture that was achingly tender. “You’ve fought enough for one day. Let us take care of you now.” He glanced at Epel, who had been watching everything with wide, hopeful eyes. "Epel, go and prepare some chamomile tea, Rook, you wouldn't have a tonic for the fever, would you?"

Rook beamed, clearly delighted by how things were unfolding. “Ah, how wonderful! Our family grows once more!” He reached out to help steady you, his touch light, as though afraid you might break. “I don't have any remedy with me now, mon roi but I can go and brought more.”

Epel’s face lit up, and he quickly nodded, disappearing among the shadows and leaving you alone with them. These mythological creatures, killers. And also your helpers.

This moment never came.

"Then go, we'll be waiting" Vil said to his lover, depositing a small kiss on his forehead before he disappeared into the shadows and the darkness.

"We'll then, this way, little one." Vil's hand never left your shoulder as he guided you slowly through the corridors - you were skittish, preparing yourself for the moment where he would attack you, that he would kill you.

Vil’s grip remained firm but gentle, his touch more reassuring than restrictive. He led you through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, his footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor, a stark contrast to the loud, frantic beating of your heart.

You flinched at every shadow that flickered in the candlelight, expecting at any moment for him to bare his fangs, to reveal that this kindness had been nothing more than a cruel joke. But that moment also never came.

Instead, Vil paused at a doorway, pushing it open with a smooth motion and revealing a warmly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and lavender, and you caught sight of a large, comfortable coffin piled high with soft blankets.

“You’ll rest here,” Vil said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He guided you over to the coffin - his coffin, carefully easing you down onto the mattress. As you sank into the softness, a sigh of relief escaped your lips, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been clawing at you.

“But… why?” The question slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why are you being so kind to me? Why won't you kill me?”

Vil’s eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a trace of something warmer beneath the icy exterior—a hint of sadness, perhaps even empathy. “Because you deserve it,” He answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve suffered enough, haven’t you?”

You blinked up at him, struggling to process his words, to believe that someone like him — a vampire, a predator, a killer— could possess such tenderness. “But I’m just… I’m just a burden,” you murmured, your voice cracking with the weight of your insecurities.

Vil’s expression hardened, and he crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to your eye level. “No one in my care will ever be a burden,” He said firmly, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made you believe him, even if only for a moment. “You have worth, little one. More than you know and more that you're capable to see right now.”

Epel entered the room then, carrying a tray laden with steaming cups and small vials filled with colorful liquids. “Father, I’ve brought some tea.”

Vil stood, taking the tray from his son and placing it on the bedside table. “Drink,” He instructed, holding out one of the cups to you. “It will help.”

Your hands trembled as you reached for it, but Vil’s steadying grip enveloped yours, guiding the cup to your lips. The warmth spread through you, soothing the chill that had taken residence in your bones, and you couldn’t help but sigh as the tension slowly began to melt away.

"Don't make such a long face, darling," Vil reprimanded you, his fingers smoothing down the traces of worry and tiredness.

"I just... You know you are my friend's killer, right? I don't know how to react to that." You were sincere, avoiding his piercing gaze as you observed the porcelain and the drawings from his cup.

"We kill to survive, not for pleasure or entertainment, I can see how things may be from your point of view but you don't have to worry." He sighed, looking back at his son, Vil could see that he had grown quite attached to you. And the sight made him quite warm.

Epel was a terribly lone child in his opinion, and it would do wonders for him if he had a younger sibling.

"What will happen to me?" You dare ask him the question that made you scared. His hand found yours and he squeezed it gently.

"I will take care of you," He told you. Vil’s lips quirked up into the faintest of smiles. “Do you want to lie down now or wait for Rook to return with your medicine?” He turned his attention back to you, his eyes softer than before, and you answered him by letting your body fall into the coffin. “I see, well, rest now. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe those words, to let your guard down, even just a little. As your eyelids grew heavy and sleep began to pull you under, the fever subsiding slowly, you felt Vil's hand slide into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting gesture.

“You’re safe now,” He whispered, and with that, you let the darkness take you, lulled into a dreamless sleep by the warmth of their kindness.

Things may have not been ideal but they weren't that bad - for you, that is.

[delulustateofmind]

Childhood

Description: Childhood friends to...? Geto Suguru x Reader

TW: ANGST, NO HAPPY ENDING, Mentions of abuse (physical and implied sexual), Blood, Bullying. Reader dies.

WC: 6.6k (yeesh)

A/n: I love a good childhood friends to lovers trope for Suguru. It just fits him. I might post the draft where reader lives, but I might just keep that locked away, who knows.

You remember the first day you met Geto Suguru.

Your next-door neighbor with boyish charm, he wasn't shy by any means. He didn’t have the long, flowing hair he does now; instead, he sported a short buzzcut for the summer, a style that made him look mischievous and carefree. His violet eyes, striking even then, seemed almost too bright for the hot days when the cicadas sang their relentless chorus, a contrast to the warmth of his presence. You remember how he would grab your hand with an excitement that buzzed through your skin, dragging you around the playground, his laughter breaking through the sticky summer air like a sudden, refreshing breeze.

You also remember the rainy days that painted the world in shades of gray, days when the air smelled of damp earth and rain pattered softly against your small umbrella. Suguru would stand in front of you, brows furrowed in concentration as he tied your raincoat around you. He would bite his tongue, the tip of it peeking out, as he fumbled with the stubborn knots and clasps. You were both in kindergarten, small and unbothered by anything except the world you built together. He’d let out a triumphant sigh, eyes crinkling as he said, “There, now you won’t get sick!” His voice carried a blend of childish authority and genuine care that made your heart flutter even then. Before you could respond, he would take your hand, smaller and warmer than the rain-slick world around you, and pull you toward the river stream where frogs waited like emerald treasures.

You recall how gently he’d scoop up a tiny green frog, holding it as though it were the most delicate thing in the world. His eyes would widen in wonder, as if seeing magic for the first time, and he’d look back at you with a smile that spoke of shared secrets. “Don’t touch it, we only look...okay?” The sincerity in his voice left no room for argument. He was always protective, even in the small things, a guardian of moments that only the two of you would ever understand.

You remember that Geto Suguru is kind—deeply, quietly kind in a way that echoes through your memories.

One rainy afternoon, you and Suguru were walking along the canal on your way home from school. The cold wind from the early spring nipped at your cheeks, and your fingers felt icy even though Suguru held your hand as tight as he could, his small fingers interlaced with yours. His little face was scrunched up, his nose bright red like a cherry. It made you giggle, but the rain was louder than your laugh.

You liked his laugh. 

Suguru’s eyes were so bright, like the shiny marbles you liked to collect, and they matched the rainy day with their deep, pretty purple. They always crinkled when he laughed or got big and round when he was surprised. But today, they looked different—wide and scared. It made your tummy feel funny, like something was wrong. Before you could ask him, your foot slid out from under you, and suddenly the cold water was all around you. The world turned blurry and loud, and you felt the current tugging at you, pulling you down and making your heart race.

You could see Suguru’s eyes through the splashes and the rush of water. He was screaming something, his little hand reaching for you but not close enough to grab. Everything else was a cold, rushing blur until someone—a big person, a stranger—was there, strong arms lifting you out of the water. You gasped and coughed, shivering and soaked, as Suguru ran to you, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hugged you so tight it felt like he was trying to hold all of you together. His crying was loud and messy, and you thought it must be so hard for someone so little to cry that much.

That was the first day you ever saw him cry. Perhaps, the only day too. 

The kind stranger walked both of you to Suguru’s house. You were cold and still dripping, and Suguru didn’t let go of your hand the whole time, even though he kept sniffling and staring at the ground. When you got to the front door, he was still holding on, you feared he wouldn’t let go. 

Suguru’s mother opened the door, and her eyes—just like Suguru’s, reminding you of violet hydrangeas drizzled with rainwater on a humid summer day, but a little softer—widened when she saw you both. You always liked her; she smelled like flowers and tea, and her hair was dark, long and shiny, like the princesses in your favorite stories. She bent down to look at you, and you noticed her makeup again. It was funny how she wore it—big, purple spots on her arms and a greenish-yellow patch peeking out from under the powder on her face. You always thought it was just a grown-up thing, like how some moms wore bright lipstick or funny dresses. Your mom said it was rude to ask questions, so you didn’t. You just smiled up at her, hoping she would fix everything. You remembered that she was a nurse, nurses always make everything better. 

Suguru stayed quiet as you both stepped inside, still clutching your hand, and you felt safe, at least a little bit, with his mom there, her voice soft and warm, promising that everything would be okay. 

“Suguru, go change and grab a few spare clothes for Y/N, okay?” she said softly, her voice warm and gentle, as she noticed the way you were trembling. “You’re going to catch a cold. Are your parents home?”

You shook your head. Your mom was out with her new boyfriend. He was strange, and you didn’t like the games you played. Games you didn’t really understand until much later.

She paused, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful line. Then, as if brushing away her concern, she smiled—a gentle smile that reminded you of the delicate fox statues at the temple gates, calm and knowing. A smile that was so like Suguru’s. 

You thought Suguru looked so much like his mother. 

A few moments later, Suguru returned, his arms loaded with clothes—a soft frog-print t-shirt and a pair of pajamas. He handed them to you, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink. He didn’t quite meet your gaze, eyes drifting to the ground as if embarrassed, but the way he passed them over made your heart flutter with a warmth you couldn’t quite place. You giggled, both at his shyness and at the oversized shirt he was offering you.

You didn’t give the shirt back, though. Not then. And Suguru never asked.

That night, you don’t remember the details—how you fell asleep or how things had progressed—but you do remember getting sick. A cold that left you bundled up in bed while your mother scolded you for not being more careful. You weren’t allowed to play with Suguru for a while. Not until you were well again.

The first summer of fourth grade rolled around, and you found yourself at the park down the street from your house, sitting on the swings. The air was warm, the sky stretched out in soft pastels as evening approached. The hum of cicadas filled the air, and the distant sound of honking cars blended with the laughter of other children playing nearby. You could feel the breeze against your skin as you swung back and forth, watching the world pass by.

Suguru approached slowly, his head lowered, and you noticed immediately: his hair had grown out, longer now, and it looked darker, shinier. It hung just past his shoulders in silky waves. You liked it. It suited him. He looked like his mother—like the fox statues, elegant and a little mysterious.

But as he came closer, you saw the red mark on his cheek—a faint bruise, but it stood out against his pale skin.

“What’s that, Sugu?” you asked, hopping off the swing and reaching for his face before he could pull away. He flinched slightly, his cheeks flushed, and your hand hovered near the mark.

He didn’t speak right away, and when he finally did, his voice was quiet, almost like he was unsure whether he should even share. “My dad came home... Ma says I should play outside until he leaves. I don’t like him very much.”

You felt a knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard him talk about his father this way, but hearing it again still made something twist inside you. Almost like a tummy ache. You wanted to say something. To ask something. 

Instead, you offered him your hand, tugging him gently toward the sandbox where you’d set up your toys. It felt like the right thing to do. To share this quiet moment, away from the things you couldn’t understand, after all, you weren’t an adult. This seemed like an adult thing. 

“That’s okay,” you said softly, settling down in the sand “I don’t like my mom’s boyfriend either. We play weird games... but sometimes he buys me a new toy or takes me to McDonald’s if I win.”

Suguru’s eyes widened slightly. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he understood more than you realized. “I wonder if boys get weird when they grow up,” you added, your voice a little quieter now..”

Suguru didn’t take long to reply. He blurted it out, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I won’t turn out weird!” His face went bright red as he stood up, almost defensively. “I won’t! I’ll take care of you, and we’ll get married!”

Your laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. It wasn’t a mean laugh—just a joyful one that caught you by surprise. You laughed so hard you almost thought you might fall over. 

“We’re getting married?” you asked, trying to catch your breath through your giggles. “Okay, Sugu. When we get older, we’ll get married.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you both let your imaginations run wild. You talked about what your future would look like—what it would be like when you were married. A beautiful, traditional house, like the ones in downtown Kyoto, with a sprawling garden and a giant Sakura tree where you’d have picnics in the spring, drinking tea together. You pictured a big, airy bedroom with futons laid out beneath the window so you could wake up to the soft light of the morning sun.

“And I’ll get you a ring,” Suguru said, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’ll be big and shiny, with lots of jewels. You’ll see.”

You shook your head with a smile. “I want a gem like your eyes,” you said as you carefully packed sand into your bucket, forming the base of your sandcastle. “A violet one, so when I look at it, I’ll always think of you.”

Suguru’s face softened. He looked away, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he muttered, almost too quietly.

The two of you played for hours as the sun began to set behind the trees. The orange light stretched across the sky, casting long shadows on the ground. Suguru lingered a little longer than usual, clearly reluctant to leave, but eventually, he stood up, a small sigh escaping his lips. He gave you a brief, almost shy hug before pulling away, offering you that familiar, soft smile. 

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he promised, his voice quieter than usual.

When school started, Suguru came to you one morning, to walk with you to school and asked, his voice tentatively, “Is it okay if I take a different path sometimes?” There was something in his eyes that made you pause. He didn’t say much, but you knew there was more to the question. “I see things,” he added softly, almost as though he was unsure if he should even speak it aloud.

You didn’t see them—but you nodded, instinctively reaching out to hold his hand as you walked beside him, past places and shadows he pointed out. There were things there you didn’t understand, creatures in the corners of your vision, too fleeting to hold onto. But Suguru saw them clearly. His eyes would follow the shadows, his gaze sharp and focused, and you'd squeeze his hand, hoping to be part of his world, even if you couldn't see what he could.

"Are they like... yokai?" you asked one afternoon as you both sat on the playground during lunch. The warm air wrapped around you, the sound of distant voices fading in the background.

Suguru paused, a little surprised. “Maybe? Can you not see them?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder, as if it baffled him that you couldn’t. 

“My parents can’t see them either,” he added with a sheepish laugh. “My dad says I’m going crazy, so I guess I must be,” he murmured, his words trailing off as if he truly wondered if he was losing his mind.

You didn’t hesitate. You blurted it out without thinking, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to reassure him. “No! I don’t think you’re crazy! Maybe you have super cool powers! Maybe you can be the one to protect the weak!” You giggled, swinging yourself higher on the monkey bars.

Suguru’s eyes widened in surprise, and before you could swing too far, he quickly stepped forward, catching you just in time to keep you from falling flat on your face. “Careful!” he muttered bashfully, his hands steadying you as his cheeks flushed pink. 

“Protecting the weak, huh?” he said to himself, half in awe, half amused. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping the sand from your calloused hands with a soft tenderness. “I think I can do that,” he said with a smile, that gentle, endearing smile of his that made your heart skip a beat.

Suguru became your first crush, though you hadn’t the words for it at the time. It was a soft, quiet thing, like a secret blooming in you, one you weren’t yet ready to name.

By the time middle school came around, it wasn’t just you. Suguru had become the object of affection for nearly every girl in your class. It was easy to see why. He was handsome, effortlessly so. His dark hair, now tied into a messy bun, framed his face in soft waves that made him look older, more mature. He was athletic—president of the martial arts club—and the classroom representative, always steady, always reliable. 

Girls would swoon whenever he walked by, their hearts practically in their eyes. You’d seen it all unfold countless times: a bashful girl, clutching a love letter, standing beneath the cherry blossom trees, her face flushed as she handed it to Suguru with trembling hands. And Suguru—sweet, gentle Suguru—would always take the letter, smile shyly, rub the back of his neck, and apologize. 

“I’m sorry,” he would say, his voice quiet, his eyes soft but firm. “I can’t return those feelings.” 

And yet, even after he rejected them, the girls would smile, too—somewhat bittersweetly, but they would smile. Because they understood, in their own way, what made Suguru special. It was the kindness in his rejection, the way he always apologized, the way his heart seemed so gentle, so full of care. 

But while the other girls admired him from afar, you became the unspoken resolution to their quiet heartbreaks. It wasn’t long before everyone in your class noticed the way you and Suguru always walked home together, how you always arrived at school side by side, or how you waited by the gates after his martial arts club practices. 

