#LOOK HE EVEN HAS THE DARK UNDEREYES

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

catboy rollo

Just catboy Rollo.

I will provide no further elaboration.

[luveline]

is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him." 

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically. 

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months." 

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you." 

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him." 

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room. 

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance." 

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed. 

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself. 

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning. 

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small. 

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids. 

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest. 

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow. 

"When?" you ask. 

"You were yelling." 

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry." 

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh." 

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit. 

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life." 

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly. 

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–" 

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here." 

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise. 

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry. 

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him. 

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine." 

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?" 

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses. 

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.  

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back. 

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says. 

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow. 

"Sorry for scaring you." 

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault." 

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?" 

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again. 

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore." 

[honeydazai]

ok ok but hubby Fyodor gave me an idea, he’s figured out i get worried when his anemia gets bad so i fuss over him

imagine like,,, him using that against u. like if he’s losing an argument, or he just wants attention, he fakes sickness to get u to drop everything ur doing and come to his aid, u immediately feel bad so he uses that to manipulate u

feat.: Fyodor / reader

content: husband Fyodor, some manipulation but it's cute, Fyodor pretending to be a pathetic meow meow, fluff, sick fic

Fyodor is fragile, that much you're aware of.

Despite his quick mind, so sharp you reckon it could cut diamond, and his powerful ability, his physical body is still frail. His skin is pale, most likely since he spends too much time inside, hunched over in front of his many PC screens, providing him with no light other than the gloom of LED monitors, thin fingers tip-tapping away on the keyboard. His undereye circles are dark enough for you to seriously worry about his health, and the many blue veins visible on thin eyelids only make him appear more sickly.

The anemia doesn't help, either; thin lips occasionally turn whiteish the longer he insists he's going to take his iron supplements once he's done with work — when is he, ever? — and his nails, kept short not only for the sake of being able to play the cello, but also since he continued biting at them, are coloured blue so often you have almost forgotten what they usually look like.

Fyodor, despite being an internationally wanted terrorist, is fragile, and that's exactly why you're unable to stop the way your chest suddenly aches with concern when he goes quiet mid-argument, gaze unfocused, glassy, as he sits down on the bed.

This really isn't the time to worry about him, especially since, just a few moments ago, you were snarling at him, obviously angered for a reason that seems entirely unimportant right now — and yet you can't help it either, your concern an emotion that blooms in your chest so very naturally, given just how much he means to you.

“Are you alright?” The words leave your mouth before you know it; your brows furrowing as you kneel down next to him, one hand on his thin upper arm. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his skin is cold. “Do you need anything?”

“I'm quite alright, dear. I would hate to bother you, especially when you still seem to harbour disdain for me.”

Even his voice sounds frail. Guilt gnaws at your every bone.

“That's not—”, you protest, a feeble attempt, though you're quick to swallow the urge to start another argument down the moment he rests his head against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, ebony lashes against snow pale skin. “I don't 'harbour disdain' . I didn't even want to fight with you, it just — happened, but that's not important now. Let me help. Did you take your meds today?”

“Not yet, I'm afraid”, Fyodor says softly, and you're up on your feet almost immediately, making your way towards the kitchen to snag the offending pills, as well as a glass of water.

“You know you're supposed to take them daily with lunch.”

“That is merely to avoid forgetting them, to build a habit. The presence or absence of sustenance has no actual effect on them.”

Your eyes narrow. Fyodor allows a tired chuckle to leave his lips.

“Alright. I will try to take them regularly — for you, dear.”

Where, just a few minutes ago, you felt the urge to slap him with wrath — not that you ever would, not that you'd dare to, but the desire certainly is there whenever he acts all high and mighty, all-knowing, even around you —, your chest now tingles with warmth, with fondness. With love.

“Thank you. Are you feeling better already?” That's to be doubted, especially since he only took the pills a moment ago. Still— “Do you need anything? Maybe something to eat — yes, I bet you haven't eaten anything in a while now, too focused on work. You're impossible. Just lie down and give me a moment, I'll be right back.”

With those words, you vanish into the kitchen, already grabbing some vegetables. A quick soup is going to have to do.

Little do you know that, while you're busy worrying and fussing over him, there's a smile playing over Fyodor's lips ever so often, vanishing the moment you enter the room once more.

You really are too easy — though that's exactly what makes you quite this lovable.

OH. Oh, he would.. he so would... this is the most in character take ever...

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[keikikait]

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part 2 of my previous fic, which you can find here

for my other gojo smut, click here!

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.5k

summary: you’re home from your teacher retreat to nikko, ready for the new term. what you’re not ready for? gojo to come home to you. 

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) SMUT - 18+ ONLY! MDNI, dom!gojo and sub!reader, protected sex (pill, not mentioned but its there) degrading (he uses the word slut), hair pulling, nipple play, spitplay (bye….), light edging, finger/thumb sucking (don’t look at me), use of the words [cock, cunt, and tits], slight oral (f receiving), a bit of angst & a bit of mean gojo, nickname use [baby, pretty girl, doll], no use of y/n

a note: i know i said this would be out next week but it was my day off so i wrote it all today. this is less angst, more smut, but i can’t help myself so there is some angst. also, im sorry i made gojo such an asshole, i promise that he will get better! part 3 will be out soon my loves.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･���✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Your eyes are already open when your alarm goes off. 

You didn’t sleep at all. There was no point, even after you finished crying your head hurt too much to sleep, even with some painkillers. You laid there, wide awake all night thinking about Gojo. Did he think of you, too? You turn the alarm off and slide out of bed, your slipper-covered feet shuffling as you make your way around your apartment. 

You brush your teeth and look in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy and swollen, mascara smeared down your cheeks. You pop some spoons in the freezer to cool as you clean yourself up and get dressed. Your phone sits untouched on the bedside table, still plugged in.

You sit on the side of your bed, pressing the now cold spoons against your swollen eyes. You take deep breaths, trying to relax. You had every right to be upset, after all. Gojo has no reason to string you along, whispering sweet nothings in your ear at night about how you’re his girl, his doll, his everything. But that’s exactly what that was. Nothing. Maybe, you think, this is some kind of karma. Some sort of punishment for your arrogance, for thinking you could have what everyone else wants, Gojo, and here—at last—it was.

You put on some de-puffing undereye patches that you keep in the fridge and clean your entire apartment spotless to distract yourself, music blasting from the phone in your back pocket. You finally throw out that dead fern you got as a gift from the school board when you first started, and you finally clean out your fridge of the now moldy condiments you tried once on a whim. You’re washing dishes when the front door opens and, suddenly, Gojo steps inside. He had opted for his dark blue circular sunglasses today, an odd choice for the winter but you didn’t mind it. “Hi,” you say, surprised, pulling off the bright marigold gloves and setting them on the side of the sink to dry. For a second, you think about the absolute state of your eyes. The swelling and puffiness had gone down, and even though he had never seen you cry, you think about the fact that even if he noticed your eyes he wouldn’t care enough to ask questions.

“Hey,” is all Gojo says in response. You wait to see if he says anything else, or if he is going to try to explain himself, but he doesn’t, and eventually moves across your apartment to head to the bathroom. You hesitate before you make your way after him, passing his duffel bag on the floor of your closet, which was unzipped and filled with enough clothes that it was clear that he was going to stay for a while.

You feel pathetic admitting it to yourself but having Gojo there — not just in your apartment, but in your room — feels nice. He doesn’t speak to you yet, but his very presence steadies and refocuses you. As grateful as you are that he came back to you, you are also a little disappointed in yourself, by how dependent you are, how weak. Who were you without him?

Eventually, he faces you, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to be strong, to finally confront him about all of the false promises and the date with Himiko, but you can’t. Not yet. “Hi, Gojo.”

He smiles, reaching you with just one step and collecting you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, for the first time in almost nine days, and you feel yourself giving up, giving all power to him.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, smirking. “I missed you. I’m sorry that I didn’t come home last night…I got carried away.”

You’ve noticed over the past eleven months (yes, you kept track) of your situationship that he uses that term a lot; carried away. He uses it when he gets a little too handsy during the free periods at work and when he stares at you a bit too long during staff meetings. He uses it when he forgets to call or text you and when it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind. Maybe you are. 

You smile, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He grins, gently running his hands up your back, lightly scratching his nails against you, making you shiver. “Of course. I always come back home to you.” He bends at the knees and picks you up, carrying you the short distance to your bed before laying you down and climbing on top of you. Excitement fills your body as he leans down and starts placing soft kisses along your neck. You arch into him, whining and tugging on his sleeves, and he chuckles. “Relax, doll. Quit acting so desperate. You’re not in charge here, remember?”

You feel drool pool in your mouth and you quickly swallow it. “I’m sorry, Gojo, it’s just that —”

He interrupts you, sliding his thumb into your mouth to shut you up. “I know, baby, I know. You went eight whole days without my touch and now you’re acting like a desperate little slut,” You nod, hoping he won’t tease you this time. He smirks at the dumb look on your face before saying, “Open.” You do, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out a little. He pulls his thumb away and draws back briefly before spitting into your open mouth. You swallow it without his command. You know what he likes.

He grins, kissing your lips once more before kissing down your chin and neck, slowly sliding off your t-shirt. You whine and squirm under him, and after he pulls your shirt off he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut up. If you keep whining, I won’t fuck you at all. Is that what you want?” You shake your head vigorously, that’s the last thing you want. He removes his hand before continuing, “Good. Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” You nod, relaxing into your sheets as he kisses down your chest. He pushes your bra up over your tits, groaning as he squeezes them in his hands. “Fuck. I missed my girls.” You would normally scold him for objectifying you, but at this moment you didn’t care. You wanted his hands on you, and you wanted his dick inside of you as soon as possible.

He takes the sunglasses off and brings one of your nipples to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against it to tease you. He sticks his tongue out and drags it along your nipple in circles, loving the way your thighs fall open and the little sounds you make. He finally, finally sucks your nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one hard just to feel you squirm. He rolls your bare nipple between his fingers while he lightly nibbles on the one in his mouth. Your head is spinning, and all you can do is tug on his hair as he teases you. He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips. He picks it up on his finger and rubs it on your face just to humiliate you.

He kisses down your torso, tugging down your pyjama bottoms and tossing them onto the floor. He kisses your thighs as he pushes them up and against your chest so you’re nice and spread out for him, just as he likes. He notices the wet spot on your plain blue cotton underwear and smirks, rubbing at it with his thumb. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

You take it you can respond to him now. “Fuck, Gojo, please! Please stop teasing me, I already went eight days without you.” The whine in your voice makes him feel so big, so powerful. He barely touches you and you’re already crumbling at his feet. Maybe he should keep you there.

He makes that condescending tsk tsk tsk sound that normally annoys you, but now you can’t help it and you whine and squirm even more. “You’re so desperate, baby. You can’t even handle a little teasing?” He presses his thumb right against your clit, the wet spot spreads even more. “I guess you do have a point, though. I haven’t made you cum since we left for Nikko.” He kisses right above the hem of your underwear before pulling it down, the blue fabric now dangling around your ankle. He moans, pushing your legs back even further and spreading your cunt. 

He spits directly onto your pink little hole, watching as it mixes with your juices. In this moment, you’re his. You’re his everything, his girl, his doll. In this moment you actually mean something to him, when you’re spread out and begging for his attention. He runs his pointer finger down your slit, collecting some spit before dragging it back up to your clit and lightly circling it.

You almost cum on the spot. Days of pent-up horniness and teasing and you’re as sensitive as ever. You bite your lip, looking over at him with nothing but love and affection in your gaze. “Please, Gojo. Please don’t tease me. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He gets comfortable, moving your thighs over his shoulders as he lays down on the bed. “You’ll take what I give you. Don’t disappoint me.” He circles your clit with his finger one last time before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back, your hands finding solace in his hair as you writhe and moan. He moans at your taste, gripping your hips hard as he gets lost in your cute little cunt. You grind against his face, and he lets you, loving the feeling of your clit against his tongue. He teases your hole with his fingers, sliding his thumb in as he swirls his tongue around your clit in circles. You clench up tight, mumbling praises along with I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum! before he pulls away completely. He laughs at the noise you make, and at the way your face contorts and tears well in your eyes. He slaps the inside of your thigh before standing up and unbuttoning his pants. “Oh, come on. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You move up on the bed, your back supported by your pillows as he climbs over you. You’ve seen his dick a lot, more times than you can count, but the sheer size of it always surprises you. Thick and long, slightly curved to the left, with a pretty pink tip to match. His balls are big, too, full of cum and practically begging to be in your mouth, which waters as soon as you see it. 

Gojo looms over you, pushing you onto the bed as he slides in between your legs and gets comfortable. He rubs his tip against you, getting it nice and wet so you don’t struggle with the size as he fucks you, at least not too much. In a moment of pure intimacy, he reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against your cheek, looking at you with an almost adoring gaze. You go to say something to him but all words escape your throat as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan in unison as he slides in and out slowly.

“God,” he groans, leaning down on his elbows and getting right in your face. “I missed you so much, baby. I know I’m such a dick to you, I just can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re angry…fuck, you feel so good.” He isn’t vocal in bed very often, and your heart swells as you get to watch him come undone and make such pretty noises as he does. 

In the heat of the moment, you forgive him. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you can’t stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world for him. Your smile is cut short by your moan as you manage to say, “It’s okay, Gojo. Please just stay here. Stay here with me.”

Gojo nods, propping himself up on one flat palm as his hips pick up speed. Normally he loves foreplay, he can tease you and edge you for hours, but the time spent without you in his arms and without you wrapped around his cock was too much to bare for him. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t take it back. He’s Satoru Gojo, and he has a reputation he needs to uphold. He’s all run, and you’re all fight, and that’s part of the reason why he feels so drawn to you.

He looks at you, moving to his elbows and reaching up to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, biting his lip as his hips move even faster. He drops back down to his elbows, your chests pressed together as he shakily moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum.”

You nod, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck as you cum around him, clenching down on his cock. He buries his face in your neck as he cums after you, cumming inside of you, like he always does. His breathing is ragged as he lays there, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum spills inside. Gojo eventually moves away from your neck, some of his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. You push the hair back and smile at him, kissing his forehead gently. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. And you think you always will.

He pulls out, immediately getting you a towel splashed with some warm water as he cleans you up. He’s gentle with his aftercare, making sure you’re comfortable, and collecting your water bottle from the living room. You pee before getting dressed, laying with him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing your face into his chest, and sliding his hand into your hair. He holds you there for a while, your breathing in sync before he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

Gojo puts on a cooking show to watch on your TV, setting the remote aside as he holds you close. He strokes your hair, and your mind starts to drift, and you wonder if he cares about you in the same way you care about him. Are you not good enough for him? Is there something wrong with you? Are you not what he wants? Are you not what he needs? You wake up every morning, hopeful for what’s to come with him, but you spend most of your time thinking about what you’ve already had and what he’s already said to you. You’re missing all these memories—maybe they were never even yours. 

