#I know most of you weren’t here since the beginning of this blog

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 84

Page 84

I remember where I was and what I was doing on the night of the 2016 election; it was exactly the same thing that I was doing during this one — trying to work on the next week’s comic page through the overwhelming sense of dread tightening around my throat. I even know what page it was, because like this one it is now forever trauma-etched into my brain.

It was this one, from the beginning of a darkly appropriate plot arc in which the protagonists have been arrested and are awaiting an unfair trial by their corrupt government. I was inking that night and before I went to bed I posted the lineart that second panel on its own to my tumblr blog because that message, “I can’t promise it will be all right, because I honestly don’t know if it will. All we can do is wait, and be brave,” was all I had to offer.

So I’ll do what I did then and keep making this thing I’m creating out of love, week by week, in the hope that it’s bringing joy and hope and comfort to whoever needs it. I love you all. <3

Chronologically I think I meant for this to be some weeks after they moved into their cabin. Laudna has added some character to the place by sewing patches onto the blankets and painting the plain white dishware they bought at that general store. Imogen’s cup is blue with stars on it and Laudna’s is red with rat feet prints.

Also here it is, the first appearance of the nightgown described in Remember Us:

The sight of it makes Imogen smile slightly, remembering how much Laudna had loved that threadbare thing. After a lifetime of the itchy wool and scratchy linen of northern Exandria, she had been absolutely delighted by the easy availability of cotton fabrics in Marquet. In a general store they had found a bolt of soft cotton cambric used for making handkerchiefs and baby clothes, and she had been unable to stop running her hands over it, to the consternation of the proprietor. They had bought a few yards and she’d made a blouse for Imogen and a nightgown for herself. It’s frayed around the cuffs now from constant wear, the seams mended under the arms and one elbow patched, but it’s only gotten softer with time. She remembers keenly the feeling of it between their bodies in bed at night.

(You can even see the bolt of fabric back on page 80.)

I think her OG outfit is probably linen, judging by the slightly crinkly texture of it in her official level 3 artwork, and the fact that she came by it in Tal’Dorei in What Doesn’t Break. Cotton grows natively in the warm climates that inspired Marquet (the Middle East and, as of C3, the American South) so it’s probably what most of Imogen’s clothes are made of, but it has to be imported to northern Europe (so, Tal’Dorei) so a finely-woven cotton material like cambric especially would seem like a luxury to Laudna.

Her nightclothes and underthings are white in disregard of her ~aesthetic~ for the same reason that Lulu’s are in Guardian; dark or brightly-dyed undergarments weren’t really a thing historically (for practicality, since undyed fabrics were the easiest to wash and also it didn’t make sense to spend money on dye for something not meant to be seen, and the not-unfounded belief that the dye would be absorbed into the skin; before the invention of synthetic dyes a lot of them were toxic) with the exception of a time during the mid 19th century when red flannel undergarments were considered healthy. (Which I will probably talk about on a later page since matching red flannel pajamas are a point of interest in Come In From the Cold.) And she dresses like a 19th century lady so she would absolutely wear a nightgown that makes her look like a Victorian ghost.

[anti-dazai-blog]

On the one hand- I’m. exhausted.

On the other hand- I am motivated by pure spite at this point.

*Anon Steve is the general name for all hate anons, although we all know that there’s only one (1) hate anon on Tumblr

[cameronsprincess]

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/drudyslut/739556685075611648

Rafe dating pogue reader and she and her (maybe she still lived with her family too) are moving houses/apartments and she’s like “rafe will you help me/us move?” And he’s like “sure?” And after moving boxes and furniture all day he’s like “I’m never letting you move stuff again. I’ll just pay someone. This was too much work” and then one of the first things they do once she makes her bed with sheets and blankets is fuck...

he’s such a cutie, willing to help then later on saying “yeah fuck this next time i’m paying someone”

CW: smut! 18+ established relationship, rafe’s a lil sweetie but also whiny bc manual labor, unprotected sex, praise.

note: this has been in the drafts since January (LMAO) and idk if i even like it but here ya go. likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

You’d been waiting on this day for so long. Finally getting to move out of your parent’s house, and live on your own. You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t going to miss them, of course you were, but living on your own meant getting to do whatever, whenever. It also meant you could have your boyfriend over whenever you wanted without the fear of your parents coming home and interrupting whatever it was you and Rafe were doing.

Your parents weren’t too fond of the idea of you dating a Kook. The Kook prince at that. But they didn’t know Rafe like you did, no one did. Not even your friends understood your infatuation with the eldest Cameron child. But not even the snide remarks and insults your friends and family made about Rafe made you leave. You loved him. And he loved you.

You’re sitting on your bed, swinging your feet back and forth as your eyes scan the length of your childhood bedroom. Boxes are scattered all around the room, the walls bare from removing all of your pictures and posters. You finally had everything packed, and now, all you needed to do was get moved into your new apartment.

Pulling your phone from the back pocket of your shorts, you pull up Rafe’s contact, pressing call and placing the phone between your shoulder and face. It rings once. Twice. And finally, he answers.

“Hey baby, what’s up?”

You smile. “Hi, Rafe. I was wondering if you could come help me? I have all my shit packed, but no way to get it moved into my new apartment.”

There’s a long pause. His silence making you wonder why it’s taking him so long to make up his mind. You are his girlfriend after all, he should want to help you.

He finally speaks after a beat of silence. “Sure, princess. I’ll be over in thirty.”

Your smile widens. “Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, princess.”

You hang up the phone, deciding you could use a quick snack before he arrives, and making your way into the kitchen.

-

Thirty minutes later you’re lying in your bed, scrolling through TikTok when you hear a knock on the front door. Smiling to yourself at Rafe’s arrival, you hop out of bed and make your way to the door and swing it open.

“Hi, princess.” Rafe says, the smile you love so much gracing his face.

You step into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. “Hi, handsome. Thank you for coming to help me.”

His hands grip at your hips, pushing you back so his blue eyes are on yours. His eyes scan the length of your face for a minute before he speaks. “Of course. I’d do anything for you, baby.”

You can’t contain the wide smile that spreads across your face, butterflies explode in your stomach at how sweet Rafe was with you. Letting out a content sigh, you grab his right hand and begin pulling him into the house and to your bedroom where all of your stuff was.

“Okay, so I really just need help with my bed, dresser, and desk. I can fit most everything else in my car, and your backseats…”

Rafe exhales deeply, his eyes slightly widened when he looks over the expanse of your room. He brings his left hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Fuck. I should have just hired someone to do this.” He says admittedly.

You frown. “Baby, if you don’t wanna help I can always call JJ and John-”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. I’m going to help you baby, you just have… A lot more than I remembered. I guess it looks like more while packed all up and not placed in its respective places throughout the room..”

You smile up at him. “Yeah I guess so. I really don’t have all that much..”

Rafe dips his head down toward yours, placing his lips on yours softly. “I love you. Let’s get you moved.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “Oh, and never say you’ll call those fucking pogues to help you out again. As long as you have me, you have my help, and I don’t want you hanging around them more than you already do..”

-

Three hours, and many boxes and pieces of furniture later, you and Rafe had finally gotten all of your stuff moved into your new apartment. The two of you are laid in your bed, his right arm tucked under your waist while his left is draped over the top of your waist. His left hand rubs slowly up and down your side, his face buried in your neck as he whispers softly against your skin. “I love you, but never again. Next time you move, I’m hiring people to do that shit.”

You giggle, turning onto your side so you’re face to face with him. “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to help baby, but I’m happy you did.”

He tightens both of his arms around your waist and rolls onto his back, bringing your body with him so you’re laid on top of him. You place both of your palms on his chest, pushing yourself up so you’re straddling his hips.

His hands rest on your hips, his fingertips lightly scraping at the exposed skin of your sides, a trail of goosebumps rising. “Will you stop that?”

You frown. “Stop what?”

“Acting like I hate helping you. I don’t.”

Sighing, you say. “I know you don’t hate helping me, Rafe. But I know you didn’t enjoy that.”

He smirks. “I didn’t. But you know what I will enjoy?”

The feel of his cock hardening beneath you has you gasping. You playfully smack his chest. “Rafe Cameron. You’re such a horny bastard.”

His darkened over eyes find yours as his smirk widens. His fingers dig into your hips, pressing your clothed pussy into his now hard cock. “Only for you, princess.”

A squeal comes from your lips when he lifts his body, tossing your back onto the freshly made bed. He grabs at the hem of his black T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head and tossing it to your bedroom floor. Your hands fly to his defined abdomen, running your nails down the soft, yet hard skin.

“You wanna play, baby?” He asks, his voice is low and raspy, making arousal pool into your panties.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding your head as your eyes find his.

He smiles widely, quickly popping the button of your denim shorts before working the zipper and sliding the fabric down your legs. He moves to your shirt next, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor with his shirt and your shorts.

You’re left in nothing but a red, lace set. Rafe’s eyes take in your entire body, making you squirm underneath his stare. “Rafe.” You breathe out. “Please, touch me.”

He smiles widely, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties and sliding the lace fabric down your legs. His fingers dance across the skin of your lower belly, making a shiver run through your body and your breath hitch in your throat.

He runs his fingers down the expanse of your stomach and down to your inner thighs. His fingers brush across your aching clit and your hips buck upward. He begins sliding his fingers slowly through your wet folds, gathering your arousal on his fingers before he removes them and brings them to his lips. You watch in awe as he sucks on his index and middle fingers.

He hums in appreciation. “So wet, so sweet… And all mine.”

You watch as he quickly strips himself of his khaki shorts, leaving him in a pair of black boxers. Your right hand goes to palm his hard-on through his boxers, pulling a low groan from his throat.

“So fuckin’ needy, baby.”

He slides his boxers down his legs and his hard cock springs free, pre-cum already leaking from the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight of his long and thick cock.

Rafe firmly grips the base of his cock, stroking it softly before he lines himself with your entrance. He slides his swollen tip through your soaked folds and you whimper, hips bucking wildly with need for him to be inside you.

He slowly pushes the head in, pulling a soft moan from your lips. He grins, pushing more of himself inside your wet cunt. He groans when he finally pushes all the way inside, your warm inner walls clenching around him tightly. “Feels so fuckin’ good baby, fuck! I’ll never get enough of this sweet pussy.”

You whine when he slowly pulls himself back. His right hand grabs at your left leg, lifting it and placing it over his shoulder, allowing him better access to thrust himself in side you. A sharp gasp falls from your lips when he slams himself back inside you, his head hitting that sweet spot inside you.

Finding a good, quick pace, Rafe slams himself in and out of your soaked pussy, the squelching sounds of your cunt and skin slapping skin bounce off the walls of your small bedroom.

You wrap your hands around his waist, pulling him further into your body as he continues his assault on you. “Ffffuck, Rafe! Please! Harder!” You cry out.

A low growl rumbles through his chest, his hips picking up in speed. He harshly slams in and out of you, hitting at your g-spot with each thrust.

“Fuck, baby! ‘M gonna fucking cum all inside this pussy, you want that? Want me to fill your greedy hole up with my cum?”

You whimper, chest rising and falling rapidly as a warmth spreads in your lower belly. Your pussy tightens around his cock, squeezing at him tightly as your release nears.

“Yes! I want all your cum, Rafe! Please!”

You shout out a string of curse words followed by his name, legs shaking uncontrollably as you come undone around him.

He harshly thrusts one more time, his dick twitching inside you as he comes undone right behind you, filling your pussy with his cum.

“Fuck! Such a good fucking girl. My fucking girl” He coos as he thrusts two more times, fucking his cum deep inside you.

He drops your left leg onto the mattress and collapses on top of you, his breathing uneven. He rolls onto his side, wrapping his arms tightly around your body and pulling you into him, leaving a kiss at the top of your head. “I love you, princess.”

You smile, your heavy eyes fluttering. “I love you too, Rafe.”

RAFE TAGLIST: @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @lizcameron @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @digitaldiary111 @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @biggesthat3r

requests masterlist | taglist form

[smuttyaf]

The Camster Couple

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰.

wc: 5k

spanking, choking, degradation and rough sex.

It all started on the blue app with the lowercase ‘t’ in the middle. Posting seductive selfies to revealing videos, you built quite the following from these appearances.

Admirers began requesting specific posts to ache their thirst. First it was particular lingerie sets, then prolonged videos touching yourself, soon it escalated into you role playing for the naughty viewers. Reciting everything the strangers would describe on how they’d like to use and abuse you.

But even after fulfilling all those demands, still came the bombarding questions of wanting more.

The requests to become a cam girl started to pour in. The constant debate down your feed about which website you should join. Maybe Chaturbate or Cherry.tv? No… Those weren’t good enough, but you still had time to ponder the idea.

Doing live shows had its advantages and drawbacks. For one, you’re getting paid to touch yourself, your revealing photos and videos will finally have a price on them. But, that doesn’t overshadow the dispute that your face could possibly be shown for everyone to see. You were fearful that maybe co-workers, friends, or even family might find out. However, the conflicting contrast that made you excited was the option to receive gifts. Followers had the ability of viewing your wishlist on certain cam-sites. It gave them the option to go beyond just tipping the model, but appreciating her even more… honestly that feature alone made you like the idea of doing it. But, the one major obstacle that really hinders your decision is your boyfriend; the one who doesn’t know about your second life.

That’s why you find yourself here right now, lounging together in your bedroom with your teeth grinding in your ear. Your eyes flick towards him when running your finger on the notepad; clicking on the search bar, you immediately type in the link to your blog. The familiar desktop background appears making you scroll through a few post till you turn your laptop towards Harry.

“Look at this.” His attention turns towards you placing it on his thighs.

You gaze at him while his fingers press down on the arrow key to move the screen further. “What do you think?” You ask. Warmth spreading throughout your cheeks as you let your hand rest along your stomach fiddling nervously with your tank top.

“I think you want me in trouble,” Harry smirks. He goes to pass the laptop back however you halt his movements.

With nervous smile adorning your lips, his expression transitions into one of confusing eyes, questioning your behaviour.

“I think you need to look closer.” You insist, finger dragging down the notepad. He scoffs, sight trailing back to the pictures on the fuzzy screen.

Harry doesn’t even listen at first, letting himself look over your unopened tabs that range from PrettyLittleThing to Xvideos. The glimpse of porn sites didn’t faze him, what does are the tabs that read “Most profitable webcams sites?” and “Best webcam site survey.” Bushy brows lock together, his attention going back to the revealing pictures of… hold on, that looks like your lingerie set… and that beauty mark right there belongs too.

His head snaps, mouth opening slightly with chest beginning to rise with nerves. He wants to be upset, wants to shut the laptop and demand answers but the growing bulge in his pants directs him otherwise, because as much as he should be angry right now that his girlfriend of eight months was taking provocative pictures of herself to upload on the internet, he was aroused.

“Since when?” Harry mutters, swallowing hesitantly. His gaze going between you and the picture of your chest displayed on the screen.

The look on his face is giving you anxiety. Heart pounding in its cage. You’re back to biting down on your bottom lip, diverting your attention to the highlighted keys.

“It’s been two years…” You mumble, finding the bottom of your laptop more interesting in this moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrug your shoulders. You didn’t have a reason, you never thought your pictures would blow up and gain so much traction And you never thought you would get bombarding comments about wanting to see more of yourself. You groan, taking your finger away from the machine and running them through your hair, dramatically slouching your body into the bed frame.

“If you want to break up with me I totally understand.” You say, words muffled from your face burying into your crewneck. That makes a hearty laugh leave the brunette, the feeling of his hands gliding up your thigh stirs your head to peek up.

“Baby relax,” He reassures. Blinking at him you nestle deeper into his touch, shifting your body into him as the redness in your face begins to subside.

“You’re not mad?” You question, fiddling with your bottom lip. The thundering in your ear quiets down as you don’t see the angry face of your boyfriend appear. He lets out another light laugh, shaking his head and looking at you in a way that makes you sigh with utter relief.

“I —I’m definitely surprised… and a little upset… I mean you’re my girlfriend and you’ve been posting these but…” He looks between you and the laptop, his lips squeezing into his cheeks before breaking out into a sneaky grin. “You’re so sexy baby, I really can’t be mad.” He reveals, finger pinching your thigh.

The answer causes you to lean forward, arms linking around his shoulders as you press heartfelt kisses across his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry! I know, I know, I should’ve told you but… I was too scared and I’ve been doing this before I met you and… I just didn’t know what you would say,” You rant between kisses, his lips curling into amusement. The warmth of his hands run over your spine comforting you.

“Baby. Relax.” Harry replies, the tone of his voice settling your excited nerves. You quiet down, placing one last kiss on his cheek before looking up at him with shy eyes. “I’m not mad, just wish you told me earlier.” You nod at him pleasantly with smile set on your features.

Your breath draws in slowly with the quiet hum of the laptop sounding in the space. And just like before when you were nervous telling him about your promiscuous account online, you’re back to the bubbling feeling having to tell him the new escapade on your schedule. Clearing your throat, you raise up, licking over your bottom lip and locking your gaze with his.

“I do have one more thing though…”

Harry shakes his head playfully, smirk tugging along his features as he rubs your covered flesh in his palms.

“You want to be a cam girl?” He interjects. Stomach quivers with eyes fluttering in shock, you question were exactly he even got that idea or was it obvious. “It’s in your tabs babe.” Harry continues. Your cheeks go back to burning in embarrassment as you nod your head.

“Yes I want to do that but also…” His brows rise, surprised there is more to the story. “I want to do it with you.”

His features soon resemble yours with burning skin and body shifting under your weight. To your amazement he leans in, lips pressing against yours in a teasing kiss. The racing in your heart relaxes. You really had the best boyfriend in the world.

With the fondness of his lips against yours you pull away, cheerful smile shining as you hum with happiness.

“So… yes?”

Plaid pink skirt with embroidered bralette reflects across the screen as comments fill the message board.

You giggle at the viewers appreciating your half naked appearance. Thanking the many who are tuning in for your first show.

The sound of the sink cutting off in your adjoined bathroom rings through the space, it only makes you smirk at the events about to happen.

“I did say I have a surprise for my opening night.” Black letters roll in questioning the news. “I thought I would do it with a special someone.”

Harry’s footsteps sound through the room when he moves his way towards the bed. His hands going to your calves hanging off the frame and playfully tugging you down. It causes a smile to spread on your lips as you kick him away.

“Let’s start shall we.”

You adjust the frame of your laptop so it can hide Harry’s face as he slips in behind you. His fingers gracefully falling on your hip as you adjust to make space for him on the bed.

“I think they’re jealous.” Harry says, head leaning in to look at the comments reacting to him.

You watch his expression change as his eyes rake over the messages; jaw clenching with lips pressed tight together. You can tell he wasn’t pleased with whatever people were saying.

“I have to agree I’m mad too,” He responds to someone. Your face twists in confusion. “She’s been a bad little girl, hasn’t she?” His hand on your hip massages your skin roughly as you register his words.

“Not only deceiving you all, but me as well. So naughty not telling her boyfriend about what she does online.”

Biting down on your bottom lip you turn towards the screen with glint of happiness in your eyes. You know what mood Harry is in.

“She deserves a punishment, doesn’t she?” The hand on your hip leisurely glides into your scalp and grips it in his palm. Your head jerks back while his gaze is still caught on the computer; not even paying attention to what he’s doing.

“I think they’re starting to like me now.” Harry smirks, his other hand going to your breast and gripping it roughly.

The devious tone in his voice makes you whimper, eyes peering up at the ceiling as you let him grope your skin. Fingers transition from kneading it in his palms to twisting your nipples through the thin material.

“Yes, she’s been a very bad girl.” His digits pull away to slap your breast making you cry out. The sound you elect causing him to pull your head back once again, his body shifting from behind to gaze over your expression.

“Such a liar.” He says, eyes peering down as you look at him with pleasure written all over your face.

“You like being a liar, don’t you.” His hand meeting your skin again to pierce another smack against your tits. “Speak!” He orders, adding another blow.

“Yes sir.” You mutter, looking into his forest eyes and biting down on your bottom lip as he places one final slap to your skin.

“Tell me what you are.” Harry says, jerking your head, it makes you flutter your lashes up at him.

You’re too caught up between his freshly washed hair falling over his forehead and chest displaying his tattoos, that you don’t recall him demanding you to answer him again. His biceps flex when he lands another blow against your skin to knock you out of your daze.

“I’m a bad girl.” You tremble. His lips turn into a devilish grin. Hands roaming over your reddening skin.

“Mhm…” Harry hums with eyes searching your overwhelming appearance. “Across my legs.”

He relaxes his hold on your hair, letting you rise up on the bed to comfortably lay across his thighs. Your backside perched itself in the air. The ends of your skirt revealing your bare heat as his hand that once laid marks across your skin rubs against the material of your clothing.

“They’re calling you a dumb slut,” His hands go under your skirt to feel over your ass roughly. “I think I agree.” He smacks the flesh making you chew down on your bottom lip.

“Do you think you’re a dumb slut?” Harry taunts with another mark against your ass.

The atmosphere is influenced with pure lust from each swift, assertive motion of his palm lying roughly into your skin. Harry’s not even waiting for you to answer, he’s just placing blow after blow amongst your cheeks in pure arousal. The sheets underneath his hold ruffles against your body with each thrust.

You bite down harder into your bottom lip, fingers curling into the duvet as your eyes roll in hunger at the furious slaps causing hues of red blossoming under your skin.

“Dumb slut doesn’t know how to answer,” Harry cracks another heavy smack against your ass. High pitch whimper breaks through your lips when you jump at the action.

“Baby,” You cry but that only beckons another sharp slap.

“What’s my name?”

“S —Sir. I’m sorry sir.” You apologize for the mistake as his thundering smacks blaze across your skin.

“Dumb little fuck toy,” One hand leaves your cheeks and trails back into your hair. He’s tugging the strands so you can turn towards the laptop completely.

Catching sight of yourself in the camera your face is blazed red, lips bitten with tears brimming your eyes from the pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. The viewers are seeing you at your most vulnerable. Being taunted with bruises and degrading words, just for you to apologize to the one haunting your skin with waves of pain.

“Say it, say “I’m a dumb little fuck toy”,” Harry gloats. You can see in the view of the laptop his smirk as it’s the only feature that reveals his face. The palm of his hand makes another moan slip out of your mouth as it welcomes itself against your flesh.

He loves watching you wither and moan. He loves seeing your skin flourish with hues of pink from his finger prints leaving their marks, knowing that they will be there for days. He loves that with each smack of his hand you were getting off to it. He loves that if he were to move his position even lower he’ll feel your wet pussy ready for anything he has in store.

“I’m a dumb little fuck toy sir.” You whine, voice muffled from your face press into the sheets.

“Mhm…” Harry hums again, another painful slap burning your skin. “My dumb little fuck toy.” Smoothing his hand over your scorching flesh.

His grip on your hair jerks your head back, painful cry leaving your mouth as the straining sensation in your scalp makes your arms bend to pick your body off his thighs. He draws your head back even further, your legs flexing to move your position to now face him. The hand leaving heavy slaps against your ass sends one roughly across your face.

His jaw is still tense with eyes dilated in dominance. Your legs are now completely aching for his touch to spread over your pussy, just craving attention.

“Don’t you love being my fuck toy?”

You moan at the words, blinking up at him and nodding your head. “Yes sir.” You whimper, sucking on your bottom lip as he looks over your disheveled appearance.

Harry taps your face gently, lips flattening together as the hold he has on your hair pressures your face to meet his. Your tongues immediately exchange fluid as they dance against each other in passionate harmony, the feeling of his muscle running against yours has you moaning into the kiss.

The rough exchange of spit oozes between lips as you push yourself deeper into his embrace. His fingers curling into your hair welcoming your adventurous tongue as it glides against the wet expanse of his.