It wasn’t long before the jealousy started to manifest.

At first, it was small—innocent, even—little things that were easy to dismiss. You’d find your bento box missing, or your textbooks mysteriously soaked or torn. Harmless pranks, the girls in your class would say when you complained, their voices light, too light. They never did it in front of Suguru. 

But the notes? Those were different. The messages scribbled hastily, then slipped into the folds of your books or tucked into your desk when no one was looking. They were direct, a threat veiled in a veneer of sweetness: “Stay away from him, or else.” And though you never showed Suguru the notes, you felt them—each one like a small, sharp stone lodged in your chest.

Suguru noticed, though. He always did, didn’t he? It wasn’t uncommon for him to ask about the scuffs on your textbooks or the faint marks on your arms, or why you always seemed so distracted when he talked. One day, after another prank—this time a textbook torn in half—you stood in the local bookstore’s quiet aisle, searching for a replacement. Suguru, ever observant, was beside you.

“What happened to your books?” he asked, his voice quiet, but his gaze unwavering. “Didn’t you just get that one last week?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain. His expression softened, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced by your usual excuses. “A friend in my class needed it,” you murmured, a soft lie spilling from your lips. “Her family is really poor… so I figured, why not?”

Suguru paused for a moment, his lips curving slightly as he nodded. “That’s nice of you,” he said simply, his words brief, but thoughtful. You weren’t sure if he knew you were lying—or if he suspected—but you didn’t correct him. His words were always warm, gentle, as though he never doubted you, and that was enough.

You never confessed to him. Not once throughout middle school. You kept it buried—your feelings, your heartache, the quiet ache that pulled at your chest when you watched him walk away from the other girls, always with that same shy smile. You kept it hidden, even as it grew stronger, deeper. Even as Suguru unknowingly became the center of your world.

High school was just around the corner, and it seemed like everything was changing. One late summer evening, as the air began to cool and cicadas buzzed in the distance, you and Suguru sat on the porch of your house, the smell of ripe watermelon lingering in the warm night. The gentle weight of the fruit in your hands was a comfort, but there was an undercurrent of unease—of things left unsaid.

“So, you’re really going to that religious school?” you mumbled between bites of sweet watermelon, your eyes flicking to the sky as if avoiding his gaze. The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.

Suguru leaned back against the porch railing, his eyes gazing out at the street. He nodded, though there was something uncertain in his posture. “Yeah. It’s where my mom wants me to go. She thinks it’s best.”

You frowned slightly, pausing to wipe the juice from your chin. “But... you aren’t really religious,” you pointed out quietly. It wasn’t an accusation—it was more of a statement, one you’d thought about a lot. Suguru had always seemed so different from the others, always more grounded, more practical. Religion wasn’t really his thing, and you knew it. You weren’t sure if it was his mom’s wish, or something else that pulled him in that direction.

Suguru gave a small laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked at you, then, his gaze soft but distant. “I’m not,” he admitted, “but sometimes, I think... maybe I should be. Maybe I need something to believe in, you know?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just took another bite of watermelon, chewing slowly, as if trying to process the sudden shift in his tone. He was changing, wasn’t he? You could feel it—the same way you felt that distance growing between you both. It wasn’t something either of you had asked for, but it was there.

And for a moment, as you sat there together, in that soft quiet of the evening, you wished you could say it—everything. The way you felt about him, the way your heart would skip a beat every time he smiled, the way your chest ached at the thought of him slipping away into a life that might not include you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Tears welled up and fell silently as you chewed on your watermelon, the juices almost too sweet, too sharp against the lump in your throat. Suguru noticed, his confident demeanor cracking as he stammered, those fox like violet eyes softening with concern.

“Hey, hey, I’ll still come to visit. I won’t be far… you’re still my best friend.” That’s all you were to him. Just friends. The words should have comforted you, but they only twisted deeper into the ache in your chest. You wished you had done things differently that night. Wished you hadn’t let the fear win. 

Before you could stop yourself, the bowl of watermelon slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor as you pushed against his broad chest, the frustration bubbling up like a storm. You bit your lip, bowing your head to avoid the confused look in his eyes. The space between you grew colder, wider.

“You idiot,” you mumbled, the words meant for yourself but landing heavily between you. His expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face, but he didn’t say anything. That night ended in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. When he left, there was no goodnight text, no familiar ping of a morning message. By the next day, he was gone.

Suguru went off to some mysterious religious school, one so obscure that even searching for it yielded nothing but blank pages. You stayed behind, navigating your typical Japanese high school, blending into the background. You weren’t at the top of your class, not even close. Just ordinary.

The girls from middle school remembered you, and they hadn’t forgotten how to sneer. Their mocking smiles followed you down hallways, whispers cutting sharper than any blade. You wished, sometimes, that you’d been sent away too, anywhere but there. But it was fine. You learned to like the quiet, your solitary lunches at the top of the school building.

When the school year ended and summer painted the skies in gold and blue, Suguru came home. You saw him one day, taller and somehow changed, walking with another boy. This one was just as tall, leaner, with stark white hair that stood out like a beacon. His eyes were bright and blue, the kind that drew you in, reminiscent of the ocean under the midday sun. His name was Satoru.

You and Suguru never spoke about the night he left. The silence between you was now familiar, like an old song whose lyrics you’d forgotten. 

Suguru introduced you to Gojo Satoru, his friend from the religious school. Satoru didn’t understand the meaning of personal space, it seemed. You watched as Suguru’s eye twitched when Satoru casually slung an arm around your shoulders, a playful smirk hidden behind his glasses.

“Wow! Suguru never told me he had a pretty friend like you waiting at home for him,” Satoru teased, his voice light and teasing. Your cheeks flushed crimson at the unexpected compliment, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“What happened to going home, Satoru? I thought you wanted to train or something,” Suguru said, his tone edged with something you couldn’t quite place, his eyes narrowing at the arm draped over you.

“I wanted to see what a commoner’s life is like,” Satoru said with a casual shrug, his smile unfaltering.

Suguru’s eyes met yours for a brief, fleeting second, filled with something that made your chest tighten. But whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it came, swept away by the playful banter and the summer breeze.

Summer days passed slowly, drenched in the heat of the sun and the chatter of cicadas. Satoru quickly became a regular part of your small circle, his presence impossible to ignore. He was loud, boisterous, with an infectious energy that made the quiet afternoons seem brighter and heavier all at once. And Suguru—he stayed close, always hovering just at the edge of it all, watching with those deep violet eyes that you couldn’t read.

There were moments when it felt almost normal, like nothing had changed between you and Suguru. The three of you would sit by the riverbank, Satoru’s laughter ringing out as he tried to skip stones and failed spectacularly, the smooth rocks plopping into the water with each throw. Suguru would smirk, his usual calm disrupted by the smallest hint of a smile. But then, there were moments when the silence would settle again, a reminder of everything unsaid. You’d catch Suguru’s gaze, his eyes searching yours for a heartbeat before he’d look away.

One afternoon, as the sun began to dip behind the hills and the sky turned a soft, dusky purple, Satoru sprawled out on the grass, hands behind his head. “You know, it’s strange,” he said, his voice light but his eyes serious as he stared up at the sky. “Coming here, seeing how different it is from how I was raised, how the school is- this is peaceful.”

Suguru didn’t respond, just watched the sun dipping lower, shadows stretching long over the ground. You glanced between them, feeling the familiar tug of curiosity. You wanted to ask what their lives were like, what they did in that school that seemed so far removed from anything you knew. But before you could speak, Suguru broke the silence.

“Different is good sometimes,” he said quietly, almost to himself. His expression was unreadable, and something in his voice made your heart twist.

Satoru turned to you then, a mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Hey, we should do something fun before the summer ends. What do people around here do, anyway? Festivals? Fireworks? Don’t tell me all you do is sit by the river.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Suguru beat you to it. “There’s a festival next weekend,” he said, his gaze finally meeting yours. “You should come.”

It felt like an invitation wrapped in layers of meaning, and for a moment, the air between you felt fragile, something you didn’t want to break. Satoru’s grin widened, and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect! I love festival snacks.”

The week leading up to the festival passed with a strange, buzzing anticipation. You spent your days replaying that moment by the river, wondering what it meant, hoping for something you couldn’t quite name.

When the night of the festival arrived, the streets were a whirl of lantern light and laughter, the scent of grilled food mixing with the sweetness of candy. You wore your favorite yukata, its delicate patterns of blue and white mirroring the summer sky. The moment you spotted Suguru and Satoru waiting for you near the entrance, your heart did a little flip. Suguru looked at you for a beat longer than usual, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You however thought Suguru always looked more handsome in traditional wear. You'd never tell him that thought.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear. Satoru, never one to miss a moment, whistled dramatically. “I think you look hot,” he teased, winking at you.

Suguru shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. The three of you walked through the festival together, surrounded by the glow of lanterns and the hum of excited voices. You felt the brush of Suguru’s sleeve against yours, and each accidental touch sent a thrill up your spine.

As the night went on, you found yourselves near the edge of the festival grounds, where the noise softened into a quieter backdrop. Suguru turned to you, eyes thoughtful. “I never told you, did I?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why I left that night.”

Your breath caught, the world around you fading as you looked up at him. The question, the hurt, all of it surfaced in that instant. But before he could say more, a firework burst in the sky above, scattering colors across the night, and Satoru’s voice called out, breaking the spell.

“Hey! You two, you’re missing the show!” 

Suguru’s expression shifted, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers. But his eyes lingered on yours, as if to say tonight wasn’t the night.

You never did get to hear what he wanted to say. But you always remembered the way the fireworks lit up his eyes, turning them into pools of shimmering violet and gold. Suguru was beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal.

After that summer, you saw less and less of Suguru and Satoru. Every time you reached out, you were met with the same response: “Busy,” or, “I have a lot of work.” You tried not to dwell on it, though the ache of distance settled deep in your chest.

One evening, as you studied for an upcoming exam, the summer heat pressed against your skin like a suffocating blanket. The windows were wide open, the occasional breeze doing little to ease the stifling air. The sky outside was a blanket of deep indigo, scattered with stars that twinkled above the quiet street.

Then, a cry cut through the silence from next door. It wasn’t the first time; Suguru’s parents had always been a source of hushed whispers and dark looks. You had grown to understand that his father’s anger was more than just a temper—it was violence. The beatings, first directed at his mother, had eventually reached Suguru when she could no longer shield him. You wished you had known when you were children, before he disappeared to that unreachable school. Maybe you could have done something. Maybe you could have held on to him just a little tighter. But, you reminded yourself that you were both just children, juggling things that a child shouldn't be going through.

A sudden creak jolted you from your thoughts. The front door. You froze, straining to hear past the thundering of your heartbeat. Your mother wasn’t supposed to be home, and the last boyfriend she brought around—the one who had a temper of his own—had vanished weeks ago, leaving you with a sense of uneasy relief.

“Mom?” you called out, voice shaky as you peered into the dark hallway. Silence.

You took tentative steps down the stairs, flicking on the light. There, standing in the dim glow, was Suguru. His face was pale, hair disheveled, and on his clothes—was that blood?

“Suguru?” His name came out as a whisper, tinged with fear and disbelief. Your eyes darted over him, searching for injuries or some sign that could explain the scene before you. But he didn’t move. He only looked at you, a gentle smile cracking the grim line of his mouth as he stepped forward and opened his arms.

“I can finally say it, I love you,” he said, the words hanging in the air like a confession and a plea. The room seemed to close in around you as he pulled you into an embrace. The scent of smoke and blood invaded your senses, sharp and suffocating. Something wet dripped onto your head, and you realized his whole body was trembling.

“I love you,” he repeated, voice soft, almost fragile. “You looked so beautiful that day... in your yukata... you’ve always looked beautiful.” His words tumbled out in a quiet ramble, barely holding together. “I love you so much it hurts... it hurts so much to know that...”

You tilted your head up, eyes wide with questions you didn’t know how to ask, and before you could speak, his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle, desperate, and tasted of salt from tears and the metallic tang of blood. Your body froze, caught between the shock of the moment and the familiar warmth of his touch. 

The world outside was silent, but in that moment, everything screamed. 

The kiss left you breathless, and for a fleeting moment, you felt like a child again, back in the days when Suguru was just your best friend with laughter that lit up your world. But the metallic taste and the tremor in his body pulled you back to the present, where the Suguru in front of you was someone different—someone haunted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. There was a depth of pain there that you couldn’t comprehend, an abyss of sorrow that twisted his beautiful features into something almost unrecognizable.

“Why—” you started, but the question choked in your throat as his hand brushed your cheek, fingers trembling against your skin. The warmth in his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could react, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he said, a tear rolling down his face, mingling with the blood that stained him. “I can’t let them take you away from me. I can’t let this world twist what little good we have left.”

Confusion morphed into a sudden, chilling realization, and your breath caught in your chest. “Suguru, what are you—”

“I love you too much, the higher ups will kill you after what I did. They'll find you, use you as punishment” he interrupted, voice breaking as if the words themselves were ripping him apart. His arms wrapped around you tightly, too tightly, and panic surged in your veins as his embrace turned suffocating.

“Suguru, wait—” you gasped, struggling against him, but he held you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this world. The wetness against your head spread, the metallic scent growing stronger as you fought to breathe. His strength was overwhelming, something you had never felt from him before.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, almost reverent. The room spun, a whirl of dark shadows and star-speckled sky visible from the window behind him. Pain flared through you, sharp and sudden, and your vision blurred with tears.

The realization was slow, creeping in like ice. His hand, once gentle, now pressed against your side where warmth spread in a crimson bloom. Your strength faltered, and Suguru’s face swam in your vision, eyes glistening as he cradled you. His lips moved, speaking words that sounded far away now.

“It’ll be over soon,” he promised, as if trying to convince himself more than you. His voice was soft, desperate. “We’ll be together one day... no one will take you from me.”

Your limbs grew heavy, your body slumping against his. The pain dulled, replaced by a chilling numbness that seeped into your bones. Suguru’s face hovered above yours, tears streaking his bloodied cheeks as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

The room dimmed, the noise of the world fading into the distance. Suguru’s whispered, broken words were the last thing you heard, “I love you. I’ll keep you safe now.”

Darkness folded over you like a shroud, and the last image in your mind was of the boy you had known, standing in the light of a summer day with violet eyes full of wonder. Suguru, your friend, your everything, who now held you in an embrace.

The warmth of Suguru’s arms faded, replaced by a numbing cold that seeped into your bones. When you slipped away, Suguru was still holding you, his body shaking with quiet sobs as the reality of what he’d done settled over him like a suffocating blanket.

Minutes felt like hours as he knelt there, your lifeless form cradled in his arms. The weight of his actions bore down on him, a crushing force that stole the breath from his lungs. The room was silent now, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. His violet eyes, wide and unfocused, glistened with tears that refused to stop falling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room, the words a broken mantra. “I’m so sorry.”

The night stretched on, the stars above unblinking witnesses to the scene below. Suguru’s mind spun with memories—your laughter by the riverbank, the way your eyes lit up when he said something that made you smile, the warmth of your presence that had anchored him through so many storms. And now, that warmth was gone, snuffed out by his own trembling hands.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, the world outside moving on without him. 

Suguru’s hands clenched, nails biting into his palms until they drew blood. He lifted his gaze, eyes red and swollen, and looked at you one more time. The peaceful expression on your face was almost unbearable; it made it seem as if you were merely sleeping, ready to wake at any moment. But you wouldn’t. And that truth cracked something deep inside him.

He stood slowly, legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and grief. The blood on his clothes had dried, stiff and crusted, but the scent still clung to him, sharp and unforgiving. Suguru took a shaky breath and glanced at the front door, the place that once symbolized safety and warmth now nothing more than a reminder of what he had lost.