Nothing hurts like he does.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part 3 is here

[inkorganic]

The Way Things Are

Summary

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader cw: 18+ minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex, reader has a quirk, messy, loss of virginity Word count: 4.5 k AO3

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

The days unfolded more as they passed. Blending like watercolors, transforming into a jumble of warm mornings, hazy afternoons, and cold nights A month passed, and it was hard to believe; however, the calendar on your phone couldn’t be lying, or maybe it could. After all, you didn’t have a recollection of ever using your quirk in this exhausting way.

Maybe it could mess with the internal clocks of phones too. Concealing your presence was an easy job—a hum that surrounded your life, making you almost indestructible and undetectable.

A cozy blanket that kept you safe well into your early adulthood Concealing others was a different story, though, having to synchronize with their heartbeats and breaths. The unwelcome familiarity of discovering the patterns of the league. You were the newest member; a few weeks didn’t make a significant difference, but facts are facts.

They already had a well-established dynamic; it’s not that they didn’t attempt to incorporate you. Making friends was simply not on your list of reasons for joining this organization in the first place. Allies were required to accomplish your end goal; the plan was to keep them safe with your quirk, and they would assist you in exacting your revenge.

You have to stay inside the tiny cabin. No , you thought this was hardly a cabin. It’s a shed not meant for staying for more than a night or to be used as temporary shelter, but the times were rough and the money was cut off many weeks ago. Getting used to the pungent smell of rotting wood was still an active project.

The wood panels that acted as walls provided minimal protection from the weather; if it rained, you knew because the water formed poodles on the already-molding hardwood flooring.

This was better than staying outside , you told yourself as you checked your ratty sleeping bag for ticks and other unwanted companions. Getting a bug bite-transmitted disease would be the cherry on top of this disadvantageous situation.

That night, it was only you and Tomura in the room; the other members decided to flee for liberty. The only night the leader decided to take a real break and not only a few hours to rest

Even Spinner excused himself; you didn’t have anywhere else to go, and your head pounded painfully behind your eyes like a second heartbeat with the uninterrupted use of your quirk. You might as well take the chance and turn it off for once.

Being a loner, even in a group of other outcasts, was funny in a way. The night was setting, and soon Tomura would enter the room, nod at you, and ignore you for the rest of the night until the sun rose again.

The only change in the routine was that tonight he would sleep in, which made you nervous. You were used to the others being here, coming and going, murmuring greetings, and asking if suddenly food decided to manifest itself in the pantry.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until the soft noises of Tomura setting his sleeping bag woke you up. You didn’t mean to pry into his nightly routine, but you couldn’t help it. The dim lighting provided by the sad portable light cast shadows on his face, making his dark undereyes more noticeable and deeper. The crazy rhythm he set for himself was starting to wear him down. Suddenly, he looked five years older in the span of a few weeks.

He was down to his t-shirt, but the night was so cold , you thought. Maybe it was your people-pleasing personality or the fact that you wanted to talk to someone about anything. You left the warm cocoon of your sleeping bag to go look into your things for a spare hoodie, sweater, or anything warm.

He lifted his eyes and did the usual thing he did: he nodded at you, and you nodded back in silent acknowledgment. This time, though, you offered him a hoodie.

“It’s cold” You haven’t used your voice in hours, so it came like a hoarse whisper. His gaze went from your face to the hand offering the garment.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Your hands are shaking.” You were talking in whispers, the same tone you would use when talking to a feral cat. “I’ll leave it here.” You crouched slowly. Again, he looked tired and easy to piss off, and he was already easy to provoke when he was in a good mood, so it was better not to poke at him.

“Whatever,” he sighed.

You stayed there a little. Listening to the sounds from outside the walls. Letting your hands grow colder so you can warm them up later inside your sack. Watching your nails turn purple with poor blood circulation and then returning to a healthy pink. Pretending you were on a camping excursion with friends and not on a terrorist mission with people you barely spoke to, your thoughts made you giggle. The absurdity of it all

“What’s so funny?” He sounded more annoyed than tired, so maybe he did want to talk.

“I’ve never been camping.” And with that, you got up and crawled back to your small personal space.

“Me neither,” he said after a long pause.

Just above a whisper from his mouth, it felt like a small win to get him to speak about other things that weren’t his plans for the league or video games. You let the moment go too far; the opportunity to converse was halted. Soon, his steady breathing told you he was asleep. Good for him; you knew he needed the sleep.

You couldn’t make yourself sleep tossing and turning for what you felt were hours. The cold claimed your body, and your breath was visible in front of you in wisps of steam. How much did the temperature drop? It was hard to know for sure, but the bites from the bitter cold were eating your fingers, leaving flushed cheeks, stiff toes, and clattering teeth behind for you to endure.

It never crossed your mind that you could miss having all the members of the league around to provide human heat, but here you were shivering inside a thin sleeping bag in the middle of nowhere.

You wondered if Tomura was doing better, so you tuned in to check on him. To see his half-lidded eyes already staring at you. You noticed he was wearing your hoodie—another win for your small record. No, like you were keeping a record.

“Y/n” He broke the silence, his voice husky and tired.

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn on your quirk?”

You were not expecting that at all. You sat slowly, warming your hands with your breath.

“The buzz sound—I got used to hearing it.”

You could accept his petition, but you could also get something from him—a mutual favor: he wanted the side effect of your quirk, and you wanted a source of heat.

“Sure, but can I move closer to you?” The words left your mouth, and they turned into ribbons wrapping themselves around your neck, too accustomed to never asking for anything from anyone. To want was to desire, and desire was why you ended up as a stray on the edges of society.

“You don’t need to be close.” He replied, stating the knowledge he had of the way your quirk worked. It tasted too much like rejection—the oily, sour aftertaste setting in the back of your throat.

“That is true.” You shrugged, letting your quirk wrap around him. His heartbeat joined the sounds inside your head, along with the palpitation of your headache. He was upset; probably his pulse was faster than it should be considering he was lying down.

“Is it easier to use if you’re close?”

“No.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m cold, that’s all.”

He kept his eyes on you, actually taking notice of your presence for the first time since you joined the league. You wanted to be out of this situation. A wave of stress settled on your shoulders, and the tightness of your chest made it harder to breathe. You didn’t like being noticed; it was easier to be in the background, taking little space.

“I smell!" Tomura snorted, almost chuckling. Almost. It's another win for the record.

“We all do.” You let a chunk of your stress be dissolved by a short laugh. “We all should bathe and soak there for a few hours”.

He chuckled this time. You joined him. It felt delicious. You felt normal for once in a while.

“You can move closer.” He whispered reluctantly, his rapid heartbeat hammering the back of your head. Maybe it was invasive to get a glimpse of a clue to how he felt without disclosing it, but no one asked, and you were not about to go. Hey, just letting you know that I can hear and feel your heartbeats inside my head. Sorry about that.

You rose, your steps muffled by your socks. He was already making space for you. You lay beside him on your side, facing him. The sleeping bag was slightly bigger than yours, but still, your knees were touching, and suddenly you gained awareness of all your limbs and their positions. The way you bent at uncomfortable angles to avoid touching him more than what was inevitably necessary. It was warmer and nicer too, even if you were never going to voice such a thought; your fingers were finally allowed to regain blood flow.

You wanted more. You wanted to take more; the ache for human contact was tingling at your fingertips, so close to another human yet so far. You longed to be the one who takes, not the one who stays empty-handed, and god, you were as empty as you could be; nothing belonged to you.

So in a moment of impulsivity, with his heartbeat driving you insane and his knees touching yours, you decided to press your mouth on his closed lips—a peck. You waited for him to push you away to try and turn you into dust for the audacity of daring to kiss him. But he didn’t; he remained still. A muffled sound coming from his throat was the only acknowledgment you got.

You pushed it more; it was addicting—the heat from his body and the way he tasted the musky smell from him—making you wish you could get inside his clothes. You parted your lips, trying to deepen the kiss. His hands found their way to your upper arms, squeezing them in a fourth-finger grip, not pushing you away, not pulling you in either, just keeping you there. The guilt made you draw back.

Your mind was racing as your stomach tangled into tight knots. But then you saw his face, eyes closed, and brows furrowed together.

“I can’t touch you.” He murmured, his breath tickling your mouth. Letting go of your arms, he set his hands into fists on his sides.

Now his gaze was on your eyes, his pupils engulfing the red of his irises. He wanted to give in to physical pleasure; he never really let himself explore before. His life had always been about controlling decay, and he didn’t particularly like the fact that your quirk could potentially make you immune to his.

He used to indulge in fantasies where he met someone who he could touch and who would not squirm away from him in fear or disgust. Then he met you, gentle-faced and not quite made for a villain’s life but with a useful quirk he was not going to turn down.

He decided later on that not having the power to get rid of you if needed was not something he was fond of, contrary to what he initially thought. Still, he wanted to dig his fingers into the plumpness of your hips, knowing that you would stay whole. He could not afford the distraction though, so keeping you at arm’s length was necessary.

Tomura didn’t imagine you were going to be the one to close the distance he so carefully crafted. Even more so, he would let you effortlessly do it too, giving in so easily to a gentle gesture, a tender kiss, and a kind caress.

“I don’t want to.” He ran his hand through his hair, the pale locks stealing highlights from the faint portable light. “I should not want to.” He spoke to himself, attempting to assure himself that he had no special interest in you.

One of his hands moved to your nape, drawing you closer. He didn’t allow you the chance to flee and hide in your sack; the hand on your neck brought you back to his mouth. This time, he was the one who started it. Too quick, too eager, too hungry—his kiss was clumsy and inexperienced. You bit him softly, trying not to break his chapped lips any further, just enough to make him stop for a second.

He was perplexed.

“I thought you wanted”— I thought you wanted me , left unsaid. He whispered, tilting his head to get a better view of yours. “You kissed me first.”

“I do,” you said, attempting but failing to conceal your hesitation. “I did”

You fell into an awkward silence, peering into one another’s eyes but not daring to break it again.

“Why? He inquired. His glance flew to your lips, then up to your eyes, expecting to find the answer he was seeking.

“I felt like it.” 

That was not what he was expecting, yet again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear; for months, he had prevented his attention from wandering to you and your ridiculous quirk.

He was aware that he was not in love with you. That was not something he believed himself capable of; not even lust was something he frequently indulged in; usually, it concerned physical sensations, the twitch in his lower abdomen, and the slight relaxation that followed. That was a checkbox on the pyramid of needs that humans had to meet.

“Do it again?” He whispered, giving in. He could swear the buzzing of your quirk started to have a rapid heartbeat-like pattern.

The previous uncomfortable silence was preferable to this conversation. The consequences of your actions didn’t make themselves wait; they showed up barely minutes after kissing him.

“Do it again?” You echoed his words with an unsure voice.

“Don’t act like that now. I’m not the one who started this with the excuse of being cold.”

“It was not an excuse; I was cold,” you replied.

“Yeah, well. You certainly aren’t anymore." He trailed off, his gaze fixed on you. A frown formed on his brow.

“Should we talk about it?” You inquired shyly.

“What? Now you want to talk. You never say anything and have never actively participated in our missions! Now suddenly, you’re interested in discussing things? Acting like a damn NPC,” he retorted, his tone laced with skepticism.

“You never complained before.” You mumbled.

Successfully, you annoyed him in record time. He laughed wryly.

“Is this a fucking joke? Is this how you entertain yourself?” He leaned forward, his mouth close to your ear. The breath hitting your skin made you shiver. “You think that because I can’t use my quirk on you, you can just do anything you want to me without consequences?”

“Of course not. Look, I apologize for what I did. I’m leaving” You said to walk away like you often do when things become too difficult to handle. “Let’s pretend it never happened.”

You crawled out of his sleeping bag with all the dignity you could muster, shuddering when your calf accidentally brushed against his forearm. You didn’t get far; well, Tomura didn’t let you get far. He grabbed you by the ankle.

“You don’t get to just walk away from this.” He stated. “Not when we work together every day. And not after you just kissed me out of nowhere.”

The chill from the floor pierced your bare foot as your sock turned to dust. Your quirk buzzed around your body, repelling his.

“You thought you could get away with it? Just do whatever you want to me. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then what do you want? I offered to talk, and you said no, but you also said no to me, leaving you alone. Yes, I shouldn’t have kissed you, but you kissed me back.” You huffed. “Just let it go.”

You were purposefully ignoring the fact that he did ask you to kiss him again, and you rejected him. It was terrifying to understand that the very first kiss was more than simply impulsiveness; perhaps you wished for a warm body to exchange body heat with, but not anyone you wanted his.

“You shouldn’t play with people’s feelings like that.” He definitely didn’t take it well. He yanked on your ankle, sending pain through your leg and forcing you to step forward. Your hands broke your fall; kicking him instinctively, your foot connected with his shoulder, causing him to hiss.

“What’s the matter with you? You yelled. He had already sat down when you turned your body to face him. “Why do you act like that over something as insignificant as a kiss?”

“It’s not about the kiss,” he said, sighing. Tiredness framed his face, and his skin was as irritated as ever. The faint sounds of nature outside flowed through the room as he sat there. This situation was entirely your own creation.

“Don’t kiss me and then reject me.” He mumbled. You knew that saying that cost him. “That’s cruel”

You gulped, drooling like an animal in captivity who had just been thrown a piece of meat after long weeks of starvation. Slowly, your finger brushed the shoulder that you were pretty sure you’d kicked.

He lifted his gaze, doubt written all over his face.

“So?”

He hesitated to answer. Licking his chapped lips before talking.

“Kiss me or leave.”

The bluntness of his statement left you frozen, but you couldn’t deny the pit of desire ignited in your body. The hand that was on his shoulder moved up to his face, cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, and you launched yourself forward, pressing your mouth to his lips.

Your tongue traced the outline of his scar. Tomura opened his mouth, capturing your tongue and licking it. He didn’t know where to put his hands; maybe you would not decay, but your clothes were another story. He settled for burying his hands in your hair.

Starting to feel lightheaded, you dropped your hand to his chest, not that you needed it to feel his heartbeat. You never retrieved your quirk effect from him; his pulse was hammering rapidly in your head, making you wonder where all that blood was traveling.

He quietly gasped, breaking the kiss. He glanced into your eyes, and that’s when he knew you were into this as much as he was. He kissed you on the neck, his breath caressing your sensitive skin and causing you to jolt when he nibbled the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, forcing a moan out of your mouth.

He stiffened; he could never have thought a little sound like that coming from your mouth could have such an effect on him as electricity rushing down to his groin, feeling himself grow harder. Self-conscious about the possibility of you noticing his erection, he pulled aside a little.

“What?” You muttered.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked.

“No”

“Can I touch you?” Your desire was palpable in your speech.

He nodded. And you ran away with the confirmation. You reached out to touch the rough lines that composed him, and as your hand went to his lap, he quickly wrapped his hand around your wrist, not with any real force.

“We can stop." You started, but he interrupted you.

“I already told you I don’t want to stop,” Tomura snarled. “I just need a moment.”

You chuckled under your breath.

“Why are you acting like a virgin? We are just making out!”

He looked dumbstruck, and his saliva-coated lips parted in an expression you didn’t think he was capable of. He coughed, wiping his face. The realization hit you like a fist to the nose. Of course, he didn’t have any experience in this department. It wasn’t even hard to guess.