“I love being your fuck toy,” You mumble, pulling away and leaving string of saliva linked between you. His eyes glisten at your confession. It makes Harry smirk at you, his tongue escaping his mouth to sever the translucent connection.

The hand in your hair is breaking the sight between you both. His grip shoves your head directly into his lap, your nose digging into his crotch as his other hand goes back to rubbing your bruised skin.

“I think it’s time to put you to work.” Harry declares, his hold making you roam your face along his erection. Your breath rushing over his clothed shaft as he buries you into his lap.

The notifications of tips rings through the space. Audience entertained that you’re being degraded for their enjoyment. The thought alone arouses you, it made you moan against his cock. Followers and onlookers getting off to Harry completely doing anything that he wants to your body. Accepting the demeaning words that fuels your greed for pleasure, and letting him place as many smacks against your skin.

“Take my cock out.” He instructs, his grip relaxing as he lets you rise up to reach into his boxers.

Your hands glide over his member gracefully, fingers roaming over the thick expanse as your eyes look at him with pure adoration. Angry veins ranging in size roam under the stretched skin of him that has your mind completely hypnotized.

“Look at you,” Harry exaggerates with amusement. He gently slaps your cheeks in light taps, those motions making you smile with moan slipping out.

“Enjoying yourself like the slut you are,” He comments. His grip forcing the space between you and his dick to bring attention to pleasing him.

With fingers still lace in your hair, they effortlessly follow your movements when your head leans forward to pepper wet kisses along his shaft. Plump bitten lips smearing saliva messily over his erection, as they roam all along his length, tongue stretching around the girth.

Your hand goes to cup his balls, letting your mouth pick up motion with each descend down him. Tongue feeling over every inch, swallowing him down coating the expense of him in thick fluid from every stroke.

Your eyes flutter from the familiar feeling of him dragging down your throat. The way he fits so nicely like he was made to be there, it only makes you moan around him in pleasure. You love the way he stretches your throat blissfully, moving gracefully with the added slick. The sensation of him expending the flesh around him has your pussy throbbing for any form of treatment.

The quiver between your legs only increases when the grip Harry has in your hair is roughly forcing you back down his cock. Hips drawing slowly out of your mouth to push back in as he begins to fuck your throat. His nails curl into your scalp when he shoves your head all the way down to the point your nose is brushing against his groin, just letting you take his swift thrusts. His deep voice dripping in honey when satisfying groans pass through his lips.

“Take my dick like the good slut you are.”

Wet, obscure noise sounding throughout the atmosphere as he assaults your throat. His rough hands collecting your hair swiftly as he continues to drag your head up and down his cock. The aggressive lunges he makes with his own hips to meet your mouth causes your chest to burn for air.

Your palms tear away from his balls and run across his upper thighs, eyes barely open from the lack of oxygen running through your system. Your mind goes completely numb to the control he has over your movements.

And just as your nose brushes against his skin once more, he relaxes his grip in your locks, letting his fingers gently bring your head up. Heavy ragged breaths draw from your lips as your lungs ache in pain.

It’s only when you feel one of Harry’s hand leave from your hair to run across your face, that you feel wetness roam amongst your cheeks.

His other hand glides down your backside. Feeling over the bruised skin and slipping it between your legs to run his fingers down your folds. A hesitant breath escapes you with eyes blinking slowly at his dick glistening in your fluid.

“Always so wet for me, huh?” Index finger craving your clit around in circles.

You hum while nodding your head; your mind is in another dimension right now, you’re not even sure if you’re able to form coherent words. Your brain is in a cloudy daze, dancing between the raging sensations flowing through you.

It’s a mix between thrill and greed. You want more of Harry shoving himself down your throat till the point you pass out, you want him to push your face deeper down his cock and have your nails curling into his skin from the lack of oxygen. You want him to ruin you.

“So wet and ready to be used.” Harry states. Another finger occupying his movements, only causing your head to lean forward, broken whimper trailing out of your lips at the added pleasure you’ve been craving. “Be a good little slut for me. Won’t you baby.”

You nod your head, lashes fluttering against the hollows of your eyes while you lean forward and press lazy kisses along his dick. Harry motions continue to rub your clit around his two fingers, spreading your nectar along your folds with swiftness that you can’t help the moan that breaks through your lips.

“Say you’re gonna be a good slut for me.” His fingers continuing their fierce movements.

“I —I’m,” Voice coming out broken and damaged. Harry smirks at that. “I’m gonna be a good slut for you sir.” You manage to say, lips still roaming amongst his length.

“That’s my girl.”

His fingers leave your clit to dip between your folds and spread you open. Lengthy digits thrusting into your pussy slow. He feels the way your velvet walls sink around him, the sweet fluid that you’ve been producing since he’s been lying his hands on you, gliding down every inch of his skin as lets his fingers explore you.

You moan at the feeling of Harry slipping into your pussy provoking more filthy whimpers of pleasure, while your mouth drags down the expense of him.

You’re so turned on from the sensations coursing through you, you don’t even hear the constant pings of tips and comments coming through the chatroom. Viewers appreciate your tousled appearance and beg for more entertainment. They want more exposure of your skin being shown. They want more deafening slaps and disgraceful words, they want to see you wrecked.

Your lips wrap around Harry in a frenzy state, sucking him down your throat just the way you know he likes; tongue lying on the underside and feeling over every prominent blood vessel that blooms along his shaft, throat welcoming the thickness that buries itself deep in your throat till your nose is brushing up against his groin just like before.

As you continue to let pleasure course through you and roam down the span of him, Harry continues playing with your pussy. Lunging his fingers hungrily with your slick cascading down his fingers all the way to his knuckles, fucking his digits into your soiled box that you choke around him, only straining the burn in your throat.

“That’s my good slut.” Harry groans, his fingers curling into your heat as your eyes flutter. “Taking good care of my dick.” He continues to boast.

You hum from the gratitude, relishing in the compliment that’s given, you nod around him in acknowledgment with fingers curving gently into his skin while he continues his tantalizing motions.

“Wanna be an even better slut for me?” He questions. Your mouth drapes up the expense of him, saliva dripping from your lips as you turn to look up at him with swollen eyes and burning cheeks.

“Yes sir.” Nodding while blinking up at him. You’re sure the mascara that coated your lashes is all over your cheeks and streaked along the hollow of your eyes. You’re sure that Harry loves the damage he’s done to you.

“Gonna take my dick like the good girl you are? Huh? Don’t you want to be a good girl?” You moan at the words while nodding your head again at him. Whatever he wanted to do, you allowed. In the mind space your in, he could do no wrong.

“Yes sir.”

You let him push you off his lap and find his place behind you, handling you roughly as his hands leave your hair to position you better in the frame of your laptop. His fingers undo your bralette before pushing your back deeper into the duvet. His hands gliding down the smooth expense before tugging your skirt higher on your hips.

“Such a pretty pussy.” You hear behind you. Cock dragging down your aching heat.

“Please sir, I wanna feel you.” You moan, voice strained and raspy. Harry laughs behind you. Deep chuckle as if he’s amused by your comment. “Please sir, haven’t I’ve been good?” You beg, ass pressing deeper into his cock, that it only allows a smack to go across your cheeks.

“I don’t know, have you?” Pressing his cock between your folds to slide in effortlessly. Your walls expand around him, damaged voice moaning out swears from him filling you up completely as his hips meet your backside.

“Why did you lie to me?” Harry taunts, drawing back till his head is breached between your hole until he thrusts back in aggressively.

“Why did you lie to them?” He continues, his hand leaving your covered hips and bringing your wrist to hold behind your back.

You can only moan at the drastic strikes of his cock in you. He’s barreling down your walls aggressively that you’ve grown completely numb to the pleasure, just letting him manhandle you to the point you’re not even control of your emotions, he’s the one controlling them.

“Answer me!” He demands, his chest leaning in to grab your hair in his hands and twist your head to look directly into the camera.

“Tell them, tell me, why’d you lie.” Your eyes float over the colourful screen with black words darting up and down. There’s tears brimming your eyes at his thickness abusing your hole so roughly.

“I don’t know sir.” You whine, your free hand not in Harry’s grasp is curling into the duvet as he pounds away at your cervix.

“You don’t know?” He questions, continuing to bruise your pussy restlessly. You shake your head in his hold while whimpering at the pleasure. “You want me to give you the answer, will that make it easy for you? Hm?” He’s diving down your walls with such violation your mind is in a different place.

“Yes sir, tell me.” You moan into the sheets, the soft light from the laptop is blurry under your gaze.

“Because you’re a dirty slut. Say it, say “I lied because I’m a dirty slut.”” Nodding your head into the sheets you feel lonesome tears begin to run down your face as you let him degrade you for everyone and him to enjoy.

“I lied because I’m a dirty slut.” Crying into the sheets as he continues to stroke your walls dangerously.

“That’s right.” Harry husks, the grip he has in your hair releasing as it runs across your face wiping your tears. “But you’re my dirty slut. My dirty fuck toy.”

Shallow breaths draw in from your clit throbbing in arousal, your pussy continues to accept his thrusts that glide with ease from your nectar, walls enveloping him comfortably as he strides in with rough urgency.

He looks over your features; mascara smeared all over your cheeks, eyes trained dazzlingly at the screen beside you, chest heaving with ease as your backside sounds in the room with the fluid between your legs joining. He loves that he can push you to your limits and you still find pleasure in his devious ways. He loves that you accept his intensity with your own greed for wanting more.

“My pretty fuck toy. Only I can make you feel like this.” His hand coming between your thighs to toy with your clit. Heavy breath releasing from your chest as you dip your head in acknowledgment.

“Making you this needy over my cock. I know you love it.” You whine at the comment, knuckles going white against the bedsheets.

“Yes, fuck, sir, I love it.” Whimpering with gaze completely blurring with tears accepting his intense thrusts.

“My pretty slut.” Harry’s fingers rub your bundle of nerves in rough circles as he continues to drive your nerves up the wall.

The ringing from the laptop doesn’t overshadow the ones in your ears. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with it digging into the sheets. Your thighs quiver against his barreling ones, warm waves of euphoria coat your body in pure ecstasy from your climax overthrowing you.

Harry is grunting behind you, his movements never slowing just continuing their hungry paste. His hand that was wiping away your tears goes to land smacks against your backside to add to your electrifying orgasm coursing through you.

“Want me to make you even prettier? Want me to make you beautiful?” He insinuates, palm leaving another mark against your skin as he fucks you into the mattress.

The addicting sensation clouds over you from being completely disoriented at the assault between your legs. Brain in fuzzy whirlwinds of pleasure at the aftermath of your climax.

“Yes sir.” Whining with every jolt of your body.

“Gonna make you the prettiest toy.”

His hips lunge into you once more, thickness dragging down your walls enticingly before they pull out, his creamy seed runs down your folds in long spurts as he tugs himself off in front of your pussy.

Disappointing cry trails out of your mouth at the disappearance of his cock leaving your heat, but you can feel his cum running down your lips, and you can feel his hands roaming amongst your ass cheeks again.

“Look at you,” Harry smiles breathlessly, his grip over you making your backside face the laptop and display your ruined hole to the viewers.

“Look at how pretty you are.” His hands spreading your cheeks to showcase your pussy dripping in his cum.

There wasn’t much you could even do in the moment, continuing to let him present you as his fuck toy to your followers. The action had you actually smiling smugly into the sheets.

“My pretty girl.” Harry is leaving his place to lean over and press kisses along the side of your face.

And that is how your night ends, with the notifications blaring in the background with tips of your viewers thanking you for your first show.

[hueseok]

( 01. ) GOOD GRACES.

kim seokjin doesn’t believe in luck. he’s someone who knows that in order to have good things coming your way, you have to work damn hard for it. however, that might not be the case when it comes to bad luck, because after a video of him goes viral wherein it looks like he’s screaming at someone’s grandma, he begins thinking maybe luck does exist—and it just so happens that he’s now being subjected to a lot of unluckiness.

he’s being cancelled. his career is getting destroyed. his manager is forcing him to take a hiatus. and on top of that, as if things could not get worse, the only hope he has on redeeming everything he worked hard on depends on you, the director’s daughter of the theater show that could propel him back to where he used to be.

that should have been a piece of cake. if only you weren’t his ex who he dumped via phone call and got threatened by to never show his face to ever again...

pairing: seokjin x reader

word count: 4.2k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, humor, exes to enemies to friends to lovers au | ft. theater actor!seokjin + himbo energy!seokjin lmao, podcaster!reader + nepo baby!reader

warning/s: lots of swearing | lots of internal monologue by seokjin? lmao

[ chapter index. ]

EPISODE 01. there are worse things i could do !

seokjin never thought that the downfall of his career would happen because of a misconstrued video of him going viral where he was apparently yelling at a poor old lady in a grocery store.

but here he is, getting canceled on twitter and being informed by his manager that he was taken off the projects he was scheduled to do for the upcoming year, the brands who were once so keen on getting him on board suddenly backtracking and terminating the previously signed deals that were already discussed.

regardless of how he tried convincing yikyung, the said manager, that he wasn’t actually fighting the woman who was probably the same age as his grandmother on that short clip—and that all of this was just a stupid a misunderstanding, he’s told it’s too late. the public already made up their mind; they all hated him, and there were several gossip blogs publishing articles that had ‘receipts’ of his apparent bad and diva behavior over the span of his career.

“look, namjoon and I are working on it,” yikyung says, explaining that the PR and legal team are already in the midst of taking care of the whole problem. “but for the meantime, the best you can do is lay low for a while, buddy.”

“what?” seokjin exclaims. “are you saying—”

“you’ll be going on a hiatus.”

“hiatus,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable like he heard it wrong. he feels like he’s going to vomit, the whole room he’s in right now spinning before his eyes.

“yes. hiatus.”

god, seokjin hates that word. he’s been working his ass off since he knew how to act and sing and was the absolute fucking best at it. and now they’re putting him on a hiatus? it’s ridiculous. it’s unfair! he isn’t in some kind of boyband or anything, but he’s pretty sure that they use that term to sugarcoat the fact that the members are quitting the industry or going solo which doesn’t make sense for him so the former category is probably more applicable to his situation at the moment and—

“it’s temporary,” yikyung continues speaking, as if reading what’s going in his mind. “at most, it’ll be a year.”

that still doesn’t calm seokjin down. “you’re benching me for a year?”

“at most.”

“does it really have to be that long?”

“yeah, if we see that it’s necessary enough.”

“i don’t think a year is necessary.”

“we don’t know that yet.”

“but if you keep me away from the public that long… it's going to kill my career!”

yikyung gives him a pitiful look. “it's already dead, jin. let’s be real here.”

he gasps, genuinely offended that his manager would say such a thing. “take that back.”

“look, i’m not happy with this either,” yikyung says, “but the public needs to forget that video. It’s what everybody is talking about, it’s what every director or sponsor that’s asking us about too—nobody would want to associate themselves with your name anyway while the story’s fresh, so this hiatus won’t kill it. doing this hiatus will just induce your career into a coma. you’ll be like sleeping beauty.”

“then who’ll be the fucking prince?”

“a mindblowing project that’ll remind people that you’re the best leading man in the theater world.”

seokjin lets that sink in.

just days ago, he was being blasted with offers to do commercials and new productions due to the successful run of chicago where he portrayed billy flynn. A lot of columns praised his versatility, saying that despite reservations on how he was going to perform, he nailed the part and captured the audience’s hearts with how he made that character his own. it was the biggest ego boost he had in a while considering he was so passionate in bringing billy flynn to life and pulling off the long note he had in we both reached for the gun—now though? all the happiness that he felt before? all the acclaim he reckoned could last him a good few months to stay motivated in doing this? it’s being buried to the ground; he feels as if everything is crashing down and every good thing in his life is fading away.

guess it’s true that being too happy can cause too much sadness after.

“a year goes by so fast, you know,” yikyung tells him. “keep yourself busy. pursue other hobbies. the next time i’ll call you, i’ll make sure it’s about an offer that’ll jolt your career awake again.”

and so with no other choice, really… that’s what seokjin did.

he decides to follow yikyung’s advice and take a train back to his hometown with the plan to help his aunt run the small grocery business she had, residing there until circumstances appear better for him. he figures this break might be better than he thinks, taking into account the fact that he’s been working nonstop since he began landing solid roles years ago. maybe a restart is what he needs; maybe he can use this as an excuse to do other stuff and pursue other hobbies like he was suggested to do.

in the first month of his forced hiatus, he becomes some kind of apprentice at his aunt’s mentioned grocery store. he meets taehyung, a young man who looks way too handsome to be only arranging packed and canned goods in the aisles of the shop as another helper of his aunt; taehyung also apparently recognizes him, asking if he’s that “theater star harassing an old lady” he kept on seeing on tiktok which seokjin’s always quick to correct. taehyung never looks convinced though, regardless of how much seokjin explains, but he at least doesn’t treat him shit for some groundless scandal.

then in his second month, he begins to try pottery. there are classes for it in the same town, a 10-minute drive away and the instructor happens to be a family friend. however, after five sessions, he realizes that he’s horrible at the task and can’t produce anything that’s worth selling or admiring even. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it though, ‘cause he does, and he still attends each class or goes on his own for the following months to use this activity as catharsis.

for the third month, he starts painting; on the fourth, he volunteers to walk the golden retriever that an elderly couple neighbor has; when the fifth month comes, he begins jogging around the area, continuing that until the sixth and seventh as he progresses to running—and then on the eight month, while he’s tending to the crops he’s growing at his aunt’s backyard, he finally gets the call from yikyung that he always pretends not to care about.

hurriedly taking off his gloves that are covered with mud, he picks up his phone from the table and answers his agent’s call. “please tell me you have something,” is what he says, not even concealing the desperation in his voice.

“i have something,” yikyung confirms, sounding excited.

“holy fuck,” he whispers to himself. he’s pacing around now, thrilled and anxious, praying to the gods of every religion that this will be a good offer. “what is it? tell me quickly.”

“they’re doing grease,” he says and seokjin does an impromptu super mario impression, just jumping all over the place because of the mention of the famous musical, the kind of musical that he knows would definitely benefit him if he wants to be within everybody’s radar again. “they already have a sandy young—it’s the producer’s niece—so now all they’re looking for is the rest of the cast. I already got you an audition for danny zuko and it’s two weeks from now.”

“god, i fucking love you, yikyung.”

“i’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“the best. you’re a goddamn gift from above.”

“and it hasn’t even been a year,” yikyung proudly points out. “you’ll be absolutely back on your feet after this project. your scandal has died down, anyway. not a lot are talking about it, and some of your fans are getting better at defending you, sharing encounter stories of their own to support the claim that you aren’t a dick who has a fetish in getting into a bickering war with an old woman.”

seokjin rolls his eyes. “never describe it that way to me again.”

yikyung chuckles. “i’ll hire a cleaning lady to clean your apartment here in the city maybe this weekend. when do you think you’ll arrive?”

“some time after the weekend. i’ll have to take care of a few things before i go.”

“like what?”

“well, believe it or not, i actually made some friends here.”

“damn. i told you this hiatus was going to be good for you.”

“yeah, you are right about that. i think it was healing for some reason. aside from the first weeks of me being depressed as fuck.”

“so, what does that mean? does this mean that you think you’ll nail the audition?”

seokjin grins. he isn’t cocky for nothing. even though it was advised to him before to lower it down a bit so that he wouldn’t come across as a complete ass, he knows he’s great at this pursuit of his. he’s charming, he has an amazing voice, and he can pull off any choreography instructed to him regardless of his initial lack of dancing abilities. being a hard worker makes you that way, and it’s what seokjin thinks will always help him in every endeavor he runs after.

“you bet, i will.”

“how’s your voice? your joints? do you need to warm up?”

“i’ve been singing for the community here every tuesday and thursday. i also haven’t been physically inactive like you think i am. i’ve been exercising regularly, improving my stamina and all that shit.”

yikyung doesn’t answer for a few seconds, a silence that seokjin translates into his manager being impressed that he hasn’t let go of himself despite the circumstances.

after a few more clarifications and reminders, the call ends and seokjin flops down on the wooden chair close to him, this goofy and giddy smile erupting on his face. it doesn’t occur to him until this moment that he’s been wishing for a miracle like this to come along because he’s been missing performing on stage like he used to do during shows and even when he’s in dance studios for the rehearsals. yeah, having a reason to take a break was nice too as he expressed, but nothing beats doing what he loves to do.

and playing danny zuko? wow, talk about a huge upgrade from being mandated by his management to disappear from the public to potentially being cast as one of john travolta’s famous roles. of course, the challenge with this is that he has to make sure that he actually gets the role, which he’s optimistic that he’ll be fine with.

his reputation may be questionable once he comes back, but there’s no denying that if there’s anyone who can emanate an arrogant greaser who cares too much about his image—it’s him.

****

seokjin’s aunt was devastated when she discovered that he’s leaving. she tried to persuade him to stay longer (if not for her, for the plants and the grocery store—and maybe the crowd of people he would sing for whenever there was an occasion in the neighborhood). however, regardless of her insistence, seokjin cannot be budged; he’s been waiting far too long for this to have second thoughts about it, to be swayed from this provincial life he has come to love and genuinely enjoy.

“are you coming back?” taehyung asked him when the news of seokjin’s immediate departure got to him too. “because if you aren’t, can I have your bike?”

seokjin rolled his eyes. over the course of his stay, taehyung has become some sort of little brother he never had. “i’m coming back. just to visit though,” he said. “so you can have my bike.”

on the weekend before he left, he spent time with the people he befriended. he arranged a bingo session with the elderly; he ran laps with that golden retriever he took on walks every morning; he did his last piece of pottery with the instructor he also became friends with; then, on his very last night, he shared a few drinks with his aunt and taehyung, promising them that if he gets the part, they’ll have front row tickets to the show.

if not, he’ll jump off the bridge because he doesn’t think he has a face to show to anyone anymore. 

he earned a slap on the arm by his aunt with that one.

everything went smoothly when he came back to his old apartment the following morning, freshly cleaned like yikyung promised. nonetheless, seokjin felt it was necessary to check every nook and cranny of the place to verify that, even going as far as examining the decorations, memorabilia, and picture frames he had on display, his finger being swiped on the most random areas to make sure that every corner was polished. nobody lived here for eight months in his defense, and he really could catch a bad case of allergic rhinitis in the case yikyung was lying. he couldn’t have that. he had his voice to take care of; there shouldn’t be snot or phlegm getting in the way of the full prowess of his vocals.

for the next few days leading up to the audition, he did everything he can to assure that he’ll be in his best state when his time to shine comes. he practiced the song sandy, a solo piece sung by danny zuko, and rehearsed the lines for the scene where danny and sandy first meet again at rydell high.

in those hours he spent talking to himself, warming up his voice, making sure that he shaped his words right and exuded the energy of the greaser he’s aiming to play, he started thinking again that he seriously got a huge chance in landing this role. he’s superb at acting; he’s certain that he has the voice needed for this part; and not to mention that he’s got the looks for it, alright. his handsomeness is certainly one of the aspects that makes him so marketable as an actor.

plus, he manages to get a positive outlook regarding this because yikyung has been great in encouraging him, sending him inspirational quotes that sometimes were borderline annoying because it had nothing to do with his situation but still touching in a way.

like right now, as seokjin waits in the holding room of the theater for the audition, he receives a message from his manager with a GIF of a maneki-neko with an oversized arm and the quote by dr. seuss saying, “you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose. you're on your own. and you know what you know. and you are the guy who'll decide where to go”.

it is a little aligned to what he’s going through right now but seokjin can’t help but still grimace in distaste.

“kim seokjin?” the casting assistant calls, and he snaps his head up from the screen of his phone to peer at the person who called him.

he stands, gaining the attention of the casting assistant. “here.”

