#and got himself and four other people killed as a result

[werewolf-cuddles]

Oh god, I just found out the 19 year old that died in the OceanGate debacle didn't even want to be there in the first place.

According to a family member, he was terrified of going, and only went to make his dad happy because it was Father's Day.

God, just... fuck. 19 is too young, man. He deserved better.

[pastorpresent]

tw: abuse, eating disorders, mentions of alcoholism

One of Wade's earliest memories was being four years old, sat at the half rotten kitchen table, sobbing hysterically over the food on his plate - all while his parents screamed at each other in the background.

"He needs to fucking learn, we're too poor for his fussy ass to waste food!"

His dad, getting in his mother's face, hands curled into fists as a warning, or a threat.

"I know, but he's not gonna fucking eat otherwise, and you heard that doctor. He's underweight as it is! I've got his chicken nuggets in the freezer-"

A smack, and the reverberating sound didn't even make Wade flinch anymore. He was kicking his tiny feet, trying to lift the fork to his mouth to end all of this, but it's like his body just... couldn't do it.

He was trying to be a good boy. He really was. He didn't want mommy getting hurt because he couldn't be good. It wasn't fair.

"Eat, Wade. Now," and that was definitely a threat, the words growled in his face, and Wade let out a sob as he quickly shoved the forkful past his quivering lips.

"You don't move from this fucking seat until this plate is empty. We clear?"

The grip on his arm hurt, but he knew if he tried to squirm away it would only tighten.

"Y-yes sir," he hiccuped, and his dad smirked, triumphant. As if he'd won, and his tiny self couldn't explain it but it made him feel like crying harder.

It took two hours, and tiny bites, but he finished the meal.

He didn't feel right the rest of the night. It was gone and done, but he felt utterly sick, like he needed the food and the taste out of him, and it didn't matter how many times he scrubbed his teeth with his spongebob toothbrush, up on his tippy-toes to reach the sink, the taste wouldn't fade.

He'd ended up spewing the meal back up a few hours later. He hated throwing up because of how shaky and weak it made him feel, and yet that night? He'd been practically giddy to have the food out of him.

It was the first time, but it wasn't the last. It may of been his earliest memory, but he had hundreds more exactly like it as a kid. Sat at that stupid table. The plate in front of him. Tears in his eyes.

Half the time, he'd just take the beating. At least he could settle after that, and not agonise for hours over the foods presence in his stomach until he was able to get it the fuck out.

He expected to grow out of it, as he hit his teens. He did start actually trying new foods, to usually poor results. His grandmother had scoffed, labeled him 'fussy', her eyes as disapproving as her sons. Wade had accepted the label, wore it with a twinge of embarrassment- because while he was good at not taking himself seriously, it still sucked ass not to be able to order off the adult menu in most restaurants and to turn down completely normal adult snacks because he couldn't stand certain textures or tastes.

He never grew out of it, in the end, but the list of foods he deemed as 'safe' did expand just a little.

It wasn't until he was older and they learnt about neurodivergence in health class that he ever heard a description accurate to his relationship with food. Avoidant restrictive food intake disorder. ARFID.

Wade had scribbled it down in his textbook, and ended up being late home from school that day because he was busy looking it up in the school library.

He could've cried with relief, honestly. A word. A diagnosis, even if he'd never get an official one. He wasn't some unique, one person freak show. It was a disorder. A disorder a lot of people suffered with.

He still struggled, but it was nice to have that layer of understanding.

His mutation made it worse. Changed the texture of his mouth, his tongue, and so things that had once been safe no longer were. He was practically starting from scratch, but he managed.

He got his ramen. His chicken nuggets. His boxed mac and cheese.

It was all fine and dandy and hey - on the plus side, the nutrionless crap he was eating couldn't kill him now! Unless heart disease could beat out regenerative healing, but when he considered how often Logan must've destroyed his liver by now - he figured he'd be fine.

Well, it was all fine until Logan moved in.

Him and Al never really 'cooked". They'd get take out, where Wade could get exactly as he wanted, or if not they didn't really eat together. Al would have whatever she was having, and Wade would knock himself up something of his own, and other than an occasional lighthearted comment about Wade having the dietary choices of a toddler, not much else was said. Al's comments didn't bother him anyway, because he knew they weren't insults. Didn't sting like his father's words.

He did their grocery shop too, so it all worked out fine.

When Logan moved in, he wanted to be helpful. He was struggling to find a job that would take him without a social security number or any form of identification that didn't technically belong to a man everyone knew to be dead. It meant he couldn't contribute to the rent and bills, and Wade knew he felt guilty about that even if he'd told him a million times over that it didn't matter.

He loved having Logan around. He'd pulled him from his own universe to be here. Giving him a roof over his head and sharing his bed while Al took the pullout really wasn't a big deal, and absolutely not something Logan had to repay him for.

He started taking on the domestic duties around the house as a way of payment anyway. The apartment had never been cleaner, that's for sure, and he took Mary Puppins on all of her walks.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Until Wade had came home from work one day and found that Logan had took it upon himself to go stock up on groceries, and cook dinner.

Wade hated how nervous seeing someone standing over a fucking stove made him. He knew a psychiatrist would probably give some dumb spiel about PTSD and unresolved trauma, but Wade just felt like a fucking idiot, freezing up in his own kitchen at the sight of Logan cooking and humming along to their old, shitty radio.

"Hey, how was work?" Logan glanced up from the steaks sizzling in the pan.

Wade needed to get it the fuck together. He couldn't let Logan realise how pathetic he truly was.

"Fine, dull," he replied with a shrug, hanging up his jacket and trying to quell the rising panic, but the smell alone was a lot and he could already feel his body tensing up, his fight or flight kicking in, and he wanted to scream and rip his own skin off because it was so fucking dumb.

"You alright, bub?" Logan asked, pulling Wade from his thoughts.

He nodded.

"Yeah I- need to shower," he excused, figuring it was a good enough reason to dip out and try to get a fucking grip.

"Alright," Logan said, eyebrow raised, "well dinners probably gonna be ready in twenty minutes or so."

Wade nodded, plastering on his best grin, "can't wait, peanut," he said, before quickly rushing out the room.

//

He felt like he was walking into the lions den, entering the kitchen. The shower and ten minute self pep talk did very little to fill him with confidence. Logan and Al were already sat at the table. Mary Puppins waited eagerly at their feet.

"There, the fuckers here. Can we eat now?" Al demanded, and Logan rolled his eyes but he was wearing one of those almost fond smiles, "go ahead."

Wade took his usual seat next to Logan, between him and Al, and picked up his knife and fork, staring down at the plate. Steak, mashed potatoes and green beans.

A normal fucking meal for an adult, and yet Wade felt his stomach tying itself into intricate knots just looking at it.

Al and Logan were chatting about the movie they'd watched last night, but their voices were muffled and distant. He scooped up a tiny bit of the potatoes, shoving it in before he could change his mind, forcing his throat to work and swallow it quickly. He could still taste it, could feel the texture imprinted onto his tastebuds.

He could do this. He could. Just get through one measly meal, and it would be fine. He already knew how strange he came across, and it was an honest to God miracle that Logan had stuck around - what if this was the final straw? Watching Wade waste the perfectly good meal he'd stood and cooked for him in favour of something beige and cooked in the microwave?

If he was going to lose Logan, it would have to be for a hell of a better reason than that.

He kept going, so focused on getting the food down that he missed the worried glances Logan was throwing his way.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but his thoughts were interrupted by the clattering of silverware.

"That was delicious. Who knew your dumbass could actually cook a meal?" Al commented, and when Wade looked up both of their plates were clear. He looked back to his own. At the single missing green bean, and pitiful dint in the mashed potatoes. The hardly distinguishable sliver of missing steak.

"I'm two hundred years old, picking up some hobbies here and there becomes a necessity to maintaining sanity," Logan shrugged, smiling, but it didn't feel like it was fully a joke and it only made Wade feel that much more guilty.

"Well, it's Wade's turn for dishes so I'm off to bingo. Don't wait up," Al left the table, barely side stepping Mary Puppins, and Wade could feel Logan's eyes on him now.

He didn't dare meet his gaze, forcing a bite of steak past his lips.

"What's up with you? You not into steak?"

There was no bite behind the words, and yet they made his breathing pick up all the same.

"I- I am, it's- good, honest. Thank you," he said, taking another bite, ignoring his body's protests, suppressing the shiver.

"Wade. Look at me," his head snapped to Logan. He was already in trouble. If he started being bad and not listening, it would hurt more, and he couldn't-

"Hey," Logan's voice was oddly soft when he spoke, but firm enough to get his attention. He reached over, pushed Wade's hands down gently, uncurled his fingers from their white knuckled grip around the cutlery.

Wade watched him do it, utterly confused.

"I'll eat it. I will, I'm trying," he hated the childlike panic that had taken over his brain. He felt like that four year old again, staring at his plate with a wobbling lip and damp eyes.

But he felt helpless to stop it.

"Do you not like it?" Logan asked.

Wade was biting his lip hard enough that he tasted blood, "it's... thank you. For making it for me."

"That's not an answer bub," Logan hummed, "do you like it or no?"

Wade chewed the torn skin of his bottom lip. Shook his head once. Tried to get his body to calm the fuck down.

Logan reached over. Wade flinched, cringing in on himself, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for an impact that never came. Instead he just used his thumb to release the lip Wade was using as a chew toy from between his teeth.

"Ok, that's alright. No worries, yeah? You want me to make you some of that ramen stuff you like instead?"

"I- I have food, you cooked me it, I shouldn't..." he trailed off when his throat felt tight.

"And you don't like it, which is completely fine. I'll clean up, you go sit on the couch and I'll bring you some ramen in soon."

"Logan-"

"Wasn't a request, bub. Go pick us a movie to watch," Logan stood, piling up all three plates, and Wade could've cried with relief honestly.

He got up and went to the couch, picking out Shaun of the Dead and sticking it in the pink Hello Kitty DVD player he'd scored years ago at the thrift store. He sat down, but his leg was bouncing like crazy and he couldn't get his eyes to focus.

Logan said it was fine, he reminded himself. He wasn't angry. But what if he was lying? What if he was just trying to lure him into a false sense of security? Make that first hit hurt even harder?

His dad had done that, in the past. Wade never understood why. Boredom, maybe? The same cycle of screaming at him, beating him bloody, rinse and repeat probably got old he supposed.

By the time Logan came over, bowl of noodles in hand, Wade was struggling through a fully fledged panic attack.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I'll- been bad, I'm sorry," he couldn't stop shaking, his breath punched out of him as he curled in on himself, burying his head in his knees which he pulled up tightly to his chest.

'You're a little pussy, no fucking son of mine. Stop hiding, boy!'

"Wade, Wade no. I'm not angry, you didn't do anything bad," he felt the couch dip next to him, and an arm wrapped around his back, pulling him against the solid warmth and familiar scent of Logan.

"I'm sorry," he didn't feel capable of saying anything else, and Logan shushed him softly, reaching out to grasp his hand, "it's fine, really. Look at me, sweetheart."

Wade reluctantly lifted his head, looking over at the older man who's face was filled with a genuine concern.

He hated that. Hated that he was so much of a fucking freak, making Logan worry about him because he couldn't get a damn grip on his own thoughts. He knew comforting people wasn't something that Logan necessarily enjoyed, and it was ridiculous and unfair for him to have to do it over something so small and dumb.

"I-"

"Shhh, just breathe. In and out. Slowly," Logan guided, emphasising his own, his thumb rubbing gentle circles around Wade's shoulder.

Wade copied. Eventually, he felt his body relaxing somewhat. He didn't realise he was leaning so heavily against him, eyes slipping closed, until one of Logan's arms wrapped around his waist.

His cheeks burned, but Logan wasn't pushing him off, and there was something soothing about his body heat and listening to the beat of his heart, even if it was muffled by the metal binded to his ribcage.

He wasn't sure how long he lay snuggled into Logan's side, but eventually he felt able to speak a bit more, his throat not so tight and brain not so crowded.

"My dad used to... get mad, if I didn't eat what I was given. Used to beat me for it," he said quietly.

Logan was silent for a long moment, and Wade almost pulled back just to see if he could read his expression. The hand on his waist tightened, fingers slipping beneath his shirt to run patterns over his hip bones.

"Dad's fucking suck. Hell, I killed mine. I wish I could kill yours, for doing that to you."

A sick, deeply twisted part of him wanted Logan to do it. Wanted to watch as his dad squirmed on the floor, covered in blood and bruises, all while he begged for mercy from an angry man who was so much bigger and stronger than him. Poetic justice really, but...

"He's already dead, sadly. Heart attack a few years ago."

"I'd say sorry for your loss, but I'm not," Logan commented, and Wade snorted against him, "yeah, me neither."

The silence returned. Wade hated silence, usually. Would say any dumb shit to fill it. Except it felt kind of... nice, right now. Comfortable. He didn't mind stewing in it for a few minutes.

"You know I'd never..." Logan trailed off, struggling with his words for a moment, which was odd. Wade had never heard him do that.

"I'd never hurt you like that. I know that sounds dumb, given the fact we fought each other a million times in the void, but I wouldn't..." he trailed off again, grunting in frustration.

Wade finally lifted up enough to look at him.

"I know. It's different when we fight, anyway. I'm immortal. You're immortal. I get my own hits in, and I fight dirty. It's a level playing field. With my dad... he started when I was four. I didn't have much of a chance," he shrugged, ignoring the flash of anger on Logan's face at the number, "I kind of like our fights. They keep me on my game, and I know I can't actually hurt you permanently. It's more like..."

"Play fighting?" Logan finished, his tone teasing but Wade knew he was serious, knew it was probably the only accurate word for what they did, "yeah," he grinned, and Logan chuckled.

Silence returned, their gazes locked. Logan's eyes went impossibly soft, "you alright now, bub?"

Wade nodded, leaning into the touch of his hip, bringing his own hand to rest on Logan's chest, "yeah, thank you."

"You want your ramen?" Logan asked softly, hurriedly adding, "if not that's okay, you don't have to. Just don't want you going hungry."

Wade nodded, and separated reluctantly from Logan to grab the bowl. He immediately felt a brief shock of that familiar panic and dread, but forced himself to remember that Logan wasn't mad, hadn't left him, he was right there.

He started eating, and Logan's arm returned to his waist, tugging him back in against his chest so he was situated between the older mans legs.

He looked up with a small smile, but Logan was pointedly watching the TV, even if the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

Eating the noodles was easy, and Wade didn't realise how hungry he'd been until it was gone.

"Can I ask you something? You don't gotta answer if you don't want to," Logan asked, taking the empty bowl from his hands and putting it on the coffee table.

"Sure," Wade shrugged, getting comfortable against him.

"It's... safe foods and stuff, right? You can only eat certain things? It's got a name, an annogram... starts with an A, I think?"

Wade sat up fully, brows furrowing as he looked over at Logan.

"ARFID. How do you know about that?" He asked, head tilting to the side. It's not something he had even knew where to start explaining to somebody like Logan. He worried he'd have the same outdated 'kids are just brats these days' kind of outlook on it that his dad did, but he scolded himself for that. Ever since they'd met, Logan had proved his stance on most topics was oddly forward thinking. Wade remembered one particularly impassioned rant about gay rights one night when some old trump clip had played on the news.

He just didn't expect Logan to know what it was at all, nevermind identify the behaviours as such.

"I never taught at the mansion, but I was around a lot. Charles said the kids liked me, for some reason, and I sort of became... not a counsellor, because I'm too fucked up for that, but just someone who the kids knew they could come to. Few of 'em struggled at meal times. Would come see me and I'd make chicken nuggets or whatever they felt able to eat. Sit with them while they did," Logan had that sort of glossy distant look in his eyes, the same one he always seemed to adopt whenever he'd reflect on his past.

Wade felt ready to melt into the damn couch cushions, his love for Logan increasing tenfold. There was a niggling sense of envy, too, just below the surface. He was glad the kids Logan cared for weren't abused for something out of their hands. That they were understood, even if only during their stay at the mansion.

But it didn't stop the jealousy from burning low and ugly inside of him. He never got that, never had an ounce of understanding from anyone. He was punished instead. Not starved, because he was always offered food technically, but in a way...

"I'm glad they had someone like you to support them. I'm sure that meant a lot," Wade said, no jokes, his face serious.