You pushed the virgin too far. With a vice grip, he yanked your hair; the pain was registered later on by your nerves when he was already pushing you to the sleeping bag. He pinned your hands above your head, brutally stretching your shoulders, making you trash under him.

His narrowed eyes met yours. His lips were tugged down so deeply that you could see the specks of blood blooming from his chapped lips. Tomura was mad, tired, and aroused.

You inhaled deeply, allowing the air to fill your lungs. Hopefully, the newfound oxygen in your bloodstream could help you find a way out. Suddenly, he let go of your wrists, choosing to nuzzle your neck instead.

“I’m tired,” Tomura mumbled, sounding muffled and defeated.

On the other hand, you were restless. His hair was brushing your cheek, and his breath condensed on the skin of your neck, leaving a moist, warm feeling behind. You ran your hand through his hair; it was softer than you imagined, curling around your fingers.

He sighed, rolling off you to sit beside you, making the old wood flooring crack under him. The cold indignantly filtered through your body again, missing his body heat. Like a moth to a flame, you wrapped your arms around him and turned to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You could get used to his smell and the way his pulse quickens beneath your lips.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

“Just hug me back,” you replied.

He took advantage of the situation by slipping his hands under your sweater. Tomura's hands were warm, which was ironic given the destructive nature of his quirk. No one else was going to love the texture of his fingertips tracing lines on their backs except you.

There was no lust in his touch at the beginning, but that didn’t last long, with his contact growing hungry and desperate. You straddled him, his finger digging into the small of your waist and bringing you closer, encouraging you in. Tomura lifted his head to meet your eyes and opened his mouth, hesitating to speak.

There’s no need to speak, you thought. Kissing the corner of his mouth and licking the dry blood from his lips, the faint coppery taste only served to feed your desire for him. Your arousal would already be coating his lap if it weren't for the thick sweatpants you were wearing. You needed him to stop being so shy.

“Decay my clothes." Your speech was muffled against his mouth, but he heard every syllable, replaying it in his mind over and over.

“You’re insane,” he whispered back.

“Undress me then."

"Huh? I'm not going to strip you." For a split second, you assumed that meant he didn't want to go any further with you. You were gloriously incorrect. He gently pushed you on your back again, this time placing his palm on the back of your head to ensure you would not get hurt. “Not fully. You’re cold, remember?”

“Right” 

A hasty hand slid down your pants, his thumb hooked in the waistband. You arched your back to help him undress you with the combination of his warm hands and the cold room. He mostly kept his word, only setting one leg free from your pants and underwear.

As eager as he was, you battled with the button of his jeans. Pulling it until his erection sprang free, you wish the room were thoughtfully illuminated so you could see all of him. This time, he didn't wrap his hand around your wrist to stop you.

Instead, he sank his finger into the swell of your hip, stealing a gasp from your mouth, encouraging him to touch you more as he pleased. Without losing any more time, you stroke his cock, slowly caressing his flushed tip with your thumb, smearing the precum down his length.

He jerked forward, biting down a whiny moan.

Your mouth was on his neck, kissing and licking him, down to his collarbones, tasting his salty skin. Tomura was on cloud nine; your hand was warm and soft around him, and you were doing this willingly.

“Please Y/n” He was not used to asking for permission; he was raised with the encouragement to take whatever he desired when he wanted. For some reason, he wanted you to give yourself to him without having to force you.

“Let me help you." You whispered Tomura jolted when you guided his cock to your entrance, wrapping your legs around his bony hips. Tomura grabbed you by the waist, burying himself in the inviting wetness of your cunt.

You heard yourself cry out a moan at the sudden stretch. Just like the first kiss, he was sloppy and rhythmless. No, that he cared at that very moment. You felt so good clenching around his cock.

"Tomura." You breathed out his name.

He grabbed your plushy thighs, parting your legs further. He wanted to be inside you so deeply that you would feel like something was missing when he pulled out.

You pulled his hair, sending delicious tingles down his neck. Tomura pressed his mouth to yours forcing his tongue inside your mouth as he  began to set a pace sending waves of pleasure with each thrust

“I want you to cum with me. What should I do?” He asked, panting in a hoarse whisper.

“Touch my clit while you fuck me."

His thumb found the bundle of nerves, and a wave of pleasure invaded your body, making you breathless and gasping for air. You knew he was close when he started to moan in your ear. His hips rocked intensely. Tomura felt his abdomen clenching, and he gave in to your grip. The world stopped for a moment, and it was only him and you. Putting your hand behind his nape, you draw him closer, kissing him while you reach your peak.

Tomura plopped on top of you, still to the hilt inside you. The spasms, remnants of your orgasm, emptying him further inside you. Kissing your sweaty temple, he rolled off you.

You didn’t want to think you’d regret this so soon after it was over, occupying your mind with cleaning the mess before it dried in a sticky nightmare instead. You used your remaining sock to clean his cum that slid down your thighs.

After you fixed your clothes, you turned to see Tomura, who was already sleeping on his side, giving his back to you. Odd. Well, he did say he was tired. In one of many kind gestures, he wasn’t sure he hated or loved; you fixed his clothes by pulling his jeans back on.

He looked content with his usual scowl, relaxing to a neutral expression. Finally, you settled for letting him sleep alone in his sleeping bag; eventually, you’d have to talk with him; he owed you a pair of socks after all.

When you were seeking a shield from the cold in your sleeping bag, exhaustion had already claimed your body. You were drifting to dreamless sleep.

You will regret this.

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Chap 2.

[haesunflower]

the way he loves | sung hanbin

genre: a little angst, mostly fluff, comfort

pairing: reader (gn) x sung hanbin

about/tags: hanbin has no time for himself and is exhausted. though reader is worried about him, hanbin fears reader will leave him (1.1k words)

hanbin is overworked and spread too thin, yujin matthew and hao are mentioned, sleepy boy hanbin, he's doing his best for everyone 100%, y/n is just worried for him

“You need to stop doing that to yourself, Hanbin”

Hanbin looks up at you, confused. His eyebrows slightly knit together and he tilts his head to the side, as if questioning what exactly you mean. 

To be fair, you did bring it up out of the blue. You couldn’t help it though, he just looks so exhausted. Without any makeup, you can clearly see his dark undereyes, and his skin has gotten so much paler. His eyes are slightly red too, you presume from rubbing it to stay awake. Albeit the obviousness of sleep deprivation, he still showed up to your date today. 

You can tell he’s trying so hard for you. With that, you let out a deep sigh – hand extending across the table to get ahold of his. 

“I’m worried for you Hanbin-ah, I think you’re overworking yourself”

Taking your hand, he softly smiles at you. He brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it gently before saying  “Thank you for worrying about me, love. But I’m okay.” 

The vibrancy of his smile, while still plastered on his face, isn’t really there. But Hanbin changed the topic, and you let it go. You listened to him as he told you about the new choreography they’ve been learning and how they’re flying to Japan soon. He tells you that he’s been practicing his Japanese to communicate with fans more. 

Hanbin has always been the kind of person to always put other people before himself. It’s the way he loves. He’s never been the type to be burdened to help another person, it just comes so innately with him. Truthfully, it’s why you fell in love with him in the first place. To be loved by the most selfless person on the planet is something you were grateful for everyday.

Little by little, you start to understand how Hanbin got himself to this position. When they moved in at the dorms, he spent his nights helping Yujin with his homework after practice. You learned from Hao that Hanbin has been helping him with his Korean as well. On top of that, Hanbin has still been showing up to school, attending classes left and right. Yesterday, when he visited his mom at the café, he even picked up a few shifts in the kitchen for a part-timer that didn’t show up that day. And right now, he was carving out time for you when he could be resting.

You spend the next few days distancing yourself a little so that he has more time to himself. You don’t communicate this with him, because you know he’ll continue to insist that everything is fine. 

When you don’t respond to his texts with your usual energy, or stop making plans with him on the weekends, Hanbin genuinely starts to think he’s losing you. He feels like he’s grasping at straws when he invites you to come over at the dorm to watch a movie with him. He’s scared you’ll say no.

But you agreed mainly because you miss him, and you felt kinda guilty for icing him out like that. You rationalized that you would both just be at arm's length from a bed or a couch anyway. So when you arrive at the dorm for your movie date and find him peacefully asleep on his bed, you let him sleep. You patted his head, and tucked his blanket tighter against his body before turning off the lights in his room. 

When Hanbin wakes up, he thinks he messed up.

He looks around the room and wonders how he got there. Checking the time, it’s been 4 hours since he’s invited you over. He frustratingly puts his face in his hands, hating himself for falling asleep. 

He hears voices coming from the living room. Slowly following the sound, he finds both you and Matthew laughing at some Hollywood romcom he hasn’t seen before. There’s popcorn and beer laid out on the floor where you're both seated, and an array of pillows and blankets.

It looks like they’ve been at it for hours, Hanbin thinks to himself. It’s Matthew that notices him standing there first.

“Oh hyung, you’re awake!”

Even though he  says it excitingly, Hanbin can’t help but take it as a dig. You’re smiling at Hanbin and gesturing to him to sit down next to you, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too in over his head, thinking that he fucked up and thus easily replaceable. 

He needs water to clear his head. So he doesn’t respond and just walks to the kitchen. Confused, you get up to follow him.

Hanbin is opening the fridge when you wrap your arms around his waist, head resting in the middle of his back. He stands there and feels your embrace, placing his hands atop of yours as he lets out a deep sigh. Fridge door long forgotten, he says sorry first. 

“Sorry I fell asleep love, I didn’t mean to”. He sounds defeated. His head is hanging low, and he doesn’t turn around to face you, fearing your reaction. You simply hug him tighter and press a small kiss on his back, making sure he feels loved. 

“I didn’t wanna wake you, don’t beat yourself up over it”

Arms still holding him, you crane your neck to the side to see his face. He’s looking down at the floor and biting his lip, as if punishing himself. You use your left hand to force him to look at you instead. 

His eyes are searching yours, as if trying to read you. He looks anxious, as if his next words were crucial. 

“Don’t leave me, Y/N” 

His voice cracks at the slightest, and your heart breaks. Your eyes soften and you run your hand through the back of his head, gently stroking against his scalp. 

“I’m not leaving you silly, I love you too much”

He just gently nods repeatedly, relieved to hear you say that. This time, he engulfs you quickly into his arms, head resting atop yours. You can hear his heartbeat as you rest your ear to his chest. When it slows down, you ask him what he wants to eat for dinner.

You look up at him and he presses a chaste kiss to your nose. It tickles and you can’t help but smile widely at him. His arms are still resting at your waist when he responds.

“Anything you want, love.”

Even in moments like these, he simply yields to what you want. You nod at his response and decide to order his favorite food. You’ll have to have another conversation with him about prioritizing himself for once, but right now, you gladly do it for him.  

He cups his hands on either side of your jaw and brings you to a kiss. Only then, he finally smiles. 

A/N: This one is more fluffy and longer than I thought it would be. Thank you to the person who requested!

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[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 5

Pairing: Lee Know(Minho) x fem!reader Kink: Dacryphilia WC: 1.5k Summary: Minho is the classic best friend who hates all your boyfriends. He’s always had a good reason to hate them, you are just always late to see it. TW/CW: Dacryphilia, possessive Minho, break up sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, surprisingly soft? no pronouns used but reader has fem genitalia.

You looked like a drowned cat and maybe that’s why Minho let you into his apartment that night. Umbrella forgotten at the movie theater, mind preoccupied with disbelief.  You didn’t stop running for the whole ten blocks it took you to reach his building’s alcove, fully equipped with a new video buzzer. Panting and shaking and dripping you rang his number and prayed that he was home snuggly on a Friday night rather than out on the town.

You were buzzed up without a word from him. Unusual but appreciated. Normally he’d play a back and forth game with you as though he didn’t know who you were before pretending to reluctantly let you in, much to your embarrassment. This time he didn’t even say hello, just the heavy thud of the lock deactivating answering your call. The apartment door was cracked open for you, one of his orange cats greeting you with a loud meow before trotting to the kitchen.

“Minho?” You could barely keep your voice from wobbling. Adrenaline wearing off you grasped the wall of the entryway for support. “He’s a fucking asshole Minho you were right. You were right. I was dumb. Tell me you told me so. Come on, get it over with.” The man appears, two bottles of soju in hand, no glass in sight. Giving you a once over he frowns, “you’re wet.” “It’s raining.” “Ah. I see.” He disappears only to reappear with a pair of sweats and a shirt throwing them at you with little ceremony. “Change before I gloat, you look depressing.” You sniff and giggle. It’s remarkable how sobbing and laughing feel so alike to your diaphragm. The kick of muscles forcing air out of your nose and mouth, the only difference is the ache in your heart.

In his bathroom you gingerly peel off your wet clothes and lay them over the safety bar in the shower to dry. Tipping your head over the tile you fluff your rain matted hair and check the reflection. Pitiful. Dark ring of mascara covering your undereyes, lashes heavy with retained water. Or tears.

A soft knock at the door. “Hey,” Minho’s voice reverberates from the other side. “Everything fit okay?” “Oh, yeah,” you swing the door open. He’s propped against the frame casually, nearly nose to nose with you. You jump a little. “Boo.” He smirks and hands you your bottle of soju. “Tell me, what did this one do?”

Minho had an annoying habit of prognostication when it came to your love life. It started when you’d first introduced him as you best friend to your latest fling. The strong handshake, the set jaw, the forced smile, all indicators that he was jealous and controlling. Minho smiled back. They hated each other. Minho knew the fling would pull the “your friend or me” card on you and end it. The next guy was no better, Minho hated his sleazy smile and immediate fallback to “bro code” as if they’d been friends longer than you and he had. This current  boyfriend he just flat out hated. He told you he hated him. He didn’t like that when you talked your boyfriend would look at his phone more than you. He thought he was rude and arrogant and told you not to trust him.

“He cheated Minho. He’s a fucking cheater.” Your heart sinks down into your stomach. Brushing passed Minho you collapse into his overstuffed couch, another small brown cat comes to investigate you. Minho swigs his soju. Legs pulled into your chest, fingers pulling and stretching the cuffs of his sweats. “They look good on you. Keep them.” “Did you hear me Minho? I caught him. In the fucking movie theater with some bitch. Can you just, I don’t know, tell me how dumb I am and that you knew it from the beginning and get it over with please.” Your words bounce off of him, face blank, staring straight at you. He knows it’s not the right time, in fact it could be the worst time but he can’t help it. He’s already a bottle into the night and you look so cold and pathetic. “You look really pretty when you cry.” Somehow it doesn’t sound so bad when he says it. “Your eyes are really sparkly and your nose is cute and red,” he continues kneeling by the couch. “I knew he’d cheat on you from the first time we sat down for drinks. I’ve hated him since that night. I’m glad he’s going to be out of your life.”