“great. follow me please.” she smiles and begins walking to where the stage is without checking whether seokjin followed her or not. 

he does, as quickly as possible, thankful because he can finally get away from that enclosed space with fellow auditionees who were either gaping at him or chatting him up, asking about the hiatus he did. he’s smart enough not to give any specific details, instead saying the standard “mental health break” or “sabbatical leave” that they seemed to buy.

walking across the stage, his eyes squint a bit at the spotlight directed to him. then, stopping at the center, he averts his gaze to the two people who are sitting on the front row seats. hyunbin park the director and seungjoon ahn the producer. they both appear serious, like they’re bored, or like they’ve been unimpressed by the roster of auditionees they’ve been having so far.

it creates a spark of hope for seokjin who’s confident that he might just be the person that’ll blow their minds for today. even though this is his first time performing in front of a professional again, he’s learned over the years to trust his skills more, and he knows that he’s definitely adept for the tryout happening at the moment.

“kim seokjin, isn’t it?” mr. Park says. he’s the more intimidating one out of the pair. he’s famous for having directed a lot of shows that got to win several trophies in every award giving body that catered to the theater industry. aside from this production being an anticipated project of his, he’s scheduled to direct a movie with a star-studded cast.

seokjin nods. “yes, that’s me.”

“wait a minute, i know you,” says mr. ahn, an index finger pointed towards him. this man doesn’t look that much older than seokjin. give or take about only five years his senior. “i’ve seen you somewhere. where have i seen you?”

seokjin swallows hard. fuck, fuck, fuck. kill me now. bury me in the ground. shit. i hope he doesn’t realize that i'm—

“ah! i remember.” mr. ahn laughs, turning to mr. park. “isn’t he the guy who played corny collins three years ago or something?”

a huge breath of relief escapes seokjin.

mr. park nods unsurely. “yeah, I think so. did you play corny collins, son?” he asks.

“i did.”

their faces significantly brightened.

“well, i’m looking forward to your audition, seokjin,” mr. ahn says. “i watched the media preview of hairspray back then. i was a great friend of jiyong.”

jiyong was the director of the said show.

“you may begin,” mr. park adds, gesturing for him to go ahead before readjusting the glasses he’s wearing. “break a leg.”

seokjin flashes a dazzling smile and begins.

****

yikyung: how was it? yikyung: the audition should be over by now. yikyung: tell me how you did! yikyung: i’ll be like this for the whole day until you reply. yikyung:

seokjin: do you think sending gifs is cool? seokjin: bc it’s not

yikyung: you didn’t answer my question?

seokjin can’t stop grinning. he’s had this grin since he finished the audition and walked out to the lobby, his mind replaying the events that took place during his performance and the reactions of the director and producer after he was done.

even though the two didn’t make their verdict apparent, seokjin had a feeling that he was going to get cast in this show for the reason that as soon as he finished belting the last line of the song sandy, mr. park and mr. ahn shared a look with one another, their eyebrows raising in what comes across like understanding.

now, quick disclaimer, seokjin doesn’t read minds, but he’s pretty sure that that’s a good sign. he’s done his fair share of auditions and seeing an interaction like that from people who are in charge of casting always raises the chances that he’ll end up in the project. it’s a really big tell from what he thinks—and it’s what’s prompting him to almost skip like a little girl while walking to the café nearby where he’s planning to treat himself with the mouthwatering strawberry cream croissant he saw on their display earlier, nothing in his mind other than fantasies of receiving a call as soon as he gets home confirming he got the part.

maybe i should start incorporating black leather jackets into my wardrobe more… it is what danny zuko wears half of the time in the film and since i’ll be danny zuko, it can be some kind of way i’ll be able to internalize the character and be fucking amazing in this…

clearly, doing an inner monologue isn’t advisable when you’re walking along a busy street filled with people who are obviously in a rush to get to where they’re going.

because as he continues marching forward, taking a quick turn to the café he’s aiming to go to, his thoughts everywhere aside from the path he’s strolling on—his arm bumps against someone’s shoulder, ceasing his daydreaming and causing him to glance back, about to utter a quick apology if it wasn’t for the sight that greets him when he does.

he wrinkles his forehead, gazing at you.

there’s no doubt in his mind that it really is you who he’s looking at, but due to the fact that it’s been approximately 9 years since you last saw each other, seokjin asks himself whether this is legit or is his imagination taking a sinister route and letting him imagine how it would be like to meet the person he doesn’t want to see on a perfect day.

“well, shit,” you say, staring at him with the same surprised yet puzzled expression. your features look more mature, your hair is styled in a different way, your choice of clothes is more sophisticated—yet despite the subtle changes, you’re still as attractive as you were when he last got to see you. he might even dare to think that your attractiveness leveled up as well. “i’ll be damned. it’s you.”

seokjin feels his throat closing up, reality sinking in that you’re really here in front of him. “____?”

“i’m flattered that you remember.” you chuckle. “or that you’re not pretending to have amnesia to escape this conversation at least.”

to be fair, if it registered to him a few seconds earlier on who you are, he might have done exactly that.

but of course he doesn’t admit it. his ears just turn red while he utters a lie. “that’d be silly. it’s not like you’d believe me if i said that.”

“touché. but i still reckon you’d do it. you are an actor.” a smirk makes its way to your lips. “how’s that going, by the way? last time i heard, you’re being murdered on twitter and being called a world class asshole.”

he winces slightly. “that’s an exaggeration.”

“i don’t think so. you are on hiatus because of it, aren’t you?”

“not anymore.”

“oh?”

“you seem disappointed,” he retorts. “then again, i wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been praying for my downfall ever since you-know-what happened.”

“you-know-what? do you mean when you dumped me?” you explicitly say, not even missing a beat after he was done speaking.

yes, you’re an ex-girlfriend. sadly, an ex-girlfriend he knows he didn’t treat well because of what you just reminded him of.

he presses his lips together, gathering all the confidence he has left. “yes. i do mean that. and i am sorry about it. truly.”

“you dumped me over the phone.”

“i’m aware of that too.”

“you didn’t explain why you wanted to break up.”

a pause. “yes, i didn’t.”

“and just because we coincidentally met again after so many years, you finally apologize?”

“that’s about right.”

“it doesn’t sound very sincere to me.”

he widens his eyes, surprised that you’re not letting this go as easily as he thought you would. from what he remembers, you’re the type of person who doesn’t hold grudges; you’re the type of person that everybody would say was genuinely good. in fact, it’s what he was mad about years back when you were still together—how you often let other people take advantage of your kindness, often putting you in a position of being a doormat or an emotional punching bag.

but that’s almost a decade ago. he feels bad that he’s not sure whether to be proud of you or to be a bit frustrated that he’s on the receiving end of this.

“anyways,” you add after the excruciating awkward silence, “as much as i want to give you a piece of my mind, i have to go. i’d say it was nice seeing you and that we should catch up sometime, jin, but that would be a lie.”

seokjin’s supposed to let you go despite his conscience eating him up. he’s not entirely stupid, it’s apparent that it’s better not to reopen healed wounds, and judging from the manner you spoke to him, you don’t want to give him an opening to enter your life again.

but then your phone rings, which you’re holding on one hand while the other holds a paper bag from the coffeeshop. And then, seokjin sees it—sees mr. park’s face on the screen with a caller ID named ‘dad’, that he can’t prevent himself from staying still and allowing you to leave without explaining what he’s witnessing right now.

“wait,” he holds your elbow as you’re trying to walk past him, “your dad isn’t mr. park, is he? i know your dad. He’s not hyunbin park.”

you blink at him, confused at the random question, however a wave of understanding swiftly washes over you. he watches you grin all of the sudden, eyes twinkling in amusement. he’s familiar with that expression, and it’s scaring him to death because he now has a pretty good idea on what your answer is going to be.

“you’re here in the city because of an audition,” you state, tone so sure that it makes him sweat. “don’t tell me… You’re auditioning for grease?”

he doesn’t tell you he’s auditioning for grease.

your grin widens even further, your next sentence inducing a sensation that might be a heart attack.

“then you’ve met dad. he is hyunbin park, the director.”

fuckity fuck fUCK FUCK!

note. AHHH first chapter is out! i hope y’all like this because i’m happy with how this turned out hehe. this drabble series will only have 10 episodes and i’m gonna pray that i get to finish this before the year 2024 ends 😭

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[cookiescribble]

Promised Me The Sky, Tossed Me Like A Stone

A/N: It’s been a bit since I’ve posted on this blog so uhh here ya go! I was listening to In Pieces by Linkin Park and got inspired. That song is about Gale’s feelings toward Mystra, I stg (I’m joking but it screams “I was tossed aside by my goddess lover” to me with some of those lyrics). Enjoy tho!- Mod Ghost

Summary: Stargazing and philosophizing with the rizzard known as Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep

Pairing: Gale Dekarios x GN!Tav

“…may I speak with you about something that’s been on my mind recently?” Gale began, breaking the silence between the two of you as you lay together in the grass to stare up at the starry expanse of night with intertwined hands.

“Yes, darling?” You replied, turning to lay on your side so you could look at him instead of the inky blackness above the two of you. He was much more interesting than some blips a few trillion miles into space.

“I’ve been wondering…why didn’t you take the chance to be with Halsin? When he asked you to?” he spoke in a soft tone, one you’d never heard from him before.

“I’m…not sure what you mean. It’s exactly as I told you then, I’d rather be with you. You’re the one I love.” You mimic the cadence of his voice, empathizing with the pain he was clearly feeling somewhere deep within him as you gently stroke your fingers through his hair.

“Why? He’s much more of a man than I, and could prove that to you any day,” He chuckled, but there was no mirth to his expression. It felt cold. Flat. As if he was simply trying to lighten your mood as well as his own.

You felt your heart clench with an aching despair as you took in his question, moving to sit up as you continued to hold his gaze. Even if he wouldn’t tear his eyes away from what was ahead of him.

“Gale…look at me.” You whisper tenderly, taking hold of his chin between your thumb and forefinger to turn his face toward your own in order to urge him further, “You are the one I love, the one I adore, even. Not Halsin, not Astarion, not Karlach…you, and I will continue to tell you the very same even after the day you finally are able to feel that. To know that I would give anything just to see your smile, to hear your laughter. Alright?”

The wizard simply lay there, in stunned awe, for a moment. As if he just didn’t understand that someone could love him so readily, so deeply. It startled him but he was warming up to the idea, letting himself welcome it. How could you find him so alluring anyway? He’s just…

Gale.

He’s just some wizard, a man that spent most of his life with his nose pressed into one book or another. Mystra’s discarded guard dog. If he wasn’t good enough for a goddess of all people, how could he even possibly begin to deserve love from you? The being closest to perfection that he’d ever encountered, let alone been with. The one who makes him forget his goddess, makes it tolerable to live again without her and brightens all the colors of the world just by being there. You were his everything and more, but he’s been so used to giving his all to Mystra only for her to give him scraps in return that weren’t even fully his.

To her, he was one of many. A mere drop in a plentiful ocean of lovers, to the point where it didn’t matter that he was her chosen. When she’d initially picked him, brought him into her good graces, he thought that might change things. Gale quickly learned that wasn’t to be the case, because to her, he was nothing but a mediocre experience at best. She had been what his entire existence was devoted to, and he’d been working to correct that. To slowly detach himself from all the threads that she had sewn into his soul. You make that easier for him, though, by treating him with such gentle care that he was only just now starting to truly believe he deserved.

“…Gale, honey, please…? Say something?” you insist, inching closer and adjusting to hold his face with both of your hands, “It’s quite rare that I’ve ever heard you be silent.” you continue with a tease, trying to summon some kind of reaction from your wizard.

He merely chuckled once more at first, before he spoke, “You…astound me. I have never in my life felt so out of my depth. I’d have plenty of reason to believe you were a siren if we were at sea, showing me my greatest desires as if it were as easy as breathing. Or even a god yourself, but that simply isn’t the case. None of the gods I’ve ever tangled with have shown close to half of the divinity you possess. I truly feel that you were sent from the heavens, but it has taken some doing to realize that it was specifically for me. I love you, too, with all of my heart and soul.” his voice came in almost a whisper, the wind carrying it gently from him to you.

It was more relieving than any balm sold by the best healers in the realm to hear him say that. You smiled, tugging him closer and laying your head on his chest while his hand settled on your lower back. Staring upwards while you lay in his embrace, the vast blanket of stars above you seemed much less daunting now, knowing that whatever was ahead would be conquered with Gale. Getting this far in your adventures together had been treacherous, but it felt effortless at his side. You now realize that it was love that fueled you, that urged you on all this time. To see this through with hopefully a bright future on the other side.

It’s what Gale, as well as you, had more than earned.

No matter what it cost you, it was what you were more than willing to give to him.

“Have you ever thought about killing Mystra?” your voice tore through the silence, almost startling him before he spoke himself,

“What?”

“What? She’s done nothing but–”

“You wish to kill the goddess of magic for…what, for me?”

“Why do you say that as if it’s so ridiculous?”

“Because it’s the goddess of magic!”

“I’m well aware of that–”

“We are not killing the goddess of magic. I use magic entirely too much for that.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, “and that’s the only reason?”

“I’ve long since stopped from trying to tell you that killing is wrong, my love.”

“How very clever of you.”

That ended the lighthearted threatening of Mystra’s life, at least for now, and left the two of you in silence to stargaze until you fell asleep where you lay, a few miles away from camp and wrapped in each other’s arms.

[mrs-snape5984]

“Can we always be this close…forever and ever?”

“My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue. All's well that ends well to end up with you.” (“Lover” by Taylor Swift)

Today I want to share something more cheerful with all you lovely people of Snapedom, because - to be honest - considering my last few posts on this blog, they could suggest the idea, that I might not be the most zestful person around here. Well…guilty as charged! 😅So, please, take my apologies for my constant venting and complaining about ME/CFS and the ways, in which this bitch of a disease destroyed the life, I’ve known before. But this particular post will be dedicated to LOVE.

I know, I’m using this blog as my personal journal in order to cope with the hardships of my existence, always relying on my 21 years lasting connection with Severus Snape…who is undeniably the one true love of my life. Some of you might judge or mock me for being so pathetically devoted to a fictional character over such a long period of time, but believe me…my love for Severus is my safe haven!

Sure, I’ve tried to give other relationships a shot, but after some really traumatic experiences with men and women, as well as two failed marriages, I’m coming to the conclusion, that I’m better off alone. I must admit, that being doomed to endure a so called life in my bed, only surrounded by darkness and mostly solitude, definitely has an influence on this conviction. Who knows, if I’d have the same beliefs if I weren’t “un-dateable”…but this doesn’t matter anymore, since there’s still no cure for my disease.

And yet… (enter dramatic sigh here 😂)

And yet, I still believe in love, despite my own failures…despite all the pain, the sorrows, the humiliation and the traumas, I’ve been confronted with. I guess, being intelligent (or at least well educated) and overly realistic didn’t prevent me from being a hopeless romantic human being.

My adolescent twins are currently entering the phase of their first “loves”. I’ve taught my three children from the very beginning, that it doesn’t matter, whom they love, unless they’re feeling safe and happy about it. My daughter is proud to have her first girlfriend, even though she’s already facing some difficulties in her environment, due to her frank nature to enjoy her crush. For me - a woman, who’s living openly bisexual 🏳️‍🌈 since I’ve been 14 years old - it’s absolutely unbelievable, that there are still so many people in our society, who seem to stick to their restrained beliefs about sexuality and gender. I will always try to support my children in their journey of self-acceptance and self-discovery.

So, yes, I still believe in love…no matter how this love might look like. Even though I’m confined to this prison, which is formed by my disease, I was allowed to find some kind of deep love in my friends. I want to share a short poem with you (written by Whitney Hanson for her book “Harmony”) which reminds me of the love, that I feel for these friends of mine:

I have always loved the way

Music could make the world feel

Like it doesn’t exist

As if suddenly all my fears

Are swept away

Who knew

That there are people out there

Who could make me feel the same way

Another love, which makes my heart swell with joy, is my love to all those amazingly talented artists of Snapedom, for whom I’m rolling out the red carpet on my blog, by using their art as my very personal soothing balm for my troubled heart and soul. This time, I’ve commissioned the lovely @kruzbr for the very first time. I’ve been fallen for their Severitus comics, so I asked them to help me out with making my own version of Severitus, together with my undeniably self-inspired OC Jules, come to life.

Anderson, your understanding of my ideas and your kindness made it a pleasure for me to join the process of creating this mesmerising masterpiece of art. I’m beyond grateful for your service and I can assure you, that this won’t be the last time, I will commission you for another adventure of Sevy & Jules. The next idea is already stuck in my mind, so keep an eye on your postbox! Thank you for everything, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[fromthepinnacle2thepit]

cervi e consumo

hannibal lecter x reader

a/n: hello! so i began posting this on another blog, but have decided to continue posting it here since i’m on this way more often!! it used to be called love crime (sopravvivero).

i’ve developed my plan for the plot a LOT more, and definitely know what im going to do with it.

if i tagged you, it means that you wanted to be added to a tag list or reblogged it. this is the first chapter but i’ll be publishing the second very soon!

tags: @catchmybreath94 @flow33didontsmoke @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @zoleea-exultant

summary: When you begin sessions with your new psychiatrist, the renowned Dr. Lecter, you never would’ve imagined falling into the rabbit hole you get stuck in. Faced with a horrible trauma, deer and cannibalism haunt your subconscious. Suddenly, Dr. Lecter is a part of all this. In more ways than one.

chapter 1: the beginning

“Dr. Lecter is ready to see you now,” the polite receptionist says, with a smile sent your way. It’s no more than a flash of positivity before she turns back to her paper work, reflected by her thin framed glasses. As her eyes scanned over the work, turning back to frantically look over her desk, presumably searching for something, she gave off an obvious air of worry. Perhaps she was new.

You were too.

Your first day of therapy. Well, your first day of therapy with this new psychiatrist. It wasn’t something you were exactly frantically nervous about- as the poor polite receptionist was. You’d been to therapy before. You were accustomed to the shallow invasion and prodding of the mind. This time, your hope was that this new Dr. Lecter would be unique. Different.

You’d heard many good things about him. Ranging from his written work and studies, to his success with patients. And after the worsening state of your mind and the life you had built around you, you decided that it was time to try again. So far, you weren’t disappointed. The office was classy. Nice chairs were set in the waiting room, where you had sat for some time. There was tasteful art, quiet classical music in the background. Bach, you had guessed. Other than the receptionist, it had emitted an air of class and calmness.

You flashed a smile back at the receptionist, returning the politeness.

“Thank you very much,” you replied. You weren’t sure if she heard given how diligently she was scanning her desk currently. But it was of no matter, you had been polite, it was the most you could do. You stepped up to a wooden door, unsure if you’d have to knock. Before you could, the door was opened, and Dr. Lecter was revealed to you.

He was handsome. You weren’t one to judge or weigh value off of looks, but you would give him that simple statement. Looks were not the most important thing to you, and you certainly were not meaning it in a romantic way. But he was handsome. The eyes that quickly met yours were brown, maybe with a hint of hazel. His hair was brown as well, it shone in the light from his office. He wore a navy blue plaid suit, giving him an obvious air of seriousness, of class and respect. His lips curled into a smile, and yours followed suit.

“I imagine you are my new patient, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” he spoke, his voice was rich and soothing.

“Dr. Lecter, I’ve heard many wonderful things about you and your work. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” you replied calmly, mirroring his niceties and charm. He had a quiet suave demeanor. As if on instinct, you both reached your hands out for a handshake. More niceties. This doctor was very formal. You appreciated that. As your hands touched you felt his eyes scan you quickly. Almost like an eagle searching a field for prey. Though, there wasn’t malice behind this look.

“Please, do come in.” he said, leading you into his large room. And what a large room it was.

It had a mostly grey color palette, with the exception of the one wall which was a dark red. To your right was a large wall, with two large red and white striped curtains. To your left, a desk, obviously a professional one. Lamps and books and art decorated the top. Further back to your left was another desk and a chair, but nothing was on this one. Behind that, a fireplace. The room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves, and art (specifically paintings) were anything but scarce. Right in front of you however, were two chairs facing each other. And there was a ladder, on the wall behind them, leading up to another level of the room. This one was lined with books of all shapes and sizes and colors. You took note of the other items in the room. Your eyes scanned from the couch against the back wall, to the couch in front of the windows. The room seemed lightly dull at first, but the more you gazed, the more points of color stood out to you.

After having visually scoured the room, you summarized that the collection of books, European furniture, and art was not simply the doing of the building’s hypothetical interior designer. By his outfit and the look of the room, Dr. Lecter was a man of intellectuality, power, curiosity, and ambition. He was impressive.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two seats in the middle of the room- each sat directly across from the other. Each had small tables next to them, but one had a book (presumably for taking notes on patients) and a box of tissues. You assumed the seat that the book and tissue box adorned table belonged to: was his. So you took the other seat, smoothing the bottom half of your clothing as you sat down. He took a seat across from you, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“I have no doubt you know why you’re here.” he said politely. He was direct, eyes still piercing into you. You were afraid to look away. You wanted to maintain the eye contact but at the same time, the socially nervous part of you longed to break it, longed to gaze around the sophisticated room instead of facing his perceptive gaze.

“Yes, Doctor.” you replied, finally working up the courage to break the mural stare and look down as you smiled at him. He returned a brief smile, and nodded once.

“So then, I hope you won’t mind if I list off the reasons you put for requesting my psychiatric assistance which led to us meeting today?” he inquired, taking his notebook from the small table next to him.

“Not at all, go ahead.” you gave him an encouraging nod and he opened his book. As he looked over a page, a realization came to you. You realized how intimate the placing of his chairs was. You mirrored him and put one leg over the other. You wondered if this was a tactic of his to create a sense of connection, equality. Interesting.

He began to list off the reasons of your current visit, words coated in that smooth accent. He finished and looked up at you.

“Is that all correct?”

“Yes,” you said, pausing a moment. There was some more, but this was only the first session. You hated the way it sounded so labeled when it was all laid out like that, so shallow. Realizing your answer might’ve seemed curt, you rushed to say more. “Yes, that’s all correct.”

He set his book down on the side table and looked at you for a moment. The thought crossed your mind that he might be waiting for you to speak, you were about to say something when he spoke at last.

“How do you feel right now, at this very particular moment?” he asked you, your last name politely slipping from his lips at the end of his question, eyes endlessly boring into you.

“I feel,” you hesitated, trying to come up with the right words. “Comfortable and welcomed. Yet nervous.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable and welcomed, I try to provide sufficient hospitality for those in my care. Though, tell me, why do you feel nervous?” he asked.

“I’ve just met someone new. Someone who will be peering into my mind, learning the most personal parts of me. It’s an odd thought that a man I met a few minutes ago will come to know my mind so deeply.” you replied, watching Hannibal process your answer. He had a good poker face.

“Are you afraid of what I might uncover in the depths of your mind?” he asked.

“I think everyone’s a little afraid of what can be perceived in the most personal parts of their mentality. We all have only so much we express. To the eye it may seem to show enough, but there’s so much hidden where we store our deepest thoughts.” you replied. You liked the knowledgeable banter.

“Knowing those parts of you is a fundamental aspect to your treatment, as it is to any patient. I am not here to judge, or to exploit. I am here to come to know your being and attempt to help it in a way that is beneficial to your mental well-being.” he replied.

“You make a good point, Doctor.” you replied, flashing him a smile. He returned it, and opened his book.

“Well then, shall we begin?” he asked, his eyes still focused on yours.

“Of course.” you replied.

And so began your session with Hannibal Lecter, your new psychiatrist.

[sunniedesi]

In Defense of Future Diary...

TW: lots of yapping.