As he stepped into the night, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, the cool air bit at his skin, carrying with it the distant hum of cicadas and the faint rustle of leaves. Behind him, two little girls followed, their small steps quiet and cautious. Their eyes, wide with a mix of fear and trust, never wavered from Suguru’s figure as they walked together into the night. There was much to do. 

In a few years, Suguru had built that traditional house you both dreamed of as children. The structure stood proudly, nestled in the serene embrace of the countryside, with a wide veranda and sliding paper doors that creaked softly in the breeze. In the garden, the large sakura tree bloomed each spring, its petals drifting like whispers over the spot where your ashes were laid to rest.

He sat in the bedroom, the one where his futon lay by the large window so the first rays of morning light could touch his face, waking him gently—just as you had always imagined. The light bathed the room in a warm glow, but it could not reach the shadow that lingered in his heart. He was fulfilling the dream he had stolen from you, keeping it alive with each passing day.

Suguru’s gaze shifted to the Sakura tree, its blossoms swaying in the morning air. He closed his eyes, feeling the ache of longing bloom anew in his chest. He had much left to do, so many things to set right before he could allow himself to rest. Before he could find his way to you, wherever you might be waiting.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still and only the rustle of petals filled the silence, he spoke to you. Promises, confessions, hopes whispered into the air with the wish that somehow, you could hear him.

One day, he would join you beneath the shade of that Sakura tree, where time and separation could no longer reach. Suguru held onto the hope that you both could be together once again.

[httpvomitello]

Can we get a bayverse tmnt boys scenarios for each one what if their S/O decides to scare them for fun one day by sneaking up on them but they end up hurting them really bad with their weapon out of reflex and the s/o has to go to the hospital and almost lost her life? I need something ansty😃

omg YES! I also need a little bit of angst right now. I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

In Too Deep *⁠.⁠✧

Leonardo

It was meant to be a harmless prank. Just a playful scare, something they thought would make Leo laugh. After all, for someone as serious as him, he could use a good surprise every now and then, right? They watched him in the training room, his focus unwavering as he practiced with his twin katanas.

The perfect opportunity.

They waited for the right moment, and when his back was turned, they leapt out from behind a pillar, shouting, “Gotcha!”

Leo’s reaction was instant, years of training kicked in. Before they could blink, he spun around, katana flashing through the air. The blade met flesh, and then, all they felt was pain. A sharp, burning pain as the katana sliced deep into their side.

Their scream echoed in the room, and Leo’s face went pale.

“No...” he gasped, his katana slipping from his hands and clattering to the floor. His heart raced as he rushed forward, catching them as they crumpled to the ground. Blood, so much blood, was already seeping between his fingers as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. "I... I didn’t mean... I thought you were someone else!"

Their breathing was shallow, their skin pale as they struggled to keep their eyes open. "Leo..." they whispered, their voice weak.

Leo flinched at the words, guilt gnawing at him. "I... I didn’t mean to…"

"Yeah, well you did," they provoked, though the effort drained them. Their anger was quickly overshadowed by the searing pain, but the frustration remained.

Leo’s heart felt like it was breaking in his chest. He was the leader, the one who was supposed to protect them. And now, he had hurt the person he cared about most. “Don’t talk, save your strength,” he urged, though his voice cracked. His hands were soaked in their blood, and it was spreading too fast.

Without a second thought, Leo carefully scooped them up, cradling them in his arms, and bolted toward the surface. Every second felt like an eternity as he sprinted through the sewers and into the night. His heart pounded as he reached the hospital, slipping through the back alleyways, making sure no one saw him.

Once he reached the back entrance, Leo gently laid them on the cold ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed April’s number.

"April, I need you at the hospital. Now," his voice was strained, thick with guilt and desperation. He couldn’t stay. If anyone saw him, it could make things worse. "Please… they’re hurt. Bad."

Before she could even respond, he hung up, casting one last glance at their pale, unconscious form. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered before slipping away into the shadows, but staying close to the hospital room window once they received treatment.

Raphael

Raph had always been on edge. It didn’t take much to set him off, and they knew that. But still, they couldn’t resist trying to scare him, just once. He always teased them about being too slow to sneak up on him, so today, they decided to prove him wrong.

They crept up behind him while he was lifting weights in the training room, knowing he was in his own little world. When they were close enough, they grabbed his shoulders and shouted, “Surprise!”

In a heartbeat, Raph whirled around, sai in hand, swinging hard. His weapon struck with a sickening thud, embedding itself deep into their stomach.

Their body jerked from the impact, and their eyes widened as they crumpled forward, collapsing into Raph’s arms.

“Fuck!” Raph gasped, his sai falling to the ground as he caught them. Blood poured from the wound, staining his hands as he pressed desperately against their abdomen. "Shit, no! What the hell was you thinking?" His voice cracked, thick with panic and fear.

Their breaths were shallow, weak. They blinked up at him, eyes filled with pain and fury. "You idiot!" they wheezed, wincing at the sharp pain. "Who... swings a weapon that hard without looking?"

Raph’s face paled as the guilt hit him like a freight train. "I—I didn’t know it was you!" he stammered, the panic in his voice rising. "Fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to..."

Their groan cut him off, and the anger drained from them, leaving behind only pain. Raph could see the fear and confusion in their eyes, and it made his chest tighten even more.

Without wasting another second, Raph lifted them into his arms, bolting through the lair and out into the night. His heart raced as he ran, their body limp in his arms.

By the time he reached the hospital, his chest was heaving with panic. He didn’t stop until he reached the emergency room back entrance, carefully laying them on the pavement. He couldn’t stay, not with people around, but he couldn’t leave them alone either.

He pulled out his phone, dialing April with shaking hands. "April, you gotta get to the hospital," he rasped, his voice barely recognizable. "Please... they’re hurt. Bad. Just get here." He hung up after she respond, his chest tight with fear. He bent down, placing a kiss on their forehead, and whispered, "I’m sorry... for everything."

Donatello

Donnie was always absorbed in his work. His mind ran a mile a minute, lost in blueprints and inventions. They knew it was hard to get his attention sometimes, but today, they were feeling playful. Sneaking up on him while he tinkered with his latest project in the lab seemed harmless. He’d never expect it.

They crept up behind him, heart racing with anticipation. Once they were close enough, they grabbed his shoulder, shouting, “Boo!”

Donnie spun around, staff already in hand. Before he could register who it was, his bo connected with their ribs, the impact sending them crashing into the shelves behind them. The crack of bone echoed through the lab, followed by a choked gasp of pain.

“What the...” Donnie dropped his bo, rushing to their side as they crumpled to the floor. They clutched their side, gasping for air, their skin paling by the second. Blood dripped from their mouth, and Donnie’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

"You didn’t have to hit so hard, you know," they tried to laugh, glaring up at him, their eyes filled with pain but also a flicker of annoyance.

Donnie’s face blanched, guilt hitting him like a tidal wave. "I-I didn’t mean to… I thought…" He stammered, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix it, but the sight of them bleeding, pale, and weak in front of him shattered his ability to think straight.

Their breaths were shallow, labored, and panic surged through him. He couldn't let them die. Not because of him.

Donnie gathered them in his arms, moving faster than he ever had before. His mind screamed with every step as he raced to the hospital. Once there, he slipped through the back, ensuring no one saw him. Gently, he laid them on the ground, his hands shaking.

He pulled out his phone and called April.

"April, please, you have to come. They’re hurt," his voice cracked. "I can’t… I hurt them." He didn’t wait for her response, too overwhelmed by the guilt clawing at his heart. He brushed a trembling hand over their cheek and whispered, "I’ll fix this. I promise."

But as he slipped back into the shadows, he knew some things couldn’t be fixed.

Michelangelo

Mikey loved a good prank. He was always the one pulling jokes on them, so this time, they decided to get him back. It was innocent enough, right? Just a scare. They saw him on the couch, totally engrossed in a video game, and figured it was the perfect time.

They crept up behind him, suppressing their laughter as they leaned over the back of the couch and shouted, “Surprise!”

Without thinking, Mikey swung his nunchaku back in defense, the metal striking hard against their temple. The force sent them crumpling to the floor, blood already trickling down their face.

“Oh no!” Mikey gasped, immediately dropping his nunchaku as he knelt beside them, his hands trembling. “No, no, no, no! What did I do?” Tears welled in his eyes as he cradled their head in his hands, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Of all the reactions, you chose to hit me?" they muttered, their voice weak. "It was a joke, Mikey."

Mikey felt like he had been punched in the gut. “I didn’t mean to! I swear!” He could see the frustration in their eyes, but it was quickly fading into pain, and his heart broke.

They groaned in pain, their eyes unfocused, struggling to stay conscious.

"Mikey…" they whispered his name.

Tears streamed down Mikey’s face as he scooped them up, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” he whispered, panic rising with every step he took toward the lair’s exit. He ran through the streets, his focus solely on getting them help, their weak breaths the only sound he could hear.

When he reached the hospital, Mikey carefully laid them down near the entrance. He couldn’t go inside without risking exposure, but he couldn’t leave them alone either. He fumbled for his phone, trying to call April with shaking hands.

“April, please,” he begged as soon as she answered. “Get to the hospital. They’re hurt… and it’s my fault.”

Mikey hung up after she confirmed that she would soon arrive there, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he bent down, brushing a hand over their hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered before slipping into the shadows, but staying close when he saw April coming.

[freimeka]

am i the only one who's about to explode by thinking of a bodyguard ghost??? like he's... extremely on another level please help me !! i actually hate this and might delete this pls forgive any mistakes ans typos it's 3am . i feel like i forgot some tws and tags but oh well idc

★ obv bodyguard!ghost + pwp + just unholy thoughts + descriptions of masturbating + very brief mention of idk just a heated argument + ghost is kinda voyeur here

You have no idea how the two of you ended up like this. You clearly remember that you were screaming at Ghost's face. The reason was something completely dumb...like, he probably insulted one of your friends and you just exploded. You've been feeling on the edge because of him for the last week now—you cannot even count the times that your hand, completely out of your control, has traveled down on your body once you were alone to touch yourself.

As you think of him.

That fucker.

Ghost can easily get under your skin without even trying, it's like a love-hate relationship. You've known him for many long years—he has always been right there, next to you whenever you turn your head around to see him. He's protected you, spoiled you maybe even more than your parents did. Well, there have also been countless times that he annoyed you so much that you just wanted to slap him across his face but you just let them pass. You're used to Ghost, and he's used to you.

You should be mad at him now, your body should be on fire just by how angry you're at him but... your hand keeps traveling down on your body. You get comfortable on your bed, letting your body meet with the soft mattress as your legs immediately spread apart as if on autopilot mode. One of your hands easily travels underneath your shirt to touch your perked nipples, your fingertips pinching them just to feel a bit more. Your other hand slips past your soaked panties, and you realize that you're embarrassingly wet—with every move of your fingers you can hear a slick sound that's faint, yet loud enough to echo in your empty room.

You throw your head back when your trembling fingers start to rub circles against your clit, gathering the wetness and spreading it all over to make it easier for you to move your fingers in circles. Your eyes are shut, and you feel yourself taking short and erratic breaths as your fingers keep rubbing circles. No matter how you do or what you do, the mere idea of being stretched by Ghost's cock just doesn't leave your mind. Your fingers don't feel thick enough, they don't reach the parts that you want them to reach—and that's getting frustrating. You're usually so careful about being quiet in order not to get caught, but the feeling is overwhelming; you think that you might cry. That's why a soft, yet a bit louder than ever whine falls from your lips. You don't think that it's dangerous because everyone except Ghost is outside, your parents work long hours and that's why Ghost has become a babysitter as well as a bodyguard—that's what he says, but you know that he's trying to annoy you.

Since you two have argued like fifteen minutes ago, and his mad and hoarse voice somehow made you wet, Ghost must be outside on the balcony. He's probably smoking.

Right?

You feel your bed being crushed down under someone else's weight, and you want to open your eyes but the scent is all too familiar. And you feel like you're about to explode from embarrassment. Ghost rests his hands on your bare thighs, his fingers grazing the soft skin with such gentleness that you struggle to hold back a whimper. It's a small touch— it's obvious that he's testing the waters first.

"You're making it hard to be around you," you hear him whispering, his voice is dangerously low. You finally decide to open your eyes, to see him without his damn mask and he's already looking up at you. However, he breaks the eye contact as soon as you look back at him—he's now looking at your thighs, his lips touch your inner thigh as he speaks. "But you're also making it hard not to be around you."

You can't believe he's admitting it.

"Please—Ghost, I—," you barely whisper, your voice is shaky as your fingertips burn to feel Ghost's soft hair. "I'm... I just," it's impossible for you to explain yourself, but then again you don't have to do it since everything's pretty clear. Ghost is breathing so heavily against the skin of your inner thigh, and he's not done—for fuck's sakez he's not even started yet. Ghost's hands skillfully reach down to your sides, and he drags you against him to make you feel just how much he wants you. You hear the sounds of fabric as your body is pulled down on the bed, you're almost at the edge of the bed now while Ghost is kneeling down in front of you. He doesn't speak for a while, and you feel yourself get even more stressed. It's obvious that he has no problems with what you've been doing, but damn it, say something.

"You're perfect," he hisses, he sounds almost out of breath as he whispers against your skin. You feel him pulling your panties up, letting the already soaked fabric cover your wet pussy again. "You're so perfect."

And that's probably all you need to hear, you're way too gone, too overwhelmed to care about the consequences. You can worry about them later, but you know that this is mutual, and he wants you as much as you want him. He kisses you, it's a gentle peck on the lips first. But then, he gets harder and harder, pushing you back against the bed and holding onto your hips tighter— and you realize that he's making you think about only how badly you want him inside you. The way his big, calloused hands are touching your bare thighs, the way his kisses are getting more and more intense... He's getting you to feel hot enough to make you melt in his presence.

"I was waiting for the fun part to come," he breathes out, "But you take damn too long."

There's a moment of silence.

"I can help you with that."

You make a sound like a whine, like a soft cry of pleasure—all of those anxious thoughts that say you've embarrassed yourself are gone in a minute. Your body aches, you can feel your heartbeat getting faster just by the thought of Ghost finally filling you up to the brim.

He leans in, his broad shoulders are enough to make you disappear under his body as he presses his lips against yours desperately. There's something almost feral in the way he kisses you, as if he's even more impatient than you are. As if he's been waiting for this to happen for a long time.

Ghost's breath grows more and more desperate as the two of you kiss; his tongue licking into your mouth as your teeth bite into his bottom lip, your bodies are pressed against each other as much as they can. The feeling of him rubbing circles against your clit through the fabric of your panties drives you crazy and you feel your breath being stolen from your lungs. You need to feel him, somehow; it doesn't matter if he pushes his fingers or decides that he can pound into you, you just need him. Not through the damn panties, you need to get rid of them.

He's kissing you fiercely now, his tongue tasting your lips and then sliding inside your mouth greedily. His hands are working on your trembling body, touching your pussy through the fabric; you feel like crying, he should take it off.

"This feels so good," Ghost says, his voice is deep and it feels like he's speaking in your head. "Doesn't it? Don't you think that I can do a better job of filling up that cunt?" Ghost asks, and you know that he's taunting you—but you can't stay under that now, can you?

"Take them off," you breathlessly whimper, it's something like both a beg and a demand—Ghost can take whatever suits him. "Please, just take them off."

Ghost lets out a groan, and it's clear that hearing what you just ask him to do is driving him insane. If he was desperate to kiss you before, he's desperate to make you bury your face into the damn pillow and pound into you until your pussy remembers the shape of his dick.

"You're so wet," he chuckles deep in his throat, staring down at you for a moment as if he's trying to gather himself before he gives you what you want.

"I should keep your panties with me, you know," he lets out a deep sigh as his fingers hook around your panties and pull them down slowly but surely. As he keeps talking to you, his voice lowers. "You're not the only desperate one here."