Every word feels sharp in your ears, ringing painfully all the way to your chest and burrowing in your throat. Biting your lip you nod, “okay, yeah. You’re right.” Scooting behind you he pulls you into his lap, head to his shoulder. It was a familiar position, familiar circumstance. You fall into him easily, seeking his warmth and strength.Your warm breath fanning on his neck, small hiccups shaking the both of you, how your fingers curl around the cotton of his black tee shirt, it’s the small moments where his heart wants to take care of you most.   “You’re dumb for wasting your time on him. On all of them.” “Make it not hurt anymore Minho, please,” you look up, eyes red and puffy, into his and plead. “I hurt so much.” His lips catch yours, “okay. If you trust me. I will. I’ll take care of you.” Nodding your nose brushes his, your lips meeting again softly. “I do. I trust you.”

Holding your waist he adjusts you to face him, sunken into the couch straddling his thighs. His heart beating wildly he gulps, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” “I know.” You let his arms swallow you whole, losing yourself to his kiss. Rough calloused palms run under your borrowed shirt along your back. Each kiss places a patch over a wounded soul. One to your throat, one between your breasts, one for each of your wrists, even leaning you back to kiss your stomach. He maps your invisible scars with his fingertips, all the battles he couldn’t fight for you, all the times he regretted not saying something sooner. “Fuck me and make it hurt,” you demand in a whisper. “I need to hurt.” “No,” he wants to elaborate. He wants to tell you that you’ve hurt enough. That you don’t need more physical pain to feel like what you are feeling is valid. But he doesn’t, slowly stripping you both of your sweatpants. “Please,” your voice is small and whiny. “Is that how he fucked you?” “No.” “Then no.” Minho slides two fingers in your spread pussy, stopping your chatter with his mouth on yours.

Every movement feels slow motion. The slick sound of you hips rocking into his palm, thumb brushing over your clit. Minho touches you like you could break easily in his arms. Kisses you like he was trying to catch a floating bubble on his lips. Even sliding down on his dick felt easy and smooth, slotting in like you were made for him. Fully seated with him inside you melt over his chest, chin on his shoulder.

It’s the most complete you’ve felt in years. Sticky sound of skin peeling off of skin as you rock into each other and breathe. He smells sweet and spicy, familiar and warm. He holds you to him as he moves more quickly, fucking up into you, chasing your whimpers and sighs.

Minho can feel your walls flutter and clench around him,your thighs growing tired you crash down onto him hard, forcing him deeper and closer. He keeps pace as you squirm and whine unintelligibly. “That’s it, let it out. You can let go. Let go for me okay? You’re safe.” He whispers, encouraging softly to contrast the brutal snap of his hips.

“Mmhohkay, Minho- I-”

Groans forced from your body with each stroke you feel it again, the overwhelming tightness in your chest that spreads and blossoms up to your throat and down to the tops of your thighs. The heat between you is all consuming. You need air. Leaning back onto his thighs, fingers clawing his biceps, air rushes into your lungs. Minho already has one hand at your clit to make up for the loss of friction, pressing against it with his middle and ring finger making small harsh circles. You cum violently, pent up with rage and sadness, sobbing and swearing and shaking.

“Too good, Minho, it feels-it’s-” your voice is rough and shaking with each syllable. He loves it. He loves how destroyed you are. Destroyed in the way you should be, racked with pleasure until you are broken and his.

His. The thought circles and wraps around his brain like a cobra. Minho cums with a strained high grunt, slipping out of you and spraying his release on your tummy. Globs of pearly white streaking your skin. Despite the mess he scoops you up back against his chest. Kissing and coddling you as you vibrate in his arms. “Whose tears are these?”

“Yours Minho.” You smile and wipe your cheek.

He rubs his thumb under your eye, collecting remnants of mascara and tears. “No more crying for anyone else.”

This was a lot softer than i expected to write him. I just didn’t feel like writing him too mean or rough this time even though generally i like mean!minho.

[onyourowndaisymae]

Hello hello! :00 Could I request prompt #15 with Levi, Belphie, + Dia? Preferably with them being the one(s) saying it, if you can :)) I'm a sucker for works where reader is the comfortER rather than the comfortEE, and they are so hard to find, sob. (Ofc, that isn't to say that all three or any of them HAVE to be angsty!! You get the idea, pfft.)

"please don't go."

the earnest declaration startles you, breaking the string of silence that had existed for hours beforehand. you freeze in your spot. you had just stood up, assuming levi was too consumed by his game, and began to make your exit for the evening. this is how it often went-- you were free to come and go as you please, usually entering or departing with little fanfare. hence why his words surprised you.

you turned back over your shoulder and took a look at him. a good look at him. it's easy to miss the signs of levi's distress, seeing as he's always hiding in his room (and usually only illuminated by the glow of his aquarium and the flashing lights of whatever game he's currently playing). but you know him. you know him better than anyone.

his pallid complexion makes his dark undereyes stand out. the way his fingers wrap around the controller doesn't hide the raw skin around his fingers, pink and irritated from the nervous picking he's clearly been doing. and even the dim lighting can't disguise the dullness in his eyes as the avoid yours.

levi is going through something. you're a little ashamed that you didn't notice sooner, but you know you shouldn't blame yourself. he wouldn't want that. pain comes in waves, insecurity in storms-- his emotions can change in a matter of moments, sorrow piling on top of him only noted by a subtle shift in his expression. you're not a mind reader. what you are, though, is someone who cares. and that's what he needs right now.

you make your way back to the spot next to him, carefully slotting yourself in the chair next to him at his desk. he meets your gaze-- uncertain, almost wary-- and you take his face in your hands. your fingers brush away his bangs so you can press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"i'm right here, levi. i'm not going anywhere."

the attic is almost pitch black at this time of morning. the devildom sky barely shifts during "daylight", but usually streetlamps flicker on during waking hours enough to feel a difference. it's dawn now. the sky is a moody dark gray, clouds hanging low from your view out the attic window.

it's cold. even under all the blankets where you lay, a chill catches your skin and refuses to let go. you threw on a sweatshirt before bed, but even that couldn't protect you from the harsh devildom winter sneaking through the cracks of the house of lamentation. your fragile human body was not made to face this weather.

you peel yourself from under the covers and face the biting, stagnant air in your pajamas. belphie remains under the warmth of the covers. his breathing is soothing, like white noise, and just thinking about it makes you sleepy. but, try as you might, you can't fall back asleep when it's this cold. your body staunchly refuses to rest under these conditions. you pad quietly over to the door, careful to not wake the demon you've left behind. you're too late.

"please don't go." he murmurs against a pillow, so quietly that you almost miss it.

you turn around. it's early enough that his disillusioned mask has yet to set, leaving him vulnerable at the first sign of your absence. you haven't even made it out of the room yet.

"it's cold up here," you reply, the words coming out in a raspy whisper-yell. his only response is to lift the blankets at his side in invitation.

you scurry back into bed, this time tucked into belphie's side, drawn in by the promise of a few more hours of peace before your day begins. one of his arms holds you tight against his body-- he's a furnace, cranking out pleasurable heat you hadn't felt before you attempted to leave-- while the other takes care to pack the blankets in an impenetrable wall around you. you silently wonder if it's for comfort or to prevent you from sneaking off again. probably both.

you cuddle into his warm chest, content now with the conditions for your slumber. his quiet, steady breathing lulls you to sleep. a chill creeps over the devildom, but no longer does it keep you awake.

"i'm just distracting you."

"a welcome distraction!"

"don't you have a really big deadline coming up?"

"sure, but..." diavolo puffs and looks at the piles of paperwork in front of him, before shooting you a hopeful look. "it would be wrong of me to neglect a guest."

he's trying to use you to get out of his paperwork. with as responsible as he usually is, it always catches you off guard to see him so desperately try to avoid his duties as future king. it would be cute, of course, if you didn't know how this dance went: soon enough, babratos would be here to see you off, insisting you let lord diavolo get back to work. some days you'd linger around the demon lord's castle, spending the afternoon by the butler's side and sampling his impressive tea selection.

"i should really get home, mammon told me he wanted--"

"please don't go."

his tone is sobering. for once, he's not asking, but begging for you not to go. he doesn't have to be on his knees to get the point across-- one look from those big, earnest, endlessly sincere eyes of his and you understand.

it's not often that he gets to be selfish in this way. as much as diavolo wants you around the castle, lounging your free days away by his side, he knows the demon brothers are just as possessive over your time. he treasures every visit you make to see him. yet, it never feels like enough. today it all spills out from inside his chest, three words and a pleading look conveying a deeper sense of loneliness than you ever thought such a joyous person could hold.

you take another look back at the door before plopping yourself into a chair at the desk, opposite from him, and smiling.

"i'm sure i could play secretary for a few hours," you decide, and the high-beam grin he gives you makes it all worth it.

two angsty-er hurt/comfort scenarios and a fluff coming right up :)

reminder that this event is still open and accepting requests! there are still 12 unused prompts remaining, so feel free to drop a request in my ask box!

[500 follower event masterlist] // [obey me masterlist]

[hyuckkaiji]

winds whisper naught but the truth // nct dream x f!reader

chapter one; to dream a dream of all that is yet to come

masterlist

summary; the thing about myths, those stories passed from generation to generation with hushed whispers over a fire, is that they stem from truth. even distorted over time it still holds some of the sincerity at it's core. people that have otherworldly abilities walk the same earth as you, hidden in plain sight, ruling society without everyone knowing. but stories are just stories ... until they're not, until they're seven boys who you are suddenly entertwined with, flesh and soul.

word count; 1.5k

warning; ch; swearing, alluding to violence; series; violence, emotional manipulation, trauma, violent magic???

note; this was inspired by the smoothie trailers and icantfeelanything photobook. this is a work of fiction and doesn't represent the boys, pls remember that 😭✋️

The water reflected the colors of the sky, falsely painting itself in shades of orange. They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, but no matter how hard the water tries to mimic its mirrored counterpart, water is still water. It can mold into any shape or form it is forced into, play the part it was given, fit where it is wanted but it only takes the smallest amount of pressure to break the illusion, the water rippling and splashing in response, a reminder of what it is. If you were an element, you think you’d be water.

Perhaps that’s where your affinity for the element came from, or maybe it was the gentle beauty of it or maybe, just maybe, the violence it ensued despite its nature. Even in its gentlest form, soft waves cradling you in its cold embrace, it takes so little for a person to drown, so little for water to take the life it is attempting to nourish.

Sometimes you wonder if death would be a gentle embrace, would it cradle you like the water? Would it caress you like the wind? Warm you like the fire? Or would it be harsh and abrupt, like the earth crumbling from beneath your feet without warning?

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to shake away your thoughts of death. You closed your eyes, using your knees as a makeshift pillow. But the darkness that danced behind your eyelids was no friend to you, almost instantly transforming into the very image you were trying to escape, the very dream that has plagued you night after night.

The boy came into view first, as he always did. He was beautiful to look at, so much so that at times you tried to prolong this part of the dream just to fully take in his features. You never could, prolong it, the dream played out the same everytime, but by now you’ve had it so often you have every dip and curve of the strangers face memorized.

His face was soft and you liked to imagine, inviting, under different circumstances. He has full round cheeks and plush lips that look like they were made to smile. You wanted to see it, his smile, you bet it could light up a room. But all you saw was the grimace he tried to fight off, the crack that traced down his lip, begging to open back up with a fresh well of blood, the way his undereyes were dark and sunken in despite being clearly well fed, the hard look in his eyes. A stare so cold it made you uncomfortable despite it not being directed your way, no, the boy wasn’t staring at you, he was watching the man across from him.

They sat in a cold empty room with steel flooring and glass walls, each them sat on a steel chair of their own. The boy watched the man, the look of disdain heavy in his eyes, the man didn’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead opting to stare at his lap, sniffling and mumbling to himself, words you couldn’t make out.

A voice echoed out from an unseen speaker, “Now.” The boy's lip twitched at the command, he looked as if he wanted to refuse but his body seemed to work on muscle memory, responding to the voice immediately. He stood swiftly, making his way before the older man and kneeling before him. Only then did the man look at him but as soon as their eyes met, the man’s sniffling turned to sobs. His words absolutely incoherent as the boy finally spoke, “It will be alright.” His voice was soft and deep, the kind of voice that soothed.

The man’s sobs quieted back down to sniffles, then to deep breathes, and then nothing. He straightened his back, rolling his shoulders before he spoke, “Now get away.” He regarded the boy as if he was lower than the dirt beneath his shoes but the boy said nothing, only stood and retreated back to his seat.

The dream always ended the same way. You didn’t understand why. Why you dreamt this dream, what it meant, who the boy was. They were questions you were begging the universe for answers to.

ᯓ𖹭

Jaemin sat stiffly, his fists bunching the fabric of his pants so tightly his knuckles turned white. He attempted to steady himself with deep inhales through his nose, attempting to keep his overwhelming emotions at bay, keep the tears from escaping. He stared blankly, unseeing at the wall before him, habitually tuning out the conversation happening around him.

“Mr. Na.” The woman’s stern voice broke his trance, his eyes trailing away to meet hers. She leaned closer, looking into his eyes with such intensity it made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t move, he let her continue her search in silence. After what felt like agonizing hours, the woman hummed her approval, straightening her back and dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“He is maintaining control over his emotions.” Jaemin wanted to roll his eyes, to scoff, to scream and rage, to throw something, anything, he wanted to do anything that they weren’t expecting of him, anything to show he didn’t belong to them. But he knew the consequences, perhaps better than most in his opinion, so instead, all he did was ball his fists at his side and bow his head as he was escorted back to the common area.

The day went by slow and monotonous, everything was muscle memory, a daze his body was living through. He could account the day if he was asked, but really it was merely half processed scenes that his eyes witnessed while his mind was lost in his anger. Truly that’s how he spent everyday, his mind trying to form an escape for him, to build him his own safe haven but everyday it failed. What was there to build, or imagine, when all you knew was fear and anger. He wanted to experience these ideas that, objectively, he knew existed but he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Was it objective? Surely not everyone lives the same way he does, he’s been told about the lives of the mundanes. They all have, they’re taught about them, but no matter how much he knows that they exist and live such different lives he still can’t seem to wrap his head around something he’s never even seen.

Is it something he wants to see? He doesn’t feel as if he happy but what if he’s not meant to be. Really, truly, he shouldn’t be thinking about mundane. They’re beneath him, simple minded creatures with no sense of structure that would be lost without the guidance of the divines. Right ?

Yes, of course it’s right. That’s what he’s been taught, but still, he wants to witness it for himself. It’s not as if he’s going to run away, he doesn’t want to live amongst people like that. Structure and order make the world go round. Everyone has their place in society, everything would collapse if people just decided to forgo their roles based on whims.

But he’s not forgoing anything, he’s not abandoning his role, he’s just exploring, for a night, one night. No one needs to know but him, he’s really not doing anything wrong, just loosing a little sleep.

At least that’s what he told himself as he pretended to sleep, waiting for the night guards to retire to their posts before climbing out a window.

ᯓ𖹭

Jaemin was severely questioning himself as he wandered through the woods that surrounded his boarding school, he wondered how long it would take him to reach town by foot and if he would even get a glimpse of another person before he had to go back. He only had the darkness on his side, he needed to be back in bed before the sun rose. He walked and walked and walked until he doubted he would even see the town at this rate , time was fleeting and his feet could only take him so far.

But just as he started to feel that familiar tinge of disappointment in his chest, he spotted a house in the distance, making him freeze where he stood. This was what he wanted, right? He felt almost like a giddy child, but still his nerves were on edge. He slowly made his way closer, cautious but his curiosity driving him forward.