Making a small essay for Future Diary is something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Since my entire blog is dedicated to the series, it only feels right to put something like this out into the ether. However, I’m never sure of the topics that I want to discuss the most. Do I write a defense for the show? My reasons for loving it so much? Its relevance and importance for anime culture? An analysis of Yuno’s character? There’s so much I feel you could say, but I never find the right words to express my feelings coherently. Today, I’ll make the attempt, though. I’ll go over all of the aforementioned questions here, mostly focusing on my personal opinions and feelings regarding the show. I don’t have much experience writing essays or analyses of media, so sorry in advance if my yapping is all over the place.

To begin, I should probably address the elephant in the room: Future Diary, despite its popularity and almost cult-classic status, has turned into a show people love to hate. You see it everywhere, when it comes to reviews, comments, opinion pieces, you name it, if it has Future Diary on the title, people will let you know all the gripes they have with the show. And while I tend to feel defensive or even saddened when I see so much hatred directed at my favorite show… I don’t necessarily blame anyone for feeling that way. I don’t want to be one of those people who pretends to hold the intellectual high-ground, acting as if everyone else is media-illiterate and I’m the one who truly gets the meaning of the series. At the end of the day, it’s just an anime, it’s not that deep. Everyone’s gonna like what they like; we all have different tastes and interests, so it’s only natural we all hold such different opinions about the show, especially given its campy, gory and almost edgy nature. Future Diary is definitely a product of early 2000’s trends, which some people (me lol) appreciate, and others certainly don’t.

That being said, while I respect people disliking the show for personal reasons, there are certain criticisms I see thrown its way that are not necessarily warranted. These issues can be boiled down to the following categories: “plot-holes,” a weak protagonist and toxic pairings. I’ll delve into all of these in a second, but I must say, the amount of times I’ve seen these specific points parroted over and over again makes me believe that many of the people making these arguments are piggybacking off of one another. It’s almost like they’re following a trend, repeating how the protagonist “sucks ass” and that the plot makes zero sense, without showing any examples as to how. 

It’s really common to find shallow arguments like those in comments sections and forums, but since I don’t want to feel like I’m barking up a tree in writing this essay, I decided to look for a source that encapsulated all of the common criticisms, while also backing them up with examples. Now, there are many good video essays out there on Future Diary, my personal favorite is by The Hot Box. But as far as critical pieces go, the one I found that goes the most in-depth is by the creator NezumiVA, titled: Mirai Nikki is Garbage, and Here’s Why. I’ll be referencing the video as I go along, but please note that while I disagree with many of this creator’s arguments, I don’t intend this to be a personal attack. As I said earlier, we’re all entitled to our different tastes and opinions, I can respect them disliking the series while having my own criticisms to give regarding the video. Just a little disclaimer so my intentions aren’t misconstrued here. 

With that out of the way, let’s take a deeper look into the main three arguments I mentioned before:

“The plot-holes eat up the show”

If you’ve been in the fandom for a while, you know that this is probably one of the most common criticisms levied towards Future Diary, and perhaps the one that holds the most weight. Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that “plot-holes” aren’t exactly the issue people are pointing at here. To explain, I believe people who dish out this claim all have different understandings of the definition of “plot-hole,” so to clarify: a plot-hole is an inconsistency, a contradiction in the narrative. For example, Yuno’s diary is all about Yukki, if she were to have diary entries not about him, that could be considered a plot-hole, as it contradicts the original narrative. A smaller detail being unexplained or overlooked for the sake of pacing is not a plot-hole. A flaw, yes, but as long as it doesn’t contradict what’s already been established in the story, it’s not a plot-hole. 

On one hand, it is true that there are certain Deus Ex Machina moments that aren’t properly explained in the show (heck, the god of this universe is called that for a reason), such as: how does 5th acquire all of his booby traps? Or where did 9th pull that motorcycle from? Why are characters so quick to forgive/forget certain events? These are smaller details that aren’t properly justified on-screen for the sake of pacing and making the show more interesting. You could possibly count this more as a case of poor characterization, particularly with 5th’s character having a lot of knowledge despite his age or Hinata quickly accepting the coin toss challenge despite having an advantage. Given the show only has 26 episodes, it’s only natural that detailed explanations for smaller details are omitted to make the show flow quicker and be more entertaining. While this may bother some people, I don’t find it to be such a big deal, or at least not a reason to dogpile on the show, when many other animes with shorter runtime fall victim to poor characterization as well. 

Many deem the plot nonsensical for missing these smaller explanations, but again, I find that exaggerated as they’re much, much trivial details that the majority of people don’t think of or focus on when watching the show. The video I referenced touches on the plot being illogical several times, not necessarily mentioning plot-holes per se, but complaining that many of the justifications behind certain plot points are unrealistic or contrived, though let’s be real here… since when is anime realistic? Future Diary, I would argue, does a good job of balancing very unrealistic scenarios with some realistic characters (like Yukki, but we’ll get into that later), which is what makes it interesting to watch. After all, what’s the fun in watching a fantasy show if it’s completely grounded in reality? Not to mention that many of the points brought up in the video aren’t contrived, especially if you were paying attention to the show. For example, the scene of Yuno meditating to figure out Reisuke’s plan. This wasn’t a Deus Ex Machina moment, it was foreshadowing of the fact she has her first-world memories locked away, and the meditation was her trying to access those memories. Same thing with Bacchus having an overpowered diary, it isn’t for the sake of it, he literally designed it to be that way, because he was the one who presented the idea of the diaries to Deus in the first place.

I’m getting a little side-tracked here, but you get the point. Ultimately, the worst sin a show can commit is being boring, and while Future Diary has its flaws in pacing and characterization, it contributes in keeping the viewers hooked to the action, packing its small run of 26 episodes with quite a bit of entertainment. Moreover, a lot of people overreact to these so-called “plot-holes”, yet they also fail to pay attention as to why things happen as they do in the show. Many of these criticisms can be summed up as either: trivial details that are omitted since they have little relevance to the plot and/or people not paying attention to what’s going on. 

Moving on, let’s tackle another very, very popular argument:

“Yukiteru is a total pushover (to put it nicely).” 

This is, without a doubt, the most common criticism I’ve seen people have of the show. I’m not sure if this is because people are used to the upbeat, overpowered protagonist trope in anime, but people don’t realize that Yukki being frustrating, awkward and terrified is an important part of the show’s storytelling, not to mention relatively unique. Very rarely do we see a realistic portrayal of a teenage protagonist in anime, and it is important for the show since it serves as a contrast to the other characters, all dark, callous and obsessed with the goal of becoming a God. Yukki is the only character not interested in any of this at the beginning. All he wanted was to escape reality with his phone and imaginary friends, and he's now thrusted into this terrible and hopeless situation. How exactly is a young boy expected to react under these circumstances? 

Teenagers are naive, dumb, selfish, all characteristics portrayed in Yukiteru, and these characteristics are put under scrutiny by every one of the diary owners, constantly telling him to grow a pair and stop using Yuno. This is easier said than done when you’re used to avoiding every little bit of responsibility in your life, and a girl who’s self-reportedly “crazy good at killing people” suddenly thrusts into your life ready to do all the work for you. Yukki is indeed a very flawed character, but that isn’t an accident, it is an intentional addition. It’s what makes him interesting; it pushes conflict into the show, and most importantly, drives home one of the main lessons of the show with Yukki’s development: fear doesn’t mean you’re not brave, it’s having that fear and pushing forward that makes you brave. A little corny, I know, but a valuable lesson for the Survival Game. 

Every character has an incentive for becoming God, and they’re utterly consumed by it to the point of insanity. Even a character like 4th, who was originally concerned with the goal of bringing order and justice rather than more carnage to the game gets carried away when a proper incentive for God’s seat comes into play: saving his son. In a Survival Game where we're surrounded by the most cunning and twisted of characters, killers, terrorists, people in corrupt positions of power, Yukki stands out like a sore thumb for retaining his humanity throughout it all, unwilling to get his hands dirty, rather willing to see hope in everyone else. It comes across as naive and all-too trusting. This is especially true for his father, but considering how little people he has to rely on, plus his childish hopes of seeing his family back together, his forgiveness towards him makes sense. And the same can be said for Yuno, the one constant he’s got all throughout the game. Despite the abuse and manipulation, she’s ultimately got his best interests at heart, but I’m getting ahead of myself with this point.

Eventually, the circumstances that Yukki goes through (namely his parents’ death) put that humanity, kindness and mercy, the staples of his personality, to test. It’s a testament to how desperate situations can corrupt even the most innocent of individuals. Yukiteru goes from a hopeful individual to a callous killer, no different from Yuno and equally as selfish. Similarly enough, we know thanks to her third-world-self that Yuno was originally a normal, happy girl with the hopes of finally having a loving family taking care of her. All of this, to then be tortured by the people who were supposed to bring that peaceful family life to her. 

Yukki being a weakling may be frustrating to some, it is certainly brought up many times during the video essay, but it’s an important factor that drives the plot and many of Future Diary’s lessons about growth and accountability. Besides, the anime certainly wouldn’t be as interesting to watch if every character was just an OP know-it-all like Akise. Which no hate to him, but the show wouldn’t be the same if every character were like him.

And speaking of Akise, I’ll take the opportunity to mention a point in the video essay that bothered me a bit. The creator says the show is “queerbaiting” with his character, because Akise’s attraction towards Yukki is forced, but I don’t see exactly how this is queerbaiting. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t queerbaiting when a character is insinuated to be gay, yet it’s kept ambiguous enough to never address it? The show straight-up explains the reason behind Akise’s attraction to Yukki. His love is forced because it was created by Deus to further his investigation about Yukki and Yuno. Akise himself is a fabrication of Deus. It is literally explained in episode 23. You can’t bait the audience into believing a character is gay if you explicitly tell the audience the character is gay lol.

But that’s one of the smaller issues I had with the video’s criticisms. My biggest gripes were actually the following: at the beginning of the essay, this creator talks about how many of the plot points in the show are contrived and illogical, but at the same time, they dislike the characters having tragic backstories that explain how they went on to become twisted individuals. Isn’t it a little contradictory that you complain about a character acting unnatural, yet when the explanation for their behavior comes up, you completely disregard it? They go as far as to say Esuno hates women and is misogynistic for his portrayal of female psychosis, and the use of SA as a tragic backstory being distasteful. Because, according to this creator, people who have been victimized never go on to become terrible people themselves, and that this is a “problematic stereotype.” 

To say that this worldview is incredibly simplistic and naive is putting it mildly. Being a victim doesn’t exempt you from the capability of hurting others, and in fact, the opposite is often true. Hurt people hurt people, that is another main theme in Future Diary, and one of the things I love about it so much. It doesn’t make its characters victims of terrible situations for the sake of pitying them, but to portray their natural descent into madness from being corrupted by a cruel and unrelenting world. Yuno, Yukki, Minene, Tsubaki, these characters all started out as normal until life turned them into the nihilistic monsters they became. They’re morally gray, an example of what you can become when your ethics and moral worldview is tested by society so many times, it ultimately turns you into a societal outcast. Which only makes it funnier that one of the questions asked in the video is “are we supposed to like these characters?” Yes and no, that’s the fun of writing morally gray characters.

I often see these takes with people who fail to understand that the portrayal of something in media ≠ endorsement. It’s the crux of people who lack media literacy, the failure to understand morally gray or just straight up evil characters as protagonists. The media itself isn’t telling you to repeat their actions, it is an exploration of how these actions manifest in the first place, a cautionary tale, if you will. I know that having evil or twisted protagonists isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but to accuse the story or the author of malicious intent would be completely missing the point of the story’s purpose. Not to mention, that it is important for stories like this to exist, to put us in the shoes of those who enact harm, to understand why they do it and keep us from becoming like them.

The show doesn’t justify any of their actions, in fact, it often shows them for what they are: twisted and morally corrupt; it is on the characters themselves to bear the burdens of these actions. A clear example of this is the confrontation that Yukki has with his friends nearing the end of episode 22. It is probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire show: Yukki being forced to face all of his demons at once, realizing just how much damage he has caused, damage that he later has to mend in his final confrontation with Yuno to finally put an end to everyone’s suffering. It is dense, crude, and it is certainly necessary for both him and Yuno. 

Funnily enough, this youtuber goes on to say the following about Yuno’s background: “I really don’t care what her (back)story pans out to look like… her actions are still not excusable.” Which is true, just because someone was abused doesn’t justify them perpetuating the same abuse later. However, they then crush their own point by claiming that Yuno’s obsessions started all because of “a passing conversation.” I guess they weren’t lying when they said that they didn’t care about Yuno’s backstory… because chalking up her obsession as solely a result of that scene is completely disregarding her background. That conversation in the classroom did start Yuno’s fixation towards Yukki, but it is not the root of her obsessive tendencies. Yuno herself believes it to be, but this is an idea that is squandered by Yukki in his final confrontations with her. Moreover, if you paid attention to her backstory, you would understand it is all due to her childhood neglect. And similarly, Yukki’s attraction towards Yuno stems from this as well.

This brings me to the final criticism:

“Yuno and Yukki’s relationship is problematic, toxic and makes no sense.”

There is no denying that Yuno and Yukki start out as an incredibly toxic and troublesome pairing, using each other for their own selfish wants instead of working with each other. This is the Achilles heel in their dynamic, and it is often the cause of their troubles. Yuno acts impulsive, unstable and manipulative towards Yukki due to her insecurities and debilitating obsession, while Yukki pushes all responsibility to Yuno due to his own lack of a spine. They hurt each time and time again, yet they can’t help but be with each other. And this is because, in a twisted way, they compliment each other. 

On one hand, we have a social outcast, ignored by everyone including his family, visibly alone and afraid of being hurt by others, but still seeing the best in people. Then on the other hand, we have a popular girl from a prominent family, visibly perfect, but in reality just as alone due to abuse she experiences at home, making her view people as fundamentally cruel. On the outside they’re opposites, but deep down, they’re both lonely, and terrified of said loneliness. It is only when they meet, when Yukki shows her the kindness she was missing for years and when Yuno gives him the support he had always craved, that they fulfill each other’s needs. By becoming acquainted with Yuno and the Survival Game, Yukki becomes increasingly darker, eventually maturing at the end of the show, while Yukki awakens Yuno’s empathy and pulls her back from the darkness, as we see when she falters to hurt third-world Yuno and her parents. 

Their complementary personalities are even referenced by their diaries, which only work seamlessly if paired. They balance each other out perfectly, bringing out the best of each other, but only after learning to push back on their worst characteristics, which is also true for real-life relationships. In truth, just like these two, people are flawed, traumatized and generally toxic to one another. There’s no such thing as people or relationships that start out perfect from the get-go, they need to learn to grow together. 

In that sense, this is what makes the ending of the show so powerful to me. Yukki isn’t set on killing Yuno or becoming God anymore. He’s finally taking responsibility, coming to terms with the awful deeds he’s done, and the fact that he can’t undo them. Instead, he wants to help Yuno come to terms with her own demons, finally giving back to her what she needs and not something for his own benefit. Similarly, Yuno realizes just how off the deep-end she’s gone when she meets her past self, acknowledging that she’s lost her original goal, and that repeating the cycle of hurt won’t fix her already broken spirit. That world isn’t for her, and so she finally ends the hurt, giving her and Yukki the peace they need. 

Many people don’t like Redial because they see it as an undeserved Happy Ending for two awful individuals, but the way I like to see it is as a form of redemption. Both characters, in the end, do what they have to do to restore order in the world. Yukki pays for his sins in the void, finally a God but at the cost of mourning what could’ve been. First-World Yuno ends the suffering she’s putting herself through so her new self can thrive, almost akin to breaking free from her past traumas to finally heal. The new self regains those memories, not to sulk, but to build from them, going back with Yukki to start a new world that isn’t characterized by their original hurt. In a way, it's a story about how the most downtrodden of individuals can find solace in love, break from their past and learn to heal together. For me, it’s cathartic and fulfilling to watch.

To finish this lengthy post, I feel it’s appropriate to mention the importance of Future Diary’s characters, and more specifically, Yuno. The video describes her writing as shallow and contrived, but I’ve already addressed that in the previous paragraphs. Many people love chalking her up to “cRaZy YaNdErE gUrL™ 🤪​,” but she’s so, so much more than that. Her character actually has a lot of depth if you pay attention to her story: she’s a girl, an orphan who went on to be neglected by her foster father and abused by her foster mother, resulting in complex trauma, insecurities and fear of abandonment that she tries to hide and overcompensate for in her overly aggressive tendencies. Her obsession in avoiding the loss of the only person she has becomes her demise, as she lives in a loop of torment all for the sake of not being alone again, a cycle of hurt only she has the power of breaking if she finds the strength to do it. Whether it was intentional or not, Yuno portrays a lot of the issues people with mental illness, such as BPD, struggle with. 

Now, claiming that Yuno is a perfect, one-to-one representation of BPD would be reducing this disorder to a caricature, there’s obviously so much more to BPD than what you see in this portrayal. But, I feel like out of the huge list of characters that fall under the “yandere” or crazy girl trope, she’s probably one of the best written ones in anime. I know she’s often dubbed the “yandere queen,” but seriously, it’s rare to see media committing to this trope and properly characterizing it. I would go as far as to say she’s the best character I’ve seen written in this genre, only sharing that spot with another character from a certain game (but given that the mere mention of its name is enough to ensue controversy, I’ll abstain from talking about it here 🙄​). A big portion of characters within this trope are quite two-dimensional, without clear motives for their obsessions, or having their issues played up for laughs (I’m looking at you, Anna Nishikinomiya). Heck, many of the characters associated with the trope aren’t actual yanderes, like is the case for Shion Sonozaki or Lucy from Elfen Lied. 

Yuno’s character is rich and interesting to watch, she isn’t just some “crazy girl” for the sake of it. She’s a product of tragedy, only motivated by the hope of finally having Yukki alleviate all of her insecurities and sorrows. I’ve always found the “yandere” trope interesting since it delves into the lengths people are capable of going over an obsession, and how these form to begin with. Given how complex, sensitive and even personal this topic can be, it’s important to have characters like this be properly written, and I’m glad that Yuno set a standard for this back in her day, even if many people don’t take her character seriously. 

I think it’s important to close up this post repeating the sentiment I had at the beginning. My purpose in writing this defense isn’t so much to force people into liking the show, and even opinions I disagree with like the ones in NezumiVA’s video are valid in their own right, as everyone has different perspectives in interpreting media. This is simply my take as someone who’s been a fan of the show for a really long time, since I don’t see many in-depth essays for Future Diary out there. It is a show that has stuck with me for its lessons on learning to be brave, healing from the past and selfless love. As silly as it may sound talking about an anime, it’s something that I can always look back to and smile, laugh or cry along with. Despite people’s conflicting views and endless criticisms, it will never fail to have a special place in my heart. Given how much time I’ve dedicated to this series, it’s only fair I dedicated a little bit of that time explaining my love for it too. And if you made it this far down the post, I would also like to thank you for dedicating a little bit of your time to my shower thoughts as well!

[heartsmadeofbooks]

[Preview - New fic]: Undiscovered.

Happy Klaine day everybody!

Of course I had to do something special today, for our boys, so here’s the preview of my upcoming fic Undiscovered, which will begin on Wednesday, April 3rd. This fic will only be available on AO3, so if you read my fics on FF.net, keep in mind that I won’t be updating there anymore.

Undiscovered is both a guilty pleasure and a self-indulgence. It was born out of an idea that @blog-carmex gave me what feels like a million years ago, and it kind of exploded from there. For a while it was nothing but PWP in my head, until the perfect plot came along. So, needless to say, this might be my spiciest fic to date.

It wouldn’t exist at all, though, without @blog-carmex, who planted the seed in my head; or without @nerdishedits, who not only made the beautiful teaser cover (and is working on the actual cover) but watered that damn seed until it grew into a monstrous plant that took over half my life; or without the always amazing @christinejaneanderson, who trims the leaves and tends to its wellbeing until it looks like the perfect little plant we all knew it could be. So thanks to you, ladies, for everything.

Without further ado, here’s the preview of the first chapter, and I hope I’ll see you all for a new adventure on April 3rd!

The only sound echoing in the dining room was the cutlery gently hitting the porcelain plates. The attempts to play music in the background had been rejected, like Christmas music might ruin… what? The holiday spirit? The meal? The absolute discomfort they were now forced to sit in?

Blaine Anderson loved Christmas – he just didn’t particularly enjoy spending the holidays with his parents.

He glanced up – hazel eyes quickly roaming around the table, as if trying to find an opening, something to fill this unbearable silence. He found his brother staring back at him, eyebrows a little raised, mouth tilted in one of the corners in what could only be a sarcastic little grin. Cooper didn’t seem as uncomfortable as he was, but then again, Cooper was great at pretending nothing was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as Blaine thought it was. He was just a little less used to being home (was it even home, still? It hadn’t felt like home when he lived here, most times) since he had gone away to college. New York had embraced him like he had always belonged there, like his heart had been made to absorb the sounds of the city and turn them into heartbeats.

Blaine had never quite fit in anywhere like he belonged in New York. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t sit for dinner with his parents without feeling like he was slightly suffocating.

Cooper, completely unconcerned, pushed his plate away and sat back more comfortably. “Delicious, mom. Loved the duck. It wasn’t dry at all.”

Pam Anderson glanced up at him and smiled gently. “Thanks, dear. Glad you enjoyed it. There’s more if you want…”

“Oh, no, no, I’m stuffed,” Cooper said, patting his belly. “I got to watch my weight or they’re going to hate me at work.”

“Oh yes,” Pam said. “How’s the play going? I’m so sorry we haven’t had a chance to go see it yet. Life can be so busy, you know…”

Blaine noticed that the smile on Cooper’s face got a little more forced than usual. There was always an excuse with their parents. They were always busy. There was always something that was slightly more important than being there for their children.

They weren’t children anymore, though. They had both accepted things as they were: Pam and John Anderson would never be picture-perfect parents, not only because that was impossible, but also because they weren’t interested in it. They had scraped by doing the bare minimum to be considered good parents and called it a job well done.

Cooper had always been a bit better at accepting that, Blaine guessed. He wasn’t sure if it was because Cooper had gotten to experience them when they were younger, more open, more patient, or if he just didn’t care anymore.

Blaine would always wonder and never dare to actually ask if they had gotten bored of trying when he was born. He was a lot younger than Cooper. Maybe he had been an accident. Maybe they hadn’t exactly been planning to have another kid…

Cooper was twelve years older than Blaine. For a very, very long time, they hadn’t exactly understood each other. But at some point it was like it finally clicked for them that, if they wanted to have a family, they had to be there for each other, because their parents weren’t going to change, weren’t going to become warmer, wouldn’t be what they had always expected parents to be…

When Blaine moved to New York after high school, Cooper had surprised him by following him there. He used the excuse that he wanted to try his luck at auditioning for plays instead of staying in Los Angeles and focusing only on films and TV shows, but Blaine had seen right through his lie: he wanted to be closer to his little brother. Still, he appreciated it. They had learned to be in each other’s corners, and Blaine was grateful that Cooper had been there as he started to navigate the new city and the new stage of his life.

“The play’s wonderful,” Cooper said. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to go soon. It’ll be running for a while, I think.” He looked at Blaine, and Blaine dreaded whatever was about to come out of his brother’s mouth next. He had the habit of getting him into trouble and was absolutely no help getting him out of it afterwards. “Blaine’s been to see it a couple of times, despite how busy he’s been with his classes and everything…”

Blaine widened his eyes slightly, a silent warning that his brother completely ignored.

“Ah, yes,” their father said, finally putting down his fork, like they were finally talking about something that interested him. “Your classes, Blaine. How are they going? I expect you’ve passed every single one of them?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Blaine muttered awkwardly. He glared at Cooper once more, as his brother did encouraging gestures that were not subtle at all. He sighed. “Well, actually… I’ve made a decision regarding my major, so…”

John sat back, eyebrow arched – those thick, dark eyebrows that looked so much like Blaine’s – and fixed Blaine with a serious look. “What do you mean you’ve made a decision regarding your major? I though we’ve settled on medicine…”

We’ve settled on medicine. Like Blaine had been given a choice at all. Like it hadn’t been entirely up to John to decide what Blaine was going to do with his life.