Logan looked away. That look grew more haunted, and he shook his head, "very little consolation considering most of them died because of me in the end."

"Lo, you didn't-"

"I know," Logan interrupted, his face completely unconvinced, "I know you disagree, that's fine. We don't... let's not talk about it again," he said, and Wade didn't want to drop it, wanted to argue until he lost his voice that what those people did wasn't Logan's fault - but it's an argument they'd had a million times over, and he never made any headway.

It always ended with Logan storming out to a bar to get pissed, likely in some dumb effort to prove how 'terrible' he was, and then they wouldn't speak for a few days until they both missed the other's company enough to put the debate and their pride aside.

So as much as Wade wanted to argue his point, he let it be done for now.

"Do need you to do me a favour though, bub."

"Hm?" Wade hummed.

"A list - all your safe foods. Bit pointless me shopping and cooking if I don't know what you can eat," Logan said, and Wade's throat went completely dry.

He'd wrote a list once. Only once. When he was nine, when he'd convinced himself his parents didn't hate him - they just didn't understand, and he could help. He wrote a list in his wobbly handwriting, the foods he liked - the foods he wouldn't need to expel from his body. He'd drew pictures next to each one. He'd gave it to his dad with a smile.

The smile had been slapped off his face. The list had been hung on the fridge, the only piece of his artwork to ever feature there, as a warning to his mother about what not to buy on their grocery trip.

And now here Logan was. Asking for one, so he could make sure he could stock those things, cook them for him.

He all but threw himself against Logan, who merely grunted at the impact, wrapping him easily in a hug while Wade practically squeezed the life out of him.

"Thank you," he mumbled against his neck.

"Don't mention it."

[nellielsss]

｡･ﾟﾟ･ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɪꜱ ᴍɪɴᴇ!

╰┈➤ I can't wait to try him... ✮✮✮

Summary: Just a little songfic inspired by The Boy is Mine by Ariana Grande. I figured it was about time that the tables were turned & the reader got to make a mess! However will these boys react? Includes: Toji Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami x Yandere!reader CW: murder, weapons, derogatory/degrading language (reader is severely flawed), allusions to sex

☆○o 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙁𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

╰┈➤ It's no secret that your man was a man of charm and persuasion. Although his demeanor was considerably unapproachable and intimidating, he still knew his way around a conversation (he had to if he wanted to haggle the local vendors). It's also no secret that he was an adonis. A wide, tapered back that extended outwards to a pair of broad shoulders, biceps bigger than your head, and a face that could make Narcissus himself do a double-take, he was practically walking sex! Not to mention those 9 inches he was packing!

It's not like it was his fault that his body was so built; those muscles were a result of his years of working out! If he wanted to make as much money from his missions as possible, he'd need his strength to be at its peak. It also wasn't his fault that god blessed him with a perfect face with perfect skin (save for the scar) & a perfect bone structure.

If two + two = four, each two standing for the aforementioned attributes, then four meant that there was a lot of unwanted attention thrown his way. Men, women, non-binary folk and everyone in between threw a couple of flirty glances and compliments his way every now and then. It seemed like he raised the pheromones of the places he was in: bars, the grocery store; hell, even on the street there would be a couple of people trying to pick him up!

"Baby, don't even pay 'em a penny of your time," he muttered into your ear after a girl tried to get his number at a bar. "They don't compare to you; not even a little. Fuck would I do without this ass, eh?" he asked with a grin, making you smile a little. "Atta girl." If he wasn't so reserved and committed to his gal, you, then he would've eaten that shit up. But he made a vow to be more responsible and stay loyal to you, and he'd kill himself before he broke that vow. He even bought you a promise ring, for fuck's sake (he also had an engagement ring in mind for when the time was right)! So, to any sane person, things should've been peachy keen...

... if you were sane, that is.

Toji knew all about your mental state. He knew that you had a few issues, but he didn't care; he wasn't a fucking hypocrite for crying out loud. He had a few screws loose himself, so he didn't bat an eye when you told him about how many you had loose. The two of you made an excellent couple anyways, and he wasn't stupid enough to throw away a good thing. So, he brushed over it and decided to move on with life.

If only he knew how many friends he'd lose along the way.

The most recent "departure" was the one friend he'd made in high school (before he was forced to drop out by his family). One of the only female friends he'd made during his life, she was the tomboy-type who had no trouble making friends with guys. She was a total delinquent; she even rocked the long skirt and the mask back in high school, and she also dropped out of high school after he did for setting fires behind the school. Leather jackets, piercings, the whole nine yards. She was like a walking Mötley Crüe song.

But even walking rock-and-roll songs could catch feelings. Unluckily for her, it was high time that she kicked the bucket and made way for you. The only person who deserved Toji's attention was you. You were the one who kept him warm every night; you were the one who took his dick like no other; you were the one with the promise ring on your finger, not that bitch.

Killing her was quite simple. Although she was tough as nails, you were the one who actually had experience with killing people. All you had to do was sneak into her place at night and stab her. Then, you'd write a flimsy little note and make it seem like she fled the country; it was quite plausible for a chick like her.

┆ . "Hello? Who's there?" the chick's voice asked when she heard a few thumps in the other room. She was in the kitchen drinking a beer and listening to the radio (could she not afford a TV? how sad). She had a plate of Korean fried chicken on the counter as well, and the only light illuminating the area was the flimsy lightbulb above her head.

Her head immediately snapped in the direction of the noise she'd heard, and she grabbed a switchblade from the linoleum countertop. She took a few steps forward, the sound of the radio being drowned out by her heartbeat.

Another noise from the opposite direction, this time to her left. "Alright, who the fuck's fuckin' with me? I swear, Toji, if that's you-"

"Don't even say his fucking name, whore." She felt something grab her neck from behind, effectively choking her. The hand then pressed a nerve that stopped her from moving, rendering her frozen in place. She recognized that voice, but she couldn't believe it; was that girl seriously in her home...? She turned her eyes to the best of her ability, trying to catch a glimpse to confirm her suspicions. Her eyes widened when she realized who it was, being met by Toji's girlfriend's pretty face which was now marred by a look of sheer venom and malice.

"P-please, can't we talk this out?-"

"It's too late to beg. You shouldn't have come back into his life; you shouldn't have even met him to begin with." The last thing she saw before she felt something stab her was a sick, twisted grin on her face, widening as the knife sunk further and further into her tattooed skin.

The knife left her side and then sunk back into her neck. A snap was the last thing she heard before her eyes went shut.

It definitely wasn't the last thing you heard, though; the knife sunk back into her neck again, then again, and again, and again, again, again, again, again, all the way until her neck practically ripped in two.

The plan to make a smooth escape was a little behind schedule considering all the blood splatters that needed cleaning on the linoleum flooring, but it was nothing a little bleach couldn't fix.

"Toji did tell me I looked good in red once," you sighed, dragging some blood down your face with a lovesick grin as the finishing touch.

You could rival Elizabeth Bathory with the amount of blood that was on you and the black sweater you chose to wear for the killing. Ah, it's not like that sweater was anything too important or sentimental to you; you always made sure not to wear anything nice when murdering a target of yours.

"Toji, Toji, Toji Toji Tojiiiii," you hummed to yourself, taking your gloves off and throwing them aside. You decided to put on a new pair of disposable gloves in order to clean the crime scene, considering how soaked the others were with the amount of blood that was in them. Making the mess an even bigger mess wasn't on your agenda for the night.

"The boy is mine... I can't wait to try him... let's get intertwined... the stars they've aligned," you hummed to yourself, "the boy... is... mine!"

Just as you'd started to get into the swing of things and dance around the kitchen of your victim, cleaning up the mess in your own sick & twisted way, that little fantasy of yours was broken by the sound of the door opening. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, your blood running cold at the thought of being caught in such a predicament. You reached out to grab a nearby knife, already making a plan in your head. You'd killed a few other people who walked in on your murders, so it really wasn't anything new to you.

But those people weren't your boyfriend.

"Yoohoo, anybody home?" He asked in that deliciously deep & sarcastic voice of his. "I thought I oughta bring you that shirt you asked for. Y'know, the ACDC one?-"

When he turned his head to the side and saw you, his girlfriend, cleaning up a spilled pool of blood that belonged to his friend, he also froze. The two of you stared at one another, each completely bewildered by the other. Here was his sweet, amazing, practically angelic girlfriend all covered in blood & standing over his now dead friend's body. And at the same time, here was your boyfriend standing in the doorway, looking at you as you cleaned up a particularly messy crime scene.

Oh, right, your boyfriend just walked in on you in the middle of your crime scene.

He was a witness to his friend's murder, as well as your own crimes.

"No... it's- it's..." you stuttered, tears welling up as you backed away from the dead body as if that'd make it any better for you.

One step, two steps, three steps of your boyfriend's boots echoed throughout the kitchen as he walked closer to you.

"D-Don't look at me, don't... don't look at me, Toji! You can't see me like this! I'm a monster-" as your eyes were closed out of fear and shame, you felt two fingers grip your chin surprisingly gently. You opened your eyes slowly, your boyfriend forcing you to look at him.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he murmured with a soothing undercurrent of love. "Geez, look at you... you're all covered in this sticky, disgusting blood. That's no look for a pretty girl like you, is it?"

You stayed silent, and he cocked his head to the side, almost amused by how shy you were being in this scenario. "Fine. If you wanna stay silent, then that's fine with me. But do you really think you oughta be embarrassed right now? Like I'd judge ya for anything... Do you remember when we first met, and I told you that I'd never, ever judge you in any circumstances? I'm a man who stays true to my word, (Y/N). Even if you were covered in the blood of four different people, my love for you's never gonna waver."

You looked at him with more confusion than anything. Was he being serious right now? Weren't you a monster for killing one of his friends? "I'm confused..." you finally started, "are you not... disgusted with me? Aren't I a monster? I just- I just killed one of your friends!" you exclaimed.

Toji's eyebrows merely raised in amusement. "I'm a man who stays true to my word, (Y/N)," he said once more. "I ain't goin' back on it, baby. Besides, it's not like I was friends with anyone other than Shiu to begin with--and he's my manager! She was pissin' me off anyway. She had the audacity to challenge me to a drinking contest and then decided to puke all over the new pants you bought me."

Your eye twitched when he brought up that knowledge.

"Doesn't she know that alcohol doesn't affect a big guy like me?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head out of amusement. "You did me a favor getting her off my back."

"So, you're really okay with what I did?" you asked once more. Toji shook his head and cupped your cheek gently with his calloused fingers.

"Do I gotta repeat myself thrice?"

"N-No, you don't gotta..." you trailed off.

"Good." He stood up, offering you a hand to help you up as well. "Y'know, I really didn't expect you to be such a little psychopath. I mean, you're all cute n' shit with your little mini skirts and your heels that I still don't know how you walk in. If I'd known you looked so hot covered in other people's blood, I would've taken you along with me on my missions."

You blushed profusely at all his little words and praises, and he cooed (again, out of amusement). "Look at you, all shy over a couple compliments thrown your way. You really are just a sweet thing underneath all that blood, aren't you?"

"Stop it, stop it!" You whined, swatting his hand away when he pinched your cheek.

In response, he put his hands up and chuckled again. "Whatever my girl wants, my girl gets. Now, would you like some help with cleaning this mess up, or would you rather I just bend you over this counter n' eat you out?"

You looked at him again, yet again out of confusion and bewilderment. "You wanna have sex with me... when I'm covered in blood, and in my own crime scene?" You asked, shrinking away from his touch.

"'Course I do; you look fuckin' sexy baby. Shit gets my dick hard seeing you so protective over me... I oughta reward you for havin' my back, anyway."

He reached out again, only for you to shrink away even further from his touch, making him click his tongue and sigh. "I think I'll pass," you muttered, throwing him a side-eye as well.

"The fuck are you side-eyeing me for? You're the one who killed a girl."

*°:⋆ₓₒ 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤 ˱ 𓈒 𓈊 ┈ 𓈒 ˲

╰┈➤ Satoru Gojo was nothing short of a dreamboat, and you knew what you were getting into when you said "yes" to the first date. From the moment he picked you up wearing a crisp light blue button-up, slacks, and his silver-blue porsche, you knew he was gonna be one silver-tongued prince charming.

Not only was he sweet on the first date, but he was also sweet on the second, third, fourth--hell, even on your second anniversary, when he asked you to move in with him in his penthouse located in the heart of Ginza, you swore your knees buckled from underneath you and not because of the blue gown that he'd bought you after seeing it on your computer screen all those nights ago.

He was like a sweet saccharine fantasy, a delicious daydream which you never wanted to wake up from. His soft, snow-white hair; his incredibly vibrant blue eyes which seemed to have specks of every color in the galaxy and then some with flecks of purple, cerulean, indigo, and even a milky way here and there; his towering stature and lean muscles--god, you could go on and on about how dreamy he was! And the sex? Good god, he was a man who knew how to put it down.

The sweet little nicknames he had for you only furthered your infatuation for him: "hey there, sweet cheeks," was one rather childish one that he reserved for you.

"Lookin' good, princess," was probably the most fitting one that he had for you. It was his way of reminding you of how good he'd always treat you, how he'd always put you first above all else. After all, he used that name when he bought you a diamond tennis bracelet for your half-birthday.

While most people would've been worried that he was love-bombing you, you knew deep down that you had absolutely nothing to worry about!

Even his best friend, Suguru Geto, said as such at one of the many parties he threw.

After one of Satoru's weird little groupies made a snide remark about how he gave that treatment to anyone who would open their legs for him, he pulled you aside with one tattooed hand (he has tats IMO) and helped you lighten your mood. "Don't even listen to that chick, (Y/N), you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I haven't seen him look at anyone like that since, well, ever if I'm being honest--and I've known the man since grade school," the sorcerer said.

"You really think so?" You asked, a light smile gracing your features.

"I've been his best friend since we've both become sorcerers, (Y/N). I've seen him go through everything, even that phase when he decided to wear his hair like a Backstreet Boy for a day." now that was a joke that really brought that light back to your face.

"Okay, okay, I don't think I need that image in my head," you replied, waving your hands in front of you. He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder.

"Trust me, you don't. Now go find your boyfriend before he throws a fit; you know how he gets."

You had nothing to worry about when it came to your relationship--even his vigilant best friend thought so. But that lack of worry only extended to your boyfriend, not the countless groupies that threw themselves at him.

How many had you killed by now? 6? 7? Eh, you lost count by the time it reached double digits.

┆ . At one of his many parties that he threw on his yacht in the harbor, yet another groupie decided to take a chance on the already-taken sorcerer/heir of the Gojo clan, none other than your boyfriend of 3 and a half years, Satoru. By then, you'd disregarded who any of the groupies were, only knowing them by hair color (if they dyed it some stupid color like pink or purple) or did something obscene to your boyfriend.

But that night at his summer party, a purple-haired groupie took it way too far: when you were returning from the bar with Satoru's favorite drink in hand, you saw her accidentally "trip" and fall into your boyfriend's lap. The hand holding your drink-of-choice was gripping your glass so tightly that it shattered in your hand, but the blaring music was loud enough to hide it.

"Whoopsie!" the girl said with fake-sincerity, giggling as she looked at her friends who obviously put her up to this shit.

Satoru, being the amazing boyfriend he was, pushed the girl off of his lap and looked rather annoyed at what she'd done: "hands off the merchandise! This seat's already taken."

The girl threw her hands up and gave him a fake apology, obviously not serious about it: "sorryyy, I tripped on my heels! You know how these things are."

But your brain didn't register it; it merely registered the sounds of the blood rushing through your body and your heartbeat's thumping. Your breathing quickened, and everything in your world was reduced to that stupid bitch and her stupid giggles and her stupid hair color.

Who the fuck does she think she is? She's not the one who's already been living with Satoru for over a year now. Her fake nails, her fake hair--she probably doesn't even want Satoru and instead wants some notoriety for being his groupie.

She shouldn't get to live; stupid whores like her shouldn't be alive to begin with.

She needs to know her place. I wonder how fast I can throw this drink at her head? Maybe it'll kill her if I'm hard enough-

"Yo, (Y/N)!" Satoru's voice said once he saw you a few feet away. "C'mere princess; I got this seat nice and ready for ya!" he said with a grin, patting his lap. You happily obliged, bounding over like a little puppy who was called by their owner for a tasty treat.