As he drew nearer, the house came into better view, it was a quaint two story cottage, built of pale wood and an array of stones, accented with blue paint in certain parts. It was lovely in a way Jaemin had never seen before, if someone had described it to him, he would have called it proof of the mundane’s lack of order, but to see it before him, it held a warmth and inviting presence unlike anything he knew.

They say, curiosity is the death of obedience, these thoughts were a sickness that plagued the minds of children, something that needed to be taught out of them. But now in this moment, he couldn’t help himself, he needed to see the house closer, it’s not as if any of the residents would be awake at this hour to see him wander their property, to hear the way the twigs and leaves crunched beneath his feet. No one would ever know he was there.

[mindl3sssoul]

Fluttering Love

“I don't feel lonely when I see her

Even my sad emotions disappear far away, She's my fairy of shampoo

I will love you now.”

་༘࿐Summary: where Yuuta unexpectedly falls in love with you, who illuminates his world and transforms his life with your presence.

✧this is based from the song fairy of shampoo by dosii!

Word count: 788 words

Reader's gender is unspecified!

Prologue

School year just started 4 months ago, you've made some friends along the way, most of your friends are popular among the students, although you were not that much fond of it.

Fame was never your problem, you disliked it. You want to maintain yourself as a normal student, not a famous one nor an unrelevant individual.

You sat at your chair like as always, your friends kept pestering you about your love life. You never had any interest on someone, most of your friends already has their significant other. You can't help but just stare at them being sweet to each other, finding yourself making a weirded out expression, despite the stirring heavy feeling down your heart.

The other day, rumors scattered all over the school about a new transferee, you didn't mind it. You just ignored it, but your mind can't help but wonder about it, you thought again, that it's best to not let your curiosity get to it.

Just as usual, you went to your classroom, met with the warm atmosphere and the laughter of your classmates with their banters. You sighed, used to the noise as months passes by.

You head to your desk and chair, placing down your school bag on the side, fixing your uniform before sitting down comfortably. You took out your phone, putting your headphones on to distract and reduce the noises around you. Playing fairy of shampoo by dosii. It is always a classic, a song you adored, that you can never get tired of.

Mindlessly scrolling to social media, giggling to yourself everytime you pass by a meme, about a toilet with head. You could only wish you had someone to share them to, but oh well you were akward as hell, you stutter at your own words sometimes which makes you wanna rip your hair off your head.

Time passed by and the class is about to begin, stuffing your phone back to your uniform's pocket. You sighed, preparing to listen to another hour of your teacher's yapping session.

You never really paid attention when your teacher entered the room, but your head rose up, the word transferee ringing through your ears. You averted your gaze from your teacher to the boy standing infront, noticing his every movement, fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously, dark circles visible on his undereye, it almost looked like he was blushing because of how it almost reached his cheeks.

Your teacher finally spoke which brought you back into your senses, you haven't realized you've been staring at him for a whole minute, analyzing him like you're a professional detective.

"Alright class, before we start an another lesson, let your new classmate introduce himself first."

The guy infront a little when he heard the loud voice, staying quiet for awhile, trying to ease his anxiety. He sighed shakily before hesitating to speak and introduce himself.

"I.. I'm Okkotsu Yuta, It's nice to meet you all and.. ehh.. I hope.. we get all along..?"

He sounded like he was on the verge of breaking down infront, averting his eyes immediately from the audience, back to staring in the floor again. You can't help but click your tounge on the roof of your mouth, looking outside the window to distract yourself a little bit, but you can't help but wander back to think about the guy. Then, your teacher spoke once again.

"Then, you may take a sit Okkotsu, beside that student."

Your own teacher pointed at your direction, feeling betrayed when he didn't call you by your own name. Cursing him on your mind

"Yeah this is why your hair is almost looking like a crater of a volcano."

"And for your information you can still say my name and point at me! Its [name]! I'm definitely gonna sue you."

You mumbled all to yourself, frustration etched on for features a little, you didn't even realized that the boy was already sitting beside you, keeping a comfortable distance between you two. You eye him from the side, not wanting to turn your gaze directly at him. You have his gaze, but turned away immediately when he sensed you staring at him from the side, his cheeks flushing a light red hue.

A bead of sweat rolled down your cheeks, both from the akwardness and the warm weather, even though it's still spring. You gather the courage to speak, to introduce yourself, to at least lessen the akwardness.

Clearing your throat, which definitely caught his attention, you hoped you won't stutter or embarass yourself randomly this time, if you did, for sure you're definitely going to rip all of your hair out.

a/n: This is the first fic I wrote, English is not my first language so please bear with me! I'll try to update this as soon as possible!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Heey, raven, have you ever heard or played Mystic messenger? It's a Korean otome game, and there's this one character named Ray/unknown/Saeran, and he looks almost similar to Rollo 💀

So when they first introduced Rollo in twist, i immediately thought, "Saeran, is that you?!" Not only do both of them have white hair with dark circles under their eyes, but both are antagonist with religious backgrounds AND brother issues! Like, what a freaking coincidence!!

I used to play MysMes, but I dropped it way before Saeran’s route was released. (I think the only routes I managed to complete were Jumin Han’s and Zen’s? It got to be too much of a time sink for me.) So sorry, but I don’t really have much context for this character other than he’s a hacker and 707’s twin 💦

I’m not sure if I see the similarities with Rollo…? The hairstyle is nothing alike and even the colors are different (Saeran’s is much whiter and has a slight reddish fade). Dark undereye circles are a plus though— As far as I’m aware, his brother is also still alive…? (And while I do get religious vibes from Rollo, this was not explicitly confirmed! Meanwhile MysMes is up in here with an outright friggin’ CULT 💀)

I asked some friends who are more familiar with the character for their opinions and they didn’t think he and Rollo are that similar at all 🤔 Without going too much into spoilers, they said Saeran’s too much of a cinnamon roll (while Rollo isn’t) and that Saeran is less of an antagonist or mastermind and more of a victim of the circumstances. I’m just parroting what I was told though 🤷‍♀️ since I don’t know enough on the character to comment myself!

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the master of magic. ﹚: alessio agresta 164 .𖹭 ݁

. . . a dark paradise !! 🍒 : “ your soul brims with the most enchanting magic I've seen in awhile. . . I'll be sure to make it mine ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 164

꒰ species ꒱ corrupt magic god, primordial rhytraari

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ italian-spaniard

꒰ age ꒱ unknown ( millennia )

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ entp

꒰ alias ꒱ emerald mania, the emerald reaper, the grim reaper, the immortal, the primordial rhytaari, the emerald bane, copper’s right hand, the first sorcerer, the master of magic, ( bunbun

꒰ story ꒱ 

a being of immense power, a master of magic and often considered magic itself.

once destined for greatness, now turned to a life of cruelty and resentment. quite literally the first known sorcerer who had been scorned and aggrieved to such a brutal degree that he finally snapped. after a ritual to resurrect his lost lover results in a nightmare, he morphs from a being who was meant to teach and strengthen to one who tears down and laughs when gods fall.

in an effort to sate his own violent nature and find a way to cure his beloved, he goes on a quest. becoming the first false grim reaper and giving them a bad name in general. snatching souls and experimenting on them; observing how they work, breaking and bending them in any way he sees fit.

alongside his equally as terrible husband, he has learnt that there is no glory in benevolence. instead he thrives on the idea of being malicious and a bane to the divine. inhabiting his forests and woods, luring in unexpecting souls.

why do you think they say to not look into the trees

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

emerald eyes with slitted, cat-like pupils. sclera and pupils disappear entirely when he is casting certain spells — his eyes might also become completely black. wears undereye eyeliner

mid-length, layered, black hair that tickle the base of his neck

olive fair skin tone

sharp yet ethereal features

stands at a tall height o 6’11” ( 210cm ) with a slender build

black lips with two gold, thin vertical lip piercings on his lower lip

two large black horns protrude right above his forehead and extend upwards and back. with thin gold chains draped along them, dangling emerald gems

has a long, black, thin demon-like tail with an arrowed tip 

two large, sharp upper fangs and two lowers pairs ( right beside each other )

long, dark claws that extend from his third knuckles

a lean, diamond-shaped emerald gem on the centre of his forehead, light below it is a small emerald dot. both are outlined in gold. these store magic

typically wears gold rings, thin gold chains and gold bangles

wears a lot of black robes with green trimmings, often robes that hug onto his body

gold and emerald navel piercing

triple lobe and industrial piercings adorn both of his ears, while a single helix is on his right

 

꒰ personality ꒱

ever the charming devil, beyond charismatic. quite alluring and mysterious

sly and cunning by nature, never lets those around him know his next move

brutally honest. even his jokes are blunt, which tend to throw people off. knows exactly how to pierce a soul in the right way with the truth and those souls are perfect for experimentation

a malevolent being who is callous in most things that he does, unafraid to crack some eggs

he finds his malicious actions amusing and typically keeps a smile even through the most gruesome of things. can have quite the dark sense of humour

quite hard to read due to this, one might not know when he truly is joking or genuinely happy

can be quite erratic when it all boils down to it and have severe mood swings

while he has a short temper, it is barely shown through conventional anger. his smiles and throws passive aggressive or threatening jokes all around. the shift in the atmosphere around him clear enough to make anyone stop talking

his true rage is grim and not one to be meddled with

caring and playful with those that hold his heart, however

quite possessive in nature, definitely yandere esque

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

 with a lover, emerald shows his more playful side that is not rooted in malice. discreetly leading you into corners of the cottage or wherever you are and trapping you there to fluster and tease you, before tickling you a bit to see your smile

 incredibly passionate and flirty lover, especially the latter. it ties into his love of seeing you flustered as he displays absolute shamelessness.

 another one of his favourite things to do is scare you; in the slightest of course. little jumpscares along with the occasional spooky story here and there because he enjoys holding you and kissing away all your little fears.

 loves it when you cling onto him — it makes it so much easier for him to display his *main source* of affection: physical touch.

one of things he cannot stop himself from doing is to pepper kisses all over your face whenever he sees you, his hands giving you small affectionate and loving squeezes around your shoulder blades, waist, hips, thighs, arms — anywhere you allow him to touch. he just wants to show you how much he *loves you.*

he often whines whenever you make him let go. he’s always surprising you with random spouts of affection through the day; at times he may even come off as clingy

 and oh. . .  as an artist, emerald finds himself using you as his muse and often sketches you in all different formats yet grows irritated with his inability to capture your absolute beauty. you give him such intense feelings of creativity and yearning, and he becomes so frustrated when he cannot fully express it. . .

 dates with him walks through the woods and cooking with him. 

 though remember, amongst all this affection and adoration, however, there is a darker side to emerald. he is not all happy and joy house-husband or material boyfriend at times.

 due to past traumas, he can be rather possessive to the point where it does turn yandere like.

 he will provide you with everything that you could possibly want and need — why would you need to leave the cottage? he just wishes to keep you safe, surely you understand that?

 is it to see that human he caught glancing at you during one of the walks in town?

he would never want to hurt you, no. . .

but he is by no means above locking you away if you refuse to listen.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

witchcraft: possesses the ability to manipulate various forms of magic including all variations of magic. this extends into being able to cast a wide variety of spells. has a vast knowledge of mystical spells and incantations invoking names and aspects of various extra-dimensional objects, beings and sources of power.

energy projection: the ability to turn his magical energy into tools, objects, weapons, and other items to suit his needs. he can use these projections for other purposes as well, such as create powerful energy blasts and forcefields.

wild magic: birthed with wild magic running through his veins, chaos runs through his blood, granting him incredible powers.

curses: he has the ability to both cast and lift curses. should you be one of the unlucky ones he decides to curse, it’d be best you find a curse lifter soon, or of course you could beg for him to lift it and spare you more curses in the future.

soul trapping: with one swing of a scythe, he can trap souls within its blade and later use them for experimenting and research on soul matter — how the soul works beyond life.

soul manipulation/puppetry: he has the ability to manipulate souls. using them as puppets or manipulating with their matter to see how sour and bitter he can turn a soul and then reverse the effects to see what can solve the bitterness.

divinity: he is considered a corrupt god and therefore obtains catastrophic abilities, that of which allows him to quite literally have the ability to rip into universes and tear them apart.

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

. . . 

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

copper resentment ( zhào talisen verse 164 ): husband

rishen herrera: husband

rishen herrera ( verse 1311 ): boyfriend, different universe

rishen herrera ( verse 9948e ): friend, different universe

nadirian and zenith gods: enemies

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he is omnilingual but prefers speaking italian and spanish ( castilian )

he is an artist and often draws in his free time

was given copper’s old scythe and now uses it to “reap” and trap souls. he experiments on these souls, manipulating and testing their limits for his own research

he is the reason that people associate reapers with bad omens, he is what people came to know as the malicious grim reaper

he haunts woods and forests — he is the reason that the saying “don’t look into the trees” was developed

he has a strong hatred for the divine and all that follow them

he can travel the multiverse with no restrictions.

[sscarletvenus]

i see you did a genderbend fic, thoughts on how fem!goo would look? :3 headcanons?

omg hello anon!! and thank you for the question!!

THREE FEM!GOO HEADCANONS, FROM YOURS TRULY:

. appearance- kinda imagine her looking very much like kim hieora...sharp facial features, bloodless skin, dark undereye circles, pin straight hair, tall and lean... like ethereal, but in a truly unsettling way. something inhumane and cruel and alien but she's so gorgeous that you cannot comprehend properly the intensity of her being all of those things!!!

. i think she would still be the kind of general moral vagabond as in canon. blood and blood and replay. she's very insatiable and intense at all times. she loves chaos, horror, and being the cause of that turbulent terror. gloats over it. is nourished by it.

. she has NO instinct for nurture whatsoever. her moral compass is a roulette wheel. she doesn't have exaggerated, hypocritical ideals like Gun does. she just needs something to kill, endless, itchy waiting for her prey to deliver itself to her open mouth and bared teeth. SHE doesn't enjoy hunting. Gun does. She likes her prey willing, because that is how and when they taste the sweetest...

. as a teenager she's terrifyingly self-possessed and intense. is it a facade for her weakness? can weapon ever be weak? should the one who wields the weapon deserve to kill if they're weak? the sword is the vessel for her brutality as well as her defence against annihilation...

. another aspect to be pondered over is the role her assigned sex at birth or gender identity and expression would play in her portrayal as a character. Goo is someone who has, always, loved and lusted over money and power. both her and Gun are children weaned on poison who take comfort and pleasure in extreme violence and sadism. BUT. BUT. But it's not the same, never the same.

. what happens when your best friend betrays you long before YOU betray him, simply by being a man, just because he has, inherently, without even trying, by birthright, everything YOU wished to be? what do you do when he is the one with the natural, omnipotent power that you so ardently hunger for, and you are nothing but a weapon, a toy, a wild animal to poke and prod? familiarity breeds contempt.

. Goo is someone that hates being underestimated and undervalued. AND THIS is where i think her irreconcilable fragmentation from Gun and Charles and Tom begins.