“I’ve decided to change my major to music,” Blaine blurted out, before he could lose his nerve. “Medicine is definitely a great career, but I don’t want to be a doctor…”

“Music?” John repeated, like he didn’t understand the meaning of that word. “So another one of my children has decided to be a starving artist?”

“Hey! I’m not starving,” Cooper protested, but no one was paying attention to him for once.

“And what exactly do you plan on doing with a music education, huh?” John asked, blue eyes so much like Cooper’s fixed on Blaine like he was the only person still sitting at the table. “Play guitar in a subway station for spare change? Wait tables during the day and play at some second rate bar at night?”

Blaine moved uncomfortably on his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with any of those things, but… I actually want to compose music. Maybe for musicals, maybe for movies, maybe just… play music.”

“Just play music,” John said and scoffed. “A very solid plan, son.”

“I just don’t want to live a life I’m not satisfied with,” Blaine said a little desperately. “And I know you guys really wanted me to be some sort of successful professional, but I have to do what’s best for me, right? I have to be happy with myself when I get out of bed in the morning…”

Pam seemed to notice the tension was growing, because she tried to smooth things over: “Of course, Blaine. We understand. Your father is just concerned that…”

But John shook his head, stopping her. “That is an incredibly childish outlook on life, Blaine. Happiness is ephemeral. You need a steady income and a respectable career…”

“Who says I can’t get that?” Blaine asked him. Part of him was starting to get angry, but the rest of him, the larger part that was usually too careful, too prone to put his head down whenever his father barked an order at him wouldn’t let the anger truly rise. “Why can’t you just… believe in me?”

John groaned, like he didn’t have the time for his children’s dreamy dispositions. “I don’t know where we went wrong with you two. I thought we raised you to have a good head on your shoulders.”

Blaine glanced at Cooper, who looked like he had just been slapped. He felt a bit like that, too. He had expected some resistance to his new career path, but their father was being overly harsh. He didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry if you don’t agree with me,” he said quietly. “But it’s my life. I want to do what I think is right.”

Slowly, John nodded, like he was considering Blaine’s words. Then he stood up, leaving the napkin carefully on the table. “Very well. Do whatever you want. But I won’t be paying for it.”

“John…” Pam started. “Let’s not be hasty…”

“I’m not going to put him through college just so he can throw his life away, Pam!” John exclaimed.

“We can talk about this some other day,” Pam insisted. “It’s Christmas, John.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” John replied. “He’s free to do whatever he wants, of course. He can spend the rest of his days scraping by and counting dimes so he can make rent. I’m not going to help him in any way. Pay your way through college, Blaine. And if you ever come to your senses and realize you’ve made a mistake, I’ll be more than happy to help you get a real degree.”

He walked out of the dining room, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.

Cooper cleared his throat. “Well,” he muttered after a couple of minutes. “What’s for desert, then?”

Blaine pushed his plate away. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

[burning-academia-if]

Happy 1 year to Burning Academia!! Aaa I love your works to bits and I swear I’m normal about your writing—I don’t go back to re-reading Beck’s backstory over and over as if it was one of my most favorite pieces of writing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, nah, not me. Still, I can’t believe time passed so fast... I remember when altogether there were like less than 20 posts on this blog. I’m so glad many more people have found this IF since then!

For the prompt, could we get “please” for Beck? 🤲

Less than 20 posts???? I think that was like the first two weeks of this blog lol thanks for sticking around since the beginning!

Here's please + Beck!

Beck has his arms and head resting on your lap, eyes typically soft glittering with shards of mischief, and a boyish smile that no one else but you could tell meant trouble. You frown at him, not about to buy into the cute act.

            “Please?”

            “No.” You pointedly glance away, “I hate crowded places and besides…”

            You weren’t going to be fun at any event. All you would do would ruin it for him, but even saying that hadn’t been enough to deter him, “It won’t be that busy, I promise. You won’t have to deal with crowds or people being too close.”

            The irony of not liking people too close with him placed so perfectly on your lap, fingers lightly tracing meaningless patterns where they rested just above the knee. A part of you wants to believe he’s doing it without thinking. The other part of you thinks he knows exactly what he’s doing.

            “Why do you even want to go with me so badly?”

            “Why wouldn’t I want to go with my favorite person?” You hate how earnest the question is.

            It finally makes you look at him. He’s peering up at you, wavy hair messy and getting in his eyes. When he sees you’re finally looking at him again, his smile comes back in full force. He should be lucky he’s cute, “Fine, I’ll go. But only for an hour, and if it’s busy—”

            “We’ll leave, I promise. If it feels even a little overwhelming let me know.” He practically hops to his feet, offering his hand. You take it without thinking now, and pulls you up, his free hand finding yours so that he’s holding both. He gives your hands a squeeze, “Thank you.”

            “Whatever.” You grumble, and he gives your hands another squeeze. “I do think I deserve a reward for going outside for you.”

            “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” The warm glow of mischief is back in his eyes. “Unless there’s something else you’d like?”

            “Yeah, a nap.” You refuse to buy into it, and he gives a soft laugh before pulling you in for a quick kiss. You pull your hands away then, and he looks so perfectly content, that you think it’s fine.

            If he can deal with your prickly personality, you can deal with his extroversion. He’s quick to take your hand after you’re both ready, and you follow his lead out. Almost as content as he is. Almost.

[biblicallyaccuratefour]

|No Mercy Rants| Rant post: Profily, the puppeteer and hiding from the truth

AND ANOTHER ONE DOWN, AND ANOTHER ONE DOWN, ANOTHER ONE BITES DA DUST- /ref

Anyways, hello, lads, lassies, fellow letter mafiosos and attack helicopters, since this is my THIRD rant on this blog, I decided to make a series out of it called the ‘No Mercy Rants’, which is a play on Undertale’s ‘No Mercy Run’. Now, to stop myself from further digressing, I’ll put in a disclaimer. (I know that PAF was done to death at this point, but bear with me- T^T)

(Disclaimer: This rant will be discussing topics of harassment and theft. If you’re not a fan of these topics, then please click off and view something else. Do NOT harass anyone mentioned, as I don’t want yous to stoop to PAF’s level. All of the testimony is screenshotted with the users’ consent.)

Now, the next one on the chopping block is @profily-and-friends, which I’ll refer to as PAF for short. So, let’s start from the beginning. In around August, 2023 (I was on my summer holidays, btw-), PAF had started posting several artworks that have been stolen from Twitter (or X, as Elon Musk puts it. Such an eejit-), Deviantart, Tumblr, and other sites. Somewhere around that time, maybe later, @knighttobreath, a user on Tumblr, started the spree of crediting the stolen art to their respective artists. This is where the drama and the beef began…

Now, a few months later, @akalikestodraw, a mutual of mine, was harassed multiple times by PAF because she ‘allegedly stole her art’. Now, take note that this is false, and that Aka has made amazing artwork on her own. She was also accused of tracing artworks. There’s also been asks sent to other users, like @justapplenothinghere, @galaxy-brushs-posts, and many other users, telling them to cancel Aka. Fortunately, no one took the steps to cancel Aka. They instead supported her. PAF told @wowwzaaxei-aster, that Aka was deactivating her account (also false). I’ve interviewed Aka on the matter, and she sees this as them trying to pin the blame on her. All of this had happened on her birthday. (Wow, that’s a shitty way to celebrate one’s bday… ) This whole thing made Aka, and her partner worried, and I’d be worried too, if I was in her place.

Another sin that PAF has committed was the harassment of other artists, requesting them to draw Profily with multiple asks, presumably using alternative or burner accounts, otherwise known as ‘sock puppets’. For some unfortunate artists who fulfil said requests are met with harsh criticism from PAF that they drew Profily ‘incorrectly’. They even get upset when their request is ignored, spamming the artists’ inboxes. I’ve seen them and their sock puppets interact with some of my posts, and the only criticism that I had from them was asking where were the other algebraliens when I made the Eight as Sans post. (In my defence, I was lazy af, and I had school shit going on).

Now, another thing I’d like to mention is that they’ve tried to cancel @talkingteardrop, another mutual of mine. There was a conversation between PAF and their sock puppets about how TD was ‘allegedly racist’, (another false claim) because they ignored PAF (I smell insane troll logic here-). They even claimed that they and TD were ‘best friends’, which they weren’t. (That pissed me off the most, as assholes in my school claimed that they were my friends, even though they’re not.)

Now, as the drama goes on, it becomes even more apparent that PAF is a manipulative puppeteer who’ll harass others to get what they want. They actively hide from the truth and tries to bend the narrative as to how they see it. Their actions have real life impacts, as it has made people feel terrible and having anxiety about going on with their business.

With that said, “What the fuck do we do now..?” Welp, for starters, block every single alt and sock puppet PAF has and report them all for harassment and art theft. Do NOT engage with them, just for your own mental health and to not waste your time and energy on them. (The fact that they use sock puppets reminds me of ZR0finix).

Make sure to drink plenty of water, get plenty of sleep and stay determined, lads. It hurts me to see that people like PAF are making this much trouble in our little community on Tumblr. (I guess my work on rants will never be done-)

Evidence under the cut-

Evidence and testimony from these files:

Knighttobreath's testimony

Talking Teardrop's testimony

Aka's testimony

Screenshots

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

to ashes, conflicted

Clint Barton x F!Reader

To Ashes, Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Summary: your patience runs thin with clint and your latest mission comes with complications.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2,010

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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Days Since the Decimation: Three Years, Sixty-Three Days

“Hungry?” you asked without looking up from the fridge. You pulled a plastic bag of leftover takeout off the shelf, fishing out a plastic container of curry. When Clint didn’t reply, or even acknowledge you at all, you dropped it onto the kitchen counter with more force than was strictly necessary. The lid wasn’t completely in place, and sauce splattered the countertop. You cursed to yourself, irritated further. You spoke under your breath, reaching for a towel. “Or I could just go fuck myself, I guess.”

It was catty, you supposed, but Clint had been oscillating between his usual self and frustratingly cold and dismissive over the last two months, and it was driving you insane. One day he’d be fine – for Clint, anyway – and the next, you’d be on the business end of the silent treatment. The normal days had gotten fewer and far between since the anniversary, and what triggered the silence, you still had no idea, but it was very quickly beginning to grind on the very last of your nerves.

Tossing the container into the microwave, you hit a couple of buttons and leaned against the countertop as the turntable began to rotate. You let yourself stew as it warmed, arm folding across your chest as you watched the archer head for the shower. He continued to avoid eye contact as though you weren’t there at all, even as the microwave beeped to announce its completion.

You sighed irritably and leaned your elbows on the counter as you picked petulantly at the curry. When Clint finally reemerged, he was dressed in most of his mission gear, and you tossed your fork in the sink. He didn’t even glance up as it clattered against the metal.

“You ready?” he asked gruffly from the couch, tugging on one of his boots.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you talking to me?” It slipped out before you could stop it, annoyance dripping from every word.

Clint looked up; an eyebrow raised. “What’s the matter with you?”

You probably should have just shut up, should have just gotten changed and followed him out the door. But instead, you wiped your hands on a tea towel and tossed it on the counter in front of you. The words kept spewing out bitterly. “I just didn’t realize today was one of the days you actually speak to me like I’m a human being.”

“…What are you talking about?”

Shut up, Y/N.

“What am I—” you scoffed, shaking your head as you rounded the counter towards him. “Clint, this is the first time you’ve spoken to me in three days, and its to ask if I’m ready to go on a mission we haven’t even talked about.”

“We—”

“No, we haven’t!” you snapped, brandishing a finger at him as you closed the distance between you. “Honestly, most days you treat me like I’m furniture around here and I am fucking sick of it! You disappear for months; you come back and tell me you ‘need me’ and, fine, I roll with that, but then you act like I’m not even here—”

Clint’s tone turned a shade of defensive, his jaw tightening and releasing. “I’m not—”

You stabbed him in the chest with your finger. “You act like I’m not even here, and you know what, that would be fine too, except when you finally do talk to me, I actually believe for a moment that things could be going back to normal between the two of us.”

“Everything is—”

“No, it’s not!” you shouted, your face inches from his. “Clint, I get emotional whiplash every time you decide to talk to me!”

“Would you just let me—”

“And I sit here and I pretend everything is fine, and meanwhile you’re pretending I don’t exist and you’ve got me yelling like some kind of sitcom reject and if you could just man up and stop being such a—”

Your words caught in your throat as Clint’s hand suddenly closed around it. He pushed you back against the wall, his thumb pressed hard against the corner of your jaw. In your anger you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been to him, and now even that limited space was gone, Clint’s body so close that you could feel his chest brush against yours with each of his breaths.

His fingers were tight, unforgiving, against your throat. And still you felt a thrill shoot through you, and your lips parted without breath. Clint’s eyes were dark. Anger and something else that sent a shiver straight to the small of your back burned in his gaze.

Your fists clenched and unclenched by your sides; a shield could force him away from you, release you, and maybe you should have been scared of this side of Clint, but his eyes fell for a moment to your parted lips and you couldn’t move.

Do it.

Clint released you, stepping away as though he’d suddenly woken up. He cleared his throat and you inhaled, still leaning back against the wall. Your breath shook as you caught it, your palms pressed against the wall by your thighs. Clint ran a hand through his hair, turning his back to you, and you exhaled as that tightness that had bloomed in the pit of your belly began to ease.

“Get changed,” he said finally, and you swore his voice was unsteady. “We’ve… we’ve got a window closing. We’ll talk about this later.”

***

The ‘window’ had turned out to be a weapons deal in the middle of Holland Park – even three years after the Snap and with society beginning to rebuild its law enforcement within the populated areas, criminals seemed to have no problem with committing grand scale felonies in what were still considered major landmarks. Still, the park was very much deserted at this hour, and you found yourself using the silence around you to continue stewing over your… conversation with Clint as you made your way towards the Kyoto Gardens fountain.

You should have just ignored your feelings and followed after him obediently as usual. The helpful little sidekick just doing what she’s told. But no, you had to go postal on him, and now…

You sighed as you clambered up to the top of the fountain’s rock formation, carefully avoiding the water running between the stones. The foliage would mostly block you from view, and the darkness would do the rest. Clint would be nearby, waiting for his opportunity to strike.

Clint…

God, he was going to withdraw even more, wasn’t he? He was going to pretend everything was fine for a few days and then get even more monosyllabic. He might even disappear again.

You’d made a big show of telling him you didn’t care about him sleeping with you and taking off – you didn’t – and then you’d gone and acted like a frickin’ insane girlfriend.

Settling in a crouch on the outcrop, you continued to mull petulantly as you waited for the targets to show. It was almost an hour before anyone turned up, and an ache was starting to settle into both your head and your thighs. A furrow appeared between your brows as the man approaching the fountain arrived empty handed. You recognized his face – he was supposed to be doing the dealing here.

You reached up activate the comms device in your ear. “Hey, something’s off here, I—”

Your head jerked automatically as you heard a pebble skitter down the stones behind you. Hand flying automatically to your belt and you barely managed to roll out of the way as a baseball bat suddenly swung down toward you. Without your skull to stop it, it cracked against the stone you’d just been kneeling on.

Landing on your back on the uneven stones left you in just as bad a position and with a sharp pain in your shoulder, but going any further would have had you rolling right off the edge of the outcrop. The limited light now worked against you, and you stopped fumbling for your gun as the bat came arching down out of the darkness again.

You rocked back onto your shoulders and kicked upward with both feet. The grunt of your assailant told you you’d caught him in the stomach, and you scrambled back into a crouch long enough to pull the blade from the holster on your boot. The sound of voices below and the agonized cry of someone meeting Clint’s blade suggested the man on the ground’s back up had arrived at the same time as your attackers.

Straightening, you held the blade tightly in your fist. The metal shone as it briefly caught the light of the nearest lamppost.

“I told you the boss was on to something.” a gruff, eastern European voice said in the dark, and you raised the blade warningly. “There’s more than one Ronin.”

Oh, shit.

“Yeah, yeah.” came the cockney reply, the man still winded from his meeting with your boots. “Ronin’s got himself a girlfriend. Just get on with it.”

Oh, SHIT.

You swung wide with the knife as the first man approached, ducking under a swing from another baseball bat. The European caught you in the shoulder and you grunted, the blow hard enough that you dropped the knife. You heard it clatter against the rocks below. The cockney guy shoved past him and swung, and you dodged to the left, the move sloppy on uneven ground.

The urge to force them away with a shield was growing along with your nerves as they forced you back closer to the edge of the outcropping, and you swallowed it back. They were already far too informed, and you couldn’t risk them actually unpuzzling your identities. The cockney man rushed you, sensing your hesitation, and you dropped just as quickly. You used his momentum to throw him over your shoulder and send him crashing into the water below.

“Hülye kurva!” the European spat, and you stood quickly, slugging him in the jaw. He grunted, spat, and swung the bat again. You cursed as you moved too slow and the bat glanced off your side. Your fingers twitched in an automatic gesture; forcing the bat out of his hands would be so easy, but—

You jumped, grabbing hold of a tree branch above you. You swung forward, both feet meeting his chest. He fell and you landed in front of him, kicking the bat out of his hand. Removing your gun from its holster, you leveled it with his stomach, finger curling around the trigger.

And then your body suddenly seized as an excruciating pain exploded between your shoulders and set your whole body on fire. Fifty thousand volts coursed through you from the taser bolt in your back and you felt your limbs tense uncontrollably. Your eyes rolled back and you collapsed backward, off of the ledge. A sick, rushing sensation overcame you before you felt your back hit the water and the back of your head cracked against stone.

Then everything went black.

***

“Come on, Y/N. Come on, baby, breathe…”

An almost painful pressure on your chest forced you back into consciousness, the same feeling repeating four more times before you finally coughed the water from your lungs. You rolled onto your side and threw the rest of it up, your chest heaving and your hair dripping in your eyes as you tried to force them open again.

You’d been dragged from the water, a pool of it spreading from your clothes onto the stone beneath you. Your throat burned as you tried to gulp down air, and you coughed again. “Wh—?”

You felt yourself pulled upward, arms banding around your shoulders. Clint’s hand curled in your damp, tangled hair, your face tucked against the curve of his neck. “You gotta stop scaring me like this, Y/N.”

You coughed a laugh, wrapping an arm around his neck as tears burned your eyes. “I’m working on it.”

.

.

.

tags:@trekkingaroundasgard@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@lol-you-thought@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@enna-core@hearmyharmony@katsies@youralphawolf72@maenji@rhymesmenagerie@gwianasky@melaclintbartoncorner@loki-is-loved@whovianayesha@bradfordbantams@alice-the-nerd@fanofallthefics@ace-fandom-dumbass@kaelyn-lobrutto24@twsssmlmaa@earth-pig-fish@meeksmusic83@hallothankmas@justanothermagicalsara@janineb86@darsynia@rhymesmenagerie @thatwelshbi @lauraashley93

AN: this chapter was short and took far too long to write, but I promise the next one will come much quicker!

AN2: The language we're seeing here is Hungarian - and that's because I'm going to be using a particular fictional Marvel country in a few chapters and it's canonically right next to Hungary, so I figured there would/could be an overlap in the language. No spoilers though!

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[17.59]

― pairing : Jeongin x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst with a happy ending, royals au, reader is an assassin, Jeongin is the cutest Crown Prince, no but really he’s super precious, medieval settings ― word count : 3k

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

👑 ROYALS! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho // Felix part one | part two // Jeongin

Contrarily to the expectations you had when you first joined the assassins guild, you became quite good at climbing walls; actually, it was only because you learnt pretty quickly that it was a fundamental requirement, unless you wanted to be hanged as a direct consequence to your actions.

However, this time, you had the authorization to walk in and then walk out directly through the front door of the Crown Prince’s fancy summer estate. At the beginning, the singular request surprised you but Seonghwa – the town guild’s boss, quickly explained you that it was pretty common for nobles, especially the Royal family, to try and kill each other.

«You’re becoming the best assassin I have,» he explained back then, «So, get used to it: more money they have, more money we get.» you nodded, happy with the unexpected praise, and without questioning any further detail, you started studying the maps of the residence, even if it was a pure formality. 

You have been an assassin for at least ten years, thanks to the guild recruiting kids in order to think about smaller crimes without the fear of being caught; orphans were the most common recruits, and with the promise of gaining a good wealth and never starve yourself again, you accepted without thinking further, mostly blinded by your hunger.

Even in your childhood days, you have never been particularly emotional, a quality that definitely helped you the more years passed. During all your missions, you always killed men much older than you, all of them begging for sympathy or mercy but, needless to say, their pleads never shook your soul, since the money you were promised once you completed the mission was much more valuable. This time, your target was the Crown Prince – the illegal son of the King, and you thought out he would have been added to the list of ugly, semi bald men that begged you to spare their lives.

Even if you were authorized by the Queen herself, you thought that hiding your as soon as you were close enough to the mansion’s gates would have been a wiser thing to do; after carefully hiding him behind a large oak tree thanks to the natural shield the night provided, the guards let you in as soon as you showed them the letter you received, and with careful steps you walked in, your identity safely hidden under your hood.

The fact that literally everyone in the mansion was aware of your mission made you furrow your brows; was the Prince so evil for everyone to want him dead? For sure, there must have been a further reason beside him being an illegitimate son, right? You shook your head, adjusting your cape as you quickly walked through the corridors; you were an assassin, therefore, you weren’t paid to question people’s morality.

By now, you knew by heart the path you had to take in order to reach the Prince’s private chambers; your hold tightened around the knife’s helm as you unlocked the door right before closing it behind your back without making any noise. The moonlight was illuminating the bed, and by the silence and laboured breathing, you figured that Prince Jeongin must have been asleep, making your work even easier.

«You’re here, finally,» a young and sweet voice startled you as you were now standing at the feet of the bed; the Prince slowly uncovered himself, just to stand up next to it with a quick move.

“He’s still dressed formally,” you thought, quickly examination his figure, “did he know?”

«Where do you want to do it?» the innocence and resignation the boy’s voice held made your blood ran cold, and for the first time in your life, you hesitated. The boy was young, he was around his twenties - you could have been the same age, his hair was black and it reached his shoulders. You knew the people who hired you wanted him dead, but he was just a boy.

Unexpectedly, your heart picked up speed at the realization; you have never killed anyone so young.

«Please?» the Prince interrupted your train of thoughts, opening his arms wide and tilting his neck so that you could choose where to stab him and with a rapid and swift movement, you lowered your knife in horror, looking around in order to see if it was some sort of trap.

«What are you doing?» you asked, dumbfounded, not even bothering to force your voice to come out a little rougher so that it would have been less recognizable.

«Oh,» Jeongin looked at you once again with his brows furrowed, his arms falling on his sides, «you were doing so well!» with rapid steps, he inched towards you, grabbing your wrist, «It’s just a stab, I promise!»

To say that you were shocked was an understatement; your heart started to hammer in your chest and you threw your knife on the bed; with a quick movement of your arm, you reversed your positions, shifting behind Jeongin while keeping his arm behind his back.

It was paradoxical; you - an assassin, forcing Jeongin – the Crown Prince, to confess why he was yearning for his own death.

«I was waiting for it,» Jeongin explained with a small and resigned voice, «how can a bastard be the heir to the throne?» he said, and the way he spat those words made you quickly understood that probably, he had been hearing these words his whole life.

A wave of pure concern washed over you, and you kept hesitating on what to do; aware that the more you hesitated and talked with your target, the more you were screwed. Talking led to emotions, and emotions led to hesitation: a feeling which you clearly didn’t need. Assassins weren’t paid to have emotions, and even less, to have conversations.