"Isn't she the cutest thing?" Shoko Ieiri asked her friend who nodded in agreement.

"Sato, baby, here's the drink you asked for," you said, your voice dripping with adoration like the sweetest ambrosia from the Garden of Eden. "Mine... spilled, sadly, but I can just get another one."

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted that stupid whore trotting off down a hallway, headed to a bathroom by herself. An idea formed inside of your head, and your eyes narrowed and zeroed in on her fake purple hair.

"(Y/N), baby, look at me! This is my party!" Satoru protested, suddenly bringing your attention back to him with a cute little pout on his face.

"You don't mind if I go and use the ladies room? I'll be back before you know it," you asked with the subtlest croon you could muster up without bordering on corny.

"But, baby-"

"It's an emergency. You know how us girls get," you said with a smile, making Satoru relent reluctantly.

"Fine, fine... go on ahead, but don't get too distracted on your way there. Your boyfriend wants some attention," he muttered, placing a small kiss on your neck before letting you go. You gave him a small kiss on the forehead and carded through his snow-like hair, getting right up off his lap and going in the same direction as that groupie.

Your Christian Dior heels tapped on the hardwood floors of the yacht, taking you down one of the hallways that seemed to go on for forever. Coincidentally, this was also the same hallway that led to your spare room; the one you used whenever you were mad at Satoru for whatever reason and felt like sleeping in another bed. You made sure to step as quietly as possible so as to not alert the girl of your presence; however, she made hers known by the sound of her shrill laughter coming from the bathroom.

"The boy is mine... I can't wait to try him," she sang, clearly oblivious of the fear and rage coursing through your body. Was she seriously singing that fucking song right now, acting as if Satoru wasn't in a committed relationship?? Oh, she needed to be reminded of her place.

Like a soundless sabertooth, you stalked up to the door and opened it, acting as though you were merely freshening up in the bathroom. You took your lip gloss out of the bag that your boyfriend bought you on one of your many outings, swiping it over your lips.

"Oh, you're Satoru's girlfriend, right?" the chick asked once she recognized you. She pointed an acrylic at you, drawing your attention. "Hey, don't ignore me! It's not like you're anything special anyway."

"What do you mean?" you asked, deciding to provoke the beast yourself.

"Satoru swipes through relationships like it's nobody's business!"

"Groupies don't count as relationships."

"Just you wait. He's gonna abandon you for someone way hotter and way less annoying than you. I mean, I don't even know what the fuck he sees in you!" she exclaimed. "You're a 3 at best."

The chick continued to ramble on and on about how Satoru could do way better than you, and it was high time that she shut the fuck up already.

You grabbed the martini glass she was holding, wrenching it easily out of her hands, and you broke it on the marble countertop. You then took the sharp, pointy end and drew a deep, jagged cut on her neck with it, the tendons practically ripping in half with the intensity of your cut. She grabbed her neck and put two hands over the gash, gasping and breathing for air, only to have her hands cut by the glass. You stabbed her over and over again, screaming at her to "SHUT UP!" and "DIE ALREADY!!" You pushed her onto the ground and mounted her hips, driving the broken glass further in until her head disconnected from her body.

By the time you were finished with her dead body, she was practically unrecognizable. One of her eyes was open (the other was stabbed out), her head was severed, and the tendons in her neck were exposed. You didn't mean to get so carried away, but you let it happen anyway.

With a swipe to the eyebrow, you let out a "whew," only to realize that you had this huge mess to clean up. It's not every day that you manage to sever a head, after all.

"Nothing a little bleach can't deal with."

You took out the trusty bottle of bleach that you hid underneath the counter (in case of emergencies) and started unscrewing the cap. Just as you did that, though, you heard Satoru's whiny voice from behind the door calling out for you. "(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Normally, you would've entertained him, but right now you were standing over a dead body, your party dress covered in blood with a bottle of bleach in one of your hands and a broken glass in the other. If he were to see you right now, everything you've worked for would've been for nothing. All those dead bodies thrown into dumpsters, all those weapons that you kept hidden--it would've amounted to absolutely nothing! Your perfect life with your perfect boyfriend and your perfect friends would all go to shit, all because you couldn't control yourself around a fucking groupie with too many bad dyejobs for her own good.

"(Y/N), I'm coming in!" he said once more. He managed to yank the door open with his bare hands, and he couldn't have prepared himself for the sight in front of him.

There you were, his pretty little princess, standing over the dead body of one of his partygoers. His six eyes took in everything almost immediately: he noted the bottle of bleach, the sheer amount of blood that was on you, and just how mangled that corpse was. You looked down at the floor and you shut your eyes as tight as you possibly could, desperately hoping that it wasn't him, that it wasn't your amazing boyfriend who did nothing wrong.

"I-I'm sorry, I made a mess," you mumbled, tears flowing down your face and mixing with the metallic blood. He stayed longer than you thought was necessary, and you just braced for the inevitable look of disgust followed by the demand that you leave.

His footsteps echoed on the marble flooring and he crouched down to your level, taking his glasses off and looking at you.

"Just- I'll just get out of your hair after I clean this up-"

"Don't bother, princess. I'll just have one of my maids clean it up. A spoiled little thing like you shouldn't have to inhale all the bleach smell," he said with a chuckle. "My princess shouldn't even have to lift a finger in the first place."

You stopped looking at the floor, your head craning up slowly and looking at your boyfriend out of sheer confusion. "I don't- I don't understand..."

"What's not to understand?" he asked with a cocked head. "My girl's not gonna hold a single mop, not while she's with me."

"But... I just killed someone... aren't you afraid of me? Aren't you disgusted?"

He shrugged, his blue eyes remaining on you. "You think I'm gonna break up with you over some meaningless groupie? Don't be ridiculous, sweet cheeks. Now, if you'd somehow managed to kill someone like Shoko or Suguru, then I'd have a problem, although I am quite impressed that you managed to cut her head off with a martini glass... C'mon, let's get you out of these clothes and into something nicer. We can't have my guests wondering why my date's all red and sticky, hmmm?"

You said nothing, instead following his lead as he snuck you into another room. He slipped your ruined party dress off, then he turned on the faucet and grabbed a hand towel, washing off all the blood that was on your face and your body.

"I still just can't believe that you'd accept this. Aren't you scared of me?" You asked once more, finally speaking up as he washed the blood off your soft skin.

"Hell nah, baby. You forget you're dating the strongest guy in all the land," he said with a sly wink. "Plus, I think it's cute; you're all protective over me. Who would've known that you had bark and bite?"

"You're such a freak, Satoru," you said with comically narrowed eyes. "I bet you find that shit hot, you narcissist."

Satoru merely laughed and shook his head. "You know me too well."

*:..｡o○ 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙉𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞 ∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒

╰┈➤ If there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was the widely accepted fact that having a work wife was considered the norm, especially in an office where people spent a good 9 hours a day typing away at their computers and drinking for another extra hour afterwards. Kento Nanami was the exception to the latter, though. You knew you were a lucky girl when your sweet, sweet boyfriend Kento told you on the third date that he was a homebody, and how he'd much rather just lie in bed with his lover than go out for drinks.

"I'm not really the extroverted type, if I'm being honest," the deliciously handsome blonde man said after taking a sip of his wine. "I'd much rather spend the night watching a movie or making dinner for my loved ones. I'm actually quite the cook, if you'd be interested in trying out some of my dishes. I don't even know why I decided to try out dating in the first place; it actually makes me quite nervous."

"I would love to try some of those meals out, but I think that we should try out some of your recipes later. It sounds like a fun date idea regardless! Maybe you could even teach me how to make those amazing meals? Perhaps the ones that you hold close to your heart? And, honestly, I'm not the going out type either. It took me so much to hype myself up for this date, but I'm glad I'm on it."

Kento smiled when you found the idea rather fun. He knew you'd be a great match for him, especially since he loved to make others smile by filling up their bellies with his own creations (double entendre?)

"But you? Nervous? Seriously? You've been nothing but kind to me, suave even. You're punctual, and you held the chair out for me to sit in. You're just my kinda guy, Kento. Those other tinder matches ain't got nothing on you."

He blushed at the usage of his first name, but he couldn't say he didn't like it. A naïveté towards norms, he presumed, but a naïveté he could appreciate.

Yeah, he knew you were a keeper.

You also quickly learned early on just how tight-knitted his schedule was, but what he lacked in time spent with you he made up for with romance and courting. He'd frequently send you flowers to your workplace and to your home; he took you to the finest restaurants and even the opera; and he made sure to text you regularly. The seven months you'd spent with him were some of the best of your life, and you prayed to god that you wouldn't fuck it up in any way. You were both dating for marriage, and he couldn't have found a better future wife.

Well, that's what he thought, at least. He didn't exactly know about your jealous tendencies, the tendencies that made you buy so many cleaning supplies and bottles of bleach, you started to receive discounts for the shit. The local utility store employees even thought you were a maid, given by the amount of disposable gloves that you went through.

"I should hire you as a maid someday, when I can actually pay for one at least," said the cashier of the home improvement store that you frequented (if you couldn't tell, he was low-key making a pass at you).

"A maid? I'm not-" you quickly stopped when you realized that this would give you a possible coverup and alibi if you needed one.

"I'm confused... aren't you a cleaning lady?" He asked once more.

"Oh, yeah! I totally just forgot all about my job!" You exclaimed, passing it off with a laugh and a smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm not taking any more clients. I'll let you know when I am, though," you followed up with a wink.

Oh, how suave you were. You'd always been an expert at lying, and now was no different. In fact, with the amount of bodies you'd racked up, one could say you were the best liar in all of Japan.

And no, not in terms of sexual partners; you were a killer. A killer by textbook definitions, at least.

It's not like you wanted to kill all these girls! It's just that, with the amount of people that so obviously flocked to your boyfriend of seven months, you'd have to make sure that he wasn't getting any ideas.

It started out with the local call-girl that hollered at him when the two of you were walking home from a date. "Hey, suga! You ever thought about spending time with all this?" She hollered from the other side of the road. Nanami kept his cool and ignored her, passing her off as no more than a streetwalker trying to scam him for all his worth.

You made sure she was forgotten about, though; her body was found cut into pieces a few nights later by the garbage people.

Next came that stupidly innocent bakery worker (get the ref?). "Come again soon!" She called out to Kento after he bought a few pastries for the two of you. You came back a few nights later, and you wiped that innocent look off her face and replaced it with a wide cut on either sides of her mouth, along with a giant slash along her torso.

Soon it was girl #3, then #4, #5, and #6. By the time you hit your first anniversary, it was up to 11 people in total. You knew that your man was a desired man, but god, could people really not keep their hands and words to themselves?

#12 seemed to cause quite the nuisance for you, though. It just so happened that Kento had a "work-wife," or at least according to Miss Work-Wife herself when you met her at an office holiday party. After spending so much time together, your sweet Kento brought you to the party, intending to show you off to all of his jealous colleagues who couldn't keep a partner, even if they tried. He intended to have you on his arm, a subtle act of pride and showing off. He always kept to himself, so why not spice things up a little bit? It was his time to be selfish.

He seemed to have two women on his arm, though: you and the stupid work-wife who just couldn't stop butting into every single situation.

"Oh, so you're Kenny's girl? I didn't know that he liked the girly type; I always thought he'd be into the straight-laced, conservative type. But to each their own, I guess!" she remarked.

Oh how much you hated backhanded compliments. Could people really not understand just how bad they were at covering that shit up? She might as well have called you a brainless bimbo who wore heels that were too high to save her own life. As if she wasn't wearing a face full of fucking makeup, you thought to yourself. Glowy foundation is still foundation, regardless of how "low coverage" it was. And those clumpy ass eyelashes--why the fuck would your man associate with such lowly looking wenches? If he were to talk to women, the least he could do was talk to the nice looking ones. At least then you'd have something cute to carve into.

You'd made a vow to stop killing every woman you see, it wasn't fair to kill all of Kento's friends! He hadn't even given you a reason to doubt him. He was still the same suave gentleman from the very first date. It wasn't like those Reddit AITA posts where the men gradually started putting in less and less effort. If you were a sane person, that would be your train of thought.

But you're not sane--whoever said you were? You're crazy, and that's just a part of you. At least Ken had a loving girlfriend to come home to at the end of the night, even if you needed antipsychotics.

So, when you invited the chick over for drinks one late night, you made sure to do it with a certain plan in mind.

You were going to stab that stupid smile off her face, then dump her somewhere inconspicuous.

┆ . It was laughably easy for you to kill her. You swapped out the white carpet in your apartment for a black one that absorbed all the colors that flew into it, and brought out the spare furniture that you'd been meaning to get rid of a while ago. You even covered the walls with spare wall art that was also gonna go into the trash.

"It's so lovely of you to have me over for drinks, (Y/N)! I knew that from the moment I met you, the two of us were going to be friends," she said, stupidly oblivious to what was about to happen to her.

"Oh, well, I try to be as active in Kento's life as possible, and that includes making friends with his friends as well," you said smoothly, lying through your teeth. She wasn't his friend; he didn't even have her number saved. You grabbed a martini glass from your mini-bar and poured her a dirty martini, making extra sure that the poison didn't look too out of place. You even added pineapple juice to hide the slightly white film in the liquid, mixing it up with your drink mixer. "Y'know, I have a thing for mixology. Care to try one of my new concoctions?" You asked, handing her the glass.

"Would I?" she asked excitedly, taking the glass from you. She took a sip and let out an "ahh," looking satisfied with the drink.

"You like it?"

"Oh, you bet I do. I've always had a thing for pineapple juice."

About 10 minutes in, and she only barely started showing signs of fatigue, much to your fucking dismay. Whoever said that this poison was a fast acting agent must've gotten it on Canal St. "Gosh, I'm a little tired. Do you mind if I lie down?" she asked, already lying down on the couch.

"By all means, go ahead," you smiled, though deep down you wanted to peel her grimy face off your pillows with a potato peeler.

She yawned, stretching her hands above her head, only to have them fall back down on her torso and go to her heart. "My c-chest hurts a little," she laughed. "I've always had a problem with... heartburn. It's a genetic thing."

You took a sip of your own martini, already sick and tired of playing the long game. "It's not heartburn you stupid bitch; I poisoned your fucking drink." The obvious change of voice caught her heavily off guard, and she looked at you with bewilderment. "God, I am so sick and tired of hearing you yap, yap and yap about my boyfriend. Don't you know that one day, we're gonna get married? We don't need suck-ups like you to soak up all the attention."

"Wha- what do you mean?" she slurred, freaking out as she felt her chest tightening. "You put poison in my drink?! Are you... crazy?!"

"I am; I even take meds for it," you said nonchalantly, splashing around the martini in your cup. "Here, try some of mine, see if you like it better," you said cruelly, splashing the alcohol in her face and making her eyes burn. "You really should be wary of the people whose homes you walk into; you never know what exactly to expect with strangers. Especially if you're trying to steal their boyfriends."

"I-I'm not trying to-"

"Girl, please, I've poisoned you, I think it's time we cut the bullshit and the niceties, yeah? I've never been one to be nice anyway, at least not behind closed doors." You got up off the chair, walking to the nearby dresser and pulling out a knife. "When I first saw you, I knew I'd have to kill you eventually. Kento's a nice guy, and he shouldn't have whores like you around him. You're all just a bunch of fucking flies, do y'know that?" You asked, wiping the blade of your knife with a cloth. She could no longer speak, her face turning purple as she fumbled off the couch, crawling towards the door. "Don't even bother with that," you sneered, kicking her down and away from the door. She meekly crawled away, only to have her hair pulled back forcefully by you.

"Have you ever had someone try to steal your boyfriend before? Lemme tell you: it's not a fun feeling. The idea that people would be so dumb as to lay their paws on what's yours... I know my Kento's a dreamboat, but there are other eligible bachelors to choose from in this city. Unluckily for you, you picked the wrong one, because that boy is mine."

You grabbed her and hauled her over to where you had a tarp laid out in the kitchen, and you brought the knife to her neck. "Take a long, last look at this filet mignon, because it's what's gonna be the last thing you fucking see." You then cut it across her throat, hard enough to almost rip her head off of her spine. "Maybe in your next life, you won't be such a whore."

She fumbled about, her hands going to her neck, only for you to grab the knife and stab her brain, effectively killing her. "Poison was taking too long, anyway," you muttered.