. She surrounds herself with incredibly strong and equally morally corrupt men (secret friends) to vicariously live through them her own fantasies of enacting unbridled slaughter just for the sake of her own pleasure, her desires that would otherwise be looked upon with unforgivable contempt by a society diseased with patriarchy...

. i would love to go into her experiencing disillusionment under Charles... stowing her beliefs in a fallible God, worshipping said God with blood and until he ends up demanding her own... would a believer betray the deity? if she loses her identity, what is the basis of her existence, then?

. some style analysis- I feel like she would EAT in these vintage corporate high fashion pieces from jacques fath/ralph lauren/christian dior

. lmao I feel like I rambled without making much sense but I would love to explore fem goo more and thanks to you anon!!! HAVE AN INCREDIBLE DAY ILY

edit. THIS IS MORE THAN THREE BUT I YAP TOO MUCH AND CANNOT COUNT SO FORGIVE ME!!!

[wilderhyperfoxations]

BELOS' MOUTH LINES- WHAT ARE THEY?

Argument/hypothesis: Belos's mouth lines aren't wrinkles, they're actually scars or the curse! (Warning- use of hypothesis and such might be rickety as yoga balls. I'm not a bigbrain, I'm just a guy with a lot of thoughts.) Evidence proving the hypothesis: No elderly character or any character has the same lines, two on top, one on the bottom, and all connecting to the mouth. Gwendolyn has deep cheek wrinkles and forehead wrinkles when she frowns. She also has sagging skin around her jaw. She's around 60/70- Belos is over 400 but doesn't look old. Terra Snapdragon has two lines above her lip, smile lines, lines under her eyes. In the scene where we see all the coven heads together, her two top lip wrinkles connect to her lip, but they do not look like Belos', and otherwise they do not connect, even a few frames later.

See? None have the same features as Belos, or even similar. Scratches are usually stylized to be some variation of red. Scars are usually pink-ish or darker. But- Principal Bump has a scar/stitches over his eye, and they are black. According to the storyboard of the s2 finale when Belos speaks to Luz, the mouth lines are not present during when he gets his green stripe removed, but appear only when it comes back. Also, in this one, his one mouth line connects to the green scar. Storyboards never depict him as old, moreso withered, tired. Especially this one. Take away that little line and you've got yourself an eccentric twink.

Okay, sure, the mouth lines are different- but if they are scars, why aren't they like Hunters' or Luz'? Maybe because it would have been tedious to color, or it is just a design choice, based on the black lines being bolder or weirder looking. Or maybe the opposite. He also has no other wrinkles besides the line when he smirks, and lines under his eyes are very dark undereye bags. They look less like wrinkles and more like exhaustion. Belos generally has an ambiguous design age-wise, without his greying hair and or the mouth lines, he could pass for a younger person, even if you keep the under-eyes- no other wrinkles are present, and neither are any signs of age on his body. Counter evidence, disproving the hypothesis: Storyboards often have inaccurate scenes or designs or things that are later removed (see Darius having purple eyes or looking mega weird in some storyboards, or even the scene w Belos where his face melts) and sometimes characters are missing scars in sbs, like Hunter here. So Belos only having mouth lines when the curse kicks in could be that, an omission for the sake of convenience.

Also it could have been a unique and weirder way to show wrinkles, evidence as to different characters who have different designs. Plus usually scars are red/pink, and these are solid black lines, more like wrinkles. And most older characters aren't extremely old looking. Without Eda's hair color it's harder to tell her age even if she's supposed to look more aged. She just looks 40 but grey, and her design is most similar to Belos' in that regard. In other storyboards Belos has no mouth lines either, while having the green line. Could be design changes or for simplicity.

Storyboards aren't reliable as evidence. The boards have inconsistent designs or earlier designs, as shown by his eyeball face or egg elf face above, as well as the lack of nose bump. The input of others: I ran a poll on tumblr, and the results were- 78.8% chose wrinkles, 17.5% chose scars, and 3.8% chose curse. There were 80 votes. One person said they were pretty sure they were wrinkles, because Belos is "old as balls" and "some old guys have dry lips". Another said scars because "his whole body seems to be covered by them", and he has "no crows feet" [or other wrinkles]. Another said that they assumed those were scars, because they look too odd and are connected to the lips to be wrinkles. The fandom consensus seems to be that they are wrinkles, and most draw/write/regard him as such. Conclusion: Who the chit knows! Evidence points to it being wrinkles, I say. But I personally believe it's the curse or scars and there's just enough ambiguity for me to hold that opinion. Could I ask Dana or something? Probably, doubt that she would reply, but also I feel like that would ruin the fun. What do you think?

[eggymf-archived]

of paper planes and wildflowers; 08

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)

chapter warnings: injured beasts, not proofread, unedited

chapter summary: when the opportunities that present themselves lead to a path of possible happiness, it’s up to him to decide whether he’ll finally seize it for himself or let his inner turmoil and insecurities consume him once again  

word count: 5.7k

a/n: this chapter nearly made me punch the wall for all the good reasons :D

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

“...Can you even believe that?! I– Hey!”

You felt your arm get grabbed by a certain red-haired Weasley, pulling you out of harm’s way from colliding towards another student who was walking at a snail’s pace in the crowded hallways. Taken by surprise, your dazed eyes widened in temporary alertness before morphing back into its droopy state. You sighed, shaking your head rather aggressively to keep yourself awake. You had been barely sleeping for the past few days and it was clearly evident on your appearance: dark undereye circles, and skin devoid of its usual healthy flush and glow.

“Are you sure you’d rather not be in the hospital wing right now? Bloody hell, even an Inferius looks livelier than you!” Garreth commented, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as soon as he pulled you to the side of the corridor. You looked back at him with hesitant eyes, remembering the workloads that had been assigned recently for the weekend. In silent defiance towards the current state of your body, you uncorked a vial containing some Wide-Eye Potion, chugging it down in huge gulps. 

“You can’t keep drinking vials of those!” Garreth chastised while you looked at him in feigned innocence. 

“...Whoops?” you giggled sheepishly. The red-haired Gryffindor crossed his arms while half-heartedly glaring at you. 

“Oh fine!” you grumbled, giving into his concerned glare. “I’ll rest up this weekend. I promise. No more late night explorations until I've rested enough!”

 You glanced up at his pair of emerald eyes, who were gazing upon you in obvious skepticism. 

“I sure hope you do. I won’t give that potion you keep on requesting if you don’t,” he sighed. Garreth reached for his bag, grabbing a flask containing his own improved antiseptic potion and a vial of dittany essence.

“I hope this’ll help the two unicorns you found,” Garreth said while handing over the potions to you. “That way, you wouldn’t have to sacrifice your health too much.”

“Not to worry, Garreth! They’re in good hands!” you grinned. The emerald-eyed male’s expression turned apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I normally accompany you on these travels, but Aunt Matilda has been watching me like an Augurey for the past few weeks,” he grumbled guiltily, recalling the stern expression on Professor Weasley’s face upon finding out the number of house points he had lost no thanks to his shenanigans. Poor Garreth now has extra assignments to do as punishment and was expected to inform his aunt consistently regarding his whereabouts. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I could always count on you to help me brew some potions for my noble cause?” you piped, patting his arm while looking at him expectantly with hopeful eyes.

“Oh stop it you! That's not gonna work the second time!” he scoffed jokingly, earning a lighthearted yet tired chortle from you. The both of you walked to your next class, chattering rather animatedly despite your lack of sleep. A certain freckled brunette eyed both you and Garreth’s retreating figure while his opal-eyed companion had his arms crossed as he stood beside his best friend with an evident yet subtle scowl on his face — not directed towards you and the young Weasley, but towards the brunette himself who has been the bane of his existence for several days and counting.

“They seem pretty close. Way too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Sebastian queried with a seemingly oblivious yet underlying teasing tone, eyeing the blonde-haired male for any of his signature violent reactions whenever he was teased. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, they’re best friends!” Ominis exasperatedly exclaimed. “Why is that suddenly an issue?!”

“Alright, alright! Calm down, will you?” 

“Calm down? You’ve been pulling my leg for days! Do you honestly expect me to be in a good mood?!”

“In my defense, this is for your own good, my poor lovesick friend. Denial is a painful struggle, don't you think?”

“The only painful struggle here is your incessantly insufferable assumptions, Sebastian!”

The onslaught of their rather pointless bickering continued with Ominis’ face turning into a ripe tomato out of sheer annoyance while Sebastian snickered at the poor Gaunt’s plight. Much to Ominis' chagrin, Sebastian was well capable of piecing the puzzle pieces together even without informing him of the entirety of the situation. The brunette was aware that there was something going on between you and Ominis. In fact, there were several tell-tale signs of the young Gaunt's hidden affections towards you that Ominis himself doesn't even notice.

The most recent incident, however, was the most ridiculously obvious one to date. And no, it wasn't the silly little moment that Sebastian had walked into in the Alchemy Classroom — this scenario was much more unexpected and out-of-character to the point it rendered Sebastian absolutely gobsmacked. It happened when Ominis had absentmindedly voiced his thoughts upon hearing your boisterous laughter during practical lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class when Leander Prewett ended up flying back after a failed attempt in casting Bombarda Maxima.

"She laughs like a bloody seagull, but oddly enough, it's rather adorable."

Needless to say, Ominis was absolutely mortified upon realizing that he had said his thoughts out loud by accident. To make matters worse, Sebastian, who remained vigilant the entire time, had heard it loud and clear. 

As the blonde-haired male oldest friend, Sebastian had seen the many sides of Ominis throughout the years. However, this was an entirely different version of Ominis that even the brunette wasn't accustomed to. Watching him cluelessly pine for one of their fellow classmates who seems just as whipped as he is was agonizing to watch. Hell, even Sebastian landed himself a date with Skylar Evans thanks to Ominis’ emotionally mature advice, yet the poor man was unable to apply his own words of wisdom onto himself. Much to Sebastian's humorous pleasure, the whole scenario itself resembles a comedically-written romantic novel that were commonly read by young ladies, and he was not about to discard that thought anytime soon.

Sebastian glanced at the sulky opal-eyed male beside him, stifling his laughter as he remembered Ominis’ predicament during that one class in Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a rather sharp blow to his poor unsuspecting rib — Ominis’ infamous elbow jab of death: perfect for silencing insolent little lads who dare to incur his wrath.

“OW! BLOODY HELL, OMINIS!”

…..Scurvy grass, lovage, sneezewort, and…. Frog brains. Eugh.

Ominis grimaced as he read through his potions textbook, mulling over the ingredients needed for a Befuddlement Draught: the potion he was supposed to procure today as his additional assignment output. Meanwhile, you occupied the other burner on the same table. Potions Class had ended a while ago, and you immediately seized the opportunity in brewing the potion you had been intensively researching on while you were tutoring Ominis. You brought out your own set of jars containing the necessary ingredients alongside a leather-bound notebook that contained your own written notes. Before you could get started on your own potion, you headed over to Ominis.

“Got all your ingredients ready, I hope?” you asked. He hummed in response, taking out several jars from his own potions kit. 

“I’m not sure if I have enough frog brains though. I’d rather not stick my finger inside the jar to check. Do I have enough?” Ominis queried, showing you a jar containing an ample amount of the said ingredient. A snort escaped from your nostrils.

“What? You’re afraid of touching frog brains?”

“They’re disgusting and have a pungent fishy smell. I’d rather not,” the misty-eyed male cringed. “So, do I have enough or not?”

“Relax. You do,” you chucked, checking his other ingredient jars. “Let me just set the flame for you. Will you be alright brewing the potion this time mostly on your own? I have to brew… Something.”

“The same potion you’ve been trying to brew for the past few days?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s trickier than I thought,” you sighed, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. 

“Who would’ve thought that blood-restorative potions for beasts would be so difficult to procure…” you bemoaned to yourself.

 “...I’ll just inform you if I need some help then,” Ominis replied, choosing not to pry despite his piqued curiosity.

“Alright then. I'll be here if you need me.”

You flipped your notebook to the necessary page, finding a recipe that had multiple cross-outs and note scribbles at the side of each error to the recipe that you had found in the beast section of the library. The list itself was rather intimidating, taking up almost an entire roll of parchment even with your tiny handwriting. The Blood-Restorative Potion for Unicorns — that was what you were attempting to brew for Merlin knows how many times for the last few days and it was the primary cause of your sleepless nights.

You would've spoken to Professor Howin instead regarding the matter, but the situation was far too dire for the two poor beasts. The last thing you would want is a poor unicorn mare and its foal dying of a deadly infection or blood loss by merely waiting for authorities to take action. You'd rather just nurse the poor beasts back to health on your own. After all, you are a well-researched Ravenclaw who is more than capable of taking such matters into your hands.

So how did you actually manage to ensnare yourself within this particularly complicated predicament?

It all began during the first night of your long-awaited freedom. After many troubling events that had recently occurred, you were in dire need of being out and about in the wilderness armed with just your wand, a satchel containing your essentials, and your trusty broom. Who would've thought you'd find yourself rescuing a locked up unicorn mare and its foal in one of the abandoned poacher camps within the Forbidden Forest? 

By Merlin's name, the two poor beasts were in a dreadful state when you had found them: while the foal suffered minor injuries and was severely malnourished, the mare suffered greater injuries that involved several deep punctures and gashes on its flesh, while its mane, tail and horn had been cut off. While unicorn hair and horns were common potion ingredients, unicorn blood wasn't — the mere fact that you had found signs that depict the extraction of its life essence was horrifying.

Thankfully, despite the darkness that had enshrouded the place, you successfully found a temporary haven for the unicorns: a nearby cave that was well concealed behind thickets of trees and tall bushes. The thought of two defenseless creatures being exploited in such a cruel way set the blood within your veins aflame with both anger towards their perpetrators, and fiery determination to nurse both of them back to health to the best of your abilities.

Furrowing your brows in concentration, you followed the improved recipe that you had written down, ticking each step that you had done with your self-inking quill to ensure that no step had been missed. You carefully dropped ingredient upon ingredient right into your cauldron, stirring it every now and then according to the instructions. Finally, you turned the flame off, allowing the concoction to cool: if the liquid turns into a fine silvery liquid with glittery gold specks when it reaches room temperature, then the potion has been brewed correctly. 

You were about to check on Ominis' cauldron, only to find that he is currently decanting a promising dark green concoction into an empty vial. 

"You actually managed to brew it without my help this time!" you genuinely exclaimed out of happiness. A faint blush rose to his cheeks as he placed the cork onto the vial before heading to the Potions Master's table. Handing over his vial, Ominis patiently awaited Professor Sharp’s verdict. The said professor nodded in approval, scribbling an “O” beside Ominis’ name in his records.

“Well done.”

A wide-eyed Ominis walked back to the table while you, his tutor, cracked a proud grin at the sight of him who was still rather awestruck from one of Sharp's rare words of encouragement.

“I say, keep this up and you probably won't need my assistance the next time you brew a potion!” you chirped.

“I suppose my tutor's an excellent guide herself,” Ominis commented, a gentle smile gracing his lips. You felt heat rush to your face, wordlessly falling into a daze as you stared at his expression. An awkward silence fell between the both of you, and the present smile upon his lips morphed into a smirk.