«Okay, listen to me,» you set free Jeongin from your grasp, and he obediently sat on the bed hearing your harsh tone; his big eyes looked at you carefully, and you momentarily felt your heart clench at the sadness you saw in them. Truth was, you weren’t sure on what to do, but you were driven by the instinct of keeping him safe; you never felt like this, you never felt anything while doing your job but this time it was just… Different, in a way you could not understand.

The only thing you could make out from the whirlwind of thoughts in your head was that Jeongin had the same empty, dejected eyes you had when you met Seonghwa, before you both joined the guild. «I’m going to take you out of here, and you’re gonna be fucking silent until I say so,» you said, before reaching for your knife and sheathe it back.

Jeongin was puzzled with your actions – and you were too, but nonetheless obeyed as you instructed him to get up, only for trying to lift him over your shoulder. Thanks to your constant physical activity, you were more built than the girls around your age, but even so, you didn’t have super powers and Jeongin was definitely a bit too much light weighted for your taste. With another quick movement, you put him back on the floor, looking at him in the eyes with a serious and inquisitive gaze.

«Unbutton your jacket.» you ordered, aware that the sentence didn’t came out in the way you wanted because Jeongin blushed furiously and started stuttering on his words, before complying with trembling hands. Truth was, despite the fact that the Prince was so incredibly innocent and attractive, the first things your hands checked as he opened his expensive blue and silver jacket were his sides; with innocent and confident touches, your hands caressed his waist, his chest, and your eyes flew into his once again.

«Jeongin,» you said, not minding about formalities with the boy you were supposed to kill but most of all, worried about the fact that you could easily count his ribs under your gloved fingertips, «Do you even eat?»

«I-» Jeongin adverted his gaze, unsure what to answer, «Sometimes I… forget.»

“Lies,” you thought, and your instinct had the best of you; quickly, you buttoned his shirt once again, before mimicking him to stay silent. Jeongin nodded, and you lifted him over your shoulders, keeping him in place with one hand on the back of his thighs.

The walk back to your horse was quick – you mentally praised yourself for having hidden your horse and utterly felt disgusted with the people that complimented your job on your way out.

«Finally, the real Prince can claim the throne,» one of them said, and you had to refrain from throwing the poisoned blade – originally destined to Jeongin, to his throat.

The realization that you didn’t know what to do hit you full face as soon as Jeongin was standing next to your horse, looking at you with a lost expression; he was playing with his own fingers, looking around as if he had rarely seen the world outside his mansion’s walls.

Jeongin was alive, and therefore, you had failed your mission; in ten years this was definitely the first mission you’ve ever failed, but deep down, you knew you had done the right thing. With a quick movement, Jeongin covered his rumbling stomach, hoping that you didn’t hear the fact that he was still hungry at a such unholy hour of the night.

The moment your eyes locked with his and all you could see was sadness and utter innocence, you knew what you had to do.

«Come, I’ll take you to a safe place,» you said as soon as you climbed on your horse, offering him your hand so that he could climb up as well, sitting in front of you.

Jeongin was unsure whether to trust you, but after all, you just saved his life; he thought that it probably couldn’t get worse than one of his usual days, and so, he took your hand with all the strength he had before helping himself up on his horse.

That night, you took Jeongin back to your small apartment, cooked for him, and let him sleep on your bed, aware that as paradoxical as it sounded, Prince Jeongin was safer in the company of an assassin rather than his entire guardhouse.

The fact that you created a scandal among the assassins guild of your town was a euphemism.

«What did you mean you couldn’t do it?» Seonghwa almost shouted in disbelief, and that’s how you spent a solid hour of your day: in utter silence, with your eyes locked on the floor. You patiently listened to Seonghwa’s outburst, knowing that he was right; you weren’t paid to have emotions.

«I sent you on the job because I knew I could trust you, and what do you do?» Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair, somehow relieved that, at least, you decided to get rid of any evidence of him being alive.

«I’m sorry,» you tried, your voice weak and your heart full of sadness due to the fact that you disappointed him; Seonghwa was few years older than you, and he always saw you as a little sister, helping you out with your training when you were still a rookie on the job. As soon as Seonghwa was chosen to be the new leader of your city’s guild, you were happy, since you firmly believed that no one could be better than him. «He was so scared, I saw myself when I first joined.» you confessed at last, and Seonghwa’s eyes somehow softened.

Seonghwa sat on his chair, his head thrown back and his hands massaging his scalp, thinking about what he could do to resolve this mess; you couldn’t stay in town, and neither could the Prince.

«I’ll write a letter to Chris,» he said, few interminable minutes later, his words muffled by his hands still on his face, «He’ll hire you for sure.» he explained that Chris was the leader of another assassins guild in another realm.

«Pack your things, you have to leave tonight.» you nodded at his words, and for the first time in ten years, you received actual affection in the form of Seonghwa gently hugging you close to his body, whispering a soft, «I promise I’ll come and visit.» for a moment, you let yourself go, sighing against his chest and hugging him just as close, as you felt some tears at the corners of your eyes.

«I’m sorry.» you admitted, the fact that you had to definitely leave the city where you’ve always lived in finally started to sink in.

«It’s okay, little monkey.» Seonghwa caressed your hair, and you smiled at the nickname he gave you when you were still kids, learning how to climb on the city’s walls without getting hurt.

«Innie, where did my cape disappear?» you called from the bedroom, before hearing a quick shuffle of steps walking towards where you were. Immediately, you smiled at the sight of Jeongin – which now lived under the name of “Innie”, walking towards you with a cute pout.

«It’s still drying under the sun,» he mumbled, his arms snaking around your waist and his chin delicately resting on your shoulder.

«What am I supposed to wear now?» you sighed, faking annoyance and looking at the boy while tilting your head, watching as he giggled at your reaction.

Two long years has passed since the night you saved Jeongin, and he seemed a completely different person; his hair were now shorter and he wasn’t as thin anymore. Jeongin grew taller, his body looked way more toned and healthier, the innocence in his eyes was the same, but the sadness was now completely replaced by kindness and happiness.

Jeongin had so much love to give it was unbelievable, and he addressed all of it towards you- his best friend, and your group of friends – the élite members of Chris’ guild. For the first time in your life, you weren’t scared of having emotions, and it was all thanks to Jeongin’s natural talent of bringing people together.

«You could always use mine!» Jeongin smiled, and you shook your head.

«We’re meat to go together.» you reminded him, but he still insisted for you to wear his cape instead of him.

Despite the fact that both you and Jeongindefinitely felt more than simple and chaste affection towards each other was kinda obvious – especially to your friends, but you’d always find a way to avoid the topic. Both you and Jeongin had just started a brand new life together, the least thing you both wanted to do was to ruin an opportunity to be happy.

You were sure that eventually, one day you and him would become a couple, but you didn’t wanted to rush it. Things as delicate as love need time, after all.

The meeting was informal, you and the others were meant to meet at Chris’ house and eventually talk about business after you all had dinner; evenings like this were definitely not rare, and you realized that that night, sparing Jeongin’s life was the best decision you’ve ever made. You were most definitely happy; you had friends, you had someone who loved you and always waited for your return anytime you went on your missions.

Technically, Jeongin worked in the guild as well, but effectively, Chris accepted your plead to keep him in the shadows, leaving everything regarding the accountability to him.

At first, Chris was confused but accepted nonetheless, only to find why you were so worried about him going around and killing people. Jeongin was the most innocent, clumsiest boy you’ve ever met, and slowly, both you and your group of friends started not to trust him around anything which was too sharp or looked threatening.

«What do you mean there are blades that come out of your sleeve?!» Seungmin chimed in the conversation you were having with Jisung, Minho and Hyunjin, and you immediately referred him about a new creation that Seonghwa told you about in one of his letters. 

«Oh, cool,» you heard Jeongin say, noticing in the corner of your eyes that he was leaning towards Changbin in order to hold one of the knives he had placed on the table as he was talking to Chris and Felix.  

«Jeongin, no!» eight different voices echoed in perfect synchrony, startling the poor boy which petrified with his eyes wide and a knife hanging in mid-air. Jeongin put the knife back on the table with a pout, quickly going back to sit on his original place next to you. 

Jeongin spent half of the night cutely glaring at everyone with an adorable pout – his chin on your shoulder, until eventually your fingers interlocked on your lap.  

It was a mid-summer afternoon, the sun was burning bright in the sky and you were quietly humming to a song you’ve heard at the tavern few nights earlier as you were washing the dishes in the small house you were living in with Jeongin.

It happened naturally, one moment you were focused on cleaning a spoon, and the other you felt Jeongin’s fingertips tilting your head towards the left just to place a quiet and chaste kiss on your lips, mumbling a soft, «I like you a lot.»

At first, you stared at him as if you have been struck by lightning, wondering who turned your cute and innocent Innie into a smooth and sneaky boy – it was probably Hyunjin, but then, you acknowledged your constantly growing feelings for him.

«I like you, too.» you admitted, and immediately Jeongin walked behind you in order to hug you while you finished your chores.

«Wait,» you tensed up, moving just enough to side-eye him, «Wasn’t it your turn to wash the dishes today?»

«I… forgot… I have to talk to Chris about very important matter!» Jeongin chanted, and you watched with an incredulous amused expression your boyfriend running away from his own duties. 

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[sickonthedancefloor]

⭐

Director's Cut - All Hands on Deck!

Hi y'all, I got a star! ⭐ So I wanted to cut in on this series I started 2-3 years ago that is taking me forever and a day to write.

I spent weeks watching compilation videos of BTS and finding old blogs with their management and staff team and their two main managers that definitely were going to cameo the most in the series. The biggest issue is because they’re managers and behind the scenes staff, it’s always tricky trying t find a characterization that doesn’t seem too off-putting or bizarre.

Outside of that, watching the entire gang dissolve into madness with everyone catching some sort of weird plague is fun to write even though it’s quite difficult. I’ve always been in the habit of writing these long af fics, instead of shorter, easier to post/easier to digest stories. Part of what takes forever is trying to write such long af pieces, even if they’re unnecessary to be that long.

I do plan on continuing this, probably after screaming when Jin makes it back home.

So this fic is actually titled in my story folder as ‘3amchicken’–which was the original plan, just uncontrolled undercooked chicken disaster and hungry boys without restraint–but it ended up being, what? As

Here’s the original fic beginning:

Honestly, they should have done their research first. It had started as a craving for fried chicken after a night working at the studio, and a bleary-eyed Sejin dropped Jimin and Taehyung off at their dorms with fried chicken from the new-but-slightly-seedy restaurant down the street from the studio. Ever the foodies, the two night-owls were always down for trying new restaurants, especially ones within walking distance from their home or from the studio. “Don’t eat too much too quickly,” manager Sejin warned them. The poor man had been up far too long with them; Jimin felt bad having to wake him up from where he’d fallen asleep in the hall from the practice room, but they didn’t have much of a means home outside of walking, which wasn’t the best option at three in the morning. Sejin unlocked the doors to the dark SUV. “You don’t have heavy assignments tomorrow but I know you’re not going to sleep well if you eat all of that chicken tonight.” His eyes turned to the two large bags the boys held. “It’s not just for us!” Taehyung argued quickly, boxy grin in full force. “We’re gonna share… Most of it, yeah.” Jimin nodded quickly, although he knew he and Taehyung would probably eat a ton of this on their own. They hadn’t eaten since late lunch, and after dancing for even longer than Hoseok that night, they were positively famished. And given the heavy sigh, both boys knew their manager knew they weren’t going to listen. He bid them goodnight and waited for them to enter the building before driving off. Jimin snickered, bumping his shoulder against Taehyung’s as they hurried to the elevators. “Think anyone else is up?” “Suga-hyung definitely is,” answered Taehyung, already reaching into the bag for a biscuit. “I asked if he wanted anything, he just asked for wings.” Fishing his keys from his pocket, Jimin made a face. “Ugh, you buy wings for Suga-hyung but you won’t buy wings for me? What kind of best friend are you?” “The kind that buys chicken with you in the middle of the night. Jimin-ah, it smells so good, we gotta hurry and eat it.” With a laugh, Jimin unlocked the door and let Taehyung in first, slipping off his shoes as he locked the door. The kitchen light was still on, but only the tv shone from the living room. As they carried the bags into the area, Jungkook’s messy bun popped into view. “Chicken!” Yoongi chuckled and gently shoved Jungkook away as he rose, stretching his back. Jungkook, instead, climbed over the back of the couch to join the two 95-liners in the kitchen, helping them lay out the different packages. “Wow, this stuff is so greasy,” he remarked, staring at his hands after touching a box. “And we’re sure this place is credible?” Taehyung shrugged. “Seemed credible to me. I guess it’s just greasy.” “That’s going to hurt your stomach later if you eat too much.” But even with the warning, Yoongi walked over and pulled a potato wedge from one of the boxes, taking a bite. He nodded approvingly. “Tastes good though.”

[missrosegold]

and if my body should fade i'll trust you with my soul part II

Part I can be found here

Synopsis: You’ve always been able to see the man with white hair and charred skin around your village, even though it seemed that nobody else could.

Or, you ended up making a deal with death, and now he’s come to collect.

Word count: 30k

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death, strong language, smut, so Minors or ageless blogs DNI. This is rated 18+ Additional tags listed below. This does take place in a somewhat medieval inspired AU so there are some misogynistic tones in some parts of the story.

Playlist: Sparky Deathcap – September (we got fire) instrumental version, slowed.

Thank you once again to the lovely @candycandy00 for editing this for me, and another massive thank you to miss @kimkaelyn for making the banner for me! (I love it so much!)

You sigh to yourself as you check medical supplies in your village’s apothecary, making a mental note to tell the healer you’re training under that you’re running low on Feverfew and Echinacea.

Fall has arrived in full swing. The dense forest that surrounds your town has changed its leaves from vibrant green to beautiful shades of red and yellow. It’s beautiful, but you’ve never been much of a fall person. You know what comes next. The autumn months mean winter is close behind, and you’ve never liked the cold. For some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that this upcoming winter is going to be a particularly bad one.

You shake your head and return to your task at hand, but you can’t stop your mind from wandering as you continue to take stock of the medical inventory.

After the mysterious disappearance of your betrothed, your parents didn’t try to engage you to anyone else, and you can’t help but feel relieved. Marrying one of the men from your village was never in the cards for you, a fact that you made very clear to them after your formal betrothal’s disappearance. You weren’t interested in marriage or raising a family of your own. Not right now, possibly not ever.

In the end, you decided to train under your village’s healer – a kind old woman named Chiyo, who’s been the town healer for longer than you’ve been alive – as a means of getting out from under your parents.

Despite word of your betrothal’s mysterious disappearance quickly spreading throughout your village, there had been some other potential suitors that had come to you after you had started training at the apothecary. While none of them were rude or malicious, you always turned them down with a gentle smile before sending them on their way.

Besides, none of them held your heart the way a certain pyromancer did.

You haven’t seen Touya for a few months now, not since the disappearance of your betrothed. You’re not completely sure what happened after Touya found him – you’re not sure if you want to know, even though you have a pretty good idea of what happened if the fresh burns he had come back with had anything to say about it. You know better than to ask though, knowing full well that Touya will never tell you the full truth, even if you already know without him having to say it.

You sometimes wonder if there’s anything left of the blacksmith’s son.

You know that you should feel shocked, horrified even, that your pyromancer was capable of doing such an atrocious thing. But all you feel when you think about it, is a strange sense of relief.

You wonder if that makes you a bad person.

Inwardly, you know it probably should, especially when the blacksmith came looking for his son not long after his disappearance. When he had asked you if you knew anything about why his son had seemingly taken off without so much as a word to anyone, you had said no, of course, because what else could you have said to him? It’s not like anyone aside from you could see Touya to begin with, and there no way to explain to the blacksmith the fate that had most likely befallen his son.

Regardless, all you knew was that you’d never see him again. Touya had made sure of that.

There are still search parties that go out every once in a while, looking for him and a part of you wants to tell them that it’s a waste of time, that he’s nowhere to be found, but you won’t. It’s yours and Touya’s dirty secret to share now, and it will stay that way until you take your dying breath.

You suppress a sigh as you take a break from checking inventory, and your thoughts wander back to Touya of their own accord. He had warned you that he wouldn’t be back for some time after he had brought you home – he had serious business to take care of in the eastern part of the country, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. You hope he’s doing well, wherever he is.

Your heart clenches when you think of him. You’re not sure what you are anymore. You told him that you loved him, and even though he didn’t say it back to you, you’re certain that he loves you too.

“You know why.” Those words have echoed in your head since he said them to you. You’ve known that the two of you have been bordering on the cusp of something for a while now, and that solidifies it.

You promise yourself that the next time he comes to see you, you’ll ask him what you are to him. What this is.

Eventually, Chiyo dismisses you in the midafternoon, and you find yourself taking the lonely path up towards Dabi’s temple. You’ve started going there a lot more in Touya’s absence. Ever since you kissed the white-haired pyromancer in Dabi’s temple, you had started making a habit of coming back to the derelict temple, in an effort to clean it up a little.

For some reason, Touya seems to have a fondness for the place, and you’re starting to understand why. Despite its outward appearance and dust covered insides, you’ve never once felt unwelcome in the temple itself. It’s calm and quiet, and the more you visit the abandoned shrine, you realize it’s really a shame that it was abandoned by the priests, because it was probably quite beautiful back in the day.

With that thought, you had decided to take it upon yourself to try and restore the temple back to its original glory.

When you had brought up what you wanted to clean Dabi’s shrine to the priests at Hawks’s temple, you had been met with disbelieving looks, as the temple itself had sat vacant for well over a century. But once you had assured them that you weren’t there to cause trouble, and that you only wanted to clean it up a little, they had relented, and even gave you cleaning supplies, telling you that if you needed help, all you needed to do was come and get them.

You had laughed to yourself as you took the cleaning supplies back with you to the temple. The only reason why you had gone to them in the first place was to tell them what you planned to do, regardless of whether they liked it or not. Hawks’s temple was the closest to Dabi’s, and you’d end up walking past it to get to the secluded shrine more often than not. The last thing you needed was them assuming that you were doing something strange, when it was the exact opposite.

You soon found yourself in front of the large double doors once more, but unlike the first time you had entered the temple, you didn’t hesitate to let yourself in this time, shutting them softly behind you. You set your shawl down by the entrance and take off your shoes to avoid tracking any dirt in from the outside. You breathe in deeply as the faint smell of incense hits your nose, looking around the large room with a content smile on your face.

It’s not perfect, but its far better than what it was previously. You’ve washed and cleaned the floors and walls, sweeping out almost a century’s worth of dust and other debris. You’ve scraped the ancient remains of melted candle wax off the alter in front of Dabi’s statue, and replaced the melted down prayer candles with new ones. You brought in some pillows and plush rugs from home that your mother was about to throw out, not wanting them to go to waste, and also wanting to make the temple more homey, in case anyone aside from yourself wanted to visit. You keep incense burning constantly to get rid of the musty smell that has always lingered around the temple, and it finally seems to be working. Lastly, with the help of two priests from Hawks’s temple, you were finally able to fix that damn hole in the ceiling above the statue of the Cremation God.

Now you’re at the temple to do one last thing: clean the giant marble statue of the Death God himself. You didn’t see much of a point cleaning it before the hole got fixed, but thankfully, the sculpture doesn’t seem to be very dirty. Still, you want to go over it, and wash down what you can reach – it’s only polite after all.

Besides, after what you learned about him from Touya, you figure that it’s not a bad idea to stay in the illusive god’s good graces--

“Hello Princess.”

You jump at the sound of a familiar smoky rasp, and whirl around, only to see Touya standing a few feet behind you, a smirk plastered across his dis-coloured lips.

“Touya! When did you get here? I thought you said you didn’t know when you were going to be back! Did you finish with whatever you were doing in the East early?” you gasp delightedly, as the tall man strides towards you. He shakes his head.

“No, the situation there is a bit more… serious then I originally thought. I’m probably going to be there for a while yet, but I had some time, and I wanted to see you.” He stops directly in front of you, and his smirk becomes softer. “How have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been… keeping busy.” You tell him, lacing your hands together in front of you. “I’ve started working at the village apothecary. Chiyo runs a tight ship, but I’m learning a lot from her and she’s good to me.”

“What did your parents think about that?”

“Well… they weren’t pleased, but that’s more to do with me telling them that I won’t be courting anyone anytime soon. I told them I wasn’t interested, nor will I ever be. My mother isn’t happy, but at least she hasn’t forced me into any other engagements… not after what happened before you left.” You tell him honestly, and Touya only nods, his expression not giving anything away.

“Glad they’ve finally taken the hint. What else have you gotten up to, pretty girl?”

“Take a look around, you tell me.” You tell him with a tiny smile. You watch his brows furrow together in confusion, and he looks around the room, only for his eyes to widen, like he’s seeing the temple for the first time.

You watch as he investigates the plush rugs and pillows you have scattered around the base of the alter, how he takes in the sight of fresh prayer candles lit at the bottom of the statue – how clean and bright and warm you’ve managed to make it, since you were both here last. He seems overwhelmed, like he’s at a loss for words.

“I did it for you.” You admit softly, feeling your face heat up with your admission.

“You did this… for me?” he asks slowly, not looking at you, as he takes in everything that you’ve done. You smile softly at him even though he can’t see it.

“You seem to be pretty fond of this place, and you know so much about its history, I thought that maybe I could fix it up a little so I could have something to show you when you came back.” That gets his attention, and he fixes his azure eyes on you, locking you in place.

“You did this for me.”

“I… yes… Do you not like it?” you sputter, suddenly worried that you’ve done something wrong.

“No, Gods no. You did this for me.” He says breathlessly. “This is more than I could have ever hoped for.” He closes the remaining space between you, and his obscenely warm hands find your waist, while yours automatically come rest on his chest. “God’s you did this for me.”

“Yes.” You whisper. “Touya? I don’t understand--?”

The words die on your lips as Touya surges forwards and presses his rough lips to yours. You feel the grip he has on your waist turn bruising, as he kisses you hard and deep, bordering on desperate.

“I love you.” He tells you, pulling away momentarily to bring one hand up from your waist to cup the back of your neck. “I love you. You were the first person to see me in so long – I knew you were different, I knew you were for me, and then you did this-“

He smashes his lips back onto yours, and you wrap your hands around his neck. Normally, you’d be mindful of his burns, but you’re so engrossed in his feverish kisses that you squeeze him tightly, and feel him moan into your mouth in response. He pulls back slightly for air, and pants heavily against you.

“Let me have you.” He growls against your lips. “Right here, right now. Gods help me I can’t wait any longer. I need to have you. I need you.”

“Okay, I—okay—yes.” You hear yourself gasping, and suddenly you’re swept off your feet. You feel your back hit something soft. Turning your head slightly to the side, you realize that Touya has placed you down onto a small pile of pillows. The realization of what you’re about to do hits you full force, but you don’t feel scared. You want this, you want him. You’ve wanted him for a long time.

Touya looms over you, caging you in, and runs the back of a heavily scared hand over your cheek. You shiver from the sensation of his feverishly hot skin and the cooler tones of the staples in his hand running over your skin. He gives you a wicked smile, as he sits back on his haunches, and starts to push your skirts up, revealing your bare legs.

You lurch up and grab his hands, forcing him to pause. He chuckles low in his throat at your actions, and pries your hands off of his own, placing a kiss on the back of one as his azure blue eyes meets your flushed face. “Relax my love. Let me take care of you.”

“It’s just- I mean, I’ve never done this before. I’m-“

“I know.” Touya damn near purrs, and you feel heat pool in your belly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll be so gentle with you, I promise.”