The murder was quite clean and it went pretty smoothly, although you'd wished it was the poison instead.

"I'll make sure to give it a one star," you muttered, holding the poison.

You stood up, reaching out for a nearby smock to wipe your hands clean of the blood. You thought you were in the clear, your twelfth kill under your leather belt, only for a voice behind you to disturb the serenity: "love? Are you home? I wanted to surprise you-"

You stopped in your tracks, frozen like a deer in headlights. It didn't take a genius, much less his girlfriend of over a year to realize who it was behind you.

Were you really that idiotic? Did you forget to lock the door?

You looked in the reflection of the kitchen window, seeing Kento's puzzled expression on his face. He was even holding pink roses in one of his arms and had chocolates in the other.

"Ken... I didn't mean for you to- you shouldn't have to see this mess-"

You stopped for a second, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. You turned around, nothing but fear written on your typically calm and gorgeous features. "I didn't mean for you to see me like this," you said, your voice cracking slightly.

"I could guess that," he remarked, his voice as soft as ever. He knew that you were quite fragile in this moment, so he was careful to walk closer to you and wrap his strong arms around your frame once he got to his destination.

You stood there in silence, not knowing what to do or say when he hugged you. Wasn't he... afraid? Wasn't he disgusted by you having killed one of his coworkers?

"I meant to surprise you tonight with dinner. I brought you some takeaway from your favorite place, and I even bought you roses."

You looked down at the bouquet of pink roses that were freshly picked and bought from the local florist. Some of the blood on your hands dripped onto a petal, staining it a hauntingly beautiful color, somehow making this whole situation more romantic.

You'd only ever hurt people, so why was this situation so comforting?

"Thank you, Kento... I appreciate it," you muttered, still reeling from the realization that Kento glossed over the fact that you were the person responsible for all those murders in the newspapers. You wondered if he knew that all this time, his wonderful, graceful girlfriend was the one killing and maiming random girls. He took you to the sink and washed all the blood off your hands with some bleach, then scrubbed the bleach clean with a lavender-scented hand soap.

"Careful now, we wouldn't wanna stain your dress, would we? Not when you're already date night ready," he remarked, his deep voice a soothing balm to your ears.

You simply nodded, going along with whatever he said. After washing them off clean, he wrapped up the tarp and made extra sure not to spill any of the bodily fluids anywhere, putting it in a spare closet nearby. You stood there, watching as your boyfriend cleaned up your crime scene in your apartment. You watched his features, and you couldn't tell if he was upset or not.

He guided you back to the dining table where the bag of food was. He set out plates and cutlery for the two of you, not letting you lift a single finger. Once the two of you sat down, he started eating in silence when he saw you looking at him.

"(Y/N), don't let it go cold. Eat up," he instructed softly.

You obliged, picking up your fork and eating the red meat hesitantly. Red meat, how poetic.

"Kento," you started, putting your fork down and looking up at the blonde man. "We're gonna have to talk about it eventually."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. Just... not over red meat, okay?"

You simply nodded, going back to your food. You ate more comfortably, the knowledge that you no longer had the secret hidden making you rest easier now. Perhaps he did know already, and he just didn't wanna make you any more worried than you already were by bringing it up. Perhaps he was put off by it, but he was willing to gloss over it and act like it didn't matter. Whatever the reason might've been, you could rest easy knowing that your boyfriend wasn't going anywhere.

"Work was quite eventful today. They handed out promotions, and I was one of the lucky few who got one." He looked up at you after swallowing his food, carefully watching your expression and making sure you were alright.

"That's great news, Kento, I'm happy for you." He smiled softly at your acquiescence, happy to finally change the topic.

Blood always seemed to scared him.

I hope this was good enough... 👅

© ʙʀᴜɴᴇᴛᴛᴇ-ʙɪᴛᴄʜ77 on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 6/10/2024

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Four - The Student

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

This time I found you at a university. Of course things couldn’t just be simple. You couldn’t just be a faculty member or even a damn janitor, no…you had to be my fucking student. Why couldn’t things be easy just for once? It’s fine…I’ll just have to figure out how to work around it…

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 5k

It was a morning like every other.

You were on your way to your physics class, coffee in hand and your two friends on either side of you, Mira and Stacy. Mira had a skip in her step, excited about a guy she met at the coffee shop just a few minutes ago. You rolled your eyes, too concerned with the results of last week’s test in Dr. O’Hara’s class to be bothered with your friend’s endeavors.

“Hey!” Stacy screamed your name, grabbing your collar and pulling you back from the street and onto the curb.

A car flew by you, stopping your heart in your chest as you moved back from the street two more steps. You were so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t paid any attention to the road. Stacy spat your name in a scolding manner.

“Jesus, you almost got yourself killed, what the hell are you thinking?” She shook her head.

“Thank you,” you said, taking a deep breath, “I guess I’m just…I’m so nervous about my test I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly,” she agreed, putting both hands on her hips like a parent scolding a child. “I’m sure you did fine on your test. You said you studied right?”

The three of you started walking again toward the building where your classes were held.

“Yeah, I did, but I mean…the last test I took I failed, I can’t fail again.” You felt dread weighing heavy on your chest as the large brick building blocked out the sun on your approach.

Mira patted your back. “You’re smart, I’m sure you did fine.” She chuckled as she jogged ahead toward the building. “Besides! I’m sure that Dr. O’Hara would let you suck his dick for a better grade!”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at Mira’s comment. She never ceased to say things that were embarrassing beyond belief. Everyone knew that Dr. O’Hara was hot. The man wore dress shirts, sure, but either he couldn’t find ones that fit properly, or he intentionally wore a size too small so people would know he worked out. It was hard to think about much else when his pectorals were so prominently displayed under a thin veil of fabric. It didn’t help either that his nipples seemed to be perpetually stiff, clearly visibly underneath his shirt, just like they were today.

“Good morning cl–”

Dr. O’Hara’s failure to finish his sentence caught you off guard, forcing your eyes on him as you walked the rest of the way into the room. You felt nervous, averting your eyes immediately and staring at the floor as you walked to your desk. After your friend’s inappropriate comment, and his lingering gaze, you couldn’t help thinking about things a student shouldn’t imagine about their professor.

Things like…what if you could suck his dick for a better grade?

He cleared his throat. “Alright class, I’m going to pass back your tests now.”

You’d done a fine job on your exam. Miguel’s predecessor, the Miguel of this universe, had already graded your paper and even put a little smiley face next to the number 87 in red ink. It was obvious that this one hadn’t made any moves on you, but he had taken a liking to you. That wouldn’t work in Miguel’s favor though. He needed you to be so desperate that you might be willing to go to great lengths to get your grade fixed.

The jealousy that stabbed Miguel in the gut when he realized that his alternate was enraptured by you made it easy to rid himself of the man. In fact, he felt nothing as he watched the life leave Miguel’s eyes. He felt nothing as he buried the man so far into the ground that no one would ever find his body.

It wasn’t that Miguel wanted to be predatory toward you, in fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was clear that you were younger in this universe than in previous ones. Your birth date was the same, he saw it in your records on the school database before he took over for your prior professor, but the year was different. He’d already gone through great lengths just to find you, so what was a little manipulation just to have you? You’d be grateful in the end, he just knew it.

He passed the tests around, watching you carefully to gauge your response to his little note he made at the top of your test. 

Come to my office after your classes so we can discuss your grade and your future in my class.

You looked down at the glaring 62 on your exam with the note to meet Dr. O’Hara in his office later. A pit formed in your gut. The words, ‘your future in my class’, stuck out more than the rest. You gulped, hands shaking as you put the failed test in your book bag and turned your attention back to class. You hated that professors seemed to do that, handing out your tests prior to the start of class. How in the hell were you expected to focus for the rest of the class with the looming threat that you might be told to retake the class next semester?

He felt a little bad after seeing your face drop at the sight of the failed exam. In some ways Miguel missed the therapist. She was bold, more mature, and he felt like she was, personality-wise, the closest to you he had found thus far. In this universe you were naive, young, bright-eyed and inexperienced. In some ways that was exciting, thinking about how easy it would be to mold you into the woman he’d lost, or at least as close to the original as possible. In other ways he didn’t love the idea of corrupting you like that.

It didn’t matter though, in the end as long as he had you, whether by moral means or immoral, that’s all that mattered.

Later that evening, shortly after finishing your final class for the day, you found yourself standing outside of Dr. O’Hara’s office, knuckles rapping on the door in an uneven rhythm. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears was deafening while you waited for him to open the door. Earlier you and your friends had joked about what you were going to do in there, but this wasn’t a movie, this was reality, and your professor wasn’t going to let you sleep your way out of a bad grade.

Not that you really wanted to do that anyway.

Your unusually tall professor opened the door, stepping back to let you inside. He was quiet when he locked the door, so quiet that you wouldn’t even notice he’d done it. You seemed a little smaller in this universe. Miguel wondered if it was because you were actually shorter, or if the fact that you were younger made it seem to be the case.

“I don’t understand why I got such a bad grade, Dr. O’Hara,” you turned to face him, failed test in hand, eyes already glistening wet with the threat of tears. “I worked really hard after you helped me understand it better.”

Fuck, he thought. His cock was already springing to life, slowly making his pants feel tighter while he looked at you. This was new territory that he didn’t know how to navigate. This wasn’t the type of person Miguel wanted to be, but he also wanted to start establishing his control over you now. If he could control you, he could keep you safe; he could have you.

“Yeah well, as you can see…” he snatched the test from your hand, “you didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

Something was different about Dr. O’Hara, you felt it as he ripped the paper from your hands. He was normally a very calm and collected type of professor, everyone loved him for that. You couldn’t understand why he was acting so harshly now. You clutched your book bag closer to yourself as though it would teleport you out of the room. He took a step closer, and you stepped back until your rear was against his desk. You felt trapped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he said, seeing the terror in your expression. Miguel’s intention wasn’t to make you fear him, but at the same time, he was willing to do what it took to make you listen for once, since your alternates didn’t seem to pay his warnings any mind. “Look, I’d be willing to…fix your grade.”

He’d hoped that when he said it like that you would get the hint so he didn’t have to spell it out for you. Surely you’d seen enough pornos to know where this was going, right? It would make it less guilt inducing for him, and a lot less scary for you, at least that’s what he was thinking. 

“Fix it how? Is there extra credit?” You decided to continue on like you didn’t know what he was playing at.

“You could say that,” he said, taking another step toward you.

There was no way he meant what you thought he meant. He couldn’t possibly be insinuating that you were supposed to fuck your way into a better grade could he? That was just a stupid joke you and your friends had laughed about, albeit frequently, but it was just a joke. He couldn’t be serious.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his tight-fit slacks and the way they were especially tight around his groin. You gulped, looking back up at his eyes quickly, trying to appear not to have seen anything. Maybe if you kept your eyes anywhere but on his bulge it would go away, and he would let this go.

But you wouldn’t be so lucky.

Miguel took another step forward, bringing a hand to your cheek and rubbing his thumb along your skin gently. He smirked, feeling satisfied to touch you again. Spending all the time in the last universe, he’d almost forgotten what you felt like.

“I’m not going to hurt you, and if you just listen to me you might even enjoy yourself.”

No matter how much you told yourself to run, to kick, to scream, you just stood there while Dr. O’Hara leaned forward, claiming your mouth in his and melting into you. He lifted you onto the desk like you were weightless, pushing himself against you until he was almost laying on top of you. You kissed him back, but the rest of you was frozen, unsure how to respond. Should you even be allowing this to happen, or should you be trying to stop him?

What would you do anyway? Fight him off? The man was built like a damn tank. You could work out for a hundred years and still never come close to moving him. On the bright side, you would probably pass your class, though this wasn’t how you wanted to do it. This wasn’t what you wanted at all.

“P-please, Dr. O’Hara, s-stop–”

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing you deeper, “you want me to fix your grade right? You want to pass this class? Hm?”

He looked down at you, waiting for your answer, the guilt still nagging at him as he noticed a stray tear fall down the side of your face.

You nodded. “Y-yes, yes I do.”

“Then be quiet, and do what I say,” he demanded, sliding a massive hand up your skirt, his fingers teasing at the hem of your panties.

Your mind was racing with feelings you could hardly comprehend. On one hand, your body was tingling an overwhelming desire, a need to feel his touch in the most intimate way. His thick index finger tucked into the leg of your panties, knuckles sliding softly over your pussy lips. When he kissed you it didn’t feel like a dirty professor trying to take advantage, but rather a lover who wanted to take his time with you.

On the other hand, he was much older than you, and he was your professor. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t really interested in sleeping with him, despite the teasing from you and your friends.

That didn’t seem to matter now, he was pulling your underwear down your thighs and tossing them to the floor. He rubbed the pads of his index and middle fingers over your clit, forcing a choked whimper to escape your lungs. You thought about protesting his actions again, but decided against it. You didn’t want to piss him off, and you didn’t want to fail the class.

“There you go, honey,” he whispered against your lips, “don’t squirm too much okay? You’ll like it, I know you will.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to say otherwise. Dr. O’Hara pushed you down so your back was flat against the desk, his large hand pressed against your abdomen while his other started to undo his pants. You didn’t even want to look at it, so you stared out the window and kept your eyes trained on the gate at the entrance to the college campus. He exhaled a low and deep breath as he dragged the tip of his cock along your folds.

“Look at me, hermosa,” his voice was low, but still demanding.

You complied, turning your head slowly to look at him. Miguel tried to convince himself that you would come around, that you were just nervous for your first time together. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t delusional either, but he needed to believe that you would come around, because working with the you that was right in front of him was better than the unknown of whatever versions he may encounter in other universes. ‘The devil you know’, and all that.

“Hold on tight, honey,” he warned, sliding his dick through your slick entrance. He couldn’t even make it halfway in before it was too tight. “F-fuck baby…shit.”

You cried out, all of your resolve falling to the wayside. It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad.

“Dr. O’Hara pleas–”

Before you could even finish your plea his hand was covering your mouth. He shook his head, eyes narrowing dangerously in warning. You tried to beg with your eyes, your small sobs blocked by the brick wall of his palm only serving to make his cock throb inside your cunt. You grabbed onto his forearm, gripping it so tight your nails dug into his skin, but it may as well have been a pillar, unmoving and sturdy while he kept your mouth covered.

“Honey, please,” he hissed, his breaths of arousal interrupting his irritated tone. “I know it’s painful now but if you just relax, I’ll stretch you out so it won’t hurt anymore alright?”

You didn’t respond, and Miguel felt the guilt in his chest. The guilt didn’t outweigh the delicious feeling of your hole squeezing around the mere three inches he’d managed to get inside. He slid forward a little more, your eyes rolled back in response, your breaths turned into labored panting while you took him further.

“You’re doing great, hermosa,” he encouraged, “taking me so well.”

Your legs tightened around his waist as your cunt stretched even wider around him. He was bigger than anything you’d ever felt, and you couldn’t get free from him. Finally he bottomed out inside you, when you looked down at where you were connected you could see a bulge in your abdomen. Your eyes widened in fear, as though seeing it made it feel that much bigger.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he cooed, rolling his hips back and then snapping forward again, forcing a guttural groan to erupt from deep within you. “That’s it, fuck, so tight-that’s-it.”

Miguel established a steady rhythm that was made easier by how wet your little hole got. At least you’re physically enjoying yourself, he thought to himself, still trying to ease the guilt brewing inside him. His free hand grabbed onto your thigh, leveraging himself even deeper. The sight of his fat cock bulging up through your stomach made him harder, if that were even possible. He thought, for only a second, about the fact that you might not be on birth control, but then decided he didn’t really give a shit.

Your makeup was ruined, black rivers running down your cheeks while you cried even harder. When Miguel looked down at where your pussy was split around his dick he could see why, you’d made a bloody mess between both your bodies. He questioned why he thought that was hot. Causing you pain shouldn’t feel that good, but it did, the sight of your blood making his pace even faster.

“Didn’t know you had such a little pussy,” he breathed between thrusts, “so tight, so-wet-fuck.”

When Miguel thought about it, the two of you - himself and you from the original universe -, never got that rough. It wasn’t something he knew he would like, having power over you like that, causing you pain and listening to your cries. Hearing you whimper now though, laying on his desk with your legs wrapped around him while he split you open, was making him feral. If making you cry was bad, then why the hell did it feel so fucking good?