"You do know that I can feel you staring, right?"

You cleared your throat immediately, masking your embarrassment with your usual display of bashfulness.

“No, I'm not!” you half-heartedly denied while he chuckled. You peered down at your cauldron, spotting several gold flakes swirling around a shimmery silver liquid. Clapping in excitement, you took out various empty flasks from your potions kit to properly store the entire batch of potion you had just brewed.

At long last, it was finally a success.

The faint sound of footsteps pacing onto stone floors echoed throughout the walls of the Undercroft. Ominis had been loitering within the room for quite some time, deep in thought for the good majority of the entire duration. He had managed to sneak out of the Slytherin Common Room and right into his sanctuary, skillfully avoiding the prefects that were on patrol. Holding a piece of parchment with one hand and his wand with the other, he finally seized the opportunity to read Anne's reply in peace.

Ominis, I must say, I hadn’t expected you out of all people to be facing love-related problems. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Albeit the surprise, it truly warms my heart to know that you’ve managed to find someone that you genuinely fancy. She seems like a fine young lady, if you ask me! As for my advice, please do take it with a grain of salt. Preferences do vary from person to person, after all. If I were in your shoes, I think it’d be wise to advance forward with your so-called “relationship”, especially if you are now well aware of her true identity. It need not be a blatant introduction right in her face, of course. Perhaps you could slowly try to integrate yourself within her day-to-day life first by advancing your status from a mere pen-pal to let’s say a secret admirer? Something of the sort. That’d give you an opportunity to think things through if you’re still hesitant. It may not be easy for you to push through with such matters, but I believe in your astute judgment.  Also, I hope you aren’t berating yourself throughout this entire situation. Knowing you, you’re probably doing something of the sort. This is a reminder that you still deserve love regardless of your past. That aside, I wish you the best of luck!  May this string of fateful encounters lead you to a path of genuine happiness. Sincerely, Anne P.S. If you do push through with your plan of possible courtship, do drop by in Feldcroft with her, won't you? I’d love to meet her!

The poor Gaunt’s heart hammered at Anne’s post script, blushing miserably at the possible scenario. Bashfulness aside, the thought of revealing his identity to you made his stomach churn: he hadn't the slightest idea as to how you'd react to the cold hard truth. Although the rift between the both of you were starting to lessen surprisingly thanks to Sharp assigning you to tutor him for potions, he was still not fully convinced on whether he should proceed with his pursuits or not. 

If only there was a window of opportunity where the both of you could actually know each other on a slightly deeper and meaningful level. 

Ominis sighed in defeat, heading out of the Undercroft to sneak back into the common room. Perhaps if he rested for the night, there'd be a better idea that would grace his head the next time he ponders about a solution to this predicament. The sound of the clock mechanism echoed throughout the stone stairwell of the Undercroft as the door opened. Ominis exited, stepping onto the marble floors of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower. He casted a Disillusionment Charm for good measure, deftly roaming through the dimly lit corridors once more. 

Unbeknownst to him, aside from the several prefects roaming about, there was another charm-concealed student who was, like Ominis, sneaking around past curfew. His sharp sense of smell caught a whiff of a familiar floral perfume, and he noticed that the person was heading straight towards the staircase leading towards the exit of the tower. Ominis followed the scent, casually stopping right beside the person, who was mumbling to themselves.

“.... Two prefects. Now how do I—”

“Sneaking out of the castle, are you?”

“Mother of—!” you squeaked, revealing both of yourselves to one another. You glared at the misty-eyed male. Before you could utter anything, you were suddenly interrupted.

“Hello? Is anyone up there?” one of the prefects called, heading up to the second floor. Panickedly, the both of you casted the Disillusionment Charm on yourselves once again, creeping alongside the marble balustrade in hopes of not getting noticed. 

While the prefect headed towards the corridor far from the stairs, the both of you immediately headed down to the first floor. You fired a spell towards a wall right at the far opposite of the exit, effectively distracting the other prefect that was patrolling around. You deftly pushed the large door open, exiting the tower successfully and headed towards several bushes while the young Gaunt followed suit. Both regaining visibility once again, you turned to Ominis, placing your hands onto the sides of your waist.

“To answer your question just now before you nearly broke my 2-year streak of not being caught, yes I am sneaking out,” you huffed, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn't expect you to be out and about past curfew, Gaunt. Why are you sneaking around, anyways?”

“Well, I couldn't sleep,” Ominis nonchalantly reasoned.

“That's it?” you deadpanned.

“What? Were you expecting something more?”

“Seems too simple of a reason to risk yourself getting caught by prefects, don't you think?”

“Believe it or not, I am, in fact, a rather simple young man,” the alabaster-skinned male quipped while you scoffed in amusement. 

“Really now? That's a surprise,” you mumbled.

“And I'm assuming that your present late-night activities have something to do with the potion that you brewed earlier?”

“....As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Pray, do tell. What exactly did you brew back in the classroom?”

You paused, contemplating on whether or not you should reveal your agenda for the night. The opal-eyed male raised an eyebrow, expectantly waiting for your answer. You grinned as an idea dawned upon you. You summoned your broom and mounted onto the seat.

“Fancy yourself a trip to the Forbidden Forest tonight?” you offered. “That's where I'm headed, actually.”

“...The what?!”

“Oh, come on! Don't tell me you're scared now? After all that sneaking around and you want to retire back into the dungeons?”

“I'm not scared!” Ominis grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Then don't just stand there, silly! Hop on!”

Hesitance grabbed a hold of Ominis, temporarily rooting him onto the ground. 

“May this string of fateful encounters lead you to a path of genuine happiness.”

Recalling Anne’s recent message, Ominis sighed defeatedly.

“...I can't believe I'm doing this,” he mumbled, mounting onto your broom. He shyly snaked his arms around your waist, securing himself in place. Taking your wand out of your inner pocket, you muttered a spell, turning the both of you invisible for a certain period of time.

“Ready?” you asked, pushing your bashfulness aside as you felt the warmth from his body seep onto your back.

“Ready.”

A loud thump on the ground was soon heard, followed by a whoosh as the both of you soared into the night sky. Ominis let out an uncharacteristic yelp as you leaned forward, prompting him to tighten his hold as he felt a stronger gust of wind hit his face. He felt his heart pound against his chest out of sheer anxiety.

“You’re going way too fast!” he cried out while you laughed out heartily at his plight, maintaining the breakneck speed. The both of you headed up north, passing over most of the thick fog blanketing the Forbidden Forest. Ominis felt himself calm down as he started getting used to the speed of your broom. 

You then spotted the small clearing where you often landed, and without warning, you maneuvered your broom to swoop down. The terrified screams of the poor Gaunt behind you caused you to guffaw boisterously at his priceless reaction. Soon, the whooshing of the air slowly died down as you leaned back to make the speed dwindle down significantly. The moment Ominis felt the ground beneath his feet, he quickly dismounted, patting himself and fixing his hair while you pointed your wand at your broom, vanishing it out of sight. 

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” you giggled.

“Wasn’t?! We could’ve died!” Ominis hissed. “I could've been killed!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, pull yourself together! Now, the cave’s not far from here. Best be on our way, hmm?” you said, patting his shoulder and heading towards the supposed designation.

“This better be worth my time,” the misty-eyed male muttered grumpily, tailing after you while he held his blinking wand up.

A deathly silence loomed over the dreary-looking place aside from the audible crunching of leaves and stray twigs beneath your feet as you and Ominis traversed through the cold, dark forest. The crunching of leaves soon turned into faint footsteps against a solid surface, much to your relief. 

“We’re here. It's just right ahead,” you informed Ominis, walking into the cave. The sound of dripping water echoed throughout the natural tunnel-like structure. Soft whinnies were soon heard alongside the sound of hooves trotting on grass from the end of the tunnel, much to Ominis’ surprise. 

Upon reaching the end of the tunnel, you were met with a large open space with a large snakewood tree rooted in the middle. The moonlight peered through the small opening from the top of the cave, shining its strong rays of light directly onto the lone tree. Beside the tree lies a small spring, where the unicorn mare and its foal were currently drinking water from. Upon seeing your arrival, the unicorn foal cantered towards you in excitement while you quickly conjured up some food for it, stroking its mane affectionately as it began to feast on its treats that were laced with the potion you had brewed earlier. Much to your relief, the foal hadn't noticed any unusual taste from the pellets. Ominis quietly approached you, still unsure of what was happening. You grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand towards the foal until the skin of his palm came into contact with its short mane and small horn.

“... Unicorns!” Ominis breathed out while you smiled at his excited reaction. Ominis gingerly glided his hand across the fur of the young beast, only to realize that it had several line-like scabs littering its skin. His brow furrowed both in confusion and concern.

“Its skin… What happened?” Ominis asked while you sighed.

“Poachers. I found both of them in one of the abandoned camps nearby in a cage,” you explained grimly, attempting not to divulge into the explicit details of the beasts' prior suffering. Ominis pondered, putting two and two together. 

It all made sense now.

“So they were injured when you found them and you've been treating their wounds for the past few days,” Ominis concluded.

“Yes, that's right,” you said, rather impressed with how perceptive the pale-skinned male was was. “And the potion I was brewing is a Blood-Restorative Potion for Unicorns.”

“That bad, huh,” the young Gaunt sighed sorrowfully. “How horrible.”

The unicorn mare approached you, laying onto its side for you to inspect its large wound. You gently removed the protective linen that rested atop the wound, revealing a stitched gash that was looking far less grim the last time you had seen it. You opened your satchel, grabbing a flask of the antiseptic potion Garreth had concocted and poured it gently onto the wound, watching it fizz up slightly. You then opened up the vial containing dittany essence, applying it in sufficient amounts to prevent a nasty scar from forming. 

Meanwhile, Ominis knelt over near the unicorn's head, giving it an experimental pat on its neck before stroking it affectionately. He immediately took note of the mare's extremely short mane and the absence of its horn, merely feeling a stump on its head. His heart broke at the realization of the harrowing incident this unicorn must’ve gone through.

“Even your horn and hair wasn't spared…” he spoke softly towards the beast, who neighed in response.

“She'll be fine now. Her wounds are healing nicely,” you informed, much to Ominis' relief. “I'll have to check on them both every now and then, though. Until I make sure they'll be fine on their own.”

Ominis got up on his feet, conjuring a self-refilling feeder for each of the unicorns. You smiled in appreciation at his initiative, further improving the contraption in making sure that the feeds for the mare contained a stronger dosage of the potion you had brewed. You sighed both in exhaustion and in relief as the two unicorns had their fill of grub, heading over to the dry spot within the cave to take a rest. Ominis followed you, promptly finding a spot to sit on as soon as he heard the slight clinking of glass jars while you gently put your bag down. 

With a wave of your wand, small pieces of rocks and several dry pieces of wood materialized out of thin air, forming a small circular fire pit. Small balls of fire shot out of your wand, igniting the wood. Ominis sat on the ground and leaned back against the cave wall, relaxing at the sound of the fire crackling. You plopped right beside him, gazing at the flickering flames. 

“This was… A rather fun trip, I must say,” Ominis mumbled, breaking the silence. 

“Glad to know it was worth your while. You're not a bad traveling companion surprisingly,” you chuckled. “...Aside from the screaming on the broom just now.”

“Did you really have to bring that up?” he winced in embarrassment.

“Lighten up, will you? It's not that bad!” you laughed. “It was rather funny.”

Ominis groaned in response, pinching the bridge of his nose at the flashback. The sound of neighs echoed throughout the cave as the unicorn foal trotted around the mare, bursting into a run while the latter followed its mischievous little offspring. You giggled at the sight.

“Honestly I'm relieved that they're doing so much better now. For the past few days this cave has been quiet aside from the occasional pained neighs from the both of them. It was horribly depressing,” you recalled.

“Well, I'm sure they're thankful for your help. Unicorns aren't usually the most social of beasts, yet they're here they are,” the misty-eyed male said in a rather comforting manner.

“Do you think they want to stay here? The forest has been quite dangerous lately with poachers lurking about,” you pondered out loud.

“I wouldn't be surprised if they do. We can just provide what they need here. Probably enchant the place with protective spells too.”

“We?” you repeated in a surprised tone. The misty-eyed male cleared his throat instinctively, feeling an all-familiar warmth spread throughout his face.

“It was a mere suggestion. It’s still your decision to make.”

“...I think it’s wise if we follow your suggestions, actually. I quite like the idea of these poor beasts having a chance to live in a safer place for once,” you admitted. “A chance for a new start is probably what they deserve. Poor things must’ve been traumatized after going through such terrifying ordeals.”

Ominis' mind wandered at the thought, strangely empathizing with the unicorns you had rescued. They reminded him of himself — just like them, he had gone through harrowing events that left traces of emotional scars deep within his heart and mind, along with permanently sullied hands. However, unlike these ethereal, harmless beings, he had voluntarily participated in an act of cruelty to save himself: he had to inflict the worst pain imaginable unto another innocent person. At the end of the day, unlike the unicorns, he still had a choice.

Did he truly even deserve that same chance of starting anew despite what he had done? 

“A Knut for your thoughts?” you asked, jolting the blonde-haired male out of his musings.

“A chance for a new start… Do you think everyone deserves such a thing? Even those who have done atrocious things?” Ominis asked softly. You were rather taken aback by the sudden heavy question from the normally emotionally-secretive male. Nevertheless, you decided to share your opinion.

“Everyone deserves a chance at some point, Gaunt. Especially those who are determined enough to change for the better and genuinely make amends for their wrongdoings,” you answered with conviction as if it was the most logical answer to his question. You glanced at Ominis, who had an astonished expression on his face.

“... I know my answer might sound rather simple, but I do hope it suffices,” you chuckled as your eyelids began to slowly droop, fatigue slowly overtaking your body. The opal-eyed male did just as you said, mulling over the answer you had strung together. He was about to ask another question when he felt a sudden weight drop on his shoulder. 

Oh.

Ominis' breath hitched at his throat. A reluctant hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your eyelashes. Finally after all that had occurred within this particular day, you had fallen fast asleep. He felt the flyaways of your hair tickle his jawline as you shifted your head around slightly before settling down as soon as you were comfortable enough. The silence this time was a cozy one — the soft crackling of fire along with your steady breaths made Ominis exhale in relaxation as he rested his head against yours.

He felt the beating of his heart drum steadily within his chest as he pondered about the many things he had discovered about you in this little impromptu trip. Unsurprisingly, his initial first impressions of you had been completely shattered at this point. In fact, he felt downright silly for even underestimating you when you were far more than just a typical book-smart Ravenclaw. 

You were rather insane when it came to your adrenaline-seeking tendencies, unlady-like at certain times, surprisingly had a penchant for breaking rules every now and then, yet at the same time you were undoubtedly one of the kindest, wisest and most understanding persons he had ever come across. There were so many sides to you that have yet to be discovered, and he wanted to uncover all of what is concealed. The mere thought of being with you made his chest ache with painful longing and repressed desires. 

Ominis bitterly chuckled at yet another mind-blowing realization, leaning his head against the cave wall with a burning urge to kick himself over and over for his incapability of fully grasping the extent of his budding feelings sooner. For the umpteenth time today, he finds himself at a loss for words regarding the huge risk he was about to take. 