He finally pushes a finger in, letting your walls stretch slightly to the feeling of his thick index finger—but you still feel like that's not thick enough. You're greedy when it comes to him. Your moans turn into whines as he adds the second, and the thirs finger without any prior warning. He's moving his hand quite fast now, causing your legs to tremble as your fingers wrap around his thick biceps—all you can do is cry out, whines and whimpers and string of curses fall from your lips as Ghost toys with you. Your body tenses up when his hand starts to move a bit faster, his fingers curling inside you until he finds a spot that will have you begging for more. He succeeds, and it causes your walls to get tighter around his fingers.

"Do that again for me," he mumbles against your mouth, breathlessly. "Do that again for me when I'm inside you, baby."

"It would be such a disgrace if I never tried to make you feel good," he whispers. His breath is hot against your neck. "But look at you... what happened to that fierce girl? All I'm seeing is an obedient little girl, my sweet girl, who's already getting dumb without being filled up properly."

"Oh, I hate you," you reply, your voice is low and filled with desperation as you wet your lips with your tongue. The more Ghost makes you wait, the more you feel like crying.

"Of course, you do," he replies, his voice is full of sarcasm. "That's why you're dying to get your pussy filled by me, correct? You're lucky that you're not the only one who does this," as Ghost speaks, you feel him moving around—and soon after the sound of his belt coming undone is heard. He doesn't even bother to get rid of his clothes properly, he just pushes his trousers down before he pushes your shirt above just a bit to indicate that he wants you to take it off.

Who are you to say no?

Your trembling fingers grab the hem of your t-shirt and you take it off with one swift motion, letting the piece of clothing fall to the floor.

You're way beyond gone at this point, your mind is empty, so no words come out from your mouth. You feel Ghost pulling you closer to himself on the bed. He's resting his knees on the edge of the bed as leverage while holding you by your thighs and making you spread your legs as much as you can. He's always wanted to touch you, fill you up, and the way you're looking at him through your heavy-lidded eyes is making it even harder for him to resist you.

"You know," he murmurs, "I would imagine us all over the place— my room, the backseat of cars or a damn parking lot, some closet, bending you over any surface that I find as soon as we step back in the house." His voice is thick with lust, it's like he's ready to devour you, consume you until there's nothing left of you. "I imagined you in my lap, your legs open for me, and..."

Ghost doesn't finish his sentence and instead, he finally gives you what you've been craving all along. He's big and thick, and the moment you feel the tip of his cock pushing inside you let out a soft yelp—Ghost is slow until he's fully in you, and just as you think that he'll give you some time to adjust to his size, he mercilessly thrusting. Sharp and powerful, almost abusing your cunt as his big hands spread your pussy even more just for his hungry gaze.

"I always felt like I was going to explode." You can hear him grunting, letting out low and deep sounds of pleasure as he mercilessly fucks into you. Your body moves up and down on the bed, putting on a show for Ghost that'll just drive him insane with how you look. He leans in, and his tongue licks hot stripes all over your chest before he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue flicks around it, his teeth gently and teasingly bite into it just to see your reaction. Every time you're slightly overwhelmed and sensitive, your walls clamp around his cock, making Ghost let out a string of curses as his grip on you tightens more and more.

He wraps his arms around your waist, gently rolling over to let you lie on top of him—his body presses into the mattress. You find yourself sitting on top of his body, his arms wrapped around you and his face in between your breasts. "Ride me," he whispers. "I wanna come inside you like this," and he's so, so cruel—how can he talk to you like that when he knows you're so, so, so sensitive. You whine, your arms tightly wrap around his neck as you start to do as you're told; but you're so close, so, so, so close that your movements become sloppier and messier.

"Can't," you gulp. "I can't, Ghost—," your words are breathless and low, your vision is blurry as you come all over his cock without even having the chance of letting him know. But that's Ghost, and Ghost knows you very well. He knows you better than you know yourself. "Yes, sweetheart," he whispers against your chest. "Go ahead, show me how you do it. I promise I'll make you feel even better than this."

[sexsylexi]

Unusual confession

Joel Miller x Reader

The old world was gone, replaced by something dark and twisted. Cities were now ruins, and the silence in the streets was only broken by the occasional echo of a distant clicker or the rustle of wind through abandoned buildings.

Joel Miller had seen a lot in these past years, too much, really. His heart had hardened, calcifying over years of loss and struggle. That’s why, when he heard the door to their hideout creak open and saw you stumble in, blood soaking through your jacket, he felt something that wasn’t just anger—it was fear.

“Goddamn it,” Joel cursed under his breath as he rushed to your side, catching you before you could collapse onto the dirty floor. His hands were rough but gentle as they steadied you, his eyes scanning the wound on your side. “What the hell were you thinkin’, going out there alone?”

You winced, more from the frustration in his voice than the pain. “We needed supplies… I couldn’t wait.”

Joel practically growled as he helped you over to a dusty, torn-up couch that had seen better days. “Couldn’t wait, huh? And now look at you. Bleeding all over the damn place.”

The room was dim, the only light coming from a small lantern in the corner. It flickered, casting long shadows on Joel’s face, making him look older than he was. His jaw was set tight, and you could see the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to keep his emotions in check. But you knew Joel well enough by now to see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

He grabbed the med kit from a nearby shelf, yanking it open with a little more force than necessary. The sound of bandages unrolling and the clink of a needle filled the tense silence. You knew you had messed up, but you also knew why you had gone out. Supplies were running low, and you couldn’t stand the thought of being helpless. Not again.

“Joel, I—” you started, but he cut you off, pressing a clean cloth against your wound with a firm hand.

“Save it,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “This is gonna hurt.”

And it did. You hissed in pain as he cleaned the wound, his hands steady even as you saw the anger flicker in his eyes. He worked quickly, methodically, the way only someone who had done this too many times could. But you could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. It was like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

When he finally finished, he sat back on his heels, running a hand through his graying hair. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words. But Joel’s silence was louder than anything, and it pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky from pain and something else—something raw. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Joel cut in, his voice low and dangerous. “Didn’t mean to get yourself nearly killed? Or didn’t mean to make me care?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the last part, his words hanging in the air like a dagger poised to strike. You looked up at him, searching his face, trying to understand.

Joel was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscles jumping. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were hard, but beneath the anger, there was something else—something that made your chest tighten.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. “Every damn time you go off like that, thinkin’ you can handle it all on your own… Do you know what that does to me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You had always known Joel was protective—almost to a fault. But this was different. This was raw, unfiltered, and it scared you almost as much as it did him.

“I can’t—” Joel’s voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands trembling slightly. “I can’t lose you too.”

The confession hung between you like a weight, heavy and suffocating. You’d seen Joel in all kinds of states—angry, cold, even broken. But this… this vulnerability was something else entirely.

You reached out, your hand shaky, and touched his arm. “Joel, I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize…”

He pulled away, standing up abruptly, pacing the small room like a caged animal. “That’s just it,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “You never realize. You think you’re invincible, that you can handle anything on your own. But you can’t. And it’s gonna get you killed one day.”

The thought of losing you—another person he cared about—was too much. It was a wound that hadn’t healed, that had only been covered up with layers of anger and denial. And now, with you lying there, hurt because of your damn stubbornness, all those layers were peeling back, leaving him exposed.

“Joel, I’m not trying to…” Your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. How could you explain that you didn’t want to be a burden, that you wanted to pull your weight? But you realized now that in trying to protect him, you’d only hurt him more.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I need you to stay alive. And I need you to stop makin’ me care so damn much.”

It wasn’t fair, you thought. Not to him, and not to you. But nothing about this world was fair. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much, why the stakes felt so high. Because in a world where everything was falling apart, the last thing either of you wanted was to lose the one thing that still mattered.

Joel stopped pacing and looked at you, his eyes softer now, but still filled with that intensity that made your heart ache. “I can’t do this without you,” he admitted quietly, almost like it was a sin to say it out loud. “I don’t want to.”

The words hung in the air, a confession that neither of you had been ready for, but that had been building for a long time. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, swallowing hard.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, your voice trembling. “Not without you.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting your words sink in, before nodding slowly. “Good,” he said, his voice gruff again. “Because I ain’t letting you.”

He moved back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the couch, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it was enough. Enough to let you know that despite all the anger, all the frustration, there was something else—something deeper that neither of you could ignore anymore.

In that moment, in the silence of the broken world around you, there was a fragile understanding. You weren’t just surviving for yourselves anymore. You were surviving for each other.

[theamityelf]

(In the Mini THH AU)

Some time after the execution for the fourth trial, Hajime speaks up to say, "So, Nagito. Are you finally going to let Makoto out of your pocket now?" Because usually that's when he'd do it, and give Makoto a chance to talk to the other kouhais about what they've just experienced.

But he looks around and finds that Nagito is long gone.

Back at his cabin, Nagito is running water in his bathroom sink, holding a ruler and thermometer to make sure the water comes to exactly an inch high and isn't too hot or cold. Makoto, standing on the side of the basin, between the faucet and the toothbrush cup, is trying to ask a question, but the running water covers the sound of his tiny voice. He waves for attention, and Nagito turns the water off.

"You still haven't explained why you hid me from the others," Makoto says. "Or what you read in that binder. Or why you've been angry all day."

Nagito scoops him up, mussing his sweat-dampened hair with one fingertip. There's a look in his eyes, and has been at least since Makoto could see his face again, that looks as if he's simultaneously hyperfocused on what he's doing and mentally detached from it. Like he's on autopilot with his eyes firmly on the road.

"I'm sorry it was so uncomfortable in there," he says. "There was no ice in the octagon, and nothing safe to soak a napkin with. I did my best to keep you from my body heat."

"It's fine. Please just tell me what's wrong."

"Maybe...We can read through the binder together later, okay? After your bath." He sets Makoto back down on the basin, turning his back so Makoto can get undressed. He pours a bit of shampoo into the cap of the shampoo bottle for him. "I'm going to hurry and pack our things before the others are back from the execution. Fortunately, they usually linger, and they'll probably want a meal first thing."

"Pack? Where are we going?"

"The beach house on the second island. We're surrounded, here. Even if I blocked off the door and the windows, someone could swim beneath us. There's only one path to the beach house, which makes it a lot easier to protect, and I can grab some diner food on the way so we can hole up until we've decided how to proceed."

"That...I know you said we'll read through what you learned later, but can you just tell me something to explain why you're suddenly so hostile to everyone else?"

"It's just because...they were never what we thought they were. They wasted their potential for hope."

"Wasted their potential...?"

"Hey." Nagito is gripping the edge of the sink tightly. "Once you find out the truth...it's okay if you hate me. I'll still protect you and care for you as best I can, so please don't feel like you have to pretend you aren't revolted."

"...Whatever it is, Monokuma showed it to you for a reason. He wanted to hurt you, and he wanted you to hurt them. We can't let him have that. You understand, right?"

Nagito makes a sound that is very difficult to parse as positive or negative. Almost like a sound Teruteru might make. Almost.

"Earlier, you were talking about all the ways you almost lost me. But, you're not giving yourself credit for the fact that you didn't. You always found me and made sure I was safe and well-taken-care-of. You made sure Hajime would be the one looking after me when you were sick, because you knew that Mikan-"

"Mikan," Nagito echoes. His body, which seemed to be gradually melting as he listened to Makoto's words, suddenly erects itself. "Yes, of course. It also explains why she..." The reminder seems to energize him, in a very unintended way. "I need to pack. I'll be back in just a minute."

When he returns, he has a heavy backpack on his back and a pillowcase filled with various other possessions in one hand. He helps Makoto out of the basin to dry off and get dressed.

"You rushed out before I could finish," Makoto complains.

Nagito kneels so he's at eye-level. "My apologies. But we should really hurry, before we risk running into the others en route. And...it's not fair of me to let you praise me before you know the truth."

Since Makoto has finished getting dressed, he scoops him up.

"Wait, wait! Are you about to put me back in your pocket?"

"I'm afraid so. But do remember that you're more than welcome to hate me for it."

Makoto is nestled gently into Nagito's left breast pocket. There is already a napkin-wrapped ice cube there for him this time, keeping the temperature manageable. He can both hear and feel Nagito's heartbeat. It could very well soothe him to sleep.

"You..." Nagito breathes. Makoto feels Nagito's big hand carefully cupping the pocket he's occupying. "What does it say about me, that the Ultimate Hope makes me desperately want to be selfish?"

Makoto gives an answer, but of course Nagito can't hear it.

He leaves his cabin without another word.

[minhosbitterriver]

Hi green! Since you've left me some lovely requests, I thought I'd leave you one! I'm in love with the friends to love trope, so if you could do something like that with Felix, I'd eat it up. I'm thinking of something like the reader (gn please) has a really hard day and decides to go to Felix, but then it starts raining, so when Felix opens the door, reader is soaking wet and distressed. You can do anything from there! Again, I love your writing, so anything you come up with will be undoubtedly amazing. Hope you're doing well! <3

everything is you.

💭 GUIDELINES ‣ LIBRARY ‣ TAGLIST & ANONS ‣ IN PROGRESS ‣ REQUEST LIST ‣ PINNED

pairing: felix x gender neutral reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of parental abandonment years prior, mentions of recent death of a parent, smoking weed, daddy issues

rating: 13+

summary: through every single hardship you'd ever endured, felix always waited for you, ready to bring you into the safety of his embrace. so when you're stuck amidst the complicated emotions following your father's recent passing, the first and only person you sought for comfort was your best friend.

Echoes of the youth you’d spent in this house haunted the eerie hallways of this vacant home. Every inch of this familiar place has remained the same, though you certainly haven’t. Sitting on the front porch floor, a joint you’d just rolled burning between your fingers as you watch the rain pour outside, a vacant expression on your face as you decided on what to do. The initial plan was to walk towards your best friend’s house, which was a short walk away but the sky seemed to have other plans. And so you remained there, stuck sitting beside a box full of letters addressed to you, but that had never been sent – all written by your father. 

Too many times you had driven past him on your way to visit your best friend, making the point to keep your eyes on the road in case your father sat out front like he sometimes tended to do. The two of you had never been on good terms, especially since your mother left when you were a teenager to chase another man who’d made empty promises to her, and your father didn’t know the first thing about caring about another human being. It wasn’t a surprise to anybody when you left without a word the very minute you were old enough to do so and never returned. And yet, here you were, years since you’d gone – a box of letters he’d written to you though never sent, and you knew you didn’t have the nerve to open them alone. 

An exasperated sigh escaped your lips, pulling your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans for what was possibly the millionth time only to be met by the same symbol of no signal available for you to message Felix, the aforementioned best friend – the boy you’ve known since you could barely form a sentence due to living so close to each other. He was the kind of guy who would smile a little bit wider whenever his eyes landed on you, the one to allow you to lash out when you were angry despite how sensitive he was because he wanted you to feel better, the one to remember your birthday and plan something intimate and special even if nobody else bothered, the one to pay attention to the little things you would mention in passing and always remember – he was very much in love with you, had been for a very long time and you were well aware. But he never mentioned it directly, and you decided that you wouldn’t bring it up either because you knew that the reality of this lifetime is that you were made to destroy and hurt while he was made to heal and rebuild and you couldn’t risk having him be the next victim.

In moments like these, while alone with your thoughts that slowed down from the flower you smoked that still seemed to suffocate you all the same, you wished things were different. If only you were a stable human being, good enough for him to safely lay his head on your shoulder the way a lover would do, someone who’s sane and loving and all things good – all of which you were not – then perhaps he would be sitting beside you already, encouraging you to open the first letter while being ready to kiss your forehead at the first sign of distress. It’s selfish, and you knew, but as the screen of your useless phone remained blank you couldn’t help but wish his name would pop up. 

Your mind swirled with thoughts that made it harder to breathe with each passing second. The box of letters beside you. No signal. Felix’s smile. Childhood home. Your mother leaving. Your father’s cold demeanor. Yourself.

Not willing to wait for the rain to end, but also not wanting to dwell in here any longer, you grunted as you put out your joint and walked inside. A plastic sheet that covered one of the cushioned chairs in the living room was the only thing you took before making a b-line back outside. You lazily throw the sheet over the box, struggling only slightly to lift it before leaving the shelter from the rain, instantly drenched as the it offered no mercy. Barely able to keep your eyes open, you followed the same path you’ve walked a thousand times throughout your life, the pull of your best friend’s comfort and warmth being the true source of your rush as your pace quickened.