“Are you going to come for me, honey?” He asked in a low whisper.

You didn’t answer, you just kept your eyes on his, a silent prayer that he would stop. He couldn’t stop now though, he was so damn close.

“Next time m-maybe, holy-shit-fuck-fuck-FUCK!”

His hips snapped forward, stuttering and halting against yours. You felt the searing hot ropes of his spend while it spilled inside your walls, cock throbbing and stretching you further with every spurt. His breathing was deep, low, and you guessed that if he weren’t afraid of being caught he would be much more vocal. He tossed his head back, using the hand that was on your hip to push his hair from where it fell into his eyes.

Once he was finished, Miguel released your mouth, the post-orgasm clarity making his guilt take over tenfold.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling out of you, the sudden feeling forcing a quiet cry from your swollen, trembling lips.

You didn’t speak. Now that he was finished you didn’t have words to say. What could you say? ‘You’re a monster’? ‘How could you do this to me’? ‘Why would you do this to me’? None of his answers would matter, and part of you still wondered if you’d asked for it some way. What else did you think your professor wanted you to come into his office for after all the classes had ended for the day? The red flags had been waving in your face and you ignored them. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you wanted this all along.

—

“Good morning handsome,” you said, laughing and wiping a bit of spit from Miguel’s stubbled cheek, “you were out. Having a good dream?”

—

Miguel shot up in bed, quickly realizing that he was dreaming, the reminder of that day still so fucking clear in his mind.

He looked at the calendar sitting above the coffee maker in his apartment. Well, his apartment. It had already been four long weeks that he’d spent in that universe trying desperately to get you to like him. He could tell by the look on your face though that you were still terrified of him. 

He wondered if he should just leave, call it quits for this universe and move on to the next one. Miguel couldn’t shake the probability that something might be worse in the next universe though. What if he traveled there only to find that you were already dead? What if the next ten universes took him years to get through and eventually he was too old to keep looking for you? No matter how he looked at it, logically speaking, it was still better to try and work with the you in front of him, than to risk the unknown.

You couldn’t put into words the way you felt when you saw Dr. O’Hara every week in your physics class. You started sitting toward the back, hoping some other girl might grab his attention instead, but it never worked. He continued to summon you to his office in the late evenings, and he continued to fuck you until you could barely walk your way out of his office.

He terrified you.

And that terrified him.

“Dr. O’Hara,” the head of student affairs walked into Miguel’s office, pushing the already ajar door open and stepping inside.

“Oh, hi, Janice,” Miguel said, feeling his body become tense.

You better not have opened your fucking mouth, he thought.

“One of your students…” your name coming out of her mouth made him start to sweat, “...came to me and said she would like to drop out and take this class another semester. She said it doesn’t fit into her schedule right now so we need you to sign–”

“Halfway through the semester?” He asked, tone sharper than he intended. “No. She’s doing so well it would be a mistake.”

“It’s not really up to–”

“What’s the cutoff date for this kind of thing? Isn’t there always a cutoff date?”

“This Thursday is the–”

“No.”

“You don’t really have a choice.”

“Let me talk to her.”

The woman sighed, handing him the paper, “I think it’s a mistake too, for the record. It would be a shame to have to do all that work all over again.”

The woman left, the sound of her clicking heels fading as she walked down the hall. Miguel looked at the sheet of paper, hands shaking as he looked down at your signature. There it was. The same signature on your fucking marriage certificate, right there, telling him that you’d had enough and wanted to leave him. 

He slammed his office door and walked over to his bag, the one where he kept your wedding photo. He hadn’t looked at it much since he’d left the original universe. The image of the two of you together brought him nothing but pain. He wanted you back so badly he was willing to rape a poor college girl that looked just like you in order to live in a fantasy that, deep down, he knew would never really hold a candle to the reality he once had.

Looking back he remembered the day of your wedding, the way you looked took his breath away. He was still mad that the therapist hadn’t worked out, if only she’d listened. Even the barista wasn’t too bad. She was a bit mouthy, but…no, he couldn’t stand the damn barista. She was a lost cause the moment she broke up with him.

Something told him that this version of you, the student, wasn’t going to work out from the beginning. He wanted it so badly though. When he tried to imagine a world where he could be happy with that version of you, he couldn’t. Even in the event he was able to convince you to marry him, or hell, even go on a date with him, he knew it would be all done in fear. You’d never look at him the way you did. 

You would never love him.

You startled him when you opened the door to his office unannounced. You could tell because he scrambled to put something into his bag as you entered. His gaze was still so harsh, and you thought maybe you shouldn’t have come at all, but you were afraid your consequences would be harsher if you ignored his long standing request to meet him in the office during the evenings. You closed the door behind yourself, knowing that he would probably do it anyway if you didn’t do it yourself. 

This is the last time, you thought. You do this one more time and then you’re done.

You hoped that by giving him what he so clearly wanted from you one last time, and perhaps being mature about it, you could convince him to let you go.

“D-Dr. O’Hara I–”

“You’re trying to drop out of my fucking class?” He snapped, eyes shooting spears through you.

You gulped, stepping toward the door, immediately regretting closing it behind yourself.

“W-well yes but I came to, um…well I thought we could–”

“Thought we could what?” He asked, standing quickly.

Regardless if you’d never love him, he was going to have to work with what he had, and right now he had a crying twenty something in front of him who was willing to do anything he said.

“We can do it just one more time and then I want to leave your class,” you whispered.

Dr. O’Hara strode over to you slowly, each step a booming quake that tore through what little determination you’d had when walking in there. He grabbed your jaw in his hand, leaning forward so his lips were against your ear. You hated that your body had become conditioned to react pleasantly to his touch, a tingling sensation spreading down to your core.

“What did you say?” He hissed against your ear.

You couldn’t speak. You wanted to repeat yourself. You wanted to convince him that this was what was best for both of you since getting caught would surely end his career. No matter how much you willed yourself to speak though, not a fucking word came out. The only sound you made was a pathetic whimper, a dumb little sound that you knew he liked; he always moaned whenever you made it. 

“That’s what I thought, hermosa,” he whispered, “you can come back to my office tonight, and I’ll take good care of you like I always do, hm?”

He let go of you and stepped back, eyes scanning over your body and taking it all in as he had so many times before.

“Well, I-I can’t come tonight,” you admitted hastily, as though you might choke on the words if you didn’t spit them out.

“Why?” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes snapped to yours.

“Well my friends and I were going out tonight and–”

“No,” he said firmly, “you’re coming back here.”

Perhaps he’d said it too harshly, but knowing that there was a good possibility that this was the night of your death, your ‘canon event’ as he’d taken to calling it, he couldn’t risk you leaving his sight.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the dark glare in his eye told you that arguing was futile. It was clear that whatever this had started as, an exploitative endeavor, had turned into some sort of obsession that you weren’t going to be able to get out of easily.

“Please,” you mouthed, keeping your eyes on the floor.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so much guilt. Could he really keep this up? Would he really be able to spend the rest of both your lives looking into your fearful eyes and convince himself that it was alright? As long as he had you it didn’t matter if you were a little afraid…right?

“I know this is hard for you to understand, so I’ll make it simple for you,” he moved to grab you, but you slipped under his arm and started backing away.

“Stop doing this, please,” you were trying to get away from him now, another sign that this was probably a dead-end universe for him.

Miguel couldn’t imagine much worse than you being dead, but you feeling so afraid of him that you died trying to get away from him was right up there. He wondered if closing his oversized office window would’ve still resulted in your demise that night.

“Honey, I’m sorry, if you can just come here and have a seat we can talk–”

“No!” You yelled, continuing to back up, the open window at your back.

Miguel took a step forward.

“I’m not going to hurt you, let’s just–”

“You already did!” Your lips were trembling, your whole body was tense, “Stay away from me!”

“Mi vida, please!”

He watched you hit the low-sitting window sill. The school would get sued, no doubt, for not putting a screen, or at least some form of safety precaution, in place to prevent your fall from three stories up. He looked over the window sill, watching the blood spread from your body outward, covering the pavement below.

Miguel genuinely felt bad. He didn’t know if it was because he felt like he was losing you again. No, this wasn’t really like losing you. This felt more like guilt around causing the death of some college student who happened to look almost exactly like you, but she wasn’t really you.

In all honesty, appearance was the only thing this girl had in common with you. So Miguel wouldn’t shed a tear for her, though he would hold on to the turmoil he’d caused you in that universe for a while. He’d wear it with him to the next one, like a pin he’d collected as a souvenir. That thought actually made him laugh. It was the laugh of a man gone mad, but a laugh nonetheless.

Maybe by the end of his journey he’d have a whole stash of pins. Perhaps he’d be so weighed down by them that he wouldn’t be able to move anymore. It was entirely possible that a suitable replacement didn’t exist, and that maybe he’d never find the perfect one.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[mediumgayitalian]

“You ready, Lou?”

“Duh.”

“Cecil? You’ve got full faith in your cabin?”

“Yep.”

“What about you, Will? Were your threats successful?”

“My bribes went wonderfully, thank you.”

“Then I think we’re a go.”

“Gods, this is going to be great.”

———

Knockknockknock.

Nico locks in on his game. He is so, so close to finally making it through this stupid quest, he can feel it, and if he doesn’t beat The Imprisoned before Percy he’s going to set the camp on fire.

Knockknockknock.

“Just — hold on a second!” He spams B, cursing loudly to himself, ignoring the twinge in his lower back from holding this position for so long. “Fuck, fuck, come on.” He clenches his teeth, knuckles white against the Wii remote, until finally — the boss falls. He cheers.

Fuck yes. Take that, Percy.

Tossing the remote on his bed, he jogs over to the door, sliding open the three bolts and unlocking the chains. On his porch is a blur of movement, hair frizzy and pulled-on, shirt rumbled.

“Oh, hey, Annabeth.”

She barely acknowledges him, focusing intently on pacing back and forth on the stone porch at the speed of light. He settles against the door frame, stretching out his spine, watching her mutter to herself.

“Chiron is leaving,” she says.

Nico raises an amused eyebrow. “I am aware.”

“With Mr. D. To some conference.”

“I heard.”

“He’s gone until early tomorrow evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He left me in charge.”

“Probably wise.”

“I need an allegiance, Nico.”

“Slow down and tell me what you mean, first.”

She sighs, coming to a stop in front of him. Her fingers still drum across her biceps, and her eyes dart around, evaluating. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

“Camp’s a lot of work,” she says finally. “I’ve never been in charge of so many people at once before, and like hell am I gonna let Chiron think I can’t handle it. I have a Plan, and you’re a part of it.”

Nico resists the urge to groan. Chiron leaving is supposed to mean he gets the next day or so off — no classes, no socializing, nothing. Just him in his cabin and the genuinely disgusting amount of junk food he has amassed.

(…And Will. Maybe.)

“It’s nothing crazy,” she promises. “I just need you to lurk.”

“…Lurk?”

“Yeah, you know. Chill in the shadows and scare people into complacency. You don’t even need to do much, just that thing where you stare at people like you know the exact day they’re going to die.”

“I do love lurking,” Nico admits. And to basically have a free pass to scare the shit out of whoever he wants… “I’ll do it.”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Nico! I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet up with you right after Chiron heads out, okay? To give you a list of people to keep your eye on.”

“Sure. Bye, Annabeth.”

“See ya!”

He closes the door and pads back to his setup, shaking the remote to get it going again. He can’t quite shake the smirk off his face.

The next twenty four hours are going to rock.

———

“Swiper No Swiping, initiate phase one.”

“Roger that, Sunny Dick.”

“…I’m revoking your code name priveledges.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’ll change it.”

———

Before Chiron leaves, he gathers them all in the amphitheatre.

“Children,” he calls, adjusting the bow slung across his back. “I am leaving now for my conference. I will be back before the sun sets tomorrow.” He gestures towards Annabeth, standing stiffly beside him. “Annabeth is in charge. Consider all my authority transferred to her before I return, am I understood?”

“Yes, Chiron,” courses the camp, some with significantly more attitude than others. Across the gathered crowd, Will catches his eye and winks. (Well, tries to. He has yet to catch on to the fact that he cannot, actually, wink, and instead just blinks really intentionally. Kayla and Austin have sworn him to secrecy.) Nico rolls his eyes, ears burning, and looks away.

“Good. Regular rules; no maiming, killing, or injuries above level seven. Any arson will result in a revoking of dessert privileges. Yes, Julia, even if you help in putting out the arson. It is the fire that is the issue, you understand. Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “I am looking forward to one day of peace. Try to avoid ruining it for me too quickly. Goodbye, children.”

With a wave and a fond squeeze of Annabeth’s shoulder, he trots over to Half-Blood Hill, ignoring Mr. D’s loud complaining about how long he took. With a snap of Mr. D’s fingers, they disappear. For a brief, uncanny moment, everything is still.

“Alright,” Annabeth shouts, clapping her hands together. Nico jumps. “Dinner is in an hour. Whoever is the first to fuck something up will be doing dishes. I will be watching. Dismissed.”

Wading through the swathes of ambling teenagers, she walks by where Nico is leaning against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Lurk,” she orders, passing him.

Nico shoots her a mocking salute, fading into the shadow behind him. He barely catches her grin before he dissolves into the darkness.

———

“Phase two in effect. Ready to go, Sabrina Spellman?”

“Prepped to go, Teletubbies Sun Baby.”

“I hate both of you.”

———

“Halt!”

Across the common, three suspicious figures freeze, glance behind them, and then resume walking as casually as they can.

“I said halt! Do not move! Cease all function!”

Milling nervously towards each other, Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest pause, shifting the three massive cardboard boxes they hold each.

“Hi, Annabeth,” Will says, smiling innocently. Cecil and Lou Ellen match him, eyes wide, expressions angelic.

Annabeth stomps over to them, fists clenched at her sides, entirely unmoved by the cherubic display in front of her. Nico stays right where he is, hidden by the shade of Cabin Eight.

“Explain yourselves,” Annabeth orders.

The three stooges exchange a look.

“Whatever do you mean,” Lou Ellen asks, shifting the boxes to free up her hand only to place it delicately over her chest. “Why, we are only helping our dear friend William —”

“Our dear, dear friend,” Cecil adds.

“— carry these many boxes of medical supplies, so as to lower his great burden —”

“Massive burden,” Will says sagely.

“— and free up his evening in order for him to spend his limited time with us, his most cherished friends.”

“Especially cherished,” Will and Cecil chorus together.

Unable to bite back a smile, Nico rolls his eyes so hard his skull hurts. They’re not even trying to not get caught, at this point. Idiots.

Clearly agreeing, Annabeth scoffs. “Yeah, right. Boxes down, all three of you. You’re being detained for suspected illicit substances.”

“Annabeth!” Will cries, hand to his chest, “after all I do for this camp, you would accuse me of being — illicit?! Me?! The outrage! The insult! The impugn, the —”

“Can it, Solace. Open the boxes.”

Huffing in perfect unison, the three of them carefully lower their boxes to the ground.

“Tape off.”

Intentionally slowly, they run a nail along the edge of the packing tape.

“Flaps open, guys, c’mon.”

With flourish, the trio fling open the thin cardboard panels. Inside each box is rows of bandages, packaged syringes, sterile bands, tongue compresses, and more that Nico can’t name. Annabeth glares at the boxes with perhaps more disdain than the situation calls for.

Then again.

It is camp.

“See?” says Cecil, gesturing grandly. “The shipment just came in from my dad.”

Like a hound dog locking in on a bleeding squirrel, Annabeth’s eyes narrow. Her lips spread into wide, frankly maniacal smirk.

“Your dad is in a conference with the rest of the Olympians right now, Markowitz.”

Caught.

“Well,” Cecil says, and then nothing else.

“He meant it in the royal sense,” Lou Ellen pipes up in his silence. Cecil nods frantically. “You know, ‘just’ as in, like, recently, as in this morning —”

“Do you three think I’m stupid.”

“It’s just medical supplies! You can look through them if you want —”

Even if they weren’t acting like criminals, Nico knows his friends. He knows his boyfriend, especially, and recognises that damn look on his face. He can also physically see Annabeth’s stress ulcer coming back.