You nod shakily and lower yourself back down onto the pillows, as Touya hikes your skirts up, revealing your legs and bottoms. He groans deeply as he kneads the plush of your thighs. “Fuck Princess, you’re perfect. Just like I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about me?” For some reason, his words of endearment strike a chord with you.

“Of course.” Touya murmurs, coming up to kiss you briefly, before taking your hand in one of his own. “Whenever I’m away, or I’m in the middle of a mission – alone and lonely – I think of you.”

He brings your hand down to his crotch, and sure enough, you feel a bulge underneath his pants. “See what you do to me?” he growls as he releases your hand so that he can work on shimmying your panties down your legs. You go to move your hand away, but he fixes you with a stern look. “Keep it there. Don’t move until I tell you to.”

You nod as he hooks his fingers into the band of your panties and leans back slightly to pull them down your legs, almost ripping them off in his haste. As soon as the offending material is gone, Touya gently wraps his hands around you knees and pulls them up so your feet are planted on the ground, before nestling his way back in between them, not taking his eyes off of the junction in between your legs.

“Gods.” He whispers. “Fuck.”

You feel him throb in the thick canvases of his pants as he runs a finger through your folds, causing you to shudder and clench around nothing. “God love, you’re fucking soaked.” Touya hisses, as he pushes your hand away from his hardness and rips his cloak over his head, revealing his bare chest to you.

In all the years that you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him this exposed. His chest is a patchwork of scars and staples just like his arms and face. Most of the skin is dead and badly burnt, but you do see some spots where there are still glimpses of healthy skin amongst the mess of purpled burns. Just like you suspected, his body is lean but ripped with corded muscles that bunch and flex with his every move. He looks like he was built by a god – a god with a twisted sense of humor – but you could care less. You think he’s perfect.

“You’re beautiful.” You tell him honestly – not wanting him to think you were focusing only on his burns – and he looks almost bashful at your words, letting a small chuckle escape him as he gently picks up one of your hands to press a quick kiss on the back of your knuckles.

“Look who’s talking.” He fires back at you, as he uses his thumbs to spread your lower lips apart. It should be embarrassing how wet you are from a little teasing, but Touya looks absolutely enthralled. 

“Is all this for me?” he muses to himself softly. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he bends down and swipes his tongue through your folds, causing you to moan loudly and try to slam your legs closed on impulse, but Touya is faster – forcing them to stay open with a hand on each inner thigh as he continues to lap at your pussy.

You whimper involuntarily from the ministrations, and Touya squeezes your thighs as he comes back up. “I know, I know love. I can’t wait any longer either. Goddamn-“ he almost snarls; his hands immediately going to his belt, as he unfastens it and tosses it to the side somewhere.

“I can’t believe someone as beautiful as you is letting someone like me do this to them.” he mutters as he pushes his pants down to just past mid-thigh, allowing his dick to spring free – and through you’ve never seen a man’s cock until now – you’re certain that it’s the prettiest one that you’ll ever see.

It’s long and thick and curves slightly upwards. It’s as pale as the undamaged parts of his skin and you think it looks quite lovely. You’re a little nervous about the size of it, but Touya doesn’t allow you to look at it for long, before he’s lining himself up to your entrance.

You swallow thickly as you feel how big and hot the head is pressed up against your tight entrance, and Touya must sense your hesitation, because he drapes himself over you, supporting himself on his hands, as he takes both your hands in one of his own, and gently pins them above your head, stooping down to kiss you once more.

“Breathe.” He murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips hotly. “I’ll make you feel so good. Just lie back and breathe for me, my love.”

And with that, he slowly pushes himself in.

The stretch is delicious and you know that he’s ruined you for any other potential man. But there’s never been anyone else, has there? From the moment you officially met, it’s always been him. It will only ever be him.

Touya is cursing above you, but you can’t hear him – too lost in your own pleasure. It isn’t long before he’s picking up a steady rhythm, his hips hitting against yours with a wet smack. You’re so wet from his earlier teasing that he glides in and out with little resistance, and you feel your legs starting to shake from the waves of pleasure he’s inflicting upon you.

“Gods, how are you so tight?” Touya groans as he leans down to capture your lips with his. You kiss him back eagerly, wishing that your hands were free so you could wrap them around his neck, but he only tightens his grip on them when he feels you start to resist against his hold. He pulls back after a moment to take in your pretty face and glassy eyes, his hips not slowing down, as they continue to rut into yours.

“You’re mine.” He snarls hotly, swooping down to suck a mark onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, causing you to cry out and clench around him.

“You’re mine- fuck it, you’re mine, no one else’s.” He sucks another mark onto the other side of your neck, and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head, as something in your lower stomach snaps – the wet sounds of your union becoming louder as you cum around his cock. Touya’s hips falter for a fraction of a second as he registers what happened, before he the last shred of restraint he had snaps, and starts pounding into you relentlessly, ignoring your sobs as he stimulates your already oversensitive insides.

“When you told me… that they had engaged you to that bastard-” He hisses lowly in your ear, as you continue to sob. “-I almost burnt your damn village to the ground. How dare they try to take what’s mine?”

A dark look enters his blue irises. “I wanted to fuck you right here in this temple afterwards – send a message to your parents and anyone else who thought they could have you, that you were spoken for.”

“Touya- I’m-“ you barely manage to choke out in between sobs. Your body feels like it’s on fire from his words. You feel the tell-tale signs of another orgasm quickly approaching, and you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel so good with the way he’s now mercilessly drilling into your insides. You had talked with your married friends about sex before, that was a given, but even they didn’t describe it as feeling this good.

“Tell me who you belong to.” He pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me who you belong to, and I’ll give you everything.”

“You!” You manage to scream out, voice cracking as he hits a particularly sensitive spot in you. “It’s you! I’ve always belonged to you—you alone! I’ve only ever loved—Oh GODS!” you wail as you cum around his length again. The glint in Touya’s eyes become frantic and his hips stutter as you spasm violently around him. He finally let’s go of your wrists, in favour of grabbing your hips with both hands to pull you down onto him and meet his powerful thrusts.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He breathes. “Fuck love; I’m going to fill you full of me. Let the whole world – the gods – all of them, know you belong to me-“

You keen at his words, and he manages to grind out a breathy, “Shit-“ as he spills himself inside you, swooping down to capture your lips with his rough ones again, as he fucks his cum into you. You’re so blissed out, all you can do is wrap your arms tightly around his leathery neck, until his hips still; still buried deep inside of you.

Eventually you break the kiss, but Touya makes no move to get off of you. He moves his hands up from your hips, so he can take some of his weight off you, and rests his head on your collarbone, as he struggles to calm his palpating heart. You wriggle your hips and Touya grimaces, mouthing over one of the marks he sucked onto your neck.

“Wait.” He mumbles. “Give it a minute. It’s sensitive.” His comment pulls a laugh from you, and you feel him grin against your skin.

You stay joined like that until you feel his dick soften inside you, and Touya gently pulls out of you. You whimper at empty feeling, and close your legs as you feel a rush of fluid that you already know is a combination of both of your releases, leak out from in-between your legs. Touya smiles at your reaction, the staples in his face pulling slightly as he strokes the leg closest to him gently.

He rolls onto his back on the pillows beside you, and pulls you onto your side, so your head is on his chest. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart, and watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. It almost lulls you to sleep, but Touya suddenly speaks up after a moment, catching your attention.

“I am the only one allowed to see you like this.” He rumbles low in his throat, running a warm hand down your side, feeling the muscles jump underneath his touch. “No man, no one. You belong to me. I’ll take such good care of you.”

“But you’re going to leave me again.” You whisper, hating how you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “You said so yourself: you have unfished business in the East still. Who knows when you’re coming back…Besides… No one can see you aside from me. How can I possibly explain this to anyone?”

“It’ll be different this time, I swear it.” Touya shushes you, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I’m going to be in the East for a while yet, but when I come back, I’m going to stay here with you, for a long time. No more disappearing acts for a while.”

You lift your head off his chest to stare at him in shock, to gage if he’s saying it to make you feel better, but you see nothing but honesty in his eyes. He touches your cheek. “I promise little one. I’ll make it work. I will stay with you. For as long as I can.”

You don’t mean to, but you can’t stop the tears that well up in your eyes and spill past your cheeks at his promise, as you place your head down on his scared chest and cry. You don’t know how long you stay like that, but Touya makes no effort to get up – simply holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as you weep.

It’s getting harder and harder to say goodbye to him every time he leaves. You feel like your heart is breaking inside of your ribcage, whenever he has to go. This time is no different, but it will certainly leave you feeling hollower than the other times that came before.

Eventually, once your tears have dried, you separate to get dressed and fix yourselves up. You’re straightening out your skirts as Touya tosses his dark traveling cloak back over his torso, obscuring his muscular chest from view. He must see you blushing, because he tosses you a grin over his shoulder at you, moving to grab your shoes and shawl for you from the front of the temple.

He kisses you as you wrap your shawl around yourself, and rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you.” He tells you, gesturing around the temple. “For doing this. It means more to me than you know.” You nod in response, and he intertwines your hands together as he leads you to the temple entrance and you exit together. 

He kisses you deeply once more outside the temple. He has a pained expression on his face when he pulls away, and he looks like he wants to tell you something important, but something is holding him back. He’s quiet for a moment before he squeezes your hand.

“I need you to promise me something while I’m gone.” He tells you seriously, and you nod, signaling for him to continue. He sucks in a sharp intake of breath.

“Promise me that you’ll take care of your health while I’m away. If someone comes to the apothecary with a strange sickness, or any signs of odd infections outside of a normal fever – I want you to go home and stay there.”

You furrow your brows, not understanding what he’s saying, but one look at his face tells you that he’s deadly serious and it’s not open for discussion.

You agree that you’ll be careful, and you’ll keep your eyes open for anything strange, and that seems to put him at ease. He kisses you once more before letting go of your hand, and slowly backs away from you. Once he’s a good distance away from you, he smiles sadly at you, before a raging torrent of blue flames engulf him once more, and he’s gone.

Life in the village goes on as normal for the next two months. The brightly coloured leaves that once decorated the trees surrounding your village have started to fall off the branches with large gusts of wind as winter draws closer.

You throw yourself into work at the apothecary, grateful for how busy it keeps you. You haven’t heard anything from Touya for a while now, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in the East that has him so tied up. You haven’t heard any news from the Eastern part of the county in a long time, so if something big is going on, your town will probably be one of the last places to know. You don’t see much sense in worrying about it though, so you divide your time between visiting Dabi’s temple, and Chiyo’s teachings.

You’ve almost forgotten about Touya’s cryptic warning – until the stranger shows up in town one day. (Or rather, stumbled in – since he didn’t even make it three feet from the town’s entrance before collapsing in the streets, leading to several concerned townspeople finding him and bringing him to the apothecary for treatment)

He’s malnourished and sicker than you’ve ever seen anyone in your life. You and Chiyo spend days caring for him, with no results.

He dies one week after arriving in town, and is buried just outside of the village borders. An unfortunate tragedy, but you can’t save everyone. A harsh lesson that your mentor has drilled into you. You never even figured out what was afflicting him, though Chiyo think’s it may have been an advanced case of pneumonia.

At first, it was just him.  

Then, another man got sick with symptoms eerily similar to what the stranger had.

Then it was two.

Then three.

Then twelve people in one day.

The number of infected only skyrocket from there.

Before you know it: there is an entire epidemic in your small town. Chiyo eventually figures out what it is, but by that point, eight people are dead and the number of people sick is quickly spiraling out of control.

Plague. The black plague of decay. Death.

Your parents beg you to come home, as they don’t want you around such a deadly sickness, and truthfully, you don’t want to be anywhere near it either – but you can’t leave Chiyo by herself. She’s the town’s only healer and she’s old. You know if something happens to her, the whole town is screwed, so you grit your teeth, mask up, and stay by her side.

For a while, things are going about as well as they can be. People are still dying at an alarming rate, but you and Chiyo somehow manage to stay healthy, and you keep trying to treat those who aren’t as sick the best you can with what you’ve got.

Then one day, you feel light-headed and nauseous out of the blue and you look down, only to notice an alarmingly dark black spot on your arm that you know wasn’t there the day before.

Everything goes downhill from there.

-----

Winter has arrived in your village full force, but you can’t see it. You haven’t seen anything outside of the four walls that make up your room for a while now.

You had caught the plague. The second you had shown Chiyo the black mark on your arm, she had immediately sent you away with some herbs crushed into a tablet for you to take to slow down the spread of the sickness.

Slow down being the key words. There was no cure for the decay plague. Once you had it, it was a death sentence. It was only a matter of time before it took your life.

Your parents had grabbed you and locked you in your room the moment they had seen you stumbling back from the apothecary. You hadn’t seen them face-to-face since. You only saw brief glimpses of them when they opened your door to slide food into your room on a tray, or when they came back to collect your dishes, though these days, you didn’t have much of an appetite.

They didn’t even have to let you back into the house once they saw the mark on your arm. But they still did without any hesitation. Despite knowing how ill you were going to become, they still insisted on taking care of you. You may not have agreed with their choices when it came to your personal life, but it was comforting to know that at the end of the day, your parents still loved you. Even if you went against everything they wanted for you.

A violent fit of coughing racks your frail body, and you automatically lift your arms to cover your mouth. When you pull your arm away, you cringe at the sight of red splattered across your forearm, before dropping it back down beside you on your bed with a muffled thud.

You can’t even look at your arms right now. Your skin, which used to be sun-kissed and clear, is now pale and speckled with ominous looking splotches of black, as the sickness makes its way through your body. You don’t even want to know what the rest of you looks like. You haven’t looked at yourself in a mirror since you were confined to your room. You’re not sure you’ll be able to handle what you see.

The room starts to spin around you and everything hurts. You close your eyes in a weak attempt to stop the jarring movement, but it does little to help you. Opening your eyes doesn’t make things better – your vison has become burry lately, and you can’t focus on anything anymore. Normally this would upset you, but you don’t have any strength left in you to care.

You know that you don’t have much time left. You don’t want to say it out loud, but you know your time is drawing closer. Based on the few times you’ve heard your mother – and on occasion, your normally stoic father – sob outside your door as they collect your untouched dishes, they know it too. You’ve held out longer than most people have, but you know that soon you’ll be making your way to the Underworld, it’s inevitable.

You only pray that all the visits you’ve made to Dabi’s temple over the last few months have paid off, and the Cremation God will be kind to you once he comes to collect you.

Dabi. His temple. Touya.

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the thought of your white-haired lover, as a single tear falls from your eye, and crashes onto your pillow, humble and silent. 

You’re never going to see him again. You don’t want to acknowledge it, but it’s true. As far as you know, he’s still in the East while you’re here, dying in your room. As tempted as you’ve been to use his name to call him to you one last time, you won’t.

Powers or not, you don’t want him to potentially end up with the plague too. Not to mention, you don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want him to remember you sick and frail as you are now. You’d rather have him remember you fondly: full of life and happy. There’s no need to put him through that kind of anguish.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from wishing you could see him one last time-

Suddenly, your room feels unnaturally warm. It’s been very cold lately, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re dying that it makes your room feel colder than it should, but now your room is borderline sweltering.

You swear that you see a faint blue glow out of your blurry peripherals, followed by the tell-tale smell of something burning, before the glow dissipates into nothing. The intense heat remains and even though you can’t see very well, you know that someone is in the corner of your room.

“Who is it?” you manage to rasp out and you hear the stranger’s breath falter, as if they weren’t expecting you to be awake. The stranger takes three slow, purposeful strides until they are at your bedside, hovering over you. You blink hard, trying to see who the intruder is, but your vision must be getting worse, because all you can make out is a tall, white being above you.

You have no idea who, or what you’re looking at and are about to panic, until the figure bends slightly, and two familiar, warm, rough hands cradle your cheeks like you’re the most delicate thing in the world.

Choked sobs rack your body despite how much the movement hurts you, because you know who’s by your side, even if you can’t make out his finer features. Your suspicions are confirmed the second you hear his low, gravelly voice.

“Beloved… what has happened to you?”

“Touya… is that you?” you whisper, and you feel his fingers tense under you. His thumbs swipe at your cheeks, even though you can’t seem to make any more tears to shed.

“I’m here beloved. I’m here now.” he rumbles quietly. He falls silent for a moment, then you hear him ask “ Why didn’t you call me to you?”

He sounds… sad… heartbroken even.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this…” you trail off, not knowing what else to say. Touya doesn’t seem to know either, but from the way he sighs, you think he’s holding back tears as well.

“Did I not tell you to be careful?” There is no anger behind his words. Just defeat. You don’t think it’s directed at you though.

“I know.” You tell him, wishing desperately that you could lift your arms up enough to touch his face like he is doing yours. “It just happened so suddenly. There was a strange man who got sick, and then the next thing we knew, almost the whole town was plague-ridden. I couldn’t leave Chiyo by herself.”

“I know.” Touya sighs. “Are you… are you comfortable?”

“I can’t see very well anymore… I think I’m dying very soon.” You admit softly. You manage to reach up to cover one of his hands with your cold one. “You shouldn’t be here… as much as I love seeing you one last time, you might catch the plague as well – I don’t want that for you.”

“The plague doesn’t affect me. Don’t worry yourself about it.” Touya murmurs gently, and you swear you faintly see something red and thick, roll down his face. He leans down to press a light kiss to your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but suddenly your vision clears, and you’re able to see the best you have in weeks. You look up at him in wonder, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

Instead of his normal dark clothes that you’re used to seeing him in; Touya is dressed in a flowing, white burial shroud that exposes his chest. It makes him look eirthral, like a ghost that had come back from the grave. What really concerns you though, is the right side of his face – the side closest to you. The burnt flesh on his lower jaw by his mouth is gone, and you swear that you see the bone underneath starting to appear.

“Touya—Touya what happened to you? What have you done to yourself?”

“Don’t worry about me. It looks worse than it is.” Touya grumbles, dismissing your concerns. “The person that you should be worrying about, is you.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, love.” You tell him softly. “I’ve been sick for a while now… I’ve held out longer than a lot of other people have, but I think my luck is running out fast.”

This time you know you’re not seeing things. You watch in shock as a large droplet of blood oozes out from underneath the burnt skin under his eye and slowly rolls down his face, leaving a shiny red trail behind it as it makes its way down his ruined skin. You try to bring a hand up to wipe it away, but Touya beats you to it, releasing your cheeks long enough to turn away from you and compose himself.

“That crusty bastard. He promised me that he would keep it away from here… guess it got past him too-“ you hear Touya mutter under his breath. “It doesn’t matter now, gods… fuck.” He turns to face you again, and you see a red streak running along the side of his face, where he tried to wipe the blood tear away. His hands return to yours, and he wraps them up tightly.

“I tried… I tried so fucking hard to keep it contained. I thought, if I could contain it to the East, then it wouldn’t spread and it wouldn’t come here, to you. Even though I’ve seen it happen, so many times over the years. I thought I could change it.”

“Touya what are you talking about, you’re not making any sense.” You beg him, but he doesn’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in his own head, as he squeezes your hands in his own.

 “It’s not fair. You’re so full of life. I don’t want you to die like this.”

Something in his gaze shifts and the sadness from earlier is gone. Instead, a determined look has appeared in its place. He cradles the back of your head and neck with one of his hands as he gently lifts your head up to him, flinching at your pained whimpers.

“Do you trust me?” he asks you urgently.

“Of course.” You whisper, your vison is starting to darken again, but you try and keep your focus on Touya’s bright blue eyes.

“I can stop this.” He murmurs. “I can stop this and save you and what’s left of your town. But you need to make a deal with me. Do you accept?”

“A deal…? Stop this… I don’t…” you whisper, and Touya squeezes your hand, desperate to keep your attention on him.

“The full extent of my abilities come with a price. I can save you, but at a cost.”

“What’s the price?” you find yourself asking. You’re not sure how he intends to save anyone from something as severe as the plague with no cure; much less yourself, considering that you’re almost certainly on death’s doorstep, but you’re curious. Even if you’re beyond saving, maybe your town still has a chance.

“You.”

“Me.” You echo, still fighting to keep your gaze on him. “Why?”

“I told you already, you’re mine, you’ve always been mine. But this will bind us to each other indefinitely. Your life will become mine in exchange for me removing the sickness from you and your village. Do we have a deal?”

“Am I really worth that much?” you tease hoarsely, as you feel your eyes start to close against your will.

“You mean more to me than anything in this pathetic life.” You hear Touya grind out. “Let me do this for you. Please.”

He squeezes your hand, and his next words sound almost desperate. “I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my lifetime and I’ve lived a long time. Please let me do this for you.”

You know that under different circumstances, you wouldn’t agree to anything like this. Touya’s words are carrying an underlying weight to them, and you know there’s something that he’s not telling you. Normally, before agreeing to anything, you’d make sure everything was out in the open and that there weren’t any catches to your deal… but really, how much time did you have to ask about the finer details?

You were out of time. You knew it, and he knew it too.

Really, how bad would it be being his? Wasn’t that what you always wanted anyways?

“I accept.” You whisper, as your world fades to black, not even sure if Touya heard you or not.

He did.

The next few moments are a whirlwind. You feel Touya stand up above you and his hands go to your left forearm – to the spot where you first noticed the sickness. It’s arguably the worst spot on your body. The darkness has spread underneath your skin and takes up almost your full forearm now.

You feel his warm hands press into the skin of your forearm, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then his hands start to heat up, hotter and hotter, and you can smell something burning. You don’t know whether it’s your flesh or his, but you don’t have the energy to scream out, even though the pain is excruciating.

There’s a bright blue flash and you feel something being seared into your arm – in the same spot where your original plague mark was. Heat spreads through your body like a wildfire, and you feel like you’re being burned from the inside out. Suddenly, as quickly as the pain started it’s gone.

You’re shaking, gasping for air as you try to control your rapidly palpating heart, but you can’t open your eyes. Exhaustion hits you full force, and you feel what little strength you had left in you bleed out. Touya is still there, and you feel him slowly ease you back down onto your pillow, placing your arm down at your side once more.

“Rest now beloved. I’ll see you soon.”

No sooner than he says those words, you feel yourself slip off into slumber, and you allow the darkness to take you.

You wake to the sun streaming across your face

It’s the first time you’ve seen any hint of the sun in months, and at first, you think that you’ve died, but the tell-tale signs of stiffness in your muscles tell you that you’re still very much alive, if not very dehydrated.

The thought draws you up short.

You’re alive. You’re alive when you probably shouldn’t be. That means… Touya… he’d done it.

A burning feeling races through your left forearm and draws you up short. You slowly bring your arm up to look at what’s causing the pain, only for your eyes to widen impossibly.

The dark stain under your skin caused by the plague is gone, as are all of the other signs of sickness that had marked your body. What is on your arm, is nothing short of confusing.

A strange symbol is on your arm, in the spot you remember Touya gripping the hardest. A long, straight line runs horizontally done your forearm with three smaller lines running through it. Another long, straight line along the top of the first line completes the marking, and you stare at it in shock.

It covers the spot where you had your original plague mark, almost as if you’d never had it at all.

You reach out and gingerly touch the mark, only for your door to open suddenly – causing you to yank your nightgown sleeve down in a hurry. You glance over to see both of your parents standing in your doorway. It seems to take them a moment to process that you’re awake, and seemingly plague free, before they rushed to your bedside and have pull you into a tight hug.

“You’re awake! Thank gods you’re awake! We thought that we lost you for sure!” your mother sobs, as she clutches you to herself. You’re shocked, and you ask her what she means, only for her to hold you tighter.

“You’ve been asleep for three days. You wouldn’t wake up! Nothing we did worked.” Your mother cries, and you feel your heart drop.

Three days? What did that mean for everyone else?

“We’ve heard from Chiyo that all of the patients at the apothecary have also recovered. She’s not sure how, but the plague seems to have disappeared.” Your father states gruffly, as he strokes your hair. “It’s some sort of miracle.”