The neighborhood was the same, with the same married couples still residing in them – though most of their children were gone, already having moved on in their adult lives as their parents awaited for the next holiday to see them again. Everywhere you looked, a memory tied you to Felix as though his entire, beautiful being had been burned into your consciousness forever. Perhaps he had been, not that you would complain about it one bit if that were the case.

Felix’s childhood home came into view at last, and you all but sprinted clumsily with the box in your hands as your mind, body and heart yearned for his strong arms around you. Your heart was pumping blood through your veins harshly by the time you’d made it to his front door, dropping the box at your feet before banging on his wooden door. The air was having a hard time reaching your lungs and you realized that you were crying now that the rain was not hammering onto your skin – flashbacks of a similar scene played in your head, your teenage self distressed after you’d read your mother’s goodbye letter and your grief engulfed you and sent you down a spiral while the scene of your father sitting on the dinner table reading his newspaper and sipping coffee as you screamed at him to see you and your broken heart left at the departure of your mother. Your fists shaking as you gave up, falling onto your knees in despair just as the door swung open. 

A wide-eyed Felix stood before you, shocked to see you in such a state and so late at night. It only took him half a second to react as he practically threw himself onto the ground and pulled you into the safety of his embrace despite how drenched you were. A sob you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back escaped your lips, and the gravity of the fact that you were officially alone dawned on you. Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t describe and all you could truly focus on was the fresh scent of his blueberry shampoo and vanilla soap on him as you briefly realized you must’ve caught him getting out of the shower. 

“Hey, hey,” Felix attempted to pull away slightly to speak to you but you tighten your hold on his torso, not quite ready to let go yet. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

You said nothing, silently cursing yourself for being so weak – crying over a man who had never even smiled in your direction. 

“Felix, darling, what was all that noise?”

The sound of Felix’s mother’s sleepy voice caused you to jerk away from him, cheeks heating up in shame. You were on your feet in a second, bowing deeply to the kind woman who’d supported you through all of your hardships. 

“I– I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking when I came here, making all that noise. I just–”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lee waved you off with a concerned smile. “I’ve been telling you for years that you’re welcomed here at any time of day. Come in, darling, you’ll catch a cold. Come!”

Felix moved out of the way so that you could enter his home, pushing you away when you tried to grab a hold of the box you’d carried through the rain so that he could take care of it himself. You knew that you must’ve looked deranged, but there was no hint of judgment in their eyes as they watched you take your shoes off at the entrance. Mrs. Lee guided you into the living room by the shoulders despite the fact that you knew your way through the house like the back of your hand. The tenderness of such a simple touch made your sight blurry with tears that you refused to release this time. 

“Darling, go take a warm shower and Felix will bring you a fresh towel and some spare clothes for you to change into, deal?” Mrs. Lee raised her brows as she waited for your response, you merely nodded. “Good, have you eaten?”

“N– No.”

“I’ll heat up some leftovers from tonight’s dinner, then.”

With that, she rushed over to the kitchen. You remained in the same spot though, letting the rain drip onto the floor as your body trembled from the chill the weather outside had instilled into you. Felix gently dropped the box on the couch, paying no mind to the wet plastic sheet that was still covering its contents. 

“Y/N,” Felix said, voice low and warm. “You told me you were coming tomorrow in the afternoon. Why are you here?”

“I lied,” you sighed defeatedly. “I just didn’t want you to worry too much and I thought that I could– I thought that I would be able to go in there myself. And I really was fine, really…until I found that stupid box.”

He glanced back at the box behind him, sighing. Felix didn’t say anything, choosing instead to lead you towards the second floor and into the bathroom he typically shared with his sisters, closing the door behind you. 

While standing under the scalding hot water in the shower by yourself, you couldn’t help but scold yourself at the lack of impulse control. You could have knocked like a normal person, instead you simply decided that you would bang on his door as though your life was in danger which in turn startled everyone in the house and probably the neighbors as well. The thing that had you so upset was not something that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t urgent at all. It was just a dumb box filled with letters that you’d never received while your father had been alive. So dramatic, you chided. 

Just when you were about to shut the water off, you heard the bathroom door open quietly while you assumed Felix gathered your wet clothing and replaced them with fresh ones along with a towel. Once the door closed again, you drew the curtains back to be proved right. You dressed quickly, not bothering to brush your hair as you made your way back down and into the kitchen only to find that Mrs. Lee was no longer there, instead you found Felix looking for chopsticks for you to use while you ate. 

“I told my mom to head to bed,” Felix informed you without looking up, placing the chopsticks on a napkin beside your warm plate. “What’s in the box?”

Your feet felt heavy with each step you took closer to your meal – to him. You leaned your lower back against the counter, gingerly taking the plate into your hands. “My father wrote me letters. A whole lot of them. But he never sent them.” 

Felix’s eyes remained on you, taking his place right beside you, leaving only a hair’s distance in between. In order to not get distracted by this silly fact, you shoved your first bite into your mouth even though you didn’t feel particularly hungry. He didn’t seem to notice, only waiting patiently like he always did. 

“The house hasn’t changed a single bit since I left,” you swallowed, voice thick. “I could tell exactly where he spent the majority of his time– the same spot at the head of the dinner table where he left stacks upon stacks of newspapers he never did bother to throw out, the reclining chair right in front of the TV where his weight had left its mark over the years, and his room that was a complete mess of clothes and books and papers and everything he ever used was thrown onto the ground.”

Another bite. Felix still said nothing. 

“My room was left intact,” you continued. “It almost felt like time had stopped when I left, and the clock only continued when I walked in again. It was clean– my father kept his own room in chaos but cleaned my room. Not a speck of dust anywhere, and I checked.” 

A third bite and then you set the practically full plate back onto the counter, you didn’t have the appetite to finish it. Felix wordlessly cleaned the area and left your plate in the fridge. 

“I think the only thing that changed there was that all the family photos were taken down.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as your breath becomes slightly shaky. “Not even put away, he just– took them and smashed them on the floor and left everything there. I can’t help but wonder just how long ago that was, and how many times he turned a blind eye to the broken glass as he stepped over them.

And then I went down to the basement, and everything was pretty much the same except for this stupid box. All of the letters with my name and address written on the envelope and I just– I lost it. I don’t know what to think anymore, of him…of anything.”

Felix’s arms suddenly wrapped around you tightly, surprising you for a second before you returned the gesture. Your heart was beating erratically in your chest despite this not being the first time he’d hugged you, but this one felt like it did when you were a teenager. It was strong, yet gentle; protective, yet freeing. Although it’d only been a few weeks since you’d seen him, you missed him deeply. You had left town, and he remained here with his family and his happy childhood memories – though you visited often and he did as well, but still; you missed him deeply. 

“I think that your father loved you in his own twisted way,” Felix murmured in your ear at last, arms tightening around you. “He was hurting, too. And you still didn’t deserve any of the things he did and didn’t do to you, because you were hurting and you were the child. But I think he loved you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, hands shaking as you gripped Felix’s blue hoodie. 

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ☀️

The rain had stopped after a while, so you and Felix took advantage of that and sat on the roof right outside his bedroom window like you’d done a thousand times before. Overlooking the neighborhood in the dead of night as you lighted up the freshly rolled joint between your lips, inhaling the comforting flower before exhaling its smoke. The weight on your shoulders and mind was lifted as your anxiety dulled and your body relaxed. You passed the joint to Felix, who mimicked your actions. 

Your tears had long since dried, and the box had been left in the living room as you decided not to look at them tonight. Instead, you focused on the serene atmosphere that surrounded you and Felix like a warm hug. He passed the joint back to you, though you didn’t immediately bring it up to your lips again, letting it burn slightly between your thumb and index finger. Your eyes slowly found their way to Felix’s that had already been on you, analyzing you in the same way he had always done. You couldn’t tell if the glitter in his eyes were a reflection of the stars in the sky, or if they were truly his though they looked enchanting anyway. His smile widened when he noticed you meet his intense gaze and your heart burned at the sight, thinking back to your train of thought back on the front porch of your childhood home right before you’d come here. 

After all of these years, all of the tears, grief, arguments, and lashing out – he remained beside you, eyes on you as if you’d placed the sun in the sky yourself. You would never understand how he could stay by you when everyone else had left, there was nothing special about you other than your cutting tongue and vengeful heart. Though you couldn’t help but soften at the sight of him and his optimistic way of seeing the world. He was far too good, too pure for you or anyone else. And yet he sat there, subtly inching closer to you though you had still noticed. 

Lee Felix was in love with you, and had been for a long time. You were well aware, and had been for a long time. Though he never mentioned it directly and you decided that ignoring this would protect both you and him; but after all of this time, perhaps you’d maybe fallen in love with him too. It would be impossible not to let your own smile widen at the sight of his brown eyes watching you with so much genuine gentleness, to not feel your heart quicken every time he touched you, to not think of him when your bed was empty and cold, to not wish with every aching cell in your body that you were not as damaged as you were so that maybe, just maybe you would have a chance of deserving such a rare soul. 

Despite knowing all of this, you allowed him to move closer to you as the joint became smaller and smaller with each pass between the two of you. Eventually, your arms and legs were touching, and you could practically feel Felix’s erratic heartbeat. 

“What are you thinking about?” You surprised yourself by asking him, pointedly staring at the streetlamp directly in front of Felix’s house. His breath hitched slightly, though he didn’t say anything for a few moments. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually mumbled with a half-shrug. “Everything, I guess.”

“What is everything, Felix?”

His eyes met yours, wide with curiosity as he attempted to read you. Your own veins were pulsing with adrenaline from your boldness, though somehow you weren’t as mad about it as you thought you would be.

“I– I’m not sure.”

“I don’t believe you. What is everything?”

This was everything against what you’d done since you noticed his feelings for you, this was not keeping a safe distance. But you couldn’t help it, it was as though your heart had finally gained control over your brain and was pushing you to confront your own feelings for the first time in years. Because the truth is, your heart did burn for him in a way you couldn’t explain; it fluttered and skipped a beat a thousand times whenever he was around and it had been for as long as you could think back. You didn’t deserve him, but he thought the world of you – so maybe that was worth something. 

“Everything is–” Felix’s eyes searched yours, his breathing picking up slightly. “Everything is you.”

If your heart either exploded or simply stopped beating, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least. His words sent a chill down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the smile that snuck onto your face. 

“Good.” You stated, putting out what little was left of your shared joint on the roof before moving to straddle him, and you might as well have pushed him off and onto the ground before with the way the wind seemed to have been knocked out of him. His eyes were so wide, so surprised yet so excited. “To me, everything is you, too.”

His eyes scanned yours for a moment before he released an incredulous, airy chuckle. He didn’t get the chance to say anything, however, as your lips met his for the first time and the world melted away.

word count: 3.3k ☀️ posted: 12 • 05 • 2023

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for the request! I truly, truly enjoyed writing this for you. I just sat here and the words just kept flowing and flowing and I just couldn't stop, so I hope you enjoy it! (Side note though: I'm sorry if this a bit darker for your taste, I read it back and was like 'yikes, didn't mean to start off like that'.)

Anyway! I appreciate your compliments, always. Your feedback is something I genuinely look forward to every time I post, and so I'm happy that we're mutuals out here supporting each other because honestly – you're a magnificent writer as well, so I can promise that every time I think of something new for you, I'll grab my phone and tell you all about it no matter where I am!

Again, I hope you enjoyed this and thank you!

🪲 TAGLIST !

# @grandpafelixx

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

i’m fine

pair: Walker Scobell x reader

summary: y/n(she/her) is crying on the beach at night and Walker, Aryan, Leah, Dior and Charlie find and comfort her

masterlist | navigation

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The night was cold, the wind biting against Y/N's skin as she sat alone on the beach. The stars above seemed distant, almost indifferent to the pain she felt inside. She hugged her knees close to her chest, her white crop top offering little warmth against the chill, and her grey sweatpants soaked at the hems from the waves that occasionally reached her.

Her sobs echoed into the quiet night, loud and heart-wrenching, but the beach was empty, so she let herself fall apart. The salty breeze mixed with her tears as they flowed freely down her cheeks, her wavy hair whipping around her face in the wind. Every so often, the water lapped up against her, but she didn’t care. It was as if the cold ocean was the only thing that understood her pain, and she wanted to drown in it, let it take everything away.

Not far away, the cast of the upcoming Percy Jackson series had decided to take a late-night walk. Walker, Aryan, Leah, Dior, and Charlie were grateful for a moment of peace, free from the constant attention of fans. They walked side by side, talking and laughing quietly until they heard something that made them stop in their tracks.

"Do you guys hear that?" Leah asked, her voice tinged with concern.

The others fell silent, and they all heard it—a sound that broke their hearts. It was the sound of someone crying, not just softly, but with a deep, gut-wrenching sorrow. They exchanged looks before following the sound, leading them to Y/N.

There she was, sitting by herself, soaked and shivering, her sobs still tearing through the night. She didn’t notice them approach until they were standing right in front of her.

“Hey,” Walker said softly, crouching down beside her. “Are you okay?”

Y/N looked up, startled, quickly wiping at her eyes, but it was pointless—her face was already streaked with tears. She recognized them instantly, but that only made her feel worse. She had dreamed of meeting them, but not like this. Not when she was falling apart.

The others surrounded her, their faces full of concern. Leah sat down beside her, not too close but close enough to offer warmth. “We heard you crying. What’s going on? Do you need help?”

Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping out despite her efforts to stop them. “I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Walker took off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But it’s freezing out here. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Y/N tried to resist, but the warmth of his jacket was comforting. She hadn’t realized just how cold she was until now. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Dior knelt down in front of her, her eyes full of empathy. “But we are worried. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Charlie and Aryan exchanged a glance, the same thought running through their minds. What if she was out here to do something terrible? They couldn’t let that happen.

Charlie moved closer, his tone gentle but firm. “Why don’t you come back with us? We’re staying at a hotel nearby. You can warm up there.”

Y/N shook her head again, more out of habit than anything else. “I’m fine,” she repeated, but even she didn’t believe it.

“We’re not leaving you here,” Aryan said softly, but there was a finality in his voice that made it clear he meant it.

When she didn’t move, Dior nodded to the others. Walker hesitated for a moment, but then he carefully picked her up, cradling her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. Y/N didn’t fight him; she was too tired, too drained to do anything but let them take her away from the beach.

As they walked, Y/N rested her head against Walker’s chest, the sound of his heartbeat soothing in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t understand why they were being so kind to her, a complete stranger, but she was too exhausted to question it.

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 3 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2.5k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 4

Part 3 - Parallels and Potions

It was dark in the corridor you found yourself in. So dark, you could hardly see anything but the low light on its end. The light was subtle, yet it pulled you towards it. As you started walking, you noticed you were holding something in your hands. It was oddly shaped, but not too heavy and you couldn’t see enough to detect what it was. So you kept on walking towards the light and although it seemed so close, it felt like you had walked for hours on the spot. 

Finally, you reached the exit and entered a small room. It was bright all of a sudden and made you squint your eyes. Dozens of chairs were lined up left and right from you, with a path in their midst. The seats were all empty, except for two. Your parents sat in the first row, staring straight ahead, not looking back at you. Another person was standing at the end of the path. Tom. He wore a black suit and tie, his hands intertwined on his back as he watched you walk towards him.

Now that you could finally see, you looked down and were able to recognise what you were wearing. A floor-length, white dress. A wedding dress to be precise, classy and modest, with lace fabric that wrapped around your arms. The thing you had brought with you was a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, each one flawless and beautiful.

Tom smiled as you were slowly approaching him. He turned around and looked at his grandfather, who stood at the podium. The light went out and it was dark again. Someone screamed. Elsie. Her voice echoed in your ears as you turned to find her, stumbling around blindly. You knocked over a chair when the lights went back on and her voice fell silent. She was nowhere to be seen. 