Closing his eyes, Nico fades into Cabin Six’s shadow. It’s a quick jump, so the stretch is easy, and the darkness bows easily to his hold. He reappears silently behind the group, taking advantage of the setting sun, and darts out to grip Lou Ellen’s arm.

“Boo,” he whispers.

She shrieks at the top of her lungs, jumping three clean feet in the air. Coincidently, the boxes of medical supplies flicker, turning into a truly baffling amount of instant mashed potato boxes.

“I knew it!” Annabeth shouts.

On cue, all three doofuses turn to Nico, jeering and complaining about ‘ruining the fun’. Nico’s glare is ineffective on Doofus #1, but the other two can be cowed. He focuses on channelling the flames of hell to reflect in his eyes like his father showed him until they look away, muttering at the ground.

“We still don’t have any illicit substances,” Will insists, glaring right back. Nico sticks out his tongue. He crosses his eyes like a four year old. How immature, honestly. “So we’re just gonna take our stuff and —”

“Absolutely not, Golden Boy. Put that hand away.”

Wisely, Will draws slowly back from the boxes, tucking his hands in his pocket.

Annabeth stares, hard, at the three of them, flicking her dark eyes from the potatoes and back. The tips of her worn-out converse tap slowly on the packed grass, tip-tap-tip-tap, as they all squirm.

Understanding dawns on her quickly.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, for the strawberry plants.”

They squirm harder.

“Oh, you godsdamn bitches.”

“It would’ve been really funny,” Cecil mumbles, staring at the ground. “Rain making the ground turn into a sea of mashed potatoes. Like Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.”

“The only meatballs around here are the ones clogging up your skull!” Annabeth shouts, which doesn’t quite make sense but sounds clever coming from her anyway. “Who was gonna clean that up, huh? Magic?”

“I mean, probably,” Lou Ellen says, promptly shutting up at Annabeth’s glare.

“And you, Will! I cannot believe! Where is that responsibility you’re known for, huh?”

Will pouts. “I can be responsible and do fun things.”

“Fun, he says. I’m going to fucking kill you, how’s that for fun. The one day I’m left in charge, I cannot believe —”

“If it helps, it’s less about you and more about April Fools being tomorrow,” Cecil interjects tentatively. “Like, we were going to do this whether or not Chiron left.”

Annabeth glares darkly. “Of fucking course you were. It’s always you three, I swear to the gods. I should have known.”

“It’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you guys,” Nico adds. He smiles smugly at them, relishing in their rolled eyes and mocking hands. “Like, everyone expected this. You did this to yourselves, honestly.”

“Boo, you jag,” Lou Ellen protests. The other two knuckleheads joint in the booing, Will taking it an extra stop forward and blowing a raspberry, both thumbs pointing down. Nico responds with a wide grin and two middle fingers.

“Enough,” Annabeth says, rubbing her temples. “Extra chores, all three of you. Go help the cleaning harpies until sundown. And not another peep of complaint or I’ll have you on chores tomorrow, too.”

Without another glance at them, she turns around and walks away, muttering at least you caught it early at least you caught it early at least you caught it early over and over to herself.

“Pretty sure you guys have physical labour to do,” Nico says brightly when she disappears into the Big House. “I’d get started on that, if I were you.”

“Butthead,” Cecil mutters.

“Kiss-ass,” Lou Ellen agrees, making a face.

“Traitor,” Will whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he walks past.

Nico watches them go, standing guard over the boxes in case they try to come back for them.

He can’t help but think that they all look a little too jovial for having their plans ruined before they even started.

———

“Is he still looking?”

“No.”

“Okay, Phase Three, let’s go let’s go let’s go —”

———

Every time Nico wakes with the sun, he sets aside twenty minutes of his morning routine to curse Apollo, his father, Apollo again, Phanes, and Prometheus. In that order.

He does like the bonus of getting breakfast. Usually he sleeps through it and has to hope Will saved him coffee cake, which he does, every time, because he wants to bribe his way into Nico’s affections. But there is something to be said about camp coffee cake when it is still warm, crumbly on the top and soft on the inside. It is a rare and occasionally worth-it treat, and on his bleary walk to the dining pavilion, Nico tries to keep this in the forefront of his mind. Fresh coffee cake. Fresh coffee. Fresh fruit. And Will, probably, not that seeing him is worth getting up early or anything. (So what that he gets all excited and energetic when he sees Nico up in the morning. If anything it’s embarrassing for him.)

For once, he’s actually early enough that there are very few people already at breakfast. He sees most of the Athena kids, still half-asleep over their mugs, and pretty much every camper under the age of eleven. A few head counsellors, too, watching out for the little ones or catching up on a rare moment of quiet. Nico makes a beeline for the breakfast spread, cutting a slice of coffee cake to leave on the platter and putting the rest of it on his plate. He puts a single strawberry in the middle of it so no one can accuse him of being unhealthy, then ambles over to the Apollo table.

“Neeks? Where’re you going?”

Nico pauses. He shifts his plate to one hand, rubbing at his bleary eyes. He looks at the Apollo table. He counts one, two, three heads — Kayla, Austin, and…Cecil?

“Nico? You good, babes?”

He turns, slowly, to face the voice. Picking at a plate full of pineapple, next to Reika Onason, Lou Ellen's sister, is Will.

“I know mornings are hard for you, but you’re meant to eat at your table,” he teases. “Come sit, doofus. Unless you’re taking advantage of Chiron’s absence to make friends elsewhere, I guess, but it seems unlike you.”

“You’re — what’re you — what?“ Nico says dumbly, struggling to reconcile the imagine in front of him.

For some reason, Will is eating his breakfast at the Hecate table.

And that is not all.

For some reason, his camp shirt does not say head medic. For some reason, he is wearing black jeans. For some reason, dozens of Celestial bronze rings adorn his fingers, carved with sigils. For some reason, his hair is clipped back, and there is black eyeliner around his bright blue eyes, and his nails are painted darker than Nico’s, and he is sitting at the Hecate table.

“What are you doing?”

“Having…breakfast,” Will says slowly. His lips turn down in concern. “Nico, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! It’s — you’re the one acting weird!”

Will and Reika exchange a look.

“Maybe you should go see Cecil,” Will suggests carefully. “Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe you hit your head —”

Nico looks desperately back at the Apollo table. They watch him strangely now, too, and after a second Cecil gets up from his — Will’s — seat, and walks over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, impish expression almost serious. “You look pale, Nico.”

“I’m worried,” Will says. “He’s acting — confused, Cece, maybe there’s a —”

“I’m not confused,” Nico scowls. “You two are — doing something.” He gestures vaguely between them. “As revenge for yesterday.”

Will snorts. “What, the potatoes? Don’t let Lou hear you discredit her like that. If you think she’d plan some revenge prank on you this early, you don’t know her at all.”

Nico’s head starts to hurt. He sets down his plate, rubbing his temples. Why would Lou Ellen be so bothered by that? Why isn’t she here, with her sister? What the hell is going on?

“Both of you — cut it out. Whatever dumbass prank you’re pulling is just stupid.”

“Did I hear something about a prank?” Bounding over from the camp store, arms laden with contraband junk food, is Lou Ellen, smiling brightly. “Whatever it is, I want in!”

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back.” Will makes grabby hands at the pile. She tosses him a pack of twizzlers off the top, rolling her eyes as he tears into like he didn’t just polish off two and a half entire pineapples and three bowls of oatmeal. “I was going through withdrawal.”

“I’m not helping you when your stomach cramps up,” Cecil promises, snorting. His eyes follow the candy ropes in their harried journey towards Will's gaping maw. “You can sit in your misery.”

“Bleh bleh bleh.”

Nico narrows his eyes at them. Clearly, they’re all in on this — bit, or whatever it is. It’s a little too coordinated to be a quickly-planned revenge prank. They must have had a backup to the potatoes, although a pretty weak one. Unless they somehow managed to bribe the entire camp into agreeing to act along with their dumbassery, and Nico knows none of them can come even close to affording that, then all it takes is one person on Nico’s side before their little ruse is broken.

“It’s too early for this,” Nico says, interrupting their bickering. He picks up his breakfast and trudges off to his actual table, ignoring Will’s pouting. He has to brush the dust off the bench, but it’s worth it to avoid whatever headache the three of them will inevitably give him.

Coffee cake, save him.

———

“It’s not looking good, Katara —”

“I actually like that one.”

“— he’s totally onto us.”

“Just stick to the plan. Power onto Phase Four.”

———

To Nico's great satisfaction, many other people do double takes as they walk into breakfast.

As the Athena table, minus Annabeth, who is likely putting out a literal or metaphorical fire somewhere, wakes up, they start to notice the strange seating situation. It starts with Malcolm, who stares at Cecil in a lab coat with the same expression Nico has seen him wear when attempting to solve the Hodge conjecture. He leans over to murmur something in his brother’s ear, and then all seven of them are looking between the Hecate, Apollo, and mostly-empty Hermes tables with suspicious frowns and furrowed brows.

Nico catches Will’s eye, smirking.

Game’s up, he mouths. Will only shrugs innocently at him.

It’s Annabeth who finally puts a stop to the nonsense, striding in at the tail end of the rest of the slowly-waking crowd. She has grass in her hair and murder in her eyes.

Excellent.

“I swear to the gods, I just dealt with you three,” she snaps, raising her voice so they all can hear her. Coincidentally, it attracts the attention of every other nosy person at camp, which is everybody. “Just ‘cause Chiron’s not here doesn’t mean the rules go out the window. Back to your tables, let’s move.”

“We’re at our tables,” Cecil protests. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Annabeth takes a very deep, very long breath. She has a whole day of this, too. How unfortunate for her.

“Maybe because you are full of shit, Markowitz. Go sit with the rest of you troublemakers.”

Kayla clears her throat. “Annabeth, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her thin eyebrows are drawn tightly together, lips turned down into a frown. “Cecil is exactly where he’s supposed to be.”

That gives her pause.

That gives a lot of people pause. Nico sets down his coffee cake.

“Cecil’s at the Apollo table,” Annabeth says slowly.

Kayla meets her gaze, face creased in concern. “...Yeah, I know.”

“Cecil is a Hermes kid, Kayla.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I think so, too. But as much as I would absolutely love to trade my brother —”

“Hey!”

“He’s a healer, Annabeth. He got claimed and everything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Annabeth says, dragging her hand down her face. “Kayla, I don’t know what they paid you —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” With a clatter of plates, Will clambers on the table, clapping his hands. “Your attention please, everyone!”

Without so much as a pause, Will claps his hands together. Immediately, a ball of green light expands from them, flashing almost too bright to look at. Nico watches, slack jawed, as he tosses it into the air, making it explode into a thousand little sparkles, descending gently over everyone’s heads. The little kids laugh in delight, reaching for them like they’re bubbles.

“Does that settle things?” he demands.

Silence rings for one, two, three seconds.

The camp erupts.

Dozens of voices overlap, all shouting over each other at once. Hands gesture wildly at Will, at Cecil, at Lou — trying to piece things together. Will is their head medic — isn’t he? Then why is Cecil wearing scrubs? And why is Lou chilling at the Hermes’ table, chatting with Julia over a bowl of cereal? Something isn’t right.

“Just — everybody quiet!”

It takes a minute, but everyone settles down, sitting back in their seats and fidgeting, looking around with half-confused, half-amused smiles. Like they’re laughing at a joke they’re half convinced is real.

“Who thinks this —” Annabeth makes some vaguely indicative movement at Will, Lou, and Cecil — “is weird? Raise your hand.”

Almost all hands go up. Only a handful stay down — Will, Lou Ellen, and Cecil, of course, but the entirety of the Hermes cabin stays oddly silent, as do Kayla, Austin, Reika, and, shockingly, Clovis.

“Stoll,” Nico demands before Annabeth gets the chance, “you’re buying this?”

“Buying what?” Connor says after a moment. He shrugs, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m just chillin’ with my sister, Nico. Cecil is great, but he hasn’t been in our cabin since he got claimed.”

The rest of the Hermes kids nod in agreement. Whispers filter through the tables — first Kayla, now all the Hermes kids?

“If I may,” interjects Clovis, yawning. “There’s an…energy, around.”

“Gods, yeah, I was feeling it too,” Will agrees frantically. “Almost a…blanket, of some kind. Something heavy and stifling.”

Malcolm looks over with interest. “You think we got cursed, or something? The whole camp?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe? Can’t think of any other reason you guys are remembering things weird.”

“It could be a god’s interference,” Nyssa suggests, raising her voice to be heard from the Hephaestus table. “I mean, that’s what happened to Jason and Leo and Piper, right? Their memories got fudged.”

“Yeah, but camp-wide…”

“Could still be possible.”

“There’s no way! They’re fucking with us, come on —”

It doesn’t take long for the arguing to start up again. This time, though, more people looked spooked — more people look to the dumbass trio themselves, eyes wide like they’re looking at ghosts.

Like they’re believing this shit.

Nico scowls, shoving away from his table and stomping over to his boyfriend.

“You are so full of shit I can smell you from across the room,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He wiggles his fingers in Nico’s direction. They spark with the same green light. “Want me to switch your eyes and ears again?”

That sounds horrifying. “Try it and die.”

“Alright, grouchy.” He holds his hands up, stepping back from Nico’s glare. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Alarm bells go off in Nico’s head. This is more than just strange, it’s wrong. And not just ‘cause he looks different — so what if he looks different. Will could shave his head bald and tattoo himself purple, Nico wouldn’t care.

But his aura.

The essence of Will, that Nico has grown so used to be stopped noticing. The quiet, warmth strength, the feeling of a soft breeze in the summer, of walking past a window in the late afternoon, of smokey August campfires and scratchy guitar, is gone. Is different, rather; almost blocked. It feels like a cloud blowing over the sun, making everything warped and off and shadowy.

Something is afoot. Something is wrong, and not just some vague, made-up spell like the Trickster Trio would have the camp believe. Something like smoke and mirrors, something shadier.

He watches Will fall into step next to Cecil, ducking away from his ruffling hand. He frowns.

If there’s one thing Nico can do, it’s wade through the shadows.

———

next

[richea]

[Translation] Kratos of the Expiation: Prologue-Chapter 1 part 1

This begins my efforts to translate the Tales of Symphonia novel, Shokuzai no Kratos, written by the game's scenario writer, Takumi Miyajima.

Some disclaimers:

I have other projects I'm working on alongside this, so I won't make any promise to get this translated in a timely manner, or that I'll finish it at all (though in a perfect world, I would love to; I had a lot of fun translating this first part!). If I do the whole thing, I'll share my original document, which will have an edited version of the text you'll read below. Think of this as a first draft.

I've never translated a novel before nor am I much of a creative writer, so I apologize in advance if it's an awkward read. I focused heavily on making sure Miyajima's words got across as intended, but given Japanese novels are written differently from English ones, I don't want to put too many words in her mouth here.

The book has 7 chapters and a prologue and epilogue, but as each chapter is really long (about 40 pages each), I'll be sharing the book in its smaller, also numbered parts. So, this is the prologue and part 1/37. My word processor says this alone is around 3300 words.

I want to give a huge thank you to Kevan33 for providing me with scans for this, which allowed me to translate it so much easier.

Without further ado, here's the summary and character introductions, and then the story itself!

Summary

Long ago, Mithos, the hero, brought about the end of the Ancient War in the Holy Ground of Kharlan. As a result, the world was split in two―as Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. However, the worlds exist akin to a waning hourglass, with one of them prospering and the other in decline. It has been 4,000 years since the end of the Ancient War, and now Sylvarant is on the path to ruin, as it has run low on its life-sustaining mana. It is in these circumstances that Kratos will descend unto Sylvarant and have a fateful, unexpected reunion! This is a side story which tells Kratos’ side of the story, who was a key character in the original game. The feelings he’s hidden in his heart will finally be revealed to all!

Cast

Kratos Aurion: This story’s protagonist. A traveling mercenary and remarkable swordsman who was hired to protect Colette on her journey. His true identity is one of the Four Heroes who ended the Ancient War 4,000 years ago, as well as an angel of Cruxis―one of the Four Seraphim.

Lloyd Irving: A young man from the village of Iselia. His grades in school are poor, but he’s quick-witted and good at making the right decision on the fly. Due to certain circumstances, he accompanies Colette on her Journey of World Regeneration.