“I can't fucking believe this,” he whispered, conjuring a roll of his scented parchment, an envelope, a wooden board, and his self-inking quill. It was now or never: he had to write this before his self-depreciative thoughts held himself back once again. He couldn’t risk losing this opportunity — not when the answers to his doubts were crystal clear to him right now.

He wanted to try regardless of what the outcome may be. 

Dearest Lucie, You might be surprised that you’ve received my reply in this manner, and I hope you do not mind my rather bold approach this time around. Truth be told, the main reason as to why my reply took so long was due to the mishap of me discovering your identity by mere coincidence. I shan’t divulge into the details as to how I’ve uncovered this crucial information, but I have been thinking about this for quite a while now. I suppose I let my cowardice get the best of me at some point hence my silence, but I couldn’t keep this secret from you after all. I wouldn’t blame you if you’re upset with my actions, and I deeply apologize for that. As for my intentions now that I know who you are, I believe that the decision whether to continue this correspondence or not ultimately rests with how comfortable you are with communicating with me. To be completely honest, I’m quite fearful of your possible negative reaction once you find out who I am. I know I’m being rather unfair with this, but if knowing my identity is important to you, is it possible if I could just leave clues for you to figure out? I promise I won’t make them too difficult. It’s just that I don’t think I can handle approaching you right away in person. Whatever your decision may be, I’m glad that I got to know you — even if it’s just through letters. With love and adoration, Ves  

As soon as the ink had dried up, he folded the parchment neatly and slipped it into the envelope before stuffing it into his inner coat pocket. He vanished the objects he had conjured, resting his head on top of yours once more. He shut his eyes, relishing in the tender moment with you as he slowly drifted off to his own slumber with a faint smile across his lips. 

The blonde-haired male has finally made his decision: this time, he would give this letter to you on his own without any assistance from your owl.

< chapter 7: denial and desires 🔞

chapter 9: uncontrollably fond >

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[lucky-punk-lemonade]

You're Losing Me [Pt. 1 of 3]

| {Read pt. 2 & 3 on AO3; Link in title and pinned post :) } Stiles gets possessed by the Nogitsune. [Established relationship; mild whump; happy ending] Stiles Stilinski (Void Stiles)

This work belongs to me, lucky-punk-lemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

I tucked my hands underneath my forearms. My fingers were colder than usual, not jarring in any way, though a thought I lingered on. It’s a welcomed abeyance to the keen chill reminding me that I was exactly where I was—an uncomfortable notice of Stiles, or rather Void’s, presence. I still found myself reminded of the distinction. Of course, the dark undereye bags and lowered, vain gaze made it glaringly obvious. It wasn’t exactly Stiles, though I refrained from staring at him, or it, for too long. 

             Mrs. McCall shifted, my eyes subconsciously following her small movements. It seems we’ve all been a little apprehensive lately. Melissa already worked odd hours at the hospital, taking off here and there to tend to Stiles when she could. Scott and I helped when she couldn’t. It was unnerving, sitting in a room with Stiles Stilinski while the room remained quiet. Even more so when we knew he’d have the answers, beyond the words to fix this situation. We all knew it. It took something out of us at some point to realize that.

          Now, I stand uncomfortably in the hallway before the two other people directly involved. Scott and Melissa share my facial expression. I realize how alike their faces are when they’re concerned, and so damn tired. I avoid reading into it, something I’ve had to do a lot lately. Mr. Stilinski’s concerned and curt nods when I told him he shouldn’t visit his son, my mom’s face scrunching when she sees how beat down I appear, even when I smile, and the increasing intervals between visits to Stiles from Scott. I realized people around us were dropping like flies, falling victim to the Nogitsune’s harsh tongue and backlog of provoking secrets he just seemed to have. It seems that Melissa and I have the most resolve so far, though it’s not anything I feel confident bragging about. 

              I look back at Melissa, her eyes aimed through the door at Stiles’ sitting figure, still as ever. Instead of asking how long it’s been since we’ve talked to Stiles in the flesh, what’s running through their minds, or the other trillion thoughts circling my mind like vultures, I sigh and try to translate what I can to them. 

“Do you guys think it’s even possible that we can get him back?”

                 I can tell it’s a sore spot, but something they’ve considered regardless. Especially Melissa. As a mother and nurse, she has no choice but to think of every outcome and to keep pushing regardless. I know for a fact, under normal circumstances, she’d never put her son’s best friend who could almost be another son to her into such a removed category. It’s not something I could ever see her agreeing to, and it’s not something I’d ever ask her to. 

                   Scott looks down, reactions muted as the new normal for him. I don’t push him, nor do I push the question. They just look at me, sigh, and return their line of sight to the ground. My eyes follow Melissa’s to the back of Stiles’ head. I try not to think about the bubbling emotion I experience when I watch the slender shoulders of my boyfriend rise and fall calmly as if I could walk in there now and ask him where he’s been. As if I could sit next to him and he’d smile and say “There you are.”

                     My eyes strain to meet Melissa’s. I suppose seconds ago, she’d shifted to see my internal struggle flash in my eyes. I struggle to make my expression anything but pleading to her. It’s just not rational. She knows as much about this as I do. With the amount of anxiety-inducing, ancient articles, and disintegrating books I’ve read, she probably knows less. It’s unreasonable to look at her like this, to silently ask for reassurance when she must be struggling herself, but I do nevertheless. She only responds with the same loving frown she’s no doubt accustomed to giving patients. 

“It’s getting really hard.” I successfully dodge a voice break with a sharp swallow, dulling the ache in my throat. “It’s getting hard to find him again.” 

                I will not cry. Melissa knows that. It’s assuredly a creed she holds herself to as well. She knew I wanted to break down, I knew she did, too. After a while of silent observation, I began to notice Melissa and I were quite alike. We both have made a sort of silent pact to keep the show running. To be the glue. Not to shed a tear until we hear Stiles attempt an Irish accent again or try to explain why Scott and I should take Pre-Calc with him. It made it worse to wish for it. It’s like we were getting farther and farther from it with every audacious smirk he flashes - something that used to be so endearing coming from him. I suck in a breath.

“God, it sucks, huh? Every conclusion we make, every path we go down gets lit up in flames. How many times have we run this course?” I ask this more as a way to exhale my thoughts.

               They stay silent. Like always, but I can’t blame them. It’s real, too real. I realize I'm getting selfish, asking them to complain alongside me. To be a pillar to lean against, knowing full well I could take the entire morale down. What little is left of it, anyway. Knowing better than to add to the negativity, I clear my throat, raising my eyebrows, reminding myself not to change the atmosphere too quickly. “I’m just tired. I’m gonna get a little more done tonight. Then, I’ll head home I think.” 

I don’t wait for an answer, just a small pause and a neutral smile before heading back towards our makeshift headquarters.

                Melissa and Scott stay outside, probably talking. Probably exchanging a comfort and understanding I’d kill to be a part of right now. That’s not my place, though. I can’t insert myself into their lives more than I already have. I scold myself for being so brash and emotional with them when I know the last thing they need is more hopeless rambles. I almost have to psych myself up to enter the room but refuse to, grasping what little choices I have here. This whole thing has felt too open. No answers and a million possibilities. 

            That’s very likely why my breath catches when I step into the room, past the door, only to see Stiles- No, Void looking right at me. He was docile but his eyes tracked every moving figure with malice, breathing slowly through his nose over the duct tape on his mouth. When Void saw me, his eyes changed. Not in a menacing way; he seemed like he’d been expecting me at that moment. Like I’d fulfilled his prophecy. I went straight to the desk by the couch, setting my bag down. Somewhere in the way his eyes changed throughout my visits and how I’d dodged the manipulation time and time again, I stopped trying to talk to Stiles. I’d just sit and do my research. I knew Void saw the bags under my eyes get darker and my hands get shakier, the close-lipped smiles I gave to the people around me got less and less genuine. I wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to scare me beyond the worry I already housed deep in my chest. 

             I saw his eyes narrow and his head tilt ever so slightly and I didn’t look away. The raging uneasiness he’d always kicked up began to settle. A sadness stays suspended, though still. I know better. When I don’t look away, he takes it as a challenge. I knew he would, but I was so tired of getting nowhere. The tape on his mouth is loose, it allows him to talk. I’m just so captivated by the spark of intrigue in his eyes that I let him. I only register the shock that his voice elicits after he blinks. It’s a very familiar voice, I don’t know what I was expecting. After losing Stiles beneath Void, I guess I anticipated a change. 

“You’re not stupid, are you?” He manages to replicate Stiles’ distinct rasp. I’m not sure that it’s a replication at all. His words are muffled. It’s admittedly awkward with the loosened tape still stuck to his cheek. I stay silent, taking mental notes while he takes the cue to continue.

“Can always see the gears turning. You’re a lot of things.” 

Silence rumbles through me for a few moments as I study him. Trying for anything other than direct and confrontational eye contact. I feel dread accumulating in the pit of my stomach invasively, taking up all room. When he speaks again, my mind has already been made up to shudder.

“But you’re not what I thought you’d be.” It hits, but he doesn’t let it soak in. “I mean, really? You claim to love me, but you saw the symptoms. You did nothing. How can you say you love someone you can’t tell is dying?” He almost smiles.

             When I stand, it’s swift. If I hadn’t had a mission to stop his words, I’d have surely felt dizzy. I quickly smooth the tape back over his mouth. His eyes narrow pridefully, knowing he’d planted the seed of doubt. He knew enough about me to know I’d foster it myself. I turned and bit my nails, sat before my computer, the repository for our research into the situation and the beginnings of what would be a weeks-long research bender that would run me physically and mentally into the ground.

         The realization of what I’m truly losing, what I’ve lost, enters my head so explosively that my sense of hearing dulls. The thought I may have to give up, I may have to lose my best friend and boyfriend, that I may have to ask his closest friend and mentors to…it guts me. I get up, the feelings and thoughts following suit as I stand by the door. Melissa and Scott are working silently in the room across from this one. Likely on other things, as this couldn’t affect their lives on the outside. They see me standing by the door, zoned out. Melissa keeps an eye on me, I know, but I don’t look at her directly yet. 

       I look back towards Stiles, finally seeing a sort of malice in his face. The sort of hate uncharacteristic of Stiles. It made the realization that I was losing him more opaque. I want to beg him to look away. I want to warn him, “This is serious, you’re losing me.” I am torn between that selfishness. How could he see me and not realize what he was doing? I wish he could fight his way out. That, in some way, he’d be stronger. I knew it wasn’t logical. Just like how silently turning to Melissa, eyebrows knitted together in a pained plea, wasn’t logical. I did it anyway. Frustration overtook me. Nothing was fair anymore, nothing was right. I had spent so much time treating the figure on the couch with caution and care, all for seemingly nothing. If it was all going to get worse, why would I even try?

            I turn away from both sets of eyes to think. No one can help me, us. No one has the answers, it’s wrong to expect them. Should I give up and save myself the grief of having my boyfriend look at me so hatefully, or save whatever lies in the haze of the future? Just having to decide angers me. It sends a hopeless sigh through my gritted teeth. Having the care sucked out of me every day hurts, but would withdrawing it altogether be much worse? 

     It strikes me then just how tired I’ve become. I had no idea if my mind was clearly articulating my emotions, just that I had something to feel. It was overwhelming how appealing it was to sit down on the floor, legs spread out in front of me, head lulled against the wall, eyes falling shut. Recently, sleep has been more of a minimum requirement. The fact that I saw it fit to forget the mess that I’ve become alongside my friends was almost tempting. 

       When I glance back at Stiles, his face remains the same as the last time I looked. Hostile and unimpressed, it wasn’t discrete. It sent another sigh from me, more frustrated. It was a never-ending uphill battle as of late. I looked at him, deciding to ask the touchy questions, to try his patience. If an option is to give up, everything else must be an option, too. 

“How long can we do this for?” I turn to face Void with my arms crossed. I realize Melissa and Scott can hear my voice. However, they remain in the adjacent room. Stiles’ eyes stay on mine, although they’re not as intense. Seemingly distracted by my words, I continue letting my thoughts control the dialogue. 

“Until it’s too far gone. How long?” Allowing the words to flow impatiently, I get more passionate. I let the selfish thoughts free, not as if I would apologize anymore. I step forward, standing in front of the coffee table separating me from him. A barrier I used to feel suffocated our connection. A connection that no longer exists. “I have given you…everything- I mean, I’ve spent every ounce of empathy and hospitable emotion on you. The only thing I have left is anger.” 

     Spoken as if I was saying “ Do you understand me? How could you drive me to this cliff? ” He listened, all emotion drained. I felt relieved. As if I had lifted a crushing weight off of myself by distracting him from idle hate. “All I have done is work myself into the ground.” I have used up all the good-natured cadence I can muster. “I was here this whole time, bleeding and driving myself into ruin for you. All of us, fighting.” 

           It seems he’d realized I wanted something, something I couldn’t define or pin either. He’d gone borderline catatonic. He knew I’d never normally keep going, that the battle had been chosen for another day. I decided to choose this battle. He remained still and stared forward, silently implying pointed ignorance. 

“Fighting in your army that you created.” Frustrations overflowing, I slam my fist on the table, “ Don’t ignore me ! I am the only one left here for you.”

       This catches his attention. However, instead of the egotistical smirk I had already braced myself for, I found him searching my face. His eyebrows were just barely lowered in surprise. I had also warranted Melissa to yell my name, warning me. She was now in the doorway as I leaned back slowly, never once breaking eye contact. I was too close, too harsh for her taste, I note. 

“I wouldn’t even try anyway. For what? At this point, what would any of us be fighting for?” I see every person is silent, trying to decipher if I’m being rash or giving up, not liking either option.

I now address Void more directly, having gained his full attention. His confusion slightly faded, “Truthfully, I just wanted to be seen. That’s my problem, right? Too dependent on reassurance.” 

         I turn, glancing at Melissa, at Scott. How isolated this feels when I think about it. I let out a scoff. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought I was truly losing it laughing at the moment. Still not confident in that fact, I continue, “I’m just fading away. I’m grabbing onto nothing. I want to scream at you, mostly.” I shake my head. “I want to scream ‘Do something!’ ‘Say something!’ Y’know?” 

“I wanted to risk something so badly for you, and I did! I have sacrificed and chosen you over so much here!” My frustrations don’t anticipate a reaction,

“God, I wish I hadn’t.” I, unlike Void, let the room sit in this. 

“I wish I hadn’t because I didn’t sacrifice anything for you. I wish I didn’t have anything to prove, but I do and I hate you for it.” I take a single step away from him to ground myself.

I let the words speak, letting go of the anxiety, of how they’ll be interpreted. I didn’t hate Stiles.

          I let my voice lower just as it would before tears fell, “And I wish you could choose. I wish you could fight. But you won’t. Because you can’t.” After sucking in a breath, I took his reaction in. I knew he was processing, but he had realized something I had never strived to be described as. I was unpredictable. If only at that moment, I was unexpected. Out of the usual order, no thought went into the words I spoke as it usually would. He had no time to stop me before processing because I had not done so. I walk with purpose past Melissa, out of the door, and out of their sight.