Only then you looked around and noticed how Tom’s smile had turned into a vile grin. Both your parents were lying on the floor, unmoving. You tried to run to them, but your feet stayed pinned to the ground. The floor was drenched in red. Blood. Everywhere. It was soaking up on the fabric of your dress when Tom threw something your way and it landed in the puddle before you, more splatters of red hitting the white fabric. It was a penknife, dangerously sharp and flipped open. 

Hissing noises came from the bouquet in your hands. The roses had turned into snakes. You shrieked and tried to throw it to the ground, but your hand didn’t let go of it, no matter how hard you tried. Marvolo’s scornful laughter got louder and louder until you couldn’t hear anything else and you fell to your knees screaming.

You sat up in your bed, your forehead covered in sweat. A nightmare. Just a dream.

The poor sleep had drained you. Sipping on your second cup of tea, you slouched in the great hall during breakfast, when headmaster Dippet placed himself in front of the teacher’s table.

“Good morning students,” the Professor spoke. “Just a brief announcement for your information. I’m aware some of you have already eagerly waited for the reveal of this year’s head girl and boy. Well, it’s my pleasure to tell you now.”

People had stopped talking and the great hall turned quiet. Dippet looked through the rows of students with a big smile on his face. He was probably more excited than anyone else in the room. Head boy and girl. Wow. You hadn’t even thought about that yet. Naturally, your mind had been somewhere entirely different. 

It would be someone from your year, though. Those were the school rules. The headmaster chooses two students from year seven. And, although most students didn’t care that much about the title, everyone knew that head girls and boys had an easier start into the world of employment after Hogwarts. It was a boost. An unspoken recommendation.

Dippet had always chosen students with top grades and little to no detention records. Mostly prefects, but not exclusively. For just a second you wondered if he had thought about you while making his decision. You had good grades. Nonsense, you had great grades. You never got in trouble, you were respectful, reliable, punctual and maybe a tiny bit full of yourself in just this moment. 

What were you thinking? You didn’t have the nerves or the time for being head girl. But it would feel so good to be valued this way.

Dippet cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. 

“This year’s head boy, fellow witches and wizards, is,” he announced blissfully. “Tom Riddle.”

A murmur went round the hall when Tom arose from the table until Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin, applauded for his student and the crowd joined in. Tom went up to the teacher’s table, where Dippet congratulated him.

It was quite clear why Tom was granted this title. He was Dippet’s showpiece. Always had been. Top of the class in most subjects, quiet yet observative, intelligent, the list went on.

“And now to our head girl,” Dippet said. 

No, this couldn’t be. It would feel like some sort of mockery if he would say your name. First the engagement and now this? No, no. Or maybe? You would make a great head girl, now that you thought about it. 

“This year’s head girl is,” Dippet went on.

Tom looked at you. Maybe he knew. Could it be? 

“Freda Morris.”

Oh. Your heart sank more than you liked to admit. Tom’s gaze went right to Freda when the crowd applauded for her. She stood up from the Slytherin table and clumsily walked to the front as well. Freda… What a swot.

“Congratulations you two,” Dippet said and shook both of their hands again. “I’m sure you’ll make a great team.”

Yes, great. Brilliant. Freda and Tom shook hands as well and the sweet aftertaste of breakfast tea turned sour on your tongue.

“Two Slytherins as head boy and girl. Now that’ll be fun,” Camille said when you walked to your Potions class together. “Totally fair Professor Dippet, as always. Thanks for acknowledging the other houses.”

You smiled. “I know, right? And Freda Morris? What was he thinking?”

“Well, I don’t know. But she seems quite okay, doesn’t she?”

“You think so? She’s such a muppet.”

“Oh,” Camille laughed. “I had no idea you wanted to be head girl. You never told me.”

“What? No, I…”

“Come on,” she grinned.

“Yeah, maybe. I hadn’t even thought about it until today. And then I thought, well, I could see myself as head girl. Then Tom got picked...”

“And you thought it was destiny,” she gushed.

“Something like that,” you said before nudging her shoulder.

You entered the Potions classroom and went to the table Camille and you always shared. When you turned around to check where she was though, you saw that she had been stopped by the door, where Tom was talking to her. Camille nodded to him, then shot you an excited look. She winked at you with a smile and went to another table while Tom walked over and sat down beside you. Oh, Merlin.

“Um, hello,” you said, wondering what he had in mind. 

All it took was Tom raising his brow to make absolutely sure he didn’t like you one bit. He even seemed appalled that you had the nerve to talk to him. Why on earth would he sit next to you then? Alright, no small talk. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Professor Slughorn entered the classroom and started his lesson by congratulating Freda and Tom once more. Your eyes, too, rolled once more. He then instructed everyone to brew Moonseed Poison, just like he had taught you in last week's lesson.

“And as always, help each other out,” he said and sat down at his desk.

Fantastic. You opened up your book and skimmed the recipe again. This shouldn’t be too hard. You took a gurdyroot and started cutting it into small cubes, making sure not to breathe in right above it, as the fumes would burn your nose.

Whispers and chatter filled the room as the class began to prepare the potion. Camille sat with Clara McKinnon, glancing over her shoulder at you and wiggling her eyebrows as she looked back and forth between Tom and you. In response, you only shook your head and she grinned even wider before Clara turned to her so she could show her something in the textbook.

When you went to the next step and picked on some knotgrass, Tom cleared his throat. You resisted looking over to him and kept on picking carefully. He cleared his throat again. And again.

You turned your head. “Are you trying to talk, or are you choking?”

“I…,” his eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

“First you sit with me, then you’re looking at me like I’ve gone mad when I greet you. So I can only assume you don’t want to talk to me, do you?”

He sighed and started picking knotgrass as well. “I did… want to talk to you.”

“About what?” you asked as you rolled the grass to shape it.

“I wanted to apologize on behalf of Lestrange and Avery.”

“Oh.”

The two shared a table at the other end of the room. Avery's sight collided with yours as you peered over at them, but immediately turned his back when he noticed. Both of them seemed lost in their task. They had always been among the less gifted when it came to Potions, mulling over the ingredients and Lestrange was most obviously reading the same sentence in the recipe for the umpteenth time while Avery half-heartedly began chopping up various items.

“They won’t trouble you again,” Tom said. “And, if it makes you feel better, they’ve learned their lesson.”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked as you leant forward to put ten drops of leech juice into your potion.

“I punished them.”

You almost dropped the flask. “Punished?” 

“Nothing too bad. Although I think you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“That depends. What did you do?”

“I’d rather not speak of it,” he shrugged as something in his face lit up when he added the leech juice to his cauldron. “I’ll have to set a good example as head boy from now on. Let’s just say, they were excluded from our group for a little while. Separation is the greatest punishment for the spineless.”

He really was a ruthless leader. And they weren’t his friends. They were his inferiors.

“Okay,” you answered, although it sounded more like a question. “You didn’t do that for me specifically, I assume?”

Tom crushed a toadstool and smiled. “I did it for myself. And you. If they disrespect you, they disrespect me. And I can’t let that happen.”

“I see,” you said. “Oh, don’t add the toadstool yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s better to let the leech juice simmer for a little longer.”

“It makes no difference.”

“It does make a difference. And you need to crumble it some more. It has to be really fine.”

“I know what I’m doing. I’m good at Potions.” Tom dropped the toadstool into his cauldron without batting an eye, before he looked at you as if he was waiting for you to snap back again—a challenge.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m great at Potions,” you said and watched Tom’s grin dropping with delight.

“I let Slughorn be the judge of that,” he said and you laughed.

Tom stirred his potion while you continued to crush the toadstool in your mortar. “Congratulations on becoming head boy, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Short answers, as always. But he finally talked at least. This had to be used well, so you asked, “Were you expecting it?”

“Not quite,” Tom said. “I’ve been thinking about it last year and was sure I’d make it to Dippet’s top three. But then I didn’t think about it much until today.”

Freda probably thought about it all summer long. Maybe she even prepared for it. You watched from the corner of your eye how carefully she worked on her potion. The steam coming from her concoction was a cerulean colour already, she was a few steps ahead. Perhaps Dippet had made a good decision by making her head girl. But still… She was too eager for the position and was bound to go mad with power.

“Two Slytherins as head boy and girl,” you mumbled. “Like last year. Camille thinks Dippet’s playing favourites.”

Tom smirked, “How can he not, when the best students always get sorted to the same house?”

The toadstool was as fine as sand already but you pestled it even harder now. 

“Although I have to admit,” he went on. “Freda Morris was not on my list of potential school representatives.” His eyes met yours and something shifted in his gaze as he watched you. Either your expression gave you away, or he could actually read minds.

“At last, we agree on something,” you said, putting the toadstool dust into your cauldron. Perhaps disliking other people was what you two had in common. “Don’t touch the moonseed. It’ll burn your skin.”

“I know,” Tom sighed. “I’m not daft.”

Smiling to yourself, you levitated the poisonous plant before a sharp scream travelled through the classroom. Avery had touched the moonseed with bare hands, of course.

“There was something else I wanted to tell you,” Tom said. “My uncle sent an owl. Your sister. She’s better.”

“She is?“ You put your wand down to look at him properly. “What exactly did he say?”

“Still not cured he said, but she’s gaining weight again and has an appetite.”

“That’s great news,” you said and had to keep your voice low, so you wouldn’t yell just from how glad you were. “Merlin, I’m so relieved to hear this. Thanks for letting me know.”

Tom stirred his potion and nodded. “It’s ready. Professor!”

Slughorn walked up to your desk and examined both of your works. “Oh, would you look at that,” he cheered. “Tom, yours is excellent.”

It was evident just how proud Riddle was, especially after being lectured by you all lesson long.

“But yours Miss,” Slughorn turned towards you. “Yours is perfect. Outstanding that one! Very well done.”

Smiling felt like mockery now, so you schooled your features, not ready to dare look at his reaction - he wasn’t one to mess with. When you finally took a glimpse, he stared blankly down at the table, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t say it,” he mumbled. “I get it, you’re great at Potions.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 4

[luxesiren]

thinking about semi-public sex with ryuzaki…

cw :: smut, public sex, corruption kink (kind of??), ditzy reader, stalking

that man had you in the palm of hands, almost too pliable and close to naive but he promised that he would take care of you and give you whatever you wanted so there was no harm in being that way.

ryuzaki followed you and you knew, did you care? not particularly, because he was protecting you from the big scary men you were always afraid of. leading him throughout the dark park where not that many people resided at the moment but it was perfect.

of course, ryu knew your game — he always did and it never stopped him from outsmarting you. so he took a shortcut, he knew away to get to you faster. he knew because of his obsessive tendencies, he was obsessed with you and that wasn’t going to change for a while.

you were confused, the steps behind you weren’t there anymore, you wondered where they could’ve gone but nonetheless; he always found you. a hand pulls you from the side, your back colliding with the tunnel wall softly. there he stood, ryuzaki looking you in your eyes, not a thought behind them — he never thought about anything but if he did then it was about you every single time.

“ryu~” your meek voice called out, his lips on yours before you could finish. hands on your waist, roaming your body in ways that you’d never forget. your hands landed on his shoulders, gripping them tightly and pulling him closer. no matter how much he followed you or how much he was obsessed with you — you liked it.

lips leaving yours, cold tingles remain there and he finally utters a word, “i like the way you say my name. doesn’t leave room for you to say anyone else’s name.” it may’ve seem presumptuous but not to him, not when he knew just how much you enjoyed being watched by him.

you want him, of course you do. how could you not? he was the least scary guy you’ve come across and he cared about you. he really did, he cared enough to take care of you right now.

lips on your neck, sucking and biting trying so desperately to leave his mark on you. your breathy moans and soft whimpers like music to his ears. he craved you, wanted you more than you would ever know.

so was that why his hands toyed with the waistband of your jeans? why he let your sounds of pleasure lead his slender fingers to unbutton your jeans? taking you by surprise but you weren’t going to deter him.

not when you were soaking, dripping something so supple that it makes him dizzy. “ryu, there could be people around..” only words to leave you before a whine shoves its way out your mouth.

he pulls back again, “there isn’t anyone around.” you looked pensive, nervous, worried someone may hear you or find you, “didn’t i say that i would take care of you?”

biting your lip, you were convinced. he did say that and he’s been living up to it, so you pulled him back into you. his fingers teasing the lining of your panties, snapping them against your skin causing a gasp to come out of you. his tongue clouding your judgement with the way it curled around yours.

he pulled back again and there was no hiding the needy whine that came from you, he wanted to see how good he can make you feel. your lips part when his fingers toy with your folds, a small smirk appears on his face. slender and calculated fingers teased you making your knees buckle together but he would keep you upright.

“i haven’t even got to feel your pussy in all its entirety but you’re willing to give it to me? almost begging me…” his words echoing throughout your brain, teeth biting your earlobe and harsh breaths falling from his lips. he’s been affected in the same way as you, of course he has.

he gets to have his favorite girl handed to him on a silver platter. why wouldn’t he be going insane.

a/n :: this one is actually one of my fave things that i’ve written.

© 𝐥𝐮𝐱𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 | all rights reserved to me, please do not steal, copy, or repost to other websites.

[sixhours]

Alma

Rated: PG Length: ~4k

Notes: Post-episode for Milagro; the aftermath. Milagro remains one of my favorite episodes; this is my interpretation of what happened after. Huge thanks to @perplexistan for the beta, the glowing feedback, and for wrangling my dialogue's syntax. :)

Originally posted on AO3 10/1/2014

~*~

The first thing he sees is the blood.

He doesn’t remember the sound of his own footfall, doesn’t remember kneeling or reaching out, all he can think is that he’s lost her. The thought is cruel and terrible; you lose a bet, you lose your car keys. You don’t misplace your best friend’s life between the cushions, you don’t lose a person.

And yet, she is lost.

Her eyes are closed, her chest is still, her shirt is the color of dirty rubies. The smell in his overheated apartment is heavy with her last breath.

Scully.

His heart is racing in his chest, but hers has gone missing.

Oh, Scully.

He reaches to check for a pulse, and suddenly he’s staring into eyes of blue crystal, shocked and surprised as his own. She shudders against him, the roar of her breath an echo of reassurance. Her arms are a welcome vise grip, pulling up, clawing at his back, and he holds on for dear life.

That was too close.

When he finally speaks, her sobs have dulled to hiccups, but her fingers are tight through the fabric of his shirt. “Are you bleeding?”

She shakes her head, and he eases back, gently disentangling them. “Did he…”

“Hurts,” she mumbles.

He pulls back. “Just gonna look, ‘k?”

She nods her consent, closes her eyes. His fingers fumble at the buttons at her stomach, swallowing thickly at how soaked her blouse is. His hands are stained by the time they work the last button free.

Shit, it’s deep…

He moves tenderly along the underside of her sternum, surprised to find only bruises, the outlines of someone else’s fingers where they bored under her ribs. She winces when he grazes the skin.

“It’s a contusion,” she whispers, auburn lashes to ivory cheeks, like wildflowers pressed between dusty tomes.

He shakes his head. “Uh uh. Be right back.”

The 9-1-1 operator recognizes his name and address before he can give him the badge number.

He returns with a glass of water to find her struggling to her feet.

“Jesus, Scully, you shouldn’t—“

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just sore.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, hard. “Then let me help.”

He’s careful to avoid her left side, where the bruising is worst. She is warm and solid against him, but he can feel the tremors like tiny earthquakes along his side.

“What happened?” he asks, helping her ease down to the worn leather cushions.

“He came at me after you left,” she says, flat and dry, as if talking about the weather. “I fired...I fired twice? Three times?”

“It was four,” Mulder says, handing her the water. “Checked your clip.”

Her words ring hollow in the glass as she sips. “I must’ve missed.”

“You know you didn’t,” he whispers, leaning over her to grab the blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over her shoulders to quell the trembling. “Called for backup. Paramedics are on their way.”