Yggdrasill: The leader of Cruxis and one of the members of the Four Seraphim. He is Mithos the Hero who brought about the end of the Ancient War, as well as the person who split the world in two, orchestrating this system the world currently runs by.

Yuan Ka-Fai: Leader of the Renegades, which opposes Cruxis. He was one of the Four Heroes and is one of the Four Seraphim.

Martel Yggdrasill: Yggdrasill’s sister. She died 4,000 years ago when humans betrayed and killed her.

Genis Sage: A best friend of Lloyd and Colette. One of the smartest people in his village. He uses magic.

Raine Sage: Genis’ sister. She’s the only teacher in Iselia, so everyone calls her Professor.

Colette Brunel: Sylvarant’s Chosen. She leaves her hometown to go on the Journey of World Regeneration.

Zelos Wilder: Tethe’alla’s Chosen. He hangs around with Lloyd’s group as a spy for Cruxis.

Prologue

The boy introduced himself as Lloyd Irving.

We met in the small, remote village of Iselia. Back when the Sylvarant Dynasty held its rule, it was a prospering village deemed as the headquarters of the Church of Martel. Now it’s but a desolate village, with such a tale only to be seen as an attraction at best.

There were a number of things that led to this state. What brought about the fall of the Sylvarant Dynasty was a decrease in the world’s life-sustaining mana. This led to environmental changes, poor crops, and eventually poverty to the people. Iselia was not the only place that was affected by these changes. The land of Sylvarant―once famed as a kingdom of its own right―slowly slipped down the path of desolation.

What spurred this series of events was a group known as the Desians. The organization, rumored to consist primarily of half-elves, is known to kidnap people from all over the world and place them in institutions known as human ranches. While it’s unknown to the common folk what takes place in these institutions, fear is struck in the hearts of those who see the Desians, as it is fabled by the Church of Martel that the end of the world is coming should they lurk around.

Yes; Sylvarant is on the path of desolation. Within these circumstances, there exists the promised land of Iselia, which is the only place in which salvation may be brought about. The hope for this world is being fostered within Iselia’s land.

The sound of grass being trampled from far away could be heard. It was such a quiet sound, unable to be picked up by human ears.

Kratos Aurion slowly opened his eyes. Deep within the forest, the distant shadows of the leaves shook.

Are you coming, Lloyd?

Thinking of him, Kratos found himself oddly content. A sense of relief washed over him, that finally, the end was approaching. He felt elated, though could not place a finger on why. He had regained his sense of hope, which he had been convinced was long gone. However, the important step in achieving said hope was yet to come.

The footsteps grew louder. At this, all of the forest dwellers collectively fled in response. They could tell that within this tranquil forest, something big was about to happen.

The air seemed to turn tense as a mass of figures approached. A group of eight―all being different ages and genders―approached with stern looks on their faces. The one leading the pact was Lloyd.

The boy’s name seemed ordinary enough, but to Kratos it held deeper meaning. “Irving” was the surname of his late wife. “Lloyd” was the name of the child Kratos thought to have lost.

Lloyd and his friends were on a journey to carry out what they believed to be world salvation.

I wonder if they've brought about salvation yet?

No. The end hasn’t even begun yet.

Kratos rose and approached Lloyd and his friends, in order to see their “salvation” through to the end.

Chapter 1

Part 1 of 6

It’s a wonder just how many people would believe it if they were told the world had been split into two. Many would likely laugh it off, claiming it to be a fairy tale. The land seems unsifted, and there’s no crevices to be seen after all. Nobody would dare suggest the moon in the sky is actually another planet, would they?

Even a fairy tale would require an allegory to hold its basis.

The truth of the matter is that the world had been split in two. The dimensional rift had been cut through, pushing the planets into an orbit. The two worlds exist on a plane together, never to see or touch the other. Despite this, the two worlds do in fact coexist alongside each other. One of these worlds is, for convenience, known as Sylvarant. This world was ruled by the old Sylvarant Kingdom and its allied nations. The other is Tethe’alla. Like with Sylvarant, this world too was ruled by the kingdom of Tethe’alla, and got its name as such.

“These two worlds, as well as our planet of Derris-Kharlan, are ruled by Lord Yggdrasill.”

The angel known as Adol was explaining the structure of Cruxis to a group of newly awakened angels. Kratos was watching them through a monitor, and shook his head exhaustedly.

This was a ritual he had seen far too many times at this point. Over the course of 4,000 years, here on Derris-Kharlan, he had watched as a number of living beings known as angels were born. No, perhaps that’s not the right way to describe it―he had watched as many people had undergone a transformation to turn into the lifeless beings known as angels.

Thankfully, the number wasn’t too high. A tool known as the Cruxis Crystal was required to turn people into angels, of which there weren’t many to spare. With them being so scarce and precious, only selected individuals were allowed to become angels. From there, the angels would undergo special training and become soldiers, fighting to support Cruxis.

Kratos was one of those angels himself. He had a different position than the other angels, however. He was famed as one of the Four Seraphim, the highest rank within Cruxis, and operated directly under the world’s leader―Mithos Yggdrasill.

“Through the Church of Martel, our job is to guide the people of both Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. This does not only apply to half-elves, but extends to elves and humans alike. We will guide them down the proper path, to one day make our Age of Lifeless Beings a reality. A great weight lies upon all of your shoulders.”

Not a single person was moved by Adol’s words. At first, lifeless beings―rather, angels―have their emotions almost entirely suppressed. It takes great strength and time to gain control over those emotions once more. There are some who go the rest of their lives never regaining theirs.

“Lord Kratos.”

An angel appeared on his projector―one with white wings. Kratos instantly identified him as an inexperienced angel. When a person turns into an angel, numerous functions of their body undergo a change. One of these is adjusting the distribution of mana in the body to produce wings, allowing them to pull them out as needed in order to fly. However, if one uses their wings too much, their bodily mana materializes the wings and makes it a permanent part of the body. One of the key functions of turning into an angel is being able to control various bodily functions, though the reality of it is that many are unable to control them properly. A large number of the angels within Cruxis have wings like the man Kratos sees here.

“What is it?”

“Lord Yggdrasill has summoned you.”

“...Understood.”

The messenger angel bowed and disappeared. Kratos turned off the video on his monitor and left his office.

A throne of darkness, suspended in the empty sky. What you’ll find in the deepest part of Derris-Kharlan―far beyond Welgaia, where Cruxis’ angels live―is Vinheim. This was where the castle of Yggdrasill, the man who split the worlds into two and ruler of both, resided.

As Kratos stepped towards the throne, Yggdrasill leaned on the armrest as a calm smile crawled onto his face.

“You’ve come, Kratos.”

That languid voice of his was the same as ever. It was the same as it was when Kratos defected 70 years ago. Though the light in his green eyes shone differently than normal.

“Kratos Aurion, reporting for duty.”

Kratos stepped closer to the throne and kneeled in front of it. This exchange of formalities was something he had done in submission to the man over the course of the past 15 years.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I called you here today to talk about our past.”

At this, Kratos’ leader―rather, the leader of the entire world―Yggdrasill suddenly rose to his feet.

“Do you remember the day we first met, Kratos?”

As Kratos nodded, the man famed as a ruler effortlessly changed his form. His once tall figure shrunk in the blink of an eye, and his limbs shrunk with it.

“It was in the imperial capital of Tethe’alla. I was still a child, who knew no fear and who truly believed in the goodness of humanity. Since the worlds had yet to be split, the two countries ravaged in a revolting, long-lasting war.”

What stood before Kratos wasn’t the beautiful young man who was a ruler. It was a petite 14-year-old boy.

Seeing this transformation always horrified Kratos. What he feared wasn’t Yggdrasill, but instead the lifeless beings known as Cruxis Crystals, which allowed the body to transform in such a way.

When the elves in ancient times moved from Derris-Kharlan to the earth, they first planted the Giant Kharlan Tree―the source of mana―and then brought along many crafts and techniques. One of those was the material known as Exspheres. However, over the course of 5,000 years, the knowledge of their intended use and what they were originally made for became lost to time. All that was left was the knowledge that they were advanced beings. They became known as a thing that could protect its user and elevate their abilities to the maximum. Such a thing was then turned into weapons of combat during the Kharlan Wars, which occurred 5,000 years ago.

What brewed was an intermittent yet vicious conflict between Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. In order to get the upper hand, both sides developed magitechnology based weapons, and research developments led to Exspheres finding new use cases. Cruxis Crystals were developed in order to allow soldiers who equipped them to become even stronger and turn into angels. Those who equipped Cruxis Crystals would undergo a physical, battle-ready transformation into an angel, allowing them to also manipulate their hearing, vision, and sense of pain at will. On top of this, those with a strong compatibility with the crystals would be able to control their internal clock at will.

The ability to change one’s internal clock―what a terrifying thing that was. It almost felt as if people had reached into god’s domain. Yes, the boy with the innocent-looking smile on his face that currently stood in front of him had violated god’s domain.

“What’s wrong, Kratos?”

Yggdrasill tilted his head at Kratos, whose face was warped with agony.

“Watching me change form surely isn’t that surprising. Or does it hurt to see me in this form?”

Kratos cast his eyes downward.

It’d be a lie to deny such a thing. The young boy in front of him now looked exactly like the Mithos Yggdrasill he had traveled with so long ago. Some part of Kratos tried hard to separate the two in his head―Mithos, the young boy who worked tirelessly to save the world and was famed as a hero, and Mithos, the young man who fell into despair and cast away his humanity in favor of playing a poor imitation at god.

This was pure sophistry. Kratos knew this. However, it’s all he could manage to give himself even a little peace of mind. He didn’t need to slip further and make any more mistakes.

“I see. So it does hurt you. If you really feel that way, you surely won’t betray me again, right?”

He said this in a fondly-remembered tone of voice, and it felt like something was stabbing Kratos’ heart.

“Back then, you resigned as a knight for the Tethe’alla Kingdom and joined up with us. It was you who said you’d make a place where all of us half-elves could live in peace, and that to that end, your power was ours to use however fit.”

“...Indeed I did say that.”

“Then surely you know where I’m going with this. The Age of Lifeless Beings I’m creating will rid all of the discrimination half-elves face. It’ll be a utopia where everyone can live in peace.”

Facing the ground, Kratos debated on whether or not to voice the words that were forming deep in his throat. Mithos paid it no heed and continued on.

“Soon, Sylvarant’s Chosen will receive the oracle.”

At this, Kratos snapped his head up. Yggdrasill smiled at him like an angel. Well, he was an angel, in a literal sense.

“This Chosen of Regeneration is a 99.999999999% match. This is even closer than the Chosen Spiritua was. This time, we’ll succeed. My sister will finally be revived.”

The revival of Yggdrasill’s sister―Martel Yggdrasill―held a lot of meaning. The reason the world was still split into two was all for Martel’s sake. One huge mistake made 4,000 years ago changed everything.

When the elves planted the Giant Kharlan Tree on this world, mana brought forth lifeforms and completely changed the nature of the planet. Mana was used to power magic and magitechnology, and before long, mana itself had been overused. This overuse led to the fountain of all life, the Giant Kharlan Tree, withering.

“We were only ever fighting to save the Giant Kharlan Tree. We got our hands on the Great Seed, and were going to plant it to bring forth a new tree. But of course, humans wanted to hog the mana all for themselves, and they killed my sister, who was protecting the seed...”

Mithos’ tranquil face warped with hatred and disgust.

“But I’m so nice that I’m allowing those vermin to live. In fact, I’m such a nice guy, I’m even inviting them into my Age of Lifeless Beings. I’ve given them the compromise of a lifetime, Kratos. Martel exists as part of the Great Seed. The Great Seed is Martel herself. If I was any meaner, I would never share the mana from the Great Seed with those disgusting humans. But I’ve gone ahead and split the world into two, so that they can share the mana that comes from it.”

“Thanks to your system, one world is always suffering, while the other is prospering.”

“That’s what the Chosen is for. The Journey of Regeneration is one that reverses the flow of mana. When one world weakens, the mana from that world flows to the other. It’s like an hourglass. This is all we can do to keep our precious supply of mana from running out completely. You said you were on board with this, did you not?”

“Yes, as a temporary solution―”

“Oh, and it is temporary, I assure you. I already promised you―when my sister is revived, I’ll return the world back to normal. When she has a new body, there will be no need to protect the Great Seed as I am now. I’ll reunite the worlds into one and germinate the seed, allowing the Giant Kharlan Tree to grow. Then, my discrimination-free Age of Lifeless Beings will be born on earth...”

Mithos sat down on his throne, still in his child form. The throne was far too large for such a tiny body. Realizing this filled Kratos with a strange sense of sorrow.

“This Journey of Regeneration is not allowed to fail. If it does, we’ll lose the vessel for Martel’s soul, and this will spring us into another indefinite time frame of trying to make another. If that happens, the joined world you wish for so badly will be a long, long way off. So nobody is allowed to get in our way. Not even those rats.”

“You refer to the Renegades, I presume?”

“Yes. They camouflage themselves as Desians and do all sorts of things. You know of them?”

“I’ve received reports of them infiltrating all of the human ranches and stealing Exspheres.”

“Such a slacker, aren’t you, Kratos? Rats are to be exterminated.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. What they do matters little to me. Their tendency to kill Chosens is pesky, though. Therefore, I want you to escort this next Chosen for me. Protect her, guide her, and help her through the angel transformation as smoothly as possible.”

“I’m the overseer of Sylvarant, though. If I were to go on the Journey of Regeneration, I wouldn’t be around to have Pronyma put the Desians into motion.”

“I will handle that myself. Protecting the Chosen is our top priority. Surely you know this. Following my orders is what will allow you to see your dreams come true.”

To return the world to its proper state―this required fulfilling Mithos’ wish of reviving Martel, and it was the correct path to take. No; perhaps he had just lost the will to choose another path. Kratos had no means of defying such a path.

[vingvks]

Mikey headcanons.

(My perspective, opinion on Mikey headcanons)

(Also any ideas for characters?)

MIGHT BE SPOILERS! ⚠️

Mix of female and male reader

(Kanto or kantou manji idfk and idfc)

Might be bad grammar because I’m naturally a fast typer.

Fluff

-I could see Mikey being clingy (Toman Mikey and maybe even Manila and Bonten Mikey but in more private places with just you and him.)

-Toman Mikey’s probably very defensive and protective of you, just like with baji. (Ifykyk)

-if your in a bad mood he might give you a couple nibbles of his dorayaki, only if your sad but he’s definitely stingy.

-messy sleeper. I feel like sleeping in the same bed with him is a mess. He definitely will have his arms and legs everywhere. I feel like he would randomly wrap legs with you.

-Your relationship would probably be private for safety reasons even though he would still let you around Toman but your his so called close “friend” similar to his relationship with Draken.

-Petty, not petty in like a bad way though. For example if you forget to get him some dorayaki when your coming to see him he’ll do something small but petty as revenge.

-only sleeps in cold beds. He likes the cold breeze in his room.

-he’s like a woman on her period when you don’t bring him the snacks when he asked you to.

Angst

-when Draken died his mental health got even worse. I believe Draken used to baby Mikey because he could never get out of bed on his own after what happened with Shinichiro so you’d have to be the one to help him with simple tasks like helping him get up and care for him because he won’t do it for himself.

-Bonten Mikey is a light sleeper so if you move a lot he’ll definitely get pissed and hurt your feelings by saying something insensitive, he will never hit you though.

-Bonten Mikey has insomnia on certain nights, he’ll lay in bed with you until you fall asleep and then get up to do something else while your sleeping.

-Manila Mikey would ruin plans with you to go out and find takemichi. (Ifykyk)

-Bonten Mikey would definitely talk shit about Bonten executives to make you hate them as much as he does.

-Once kanto manji arc started Mikey became possessive. Like you cant talk to certain people and he needs to know where you are at all times. This is because Mikey feels as if those around him that he loves are bound to die, he feels as if he’s bad luck. If you were to not tell him where you were he would send members out to find you and dark impulse might even happen, as in he might hurt or kill someone in the meanwhile.

-long hair Manila mikey will come to your house randomly to hang out meanwhile acting as if he doesn’t have his victims blood on him.

-all Mikey’s (except toman and kanto) are pretty merciless. That’s included killing a child or animal if needed.

-Ever since Kanto manji arc Mikey tends to get easily frustrated or pissed even though he keeps a blank face. His eyes say it all.