Yes, and his name is Touya. You think to yourself. Just what was he, to be able to have the power to dispel a sickness as deadly as the decay plague from an entire town?

“We do have a visitor downstairs, if you feel up to meeting with him.” Your mother informs you as she passes you a cup of water. “Some of the priests are visiting homes on Chiyo’s orders, to check in on families and see if anyone is still sick. The head priest from the Endeavor temple is here. I’m sure he’d love to check in on you now that you’re awake.”

You don’t particularly want anyone to see you right now, knowing that you must look awful and you would much rather go find Touya, provided that he was still in town somewhere – but you nod anyways. Your mother tells you to take your time getting ready, as she and your father leave your room, saying that she would tell the priest to wait downstairs.

The process to get ready is painfully slow. Your muscles are weak from a lack of use, but you’re able to wash yourself if you move carefully. You slip on a clean dress, making sure that the mark on your forearm is fully covered, and run a brush through your wet locks before deciding that was enough, and gingerly make your way downstairs.

You slowly make your way into the living room where you see the priest from Endeavor’s temple sitting in one of the armchairs, waiting for you. He’s a large man, dressed in Endeavor’s traditional colours: dark blues and fiery oranges and reds. Your parents leave when you enter to give you some privacy and the priest points to the chair across from him.

“Have a seat girl.” He tells you, and you sit without a word. You fidget uncomfortably as he looks you over carefully, before finally speaking. “Chiyo specifically asked me to come check on you and see how you’re doing. She wanted to thank you for all your help at the beginning of this mess. She wanted to come herself, but she has a few things to take care of at the apothecary. She sends her regards.”

“Oh, it was my honor. I couldn’t leave her there all alone.” You tell him, lifting your arm to wave off his praise without thinking about it. You realize your mistake too late, as the sleeve covering your forearm slowly rolls down to your elbow, revealing the mark etched into your skin.

The priest stops dead the second he glances at your forearm, ad his eyes widen impossibly. He points shakily to the mark etched into your arm. “Where did you get that from girl? Who did that to your arm?”

You hesitate. How can you possibly explain Touya to him? No one aside from you could see him. They’d call you mad if you tried to be honest, and would cast you out from your home. What would you do then?

‘I… I don’t know if you’d believe me if I told you.” You mutter, clutching your arm close to you. “Why, what’s so special about this mark?”

“That is Dabi’s seal.” The priest hisses as he snaps his fingers at you, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. “I haven’t seen a mark like that for decades now, but he is closely connected to my lord Endeavor and I’d recognize it anywhere. It has been rumored that he puts that mark onto people who enter into deals with him. I’m wondering how you ended up with it on your arm.”

Your world crumbles around you at his words, and the illusion that you had unknowingly walked into, shattered.

Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya, Dabi, Touya-

Touya is Dabi.

How could you not have seen it sooner? Looking back on it, the signs were obvious: how he knew so much about Dabi – or rather, himself. How he could seamlessly travel across large areas with very little effort. How he had powers that far surpassed any mage or race you’d heard of. How he never seemed to age… How his body had lasted so long despite the burns that were very clearly getting worse as time passed by-

The thought draws you up short. A hazy memory of Touya standing over your deathbed. A chunk of his flesh missing from the side of his mouth… looking more worn down than you could ever remember seeing him… Suddenly, you have to find him.

And you think you know exactly where he is.

“I-I have to go.” You mutter, shakily rising to your feet. The priest tries to get you to sit back down, but you shove him off. You barely have time to throw a light shawl around your shoulders and put your shoes on, before you’re running out the door in the direction of Dabi’s temple, ignoring the surprised shouts of your parents.

You are reminded how weak your body currently is, as you have to stop and catch your breath several times on the way to the temple, ignoring the looks that a few curious townspeople are giving you, as you eventually make your way to the temple.

This time, you don’t need to reach for the doors, since they seem to open on their own for you. You step through the entrance and they close behind you softly, shutting you away from the sunshine outside. You notice the temple is seemingly empty, but the prayer candles are lit at the base of Dabi’s statue, and the flames are blue.

He’s here, somewhere, you know it, you feel it, but for some reason, he hasn’t shown himself to you yet. It makes you worry and prompts you to call out his name softly.

“I’m here, beloved.”

The familiar rasp of his voice echoes from behind the larger-than-life sculpture. You smile in spite of yourself, and move closer to the sound of his voice, where you can just make out a shadowy figure partly concealed behind the base of the stature.

“Don’t come any closer.” The harsh growl makes you pause.

“Why?” you ask the shadow and you see two familiar blue eyes staring back at you from the gloom.

“You’re not going to like what you see.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before you shake your head. “I don’t care. You know I don’t care about what you look like.” You swallow before adding on. “I think you and I need to talk about some things… about you.”

“So, you figured it out?” the figure rumbles, and you nod.

“There are some things I need to know. Things that I need to understand. But please, I just want to see you. Come out.” You extend your hand towards the shadow, and hear him sigh deeply, before shuffling closer to you.

A burnt hand takes hold of yours, dwarfing it, and the man—no, the deity, pulls himself into the light provided by the candles. He watches as your face changes from confusion, to shock realization, then to—

He doesn’t think he can do it; he can’t watch as you reject him. He knows that he doesn’t look pretty. He looks like a walking corpse and he knows this. He looks more dead than alive and honestly, he is. He knew he shouldn’t hang around the temple, knowing that you’d eventually come looking for him once you had recovered enough, but he’d wanted to see you one last time before he made the inevitable trip back home to the underworld – even if it meant you seeing him like this—

“Oh, Touya. Did… did you do this to yourself to cure me?” you whisper so softly; he wasn’t sure if he heard you correctly. He risks glancing back at you, only to see that your face hasn’t twisted in disgust upon his reveal. You’re holding his hand so tightly, like you’re afraid that he’ll crumble to ash if you don’t, and maybe he would, he’s not sure anymore.

Your eyes meet his, and he sees unshed tears in them. There is no repulsion or fear in your eyes like he thought there might be, there is only concern and worry for him, and he feels his once dead heart thunder in his burnt chest.

He wishes he could feel the texture of your soft hands on him again, but the burns are deep and have spread everywhere now. All he can feel is pressure on his hand where you’re holding it in your own. Suddenly, he feels more vulnerable than he has in a long time.

You stare back at him, trying your best not to shed the tears you feel forming – knowing that they won’t help anything. What remained of Touya’s once beautiful, pale skin is gone. His entire body is covered in deep russet scaring. The mess of staples that he hadn’t bothered to remove or replace, were scattered across his body where they had once held the damaged and healthy skin together. Parts of his body – where you assume the skin had been thinnest on him – are burned almost completely down to the bone. The skin by one side of his mouth is almost gone, and the flesh near his wrist on his other hand – the one that he didn’t give you – has been burnt down to where you can see the tendons flexing when he moves.

He's still wearing the white robes from before. He looks like a wraith, a sight that would terrify even the bravest of people, but it stirs no such feelings in you.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, not knowing what else to say. He shakes his head.

“I can’t feel anything anymore.”

“Oh.” You croak, not sure if his answer made you feel any better. It doesn’t, but you try not to let it show on your face.

The deity gently removes his hand from yours and moves several paces back from you, as if he’s trying not to upset you. You feel a lump rise in your throat, but push it down. “Did you do that to yourself to cure me from the plague?” you ask him again and he only nods once.

“You and what’s left of your town. I told you; I make good on my promises. It’s the blowback that gets me. Shigaraki won’t like what I’ve done, but he can’t do anything about it.”

You frown at the mention of the other name. You swear that you’ve heard it before somewhere, but you can’t place where from. Maybe if you remember, you’ll ask him about it later, but right now, you have other things you need him to clarify.

“Can I ask you something, my lord?” Dabi snorts at your formalities, and waves you off.

“Please. None of that from you, Princess.  If I wanted you to call me by my titles, I would’ve made you do it when we first met.”

You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. You’d been slightly worried that knowing his identity would change the dynamic of your relationship with him. Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be the case.  

“How come I could see you when no one else could?” you question him. Dabi pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out how to explain himself.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He responds after a moment. “We walk amongst mortals all the time; we’re just hidden in plain sight. Some humans are different than others, and are able to see us for what we really are, but most mortals can’t see through our disguises. I choose to be invisible, it’s much easier to do my job that way. Normally, the only time humans can see me is when I come to collect their soul, or when I let them see me purposefully. But you,” he fixes you with his intense stare that you’ve grown used to.

“you were an abnormity. I’ve only ever met one or two other mortals in my time alive that were able to see me, even when I was invisible to everyone else.”

“What did you do to them?” you don’t know what prompts you to ask. Dabi looks away from you.

“I killed them.”

“Why though?” You’re not sure if you want to know his reasoning, but this may be the only time you get to ask him.

“Because no one is supposed to see me – it’s taboo. The only time I’m supposed to be visible to mortals is when I come to take you to the Underworld with me. I can’t let people wander around telling others that Death himself is coming. Do you know how much chaos that would cause on the surface?” Dabi snickers to himself.

“But I could see you, and you didn’t kill me.” You press. Dabi lets a small smile pull at what remains of the muscles in his cheeks.

“No, I didn’t.” he agrees quietly.

“Were you going to?” you ask, remembering how tense he was the first time you met face to face.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?” You’re not mad about the revelation. You’re just curious. What made you so different from the others that came before you?

“I was going to… But something told me not to.” Dabi trails off, seemingly not having the words to describe why he did what he did. “I couldn’t tell you why I hesitated back then… but I’m glad I did.” The hint of a smile ghosts across his face. “You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t predict everything else that came afterwards. But I’m certainly not complaining.”

Your face flushes a brilliant shade of crimson when you realize he’s talking about when you fucked in this temple… his temple.

You can’t bear to bring yourself to meet the smug look in his eyes, so you try to compose yourself best you can, but it’s hard when you feel his oceanic eyes boring into your being.

“I… I just have one final question to ask you.” You stammer out, trying to fight down the colour in your cheeks that you know he can see. The burnt deity nods, signaling for you to continue. You suck in a breath, suddenly nervous for some reason.

“What… what exactly does this mark that you’ve given me mean? To you, that is.” You ask, touching the mark on your arm with your other hand, and you swear that you hear Touya- no, Dabi, bite back a moan.

“It marks you as mine. To humans and other gods alike, it means you are mine and under my protection.” He growls, a possessive edge in his raspy voice.

“Is that all?” you probe softly. Dabi bites back a laugh, and fixes you with a warm expression, blue eyes glowing like a cat in the dimly lit temple.

“What do you think?”

He answers your question with another question, but it’s weighted. The mark definitely has another meaning to it, you’re sure of it, but you want to hear it from him.

“I think it means something more… but I want to be sure. I don’t remember the finer details of our conversation, since I was… well… dying.” You shrug, trying and failing to look nonchalant. You don’t particularly want to be reminded of that time.

Dabi must see it in your expression, because he immediately drops the teasing act and takes a hesitant step towards you, slowly, as if he’s trying not to scare you.

He points at your arm and you lift it up so he can see the symbol burned into your skin. “That is my personal mark. It means that you’re not only under my protection… but it also marks you as my consort.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you can tell that he’s not joking. He’s deadly serious.

“Your consort? You mean, like… like a bride?” you breathe, hardly daring to believe it. Dabi cracks a smile.

“So that’s what you humans are calling it these days. Yes, you are. Unlike some of my kin, I don’t take multiple wives. It’s just you.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do, you have to fight yourself to stay upright.

“Oh gods. I’m the bride of a god.” You mutter, swaying slightly in place. “You’re a god. You’re an actual god.”

The burned deity only chuckles. “I can’t believe that you never figured it out. It’s not like I was trying to hide it from you at the end there.”

“I mean… It’s obvious you weren’t human, but I didn’t think you were a God.” You mutter. “You just… you acted so… casual. Not like what I’d expect a God to act-- not that I’m complaining of course!” you add on as you hear Dabi let out an amused snort.

You point up at the statue of Dabi- or rather, him. “Besides, it’s not like I knew what you looked like. You’re always depicted with a hood over your face.” You frowned. “Why is that exactly? You’re not wearing a hood. You’ve never worn one when you’re with me. The only time I ever saw you with one was when you were traveling. Not as you are now. You never let any of your disciples see you?”

“They depict me like that because it’s easier that way.” Dabi explains smoothly. “My face changes depending on what part of my… cycle I’m in. Sometimes I look like how I did when we first met – other times I look like… well, this.” He gestures to himself after a brief pause. It makes your heart ache.

“My kind are supposed to be divine beings. Perfect. I am not. I don’t need to be depicted looking like a walking corpse to the few people who still worship me and visit my temples.”

His gaze flicks back up to you. “You were never supposed to see me like this.”

You know that you shouldn’t psychoanalyze him, but you can’t help but find him endlessly fascinating. He may be a god – a divine, primordial being – but his emotions were so very human.

He may go by many different names, but Dabi was Touya. Your Touya, the man you fell in love with over the years you spent getting to know him. The man who would willingly burn down your village to keep you by his side, only to save it in its time of need, for you.

What he looked like was irrelevant.

“What you look like doesn’t bother me.” You tell him softly, taking a hesitant step closer to him. “It never has. You know that.” Touya’s muscles flinch, like he’s fighting against moving away from you, but he stays rooted to the spot as you slowly advance, until you’re close enough to place a hand on the exposed part of his chest – right above his heart.

“I will love you no matter what form you take, because no matter what: you’re still Touya. You’re still the man I love. God or not, you always will be.”

You lean forward and press your lips to what is left of the flesh around his mouth, and you feel him release a shuddering breath, as his arms come up to wrap themselves tightly around you. You pull away slightly to tuck your head against his chest, returning his embrace, ignoring the burnt smell that always clings to him; and you feel him rest his chin on your head.

You don’t know how long you stay like that for, but eventually Touya reluctantly removes his chin from his spot on your head, and lowers it so he can speak directly into your ear.

“I have to go.”

You try and pull away so you can look him in the eyes, but his arms keep you tightly pressed up against him, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go, you’ll turn to smoke and disappear.

“But… you said that we’re bound to each other now? You promised me that you wouldn’t leave again-“

“I know, but this will be the last time I leave without you, I promise.” He rasps in your ear. “This cycle is at the end. I’m dying.”

You feel your heart clench painfully at his words, and suddenly, you’re taken back to the spring, where he took you to his temple for the first time, and where he unknowingly to you, explained his history. Where he also revealed that gods themselves could die, however difficult it was.

“You’re… you’re dying? How, why? I thought you said it was almost impossible for you to die?”

You feel Touya shake his head and squeeze you again. “It’s different in my case. I die a lot. But the difference is: I come back. It just takes a while.”

“I don’t understand, please Touya, what do you mean?” you feel frantic, and cling to his robes like small child. “I-I can’t lose you!”

“You won’t.” Touya promises you firmly, pulling back to fix you with an unwavering look. “It’s difficult to explain, but I’m more like a force of nature then a ‘traditional’ god. My power is great, but it destroys my body and I ‘die’. However,” his eyes narrow dangerously as he thumbs over the mark on your arm, “I’m a god of the Underworld, and we play by different rules than those that reside upstairs.” He points a finger mockingly up to the roof of the temple.

“I have what you humans call a ‘cycle’. Whenever I ‘die’ I return home, so that I can rest and regenerate my body. Eventually I come back to how I was before I got all of my scaring, and start again. The cycle repeats itself over and over again on an endless loop.” He sends you a crooked grin.

“That’s the other half of my secret: Cremation and Reincarnation tend to go hand in hand. But nobody needs to know that except for you.”

“How many times have you done this?” you breathe, but Touya only shakes his head, shooting you a forced smile.

“More times than I can count. I’m not the oldest God in the pantheon Sweetheart, not by a long shot, but compared to you, I’m ancient.”

“Oh.” You murmur. trying to fight down the blush at the stark differences in your ages, and Touya’s smile becomes more relaxed. You fist your hands at the front of his robe and try your best to return his smile. “So, you’re going to come back… for me?”

“Yes. I’ll eventually return to my original form. But it’s going to take me a while to regenerate.”

“Oh gods, you mean I’m going to be an old woman by the time you come back to get me.” You joke, trying your best to lighten the somber mood, and Touya barks out a laugh.

“No, no. It won’t take that long, I promise… but, that being said, it won’t be anytime soon either. I’m sorry.”

You nod, and try to relax your grip on his robes. You smooth your hands over the soft fabric, and inwardly you hum in delight, as you feel Touya’s abnormally warm hands run down your waist. He brings one hand up to your chin and gently tilts your face up to meet his.

“I will be back for you. Make no mistake about that.”

You feel his other hand glide up to your left forearm, the one that now bares his mark, and press on it possessively. “This binds us together. I’ll make good on my promise, and when I come back for you: I’m going to take you around the world with me, just like I promised you I would. I’ll give you everything.”

You feel your eyes water with his declaration. The sincerity in his eyes tells you that he’s not bluffing. He will be back for you the next time he comes to your humble village, and he will show you the world if you so choose it.

“…How will I know?” You finally manage to ask him quietly.

“How will you know what?”

“How will I know that you’re coming back to get me?”

Touya lets a deep laugh rumble out of his throat, and pushes his face close to your ear so he can whisper directly into it:

“Oh, don’t worry… you’ll just know.”

-----

Three years have passed since that day.

Spring has come again, symbolizing rebirth and renewal, and yet seemingly nothing has changed in your little village. You still work at the apothecary with Chiyo, but now you spend most of your time at Dabi’s temple, keeping it clean, and trying to educate those who visit it, more about the reclusive Cremation God.

More people have started to visit the temple in the three years since you last saw Touya, and you’d like to think that he’d be pleased if he could see it. You’re headed to the temple now to do your daily cleaning, and make sure that everything is orderly, before you head back home for the night.

You smile as you watch a group of small children run past you, as you think back to the day that Touya had left you one final time.

Word had spread like wildfire after you had returned from the temple that day – about how you had made a deal with the elusive Cremation God himself to cure the town of its plague, and how you now bore his mark on your own skin, binding you to him.

You thought that you’d be ostracized, a pariah in your town – but surprisingly, the majority of people seemed to accept it with very little backlash. You suppose that’s the closest to thanks that you’ll get for playing a part in saving your town from destruction, but you’ll take it.

More people do tend to keep their distance from you now, largely in part due to your lover’s fearsome reputation, but you don’t hold it against them.

They’ve started calling you Shaoha – Death Woman. Normally, it’s a derogatory name for a demon or witch, but you know they don’t mean it in that way, and you can’t help but find it fitting given the circumstances and your ties to the Death God himself.

You smile sadly in spite of yourself as you make your way through the forest trail towards Dabi’s temple, leaving the village behind you.

You dress mostly in black or deep blues these days, mourning the fact that you haven’t seen your god in years now. He promised you that he would eventually be back for you once he had healed, before you were old and gray, but you wished that he would have given you a rough estimation of how long that would take, because with each day that passes, you miss him more and more.

Your friends have started families of their own, and while you never had the urge to have children of your own, seeing them happy with their husbands makes you wish that Touya was here with you. Your friends give you sympathetic smiles, and try and comfort you best they can. While you’re grateful that they try, it’s not the same.

It’s strange: you’re surrounded by people who care for you, and yet; you feel more alone now then you ever did before.

You reach Dabi’s temple and push the doors open, finding a few people milling about, paying their respects inside, and the sight pleases you greatly. Ever since it was revealed that he had been behind the disappearance of the plague, the townspeople had started coming to the temple more frequently to pay homage to him. You’re glad that you had cleaned up the temple beforehand, even if it was just for you and him initially.

Several of the people take notice of you, and they quickly file out to allow you to do your daily inspection. After deeming everything to be orderly, you make your way back to your home, just as the sun is starting to disappear behind the tree-line.

You reach your house just as dusk has fallen, and you talk with your parents over dinner for a while before heading to bed. As grateful as you are for their company and their efforts to keep you occupied, the constant ache in your chest never fully dissipates, even when you aren’t alone. 

As you lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take you, you send out a silent goodnight to Touya, hoping that he can hear you, wherever he may be. Just as you have done every night for the last three years.

You hope that wherever he is, he knows how much you miss him.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You open your eyes again and your room is pitch black, letting you know that it’s the dead of night. For a moment, you lay there confused, wondering why you’ve woken up at a seemingly random time, only to realize that you feel different.

You don’t feel physically sick, and the sensation that is coursing through your body like liquid fire in your veins doesn’t feel ominous or wrong, but you suddenly have the intense urge to get up and leave. Like you have to go somewhere urgently.

Your forearm – the one that bears Touya’s mark – feels hot. You trace it absentmindedly, quietly musing that the last time it burned like that was when he gave it to you--

Something clicks in your sleep addled mind, and you slowly sit up and push the covers off of you as you stand. You get dressed in long, dark skirts, and throw a traveling cloak around your shoulders for good measure – knowing deep down that you won’t be coming back.

As you walk through the hallways of your dark home like a ghost, you crack open the door to your parents room to gaze fondly at their sleeping figures. You send them a silent I love you, before closing their door, thanking them for everything. You pad silently through your house until you reach the front door, and pull it open soundlessly, stepping out of it for the final time, before shutting it firmly behind you.

You don’t look back.

You feel like a wraith as you walk through the deserted streets of your town, taking in each and every shop as you pass. The bright, pale moonlight is your only source of light as you walk, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of Dabi’s temple.

The burning in your forearm has lessened considerably and you know this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. You step inside, and slowly make your way to the foot of the hooded god’s statue. You smile slightly and take a seat facing the entrance doors that you didn’t bother closing, allowing moonlight to spill into the dark temple. You sit and you wait. You vow that you’ll wait all night if you have to.

You don’t have to wait for long.

There’s a tell-tale flash of blue outside the temple and a blast of searing heat follows, before everything stills again. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching the temple makes your heartbeat quicken, and the tall silhouette of a man spills across the floor to where you’re sitting at the altar.

A familiar man dressed in white funeral shrouds enters the temple, and makes his way towards you. You can’t help but smile lovingly as you take him in. Even though he looks incredibly different from the last time you saw him, you’d recognize Touya anywhere.

Gone are the dark scars and staples that wreaked havoc on his skin. The man, the god, that stands before you, has skin as pale as snow, almost blending into the white of his shroud. He looks like he’s bathed in moonlight, with eyes as bright and blue and beautiful as the flames he wields. Upon closer inspection. you still see faint seams in his skin where his burns were previously. A remanent of his past life, and one that you find incredibly endearing.

He is not perfect, but neither are you. You selfishly think that maybe you were made for each other.

He stands before you, seemingly at a loss for words, but his deep turquoise eyes tell you everything you need to know. You, however, have quite a few things you want to say to him. So, you start with the obvious.

“I’ve missed you.” You tell him quietly, and he smiles, cerulean eyes looking sad.

“I know. But I’m here now, so that’s got to count for something right?”

“It means everything.” You confirm breathlessly as he cups your cheek, running his thumb across your soft skin. You shamelessly lean into his touch and watch as he smiles at you.

“Ready to go?”

You nod. “I’ve been ready for a long time. You kept me waiting long enough.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich in your ears.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. There are so many things I want to show you.” His free hand sneaks down and intertwines with yours. “I make good on my promises, you know.”

You give his hand a squeeze. “I do.”

His heart – the organ in his chest, that he was sure had stopped working after his fall from grace – thunders into irregularity in his chest. Now he’s sure that it beats for you, and you alone.

You, the first person in a long, long time, who’s made him feel something aside from hatred and scorn. The first person to see past the scars, the first one to see him at his worst and still show him unconditional love where others couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

He loves you, and he always will.

He lifts the hand that’s still laced with his, to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, sending you a smile that makes you melt.

“Let’s go home.”

FIN