“I don’t need—“

“Don’t say it,” he threatens gently. She scowls but sinks back and closes her eyes.

The response team is quick this time. The lead EMT, his name tag reads Bernard, makes a feeble joke about putting in a station next door, a private service for the guy whose bad luck always follows him home. Mulder doesn’t laugh.

He leaves her side only to show the investigative unit to the basement. The cops kneel over Padgett’s body, exclaiming and making wisecracks about love stories gone awry, so cavalier it makes Mulder’s stomach turn. Not that he has any sympathy for the dead writer, but he can’t stop imagining Scully with her heart in her hands.

They’re examining her injuries in the living room when he returns, so he takes the phone to the bedroom. Skinner is characteristically gruff, but he softens when Mulder explains.

“You think Padgett’s responsible?”

“Yeah, but he won’t be penning his memoirs anytime soon. They found him in the basement. It’s just like the other victims.”

“Of course,” Skinner sighs. “Alright. I want you in my office first thing tomorrow. And Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

The other man lowers his voice, a gesture of mutual understanding. “Don’t let Agent Scully out of your sight. If this guy comes back—“

He won’t, Mulder thinks, but he’s distracted. Her voice carries through the plaster; she’s giving the EMTs hell.

She’s going to be fine, sir. She’s feeling well enough to fight.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner barks into his ear. “Did you hear me?”

He clears his throat, looks over his shoulder, drawn to her rising tones. “Got it, sir. I gotta go.” The phone clicks off before Skinner can lay into him. He’ll get his ass handed to him tomorrow, but tonight he has more important things to worry about.

She has her hands on her hips, facing off with the senior paramedic, who looks like he got more than he bargained for.

“I’m a medical doctor, I know the symptoms, and I don’t have them. You said it yourself, my vitals are fine, there’s no swelling.”

“Ma’am, you know very well that a hemorrhage might not present until—”

“It’s Doctor,” she says icily. “And if I have symptoms, I’ll go to the hospital. Until then, I’m refusing medical treatment beyond a cursory physical exam.”

The other guy looks pointedly at the blood smears on the carpet, then toward Mulder, as if to ask for help.

But Scully is looking at him, too, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Daring him. He opens his mouth to take the dare, to tell her to go to the damned hospital because she would demand the same of him, but something in her eyes holds him back. Her posture is strong, but there’s a subtle tremble in her chin that gives it away.

He, too, softens in the face of her fire.

“It’s uhh, it’s OK guys,” he mutters. “We’ll take it from here.”

Bernard blinks. “Agent Mulder, with all due respect—“

“She said she’s fine,” he says, his tone sharp, though his eyes don’t leave his partner.

The other man presses his lips in a line and begins re-packing his bag, muttering something about the loonies at Hegal Place. Mulder sees the paramedics out, letting the door slam just a little too hard, all the while thinking he is a lunatic for letting them go.

He comes back to find her buttoning up her shirt, reaching for her jacket.

“Do you want to get cleaned up—“

“Home,” she says, frowning at the floor. “I want to go home.”

There’s a pause. She won’t look at him, won’t meet his eye.

“Right,” he swallows, “I, uh…I’ll drive.”

He steals glances at the passenger seat as he maneuvers the car through darkening streets. Scully rolls her head on her neck and stares out the window, diminished in her silence. She’s distant, set apart; something vital inside her has torn but doesn’t bleed. Padgett’s psychic surgeon failed to seize her heart, but he’s taken something else in its stead.

When he reaches over to take her hand, she doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge him, but the bones of her fingers hold fast to his, reflexive in their icy grip.

Her apartment is cool and smells like her; vanilla and cinnamon, familiar and exotic. Her voice is drawn and husky when she speaks.

“I’m going to shower. Help yourself.”

He does. He makes tea because he knows where she keeps it—third cupboard from the left, middle shelf, next to the honey. He finds the kettle, puts the water on to boil, and tries not to think about the blood (her blood) congealing on the floor of his apartment.

He finds a lemon in the back of the fridge, the contents of which are similar to his own—heavy on the condiments, a lone half-gallon of milk, carrots in the crisper whose stalks have wilted to gray-green dust.

When was the last time one of us ate a meal that didn’t come wrapped in foil?

There’s the creak of the floorboards as she moves about on the other side of the kitchen wall, the groan of the building’s pipes as the shower comes on; the bedroom door is ajar, and soon steam wafts from within, fragrant and humid.

They’ve spent the last six years living side by side in adjoined motel rooms, but she never leaves the door open.

He takes a seat on the couch to wait, tipping his head back into the cushions. His mind goes back to Padgett, the last of his fatal novel’s pages curling in the ashes…

…the things he wrote about her.

He rubs at his eyes, exhales sharply.

She’s a grown woman. You’re not her keeper.

Keeper.

The couch is soft, the running water is white noise, and sleep teases the edge of his consciousness.

Keeper. Keep her.

There’s a scream, a forlorn wail that wakes him with a start; he’s on his feet before his eyes can adjust to the darkened room, stumbling blindly toward the source.

“Scully? Scully!”

The forgotten kettle pops and hisses on the stove; he rushes over to shut off the burner. He’s dimly aware the scream came from the kettle, not his partner, but his pulse doesn’t believe it. They live in a world where the sick imaginings of a lonely man can come to life and kill you, after all.

Was she lonely, too?

He leans back against the counter, blinking, trying to ignore the feeling of dread coiled in the pit of his stomach. Something feels off. The refrigerator hums and chuckles at his side, there’s the tick of a clock from across the room, but otherwise, the apartment is quiet…

The shower isn’t running.

His hand goes to his holster on instinct as he makes his way to the bedroom. There’s no sign of her, save for her ruined shirt, a spilled pool of sullied cotton on the floor.

“Scully?” his voice comes out as a whisper. He feels like a trespasser.

The bathroom door is also open, bleeding light onto the plush carpet. He creeps to the threshold, listening for movement. She should be toweling off, maybe brushing her hair, applying one of those god-awful green mask things to her face—anything but heavy silence.

Seconds tick by in an agonizing crawl, but there is only the sound of his breathing. He feels himself raise the gun before he realizes he’s going to do it, and swings his body into the doorway, tasting tin and salt on the back of his tongue.

Oh. Oh…

She’s sitting in the shower stall with her back to the door, so still.

Her hair is a dark brown stain down her back, her skin a shimmering pearl silhouette. He can see the upper half of her tattoo at the base of her spine, a haze of reds and blues through the mottled glass.

So very, very still.

Oh God, not again…

He’ll find her blood on the floor, her still-beating heart in her hand…

Her shoulders shudder and tense, her head tips forward, and he is baptized in relief.

“Scully,” he breathes, lowering the gun.

A thready gasp as her head snaps around, and he glimpses the slope of her nose, the pink in her cheek, the subtle furrow in her brow, delicate as a watercolor portrait. The sight takes his breath.

“Mulder?”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean…I thought you were…that he—” he says, tripping over his words as he tries to gather his wits.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she sighs, her voice as bruised as her ribs. A million sarcastic responses perch on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them like medicine. She doesn’t stand, doesn’t make an attempt to cover herself.

“I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute,” she repeats when he doesn’t leave. He’s fixed in place, irrationally terrified she’ll fade away if he can’t see her.

Don’t let her out of your sight.

He recalls the way her fingers wouldn’t let go until they’d parked at the curb, the confusion and fear in her eyes when he’d disentangled them.

Not fine. Not this time.

He turns in a half-circle and lowers himself to the floor with a grunt, his back pressed to the shower. “No can do,” he says. “I’m under strict orders from the boss to keep an eye on you tonight.”

“Oh? I don’t think this is what Skinner had in mind,” she mutters, but she doesn’t ask him to leave.

“You know me, Scully. I follow orders.”

She snorts. He imagines he can feel her shivering through the glass. The tile floor is hard and cold, the warmth from the steam has dissipated, but their silence is comfortable. He thinks of the tea water cooling on the stove, the lemon shrinking in its paper skin, her heart thudding against her ribs like a prisoner seeking escape—

“Do you fear death, Mulder?”

Only when you don’t answer your phone.

He swallows, stalling. “Have we had this conversation?” 

“I asked if you’d ever thought about dying, not if you feared it—there’s a difference.”

“If we’re going to argue semantics, you should put some clothes on,” he quips. “We’ll be here all night.”

He hears her shift behind him, imagines he can feel the plane of her back pressed against his own, the steady beat of her heart like a bird fluttering against his right shoulder. She’ll wait; she’s strong enough to wait forever, if that’s what it takes. He sighs in surrender.

“I fear dying without knowing the truth...without closure,” he admits, dancing lightly around the whole of it; that she is as much a part of his unfinished business as any conspiracy. What lies between them is a spirit he can only glimpse in his peripheral vision; when he confronts it head on, it disappears.

He’s come too close to meeting her ghost tonight.

There’s a smile in her voice. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You got me. I’m predictable,” he says, casting a glance behind him. He can see the milk-white skin of her back, a dark curl of auburn hair kissing the slope of her neck. He turns away and coughs, unsettled at the intimacy. “Do you? Fear death, I mean.”

“Spiritually, no,” she says softly, “but on an instinctual level, I do. I think what I fear more is the threat, and how the constant threat changes us, more than the act of dying itself.”

He frowns, chews at his lip. “I don’t follow…”

Another pause, longer this time. He bites at the edge of his cuticle until it’s raw.

“I love this job,” she whispers. “We’ve given so much to this…this work, and I accepted the risks. But sometimes…” she pauses, there’s a soft click in her throat when she swallows. The quiet draws itself around them, and he grows still as stone, as if any movement might frighten her back to the hollow place she found in the car. When she finally speaks, her words are curiously detached and small, like a child’s.

“Sometimes I don’t like what it’s made me.”

“And what’s that?” he asks, closing his eyes, unsure if he’s ready to hear it. The irony isn’t lost on him, that for all his seeking, some truths are better left unfound.

“You learn to assume the worst of people. And when you don’t, when you’re foolish enough to let your guard down…” she trails off again with a shaky breath. “…Well. Here I am.”

“You had no way of knowing Padgett was going to end it like this.”

“Didn’t I?” she says, and the bitterness in the question makes him wince. “As investigators, we’re trained to rely on our instincts, yet I ignored everything mine were telling me—everything you were telling me—against good reason.”

“You didn’t know—“

“I did. And why? To become the object of a sad man’s perverted fantasy? As if I were as lonely as he wrote me,” she scoffs, and he hears her nails kiss the shower floor.

He tips his head back, feels the plates of his skull meet the cool glass wall, heavy with the weight of her unrest. In a moment of striking clarity, he understands that this isn’t the first time she’s sat like this, walled in glass and berating herself for some self-perceived failure, but it’s the first time she’s let him bear witness.

He doesn’t know whether to feel touched or guilty, but the guilt is an old friend, so he lets it in. Part of him wants to leave, grab his jacket off the back of the couch and run. Every time she gives a piece of herself, it makes it that much harder to look at her as a friend, and not something more.

But it’s too late; she’s talking, her words gaining momentum. An object in motion stays in motion, and he isn’t strong enough to stop her.

“Do you know what they say about ‘Mrs. Spooky’ when they think I’m not listening? That I bring it on myself,” she says, a grating whisper. “That I must be a masochist to stay, to do what we do…or…” she trails off.

Or you wouldn’t come back to me, he thinks, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I do the job because being an Agent is part of who I am. But it’s also the reason I can’t remember what it’s like to be…to be just…Dana.”

He swallows dust, numbly nods an assent she can’t see, and listens. He remembers as a boy, the pain of a blister under his thumbnail, how his father showed him to use a screw to make a hole and let out the blood. She’s doing it now, her words as honed and meticulous as a drill bit against supple flesh.

“These men, these creatures...they never really die. They follow me home every night, and I can only thank God that I’m strong enough to withstand living with them. I wish I could say the same for their victims.

“But I’ll never have that…that simple, unwavering faith, that at the end of the day, the world is a better place for what we do,” she whispers, her voice low and thready and ready to break. “I just know I have to do it. There’s no other choice.”

He closes his eyes and wonders when she became as brittle as him; if the change happened slowly, over the course of weeks and months, measured over miles and cases, or if this is the definitive moment, and she’ll emerge from her glass chrysalis a new creature, a changed thing.

Six years have graced him with a multitude of useless facts about his partner. He knows how she takes her coffee, her favorite shade of lipstick, and that she eats the yogurt with the pollen so she can justify the extra doughnut he’ll buy at lunch.

He knows that when they’re on a case and she can’t sleep, she’ll visit his motel room to share leftover pizza and watch noir films, and she cries at the sad parts when she thinks he’s not looking.

He knows she colors her hair, because her natural strawberry blonde waves are beautiful, and beauty doesn’t intimidate the good ol’ boys at the Bureau the way a glossy burnt auburn can.

But he’ll never know the person she was before she met him, before their truths became irrevocably entangled. Their physical losses were great, but the scars they can’t see are the ones that linger, and she is marked by him—partners until the very end.

He wants to know when she realized she couldn’t turn back.

As the silence draws itself around them, he knows there is nothing he can offer. She’s drawn her line in the sand and crossed it every time. All he can do is wait for her on the other side.

She has faith and science; he has her.

“Scully?” he says softly, when enough time has passed, when his legs are pins and needles, and the thought of her naked on the cold tile is hurting his sense of New-England-bred chivalry.

“Yeah?”

“My ass hurts.”

She barks a laugh into the narrow stall, but it works. He hears her movement, the door sliding open behind him with a metallic groan. He gets up, careful to keep his back to the shower, even though they’re past any pretense of modesty.

He coughs, rubbing at his thighs to wake them from their prickly sleep. “I made some tea, we could order pizza and watch one of those romantic comedy things you—“

The sob is barely there. He turns without thinking, searching her face, glancing over her nakedness to see through it. She’s standing on the bathmat, eyes downcast, water and salt mixing on the linoleum. The bruise along her side blossoms under her ribs like a black peony.

He reaches for a towel and wraps it around her shoulders, interrupting their careful, sympathetic orbits in an embrace. Her skin is ice, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Another sob, but this one catches in the fabric of his shirt as he pulls her close. Soon his nose damp with the scent of her shampoo.

“You have every right to be angry, Scully,” he soothes at her temple, with a protective ferocity that surprises them both. “But only with them. Not yourself. Never yourself.”

Her breath is sharp, shuddering, and he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. He doesn’t know if “them” refers to the suits at the Bureau or their indomitable superiors or the citizens of Reticula or God himself. He breathes against her, tightens his grip, decides, fuck ‘em all.

She sniffs, and he can feel the heat of her pressed to him, bare, little more than a damp t-shirt between them. It takes all his effort to let go when she pulls away, and he averts his eyes as she wraps herself in the towel.

She tucks a lock of red-burned hair behind her ear, a nervous habit. “I’m sorry, I, um—”

“If I were a lesser man, Scully,” he whispers drily, and her sudden laughter is bubbling and warm, a salve to their shared wounds.

She tips her face to his, one eyebrow in a slender arc, her eyes damp and wry. “A lesser man, Mulder? What are you implying?”

Her closeness, coupled with the subtle innuendo, catches him off guard. He’s suddenly terrified she might kiss him, more terrified because he would let it happen, a wonderful and dangerous thought.

Something ethereal whispers at the edge of his mind’s eye, and he resists the urge to check the back of her neck for bees.

Instead, he takes a step backwards, toward the door. “I’ll, uh, wait outside. Pizza?”

“No peppers this time,” she agrees, turning away, showing him the line of her back, her shoulders squared. He watches a drop of water roll down the gentle arch of her spine, absorbed by the edge of the towel. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He makes it to the threshold, but can’t resist; has her pull always been this strong? He turns, watches her reflection, a ghost coming to life in the mirror.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

For coming back. For staying.

He opens his mouth to say it, but in the end, what he wants to say and what he’ll allow himself to say are two different things.

He shrugs. “For…leaving the door open, I guess.”

Her smile is faint, but genuine; enough for now.

The spirit catches his eye and fades away.

[hellsfirekeepsyouwarm]

Commander (All Hell Breaks Loose)

Hello everyone, finally i got this done. It's been forever and i developed an obsession with Graves in the process of writing this. What can i say, i like the bad guys. This is for the Graves fans :)

This is a sequel/prequel to All Hell Breaks Loose Series, before Reader became a member of 141. In this Reader is an active member of the Shadow Company, taking place about 2-3 years before the series plot. BUT you can read this as a standalone, no need to know the plot of the series :) let me know if ya'll want more Graves content.

Philip Graves x F!Reader

Warnings: p in v, no protection (ya'll know the rules), cream pie, finger work (can't write down the other word) language, blood, slight sub+dom dynamic, not proofread, literally filthy

Summary: You are itching to get out of the car after a long day, and a way longer drive with your Commander's eyes set on you the whole time.

All Hell Breaks Loose Masterlist

Blood is sticking to your dirt coated skin, mixing with sweat and God knows what else. The car is too crowded, you have breathed in the air the other men breathed out. At this point, you don't care. You don't care about the disgusting clothes you are trapped in, neither the uncomfortable close contact with the person's bodies next to you. The only thing - or you would say person - you care about is sitting in the farthest seat away from you, eyes locked firmly on you, in the same state as you. He has a big cut on his cheek towards his right ear, but a huge fucking grin on his face. That damn grin is enough for you to forgot every damn bullet you shot, every little scrape and bruise.

You are itching, too restless for the last ten minute of this agonizing car ride. Base isn't that far now, but it feels like ages. Years until you can have his lips on your before literally blow up from the tension in between your legs. He is your fucking end.

Vance is talking your ear off, he's been doing that the whole ride. He has that adrenaline rush in his system working override, just as you, but damn he needs to shut up before you elbow him in the jaw. He's leaning close, you hear him, but do not understand a single word. You smile back at Philip, not caring who's seeing the fucking obvious pull to each other, and hell they probably already know he's fucking you.

When the car halts in the garage, you jump out like it was lit on fire, leaving a dumbfounded Vance behind who realized you wasn't listening the whole time, the team's laugh echoing back to you as they bicker with each other, not caring for your immediate leave.

Graves is hot on your trail, not fast enough to catch up to you, just to have the view to himself. Your body heavy with all the gear strapped on you, gun in your hands, braided hair messy with loose strands sticking out, soaked with your sweat and someones's blood. At least he hopes that it's not your blood.

The sway of your hips is still visible under all the protective clothing, and you might or might not play into it a little bit knowing he's right behind you.

You think you are so freaking discreet, but anyone who sees you chased by the Commander will know right away what's about to go down. But no one would ever bring it up, or question it. Not with Philip.

You body is burning from his stare, a smile plastered on you, full of pride and lust and everything beyond from the mission, from his apparent and steady steps close, hot on your heels, and from what he'll do when he catches you.

You practically tear down your door to your room. The room you have the privilege to even occupy, but if you think about it, this is the least for the right hand of the Commander, right?

You only manage to discard the bulletproof vest from your torso before Phil barges through the wide open door, swinging it behind his back, eyes never leaving your form. The door is shut by his back with a loud bang when you collide with him. Lips already hungrily tasting his, smelling gunpowder, sweat and iron. All that with his own unique scent is making you feral, your primal part reacting to it without faltering.

He groans into your mouth, hands grabbing your ass with an iron grip, pushing your groin to his, the bulge in his pants forces a gasp out of you, giving him the access to slide his tongue next to yours, fighting for dominance you can't match. But you'll try.

"You want this cock, don't you baby'?" He whispers into your mouth, hands trying to find a way under your shirt, fumbling with your cargo pants.

"Uhum.." You mumble, head foggy from his cold hands around your waist, his hips constantly rocking against you creating a growing pressure in the pit of your stomach.

"Uh-uh, try that again." He stops, switching to his work voice, grabbing your chin forcing you to look at him, into his eyes full of confidence. Demanding and irrefutable. Fingers digging into your soft skin, he can feel your jawbone perfectly in his hand, fitting too well to the tip of his fingers.

"Yes sir." You croak. You comply, earning the rocking motion back from his hips, an urgent small kiss planted on your lips before he retreats to take of his own vest. You help him with one hand, the other you use to search for skin, just a small touch because you know you don't have the luxury to have him fully naked tonight.

You catch a glimpse of your weapons right at the door when his vest hits the ground next to them, the weapons you should have returned back to the armory right away. But who the fuck cares when the boss himself didn't do it, right? No one cares if it's him, no one dares to care.

Now it's his turn to push you back, your lips stuck in his teeth, his rough chuckle music to your ears as he earns several moans from your throat. He takes this few steps to undo his belt, letting it hang lazily out of the waistband.

He guides you until your ass bumps into your desk, several papers fly off of it, his hardness grazing the insides of your thighs when he lift you up to sit on the desk. "You look so fucking beautiful right now, fuck me." He growls, leaving your mouth to suck on any available soft spot on your neck, enjoying the veins pulsing under his lips.

"You waited for this all day, huh? Is that right? Tell me." He commands again. You have to talk unless you want to be left there hanging, with so much pain in your core for him.

"Yes." You breath out, giving him more access to your neck, his teeth leaving aching marks soothed with his soft tongue after. The desk slams into the wall as he rocks his hips again and again, and it makes an awfully loud noise. And he's not even inside you yet.

"Yes what?" Fucking hell. "Yes, sir."

"Atta girl."

"I want you." You say, barely above a whisper, already lost in the building up ecstasy of him.

"How? Use your pretty voice, don't go shy on me now." He retreats from your neck, admiring his handiwork from afar, and you whine a little before you feel his hand around your belt. You nod repeatedly showing him how much you approve of his action. Your eyes flicker down. "Eyes up here angel. I asked something."

Oh yes, what was it?

"Fuccccck." You moan, furious with his teasing. "I want you inside me. Have me, fuck me, love me."

"I know, fuck i knew right away when you looked back on the field. You fluttered those pretty lashes at me with a big fuckin grin on your lips. You were already soaking wet..." He halts for a moment just to shove down his hands in your pants, to your folds, so slick his fingers slide perfectly down to your opening. His eyes flicker, lips parted with a sigh. "...just like right now."

His fingers got lost in your slick folds, thumb pressing and circling on your heat with such a force that the knot in your stomach pulls your insides towards that particular place he assaults. So deliciously slow put persistent, using the right amount of pressure that's quickens your already rapid breathing.

You don't catch on your movements that comes so naturally,just when his other hand stops your hips from grinding against his fingers, shooting you a disapproving look. He can act all tough and rough, but his flushed face, heavy eyelids over his lustfull eyes are a telltale sign of his very own need for you. It's not a want anymore, it's pure and addictive need. Need for a fix of each other like it's the best, mindblowing drug you every used.

He brings you back every couple of seconds with a new sensation from your haze, now two finger steadily pushing in and out of you, feral for more, you grab onto his upper arm, a way of grounding you and maybe grounding him too. "Don't play with me, Commander."

He fucking loves it. The way you keep authority for him while he fucks you is a high for him itself, his cock twitching in his pants, desperate to break free. You can feel it against your thigh, making you smirk, a smug one that will surely fuck with his brain.

"So fucking ready for me, eh?" God bless him for using his free hand to struggle down your pants, with the steady pounding and curling of his fingers in you. Sometime grazing over the sensitive bud to keep you on the edge, but not push you over it. "And needy too."

He looks his best like this, undressing you, pleasuring you with the most satisfied face you every witnessed. No successful gunfight, smooth mission, or the smell of new money could sooth his burdened features like you giving your all.

His finger slips out, a frustrated laugh leaving his lips. He literally drags the pants of off you, underwear somewhere gone with it. You spread your legs wide as soon as the clothing is gone, cold air hitting the wetness around your pussy, inner thighs and ass is dripping from his messy fingering. He steps back, looking so lost in thought, consuming the image of you, loss of words. Then the switch in his head jolts him awake, tearing his own clothing down just enough to free his length, wasting no time to meet your cunt with a grunt, the warmth of your slick turning him into putty in your hands. Muscles releasing the tension held in for god knows how long, weight leaning on you for support. It's his time to get lost in the moment, your hands gently running through his hair, enjoying this side of him until it lasts. The quiet and vulnerable him that's so rare sight, non-existent to others. Pride swells in your chest, knowing it's you who have the privilege to have his trust in you to be this comfortable.

You are so tempted to just snake your fingers around his cock, to guiding him inside of your cunt. You would die to see his face turn into a frown, mad that he isn't the one setting the tone, the one leading the course of events. Oh he would flip on you, and that it what makes this much more interesting.

"Uh-uh, don't even think about it sugar." You hand is stopped midway by his calloused fingers, sinking roughly into your arm but soft on the skin. He leans in close, his dick moving with him slightly creating a delicious friction on your clit that makes you moan so loud in the tense room. "I thought you knew better."

"I wasn't thinking." You voice is muffled by his sloppy kiss, all teeth and saliva, oppressive against your own willingness to surrender.

"I can tell." It's true, you are brainless when he is this close to fill you up, the only thing mattering is him still torturing you when he should be pounding into you by now.

"The only thing on my mind is why the hell aren't you fucking me?"

You utter with low voice, yelping right at the end from the pressure of his hand at your neck, the force of his grab faintly smacking your head to the wall behind you. There he is.

"Language! You are speaking to your superior, soldier!" His growl is predatory, your body reacting to his antagonistic action is beyond sick, but it's fuel to your fire at this point. The pressure on both side of your neck increasing, cutting off oxygen just the right amount to send you into a blisslike state, eyes rolling back, your orgasm growing tremendously in the pit of your stomach.

The ecstasy doesn't stop there, soon you feel him distance himself from your entrance just to push in with full force, there is no agonizing taunt in his movements, just pure power in his hips clashing to yours.

His hand never leaves your neck, releasing and pressing at the right moments, his dick filling you painfully good with hard thrusts. The amount of energy put to his body just to fuck you senseless is inhuman, while your drive is enough for a faint moan through gritted teeth and a dead grip on his upper arm.

"That's what you like, huh? Cockdrunk, needy for me to fill you up still covered in the blood of our enemies?" You remember him talking like this the first time, confused from why are you so turned by his words, forgetting to utter anything that makes sense, mouth hanged open.

There is in fact blood on both of you, none of it is yours. The blood on the cut on his face has dried before you stepped out of the car, and that cannot make this much mess on your uniforms. It's intoxicating.

"Yeah look at it. You are so fucking turned on. Oh. My. God." You were ashamed and embarrassed by it at the beginning, but now you just nod drunkenly, eyes jumping between the blood stains and his eyes watching your every reaction to his remarks. That is his turn on. How your behavior changes every second from everything he inflicts on you. His voice, his touch let that be harsh or gentle, his movements and actions, how much you can see or feel. And when you smile under his choking palm, clench around his cock, squeezing so sweetly he has to slow down so he will last longer, he's so gone. It's his personal drug. The burden and adrenaline of battle mixing with clear pleasure like the colors on marble. He can pick out and grab every feeling, taste them separately, but together it's the real fucking deal, overwhelming almost.

"Can i touch myself?" You ask, more like plead, the apparent but rarely enough friction on your clit is killing you, knowing the drag of his hips every 2-3 thrust is for that reason, to make you go batshit crazy. It's fucking working.

There is doubt on his features, contemplating before nodding his head in a clear motion. His gaze trails the way your fingers smoothly linger on your breast sliding slowly over your bellybutton to the place where your body needs the pressure. It seems like you aren't the only one filled with a long awaited bliss, Phil's body trembles when your fingers starts to work on yourself with a delicate touch, thrusts becoming unrushed, concentrating on your ragged breathing and hips drawing luscious circles on his length. It's a way for to get him move into you again, pushing your pelvic just to being held back by his hand. A pathetic whine leaves your lips earning an ear to ear grin from him.

"Ask for it sugar, you know how this works." Yes you do, but your whole being wants to defy him, and take from him not ask for it. You feel your high so close, so close that you couldn't stop now, won't let the pace die down. But he will, he will deny the peak from you if it means he can the double it later, and at the end he's always right. Now you just don't have the patience.

"Please. Please move." Voice high pitched out low on volume does it for him, giving you what you want. The fast pace and powerful jolt of his body into you is like electricity hitting you, the patience you lack is now dissolved from him, chasing his own release mercilessly.

The sound of the small slaps of skin against skin fills the room alongside with your grunts and moans. Your head and back rhythmically bumps to the wall with Phil's dick burying itself deep in you, hitting that oh so fucking sweet spot more often now as Philip positioned your legs higher. It's devastatingly beautiful, the whole experience stinks from the dirt and blood and your all day long sweat, but mostly the best sex you ever had in your life. You want to kiss him, suck on his tongue earning those unholy growls he usually makes, but your body is too overpowered, used and pleasured simultaneously.

"Inside me." You grunt, a hiccup like sound interrupting your words as your back hits the wall again. His gaze shots up to your face from the place where you become one, eyes laced with fog of everything happening at the moment. He's always looks lost and zoned out when he's close. "Please cum inside me." You repeat oppressing the weakness in your voice.

"Music to my ears." He smiles widely before returning his eyes back to your hands dictating a crazy rhythm on your clit, already feeling the climax numbing the back of your head, hearing the rush of blood in your ears. With every little vibrating circle on your bud you breath out a whine, making Phil switch from fast to hard, hitting your core so perfectly you come around him screaming.

Eyes roll back to your head, trying to keep yourself still on the desk while your body shakes with the full force of your orgasm, fingers numb over your sensitive clit, thinking you'll have a freaking seizure if you touch yourself again.

"Don't fucking stop now Darlin'." Graves pushes your hand out of the way, harshly pressing his thumb down earning a second wave of ecstasy destroy you, and that's all he needs to spill inside of you, grunting with smaller and smaller thrust, filling you up like never before.

You wished you could have seen him, but your mind went black and nothing could make you focus on anything else than your cunt squeezing everything out of him.

Your body shakes every time his thumb takes a lazy drag over your clit, you wonder how he manages to even move an inch after all this. All you can hear is his breaths,- vulnerably loud and rapid - coming closer, feeling his forehead buried in you chest. You stay there for a few moments, both of you regaining, trying to send signals to your limbs, but it's pretty fucking obvious you won't use them today anymore.

Philip has more presence of mind, hearing him shuffle and grumble while he slowly pulls out, and you wished he would have waited a couple of minute to pull yourself together. You hiss at the sudden emptiness, which he tries to soothe with gentle slides if his fingers on your fold, the remains of your orgasm still shocking your body.

"Fuck me." His raspy voice is scratching your ears, only that charging your battery up again, awakening what lead you to this bedroom at the first place. When you open your eyes, he's admiring his handiwork, a towel in his hands, pants pulled up loosely, all messy and breathless.

"I just did." You reply soundlessly, voice non-existent. His cheeks burning in a cute pink shade, lips turning upwards in an honest grin, the towel in his hand approaching you slowly.

"I thought it was the other way around." He says making you look up at his blue eyes filled with so much unreadable emotion, averting your attention from the drag of the towel between your thighs, which makes you take a shark breath in, too sensitive even from the breeze of the air.

He leans down to kiss everything away, to soothe your aching body, now gentle and slow, tasting the aftermath on your lips. He takes his time, sucking on your lower lip between open mouthed kisses and pecks planted anywhere his mouth reaches. Sweet, dripping from honey, apologizing for any harsh grab of your hips, sinking fingers that leaves bruises and for the sore muscles you'll surely have the morning.

"We stink." You state nose crunched up from all the smells, mind wandering to a hot long shower session. His laugh vibrates in your mouth, his palms holding your face from both sides to keep you in place for one last kiss on your nose.

"Yeah we do." There is no denying it that you are marinating in an all day long filth. "But fuck you are a sight to see darlin'"

Sometimes you see this look in his eyes that screams love, just like now, his eyes still hungry and filled with satisfaction, planting the seed in your head that he just might love you. He might.