-sometimes Mikey might snap at you because of dark impulse and then realize what he did. This would result in him doing something such as starving himself, locking himself in a room somewhere or just straight up harming himself as self punishment.

(This is actually a headcanon because of black dragon arc where Mikey purposely let taiju hit him as a punishment to himself and when he let Draken beat him up because he couldn’t protect Emma. Basically letting others hurt him because he believes he deserves it.)

-Manila Mikey has manic episodes sometimes. I feel like he would be delusional at times and hallucinate.

-Bonten Mikey cannot sleep without you, he doesn’t like the thought of you being somewhere else while he’s laying down.

-Manila Mikey is manipulative time to time to get what something he really wants. When he doesn’t get it regardless he’ll loose his cool and get violent, Mainly from dark impulse.

-Keep a close eye on Bonten Mikey and Manila Mikey when you can. Atleast text Bonten Mikey four times an hour to check on him. But don’t text him on busy days. If he doesn’t answer your text call him on a busy day, call him.

-Mental disorder for sure.

-bad communication skills. Whenever you call him out he’ll say something like “You knew what you were getting into.”

-puts you and those he truly loves before himself. Selfless person but also very selfish when it comes to people he doesn’t care about.

-Bonten mikey has fantasies of having a double suicide with you. So that he’ll be free from his suffering with you still right beside him in his heart. You’d both probably end up dying with each other.

-very possessive and jealous. To the point it can be agonizing. Only if you really put him in his place (in any way..) he’ll stop for a bit.

-Manila mikey is usually smiling but as soon as he gets angry his whole persona turns upside down.

-Bonten Mikey has scars all along his body but hides it with sleeves etc.

-Long hair Manila mikey does a lot more gore killing then you’d expect.

-toxic asf

-yandere (toman mikey doesn’t kill others however other timeline Mikey’s wouldn’t hesitate for you.)

-They’d probably treat you like shit at times but go spiraling when you threaten leaving them, despite knowing that you can’t.

-I feel as if at times they’d occasionally victimize themselves, only till you hit them with a reality check.

-They are guilt tripping at times, but I feel they’d do it to get your attention, unhealthy obsession.

Smut

Dominant (mixed slight submissive in this too but yeah…)

-Long hair Manila mikey would wanna do some crazy shit sex wise, despite him never actually doing it for you sake.

-Bonten Mikey is definitely rough but quiet. In a irritated mood? That’s fine, he’ll take it out on you sexually.

-kanto manji Mikey is also pretty quiet but he starts off slow and then gets faster. He really doesn’t care, he’ll fuck you while other Kanto manji members are near.

-Manila Mikey does a lot of foreplay. Like thigh and neck kissing and slowly making his way up. If you were to do it to him he’d be ashamed of himself but then again he loves it.

-I feel as if long hair Manila Mikey and short hair Manila Mikey would do foreplay for a long time until you get desperate enough to beg him for more than just that.

-Manila Mikey groans a lot and whines occasionally. I feel like he’s slightly louder and whines often when he’s in the submissive role.

-Kanto manji Mikey doesn’t have a high-sex drive so he’ll just rail or ride you for your sake (he still loves it though) . But every other Mikey timeline do it for themselves.

-only time Kanto manji Mikey is in the mood is when he needs to relive his anger. (Either topping you or bottoming for you, whatever he wants more.)

-Every Mikey timeline is controlling in the sex department. (They can still be a controlling bottom until you put him in his place.)

-long hair Manila Mikey only fucks to get his mind off things. He’ll go all night, depending on how long you go the louder he gets.

-he’ll praise you just so your body can react.

-his hips and thrust are hard. Prepare for painful aching the next day.

-Thigh kissing kink.

-choking kink.

-lots of hickeys on collarbone and neck.

-emotional sex depending on how he’s feeling.

-passionate sex if you’ve pleased him or impressed him in anyway.

-he definitely leaves bruises on your hips, he keeps a firm tight grip.

-I feel like Manila Mikey would call you “doll”

-Manila Mikey is playful and unserious at first but when he starts to feel the pleasure he gets quiet and rough.

-this might suck a little but if you piss them off sometimes he’ll become controlling and only go for his own orgasm, leaving you half done unless you beg for it.

Submissive

-Bonten Mikey was not a big fan when he realized he was more submissive to you. As long as you take him somewhere very private he’ll be as loud as he wants. Other than that he doesn’t fuck in places where people are near.

-Kanto manji Mikey is loud. Deadass don’t know why but I feel like he’s mumbles curse words while you rail or ride him, he’s gets a satisfaction of relief. (depending on your preference and gender)

-Manila Mikey, his ego was lowkey hurt but if you go fast he’ll only care about sex in that one moment.

-Kanto manji Mikey doesn’t like fucking in open places. You have to be somewhere private and far away from gang members. As long as he isn’t limping or aching when your done he’ll pretend nothing happened and go on about his day.

-Bonten Mikey whispers. He’ll whisper if he wants it slower or faster but if you don’t slow down sometimes he’ll get loud.

-if you make Manila Mikey cry in the middle of sex he’ll get submissive and emotional. He’s a pretty crier.

-Manila mikey likes to ride. He’s louder that way.

-I feel like in response to his trauma he’d hate being degraded severely while bottoming, only occasionally, he’d probably prefer quiet sex or you praising him.

-Both Bonten and Kanto manji Mikey grip sheets tightly. They might even tear the sheets.

-best place you can get any timeline Mikey submissive is bending over a desk or table.

-Manila Mikey has a praising kink, you praise him and he’ll praise you back. He will ever admit how much it makes his heart race.

-Bonten Mikey breathing gets erratic when you praise him.

-All Mikey timelines hate the thought of getting caught being in a submissive position. I genuinely think they would kill or threaten anyone who were to see a damn thing.

-Bonten Mikey is disrespectful until you fuck him dry. He’d probably be judging and talking shit nonchalantly then get all quiet when you prove him wrong.

-Neither of the Mikey timelines talk much in the middle of sex beside Manila mikey. I believe that the rest of the Mikey timelines beside Manila mikey are pillow princesses when on a bed because they’re too embarrassed to see the look on your face while your fucking them. (Either riding or railing them)

-fucking any long hair Manila mikey or any adult Mikey with with his long hair out and free is top tier. He’s pretty with his hair out and messy.

-Punishment sex for any of them is a turn on but they’ll never admit. Nothing is more embarrassing to Mikey than you making him beg for it.

[deramin2]

(Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 1)

I don't have any expectations for wherever FCG will stay dead or come back somehow because I've spent 9 years watching Sam Riegel totally subvert my expectations in a narratively compelling way.

But I will say that "FCG shouldn't come back because it would lessen the impact of a narratively perfect death" is EXACTLY what people were saying about Percy's first death after C1 E68. (The first televised character death.) If he had to have an end, it was a fitting end that, while tragic, neatly tied up the thesis of the story. Would Taliesin even want him to come back? With Whitestone saved and Ripply killed, was there even much left to explore?

They found Percy's death letter telling them he loved them all but please bury him in a ditch with all his designs so he could be forgotten by history. He was so sorry for all he'd done and he could never make it up.

But they tried anyway, having to wrest Percy's soul away from Orthax. The players knew what they said in the resurrection ritual was meaningful along with their rolls. But they did not know they were also having to convince Taliesin. If they'd tried to appeal to Percy's soul in the wrong way, dice be damned, Percy was going to refuse. What we got was really meaningful and powerful roleplay (especially from Marisha and Laura) that did convince Percy along with successful rolls.

Being brought back did not at all weaken Percy's own sacrifice or the impact of his death. It forced him to confront everything he'd been running from. It forced him to see that there were people who loved him and would not let him throw himself away for them. They didn't want a martyr, they wanted their friend. It utterly changed the trajectory of his character.

There's only four ways I can think of on the table to bring FCG back:

True Resurrection — Incredibly expensive high level spell. They would have to find the materials as well as someone who both can and is willing to cast the spell in the middle of a war to stop a second Calamity. None of this would be easy. The ritual could still fail. FCG could decline to come back and the other players would not know that until they went to all the effort. The Raven Queen views True Resurrection as heresy which is why they didn't try it on Vax. How would a second chance change them?

Reincarnate — Lower level and cheaper spell. FCG would come back as a fleshy being instead of an Aeormaton. Would the experience live up to FCG's fantasies about it? How would it change them to realize they are truely alive, and always were, but are now also mortal? Reverse Veth story? Wild ass Pinocchio retelling? What does it mean to get a second chance but everything about you is different?

Wish — I think this would count as duplicating True Resurrection. High component cost and requires a high level magic user. (If it's duplicating a spiral there's no risk of no longer being able to cast Wish.)

Hag Deal — They do know a fatestitcher Hag who likes them and limes making deals even more. Orym may be able to just extend his existing deal. What are the consequences for the deal marker as well as FCG? Would the robit feel responsible for that person's fate? How would that affect how they feel about coming back and the meaning they need to make from it.

I don't think there's a right or best option because whatever we speculate on, the actual result will be full of meaning and very poignant. I can't imagine that Bell's Hells won't try to bring him back. They've lost so much already. They couldn't bring back Eshteross or Bertrand or Will & Derrig. They couldn't live with not even trying. Maybe their method works, maybe it doesn't. But at least they tried.

And if FCG does come back, they have to live with knowing that even though they saved their friends and put an end to Otohan, they also hurt their friends by treating themselves as disposable. They forced their friends to confront that each of them might have done the same and that's deeply unhealthy. It will change the character development tremendously.

My favorite film and play genre is where the protagonist dies (or nearly dies) (usually self-inflicted) at the beginning and has to journey through purgatory to find themselves again before they can return to the living. Films like Wristcutters: A Love Story (2006) or Castaway on the Moon (김씨 표류기 2009). Death matters because it reminds you to live. The journey is finding meaning in both life and death and coming back utterly changed.

[punkshort]

Listen

Summary: You and Joel explore an abandoned library and you get under each other's skin.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader, established relationship, set in the TWWW universe, no use of Y/N. (Can be read as stand alone, only backstory that needs to be known is Joel was once reader's boss but I included a small blurb about it to explain)

Warnings: language, smut (MDNI 18+), roleplay, dom/sub dynamic (very light, nothing extreme), dirty talk, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, creampie (don't do this, muy dangerous)

Word count: 5.7K

A/N: if anyone wants to be removed from the taglist, just shoot me a quick message or comment. I kept the same list from the main story but I don't know if you want to be included in the one-shots.

May 2006

"I could kill Tommy for tellin' you 'bout that place," Joel grumbled as he shoved food in your backpack. You lifted your head from the paper you were scrutinizing on your kitchen counter to look at him.

"Oh, come on. It's a quick trip, we'll be back around dinner," you told him, looking back down at your list.

Tommy and Joel had recently found a small, abandoned town in the mountains. One day, after they had come back from a supply run to pick over anything useful, Tommy mentioned at dinner that there was a library in town.

Joel had groaned and immediately buried his face in his hands the moment the words left Tommy's mouth. You had just been telling Joel that you and Carrie were looking for some textbooks, so the two of you got to work writing up any type of topic either of you could use for gardening and medicine.

He tried arguing with you, he tried begging you. He tried offering to do the trip himself, but nothing worked. You had told him he could either come with you and help carry the books back, or you would find someone else. Of course, he caved.

"Please, just gimme the list, I'll take care of it for you," he tried pleading once more, but you shook your head as you shouldered your backpack and shoved your handgun in the back of your pants.

"Joel, we talked about this," you said, swinging the door open and marching down the steps, heading towards the stables. It was early. The town was about a four hour ride away from Jackson. You wanted to get a move on so you could be back before dark.

"Hardly," he scoffed, catching up with you. "Didn't exactly come up with a compromise."

"Sure we did," you told him, turning the corner of your street. "The compromise was you coming with me."

He huffed and stayed quiet until you reached the stables. You always had this way of making him feel like he was in charge, but in reality, you ended up winning any disagreement you've ever had. He was grumbling to himself, wondering how on earth you managed to talk him into this when you turned and tossed him a bright smile over your shoulder with a wink, and he felt his heart flutter. Oh, that's how.

Carl already had a horse saddled up for you when you arrived. You expressed your gratitude, especially considering how early it was, and led the mare out of the barn. Joel shoved his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, settling in before reaching an arm down to help you up. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave the back of his neck a quick kiss before you pressed the side of your face into his shoulder blades.

He sighed as he led the horse through the gates and towards the woods. He didn't used to be this soft. People used to do what he asked, when he asked, and they thanked him for it. You were never one of those people, though. From day one, you stood your ground and never let him shake you. Even his own brother dreaded Joel's outbursts at work. Men used to cower at him on job sites when Joel demanded answers on why something was done wrong, or why a job was taking longer than it should. He was never a people pleaser, and he didn't care. He got the job done, he got results and he made a lot of money doing it.

Then you were hired a few months before the outbreak and turned his world upside down. He found himself going out of his way to try to cross paths with you. He looked forward to the monthly meetings he had with your department just so he could catch glimpses of you throughout the hour. Then, there were the few times you found yourself in his office, delivering reports or checks for him. Those moments lingered with him for days, itching until the next time he got you alone again.

It all worked out in the end, but there was a big misunderstanding that drove a wedge between you. Before you had a chance to work it out, the outbreak hit, and you both ended up traveling across the country together, seeking safety while trying to stay alive. He often wished he had a chance to have a normal relationship with you, one that didn't include life or death scenarios, but one that included traveling, theater, dinners and drinks. If only he hadn't wasted so much time before.

"You're so quiet, are you okay?" you asked him, your breath tickling his ear. He smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. This wasn't so bad, either.

"I'm fine. Just wish you'd listen to me now and then. Last time we left Jackson, things didn't turn out so great," he mumbled, still partially annoyed about the trip, worried about your safety outside the walls he helped build.

"Well, I don't know about that. I seem to remember you having a good time in the end," you teased, and his breath hitched in his throat.

"Quit tryin' to distract me," he said gruffly, knowing your game well enough by now to tell when you were trying to take the focus off of anything bad.

"Sorry," you whispered, not wanting to push your luck. Joel sighed, feeling guilty.

"Just... promise you'll listen to me when we're out here? No dawdlin', and don't leave my sight. If I tell you we gotta wrap it up, we wrap it up. Understood?"

A shiver went down your spine at his domineering tone.

"Yes, sir," you said obediently, smirking into his back. You didn't want to push his buttons, but it was so easy, and you always got excited at the chance to explore outside of Jackson. You never thought you'd want to leave once you discovered the safety within the walls, but you found you eventually became a little stir crazy. A quick trip like this one would scratch that itch for a while, you just wish Joel understood you wanted a little freedom.

"Hey, what'd I say? Stay behind me," Joel hissed as you moved through the library. He had just been there less than a week ago with Tommy, but that didn't mean anything. You rolled your eyes when he turned his head and fell back behind him, your gun drawn at your side. It was an old building in desperate need of updating, the hardwood floors squeaked with nearly every step you took. If anyone or anything was in there, you'd know it by now considering the amount of noise you were making. You knew he had every reason to be anxious, and you tried to be understanding, but you were getting annoyed.

Once he finally determined the building was empty, you happily got to work examining the aisles, pulling books off the shelves and carrying huge stacks over to a conference room and piling them on top of the long, wooden table. You imagined local students maybe booked this room in the past to study or work on projects, considering the room was so close to the reference section.

Joel stayed close, but he paced around a bit, clutching his rifle as he routinely peeked out the windows. He knew there was a slim to none chance he would spot anything. He and Tommy had been to this town three times already, and he never saw a thing. But he refused to take any chances. Not with you.

Bored, he wandered down a row of books, idly reading the titles on the spines as he listened to you drop more heavy books on the table. He paused when he saw a familiar title and shouldered his rifle. He picked the book up and skimmed the first few pages. He leaned up against the bookshelf as he continued to read, completely losing track of time until he realized he hadn't heard you make any noise in a while. He paused and flicked his eyes up, listening closely for any sound from the conference room, but he heard none. He dropped the book and hurried down the aisle, rounding the corner as his head whipped around, looking down the aisles for you as he jogged.

The door to the conference room was wide open as he barged in, glancing around the small room, but you were no where to be found.

"Shit," he whispered, his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to keep the panic at bay. He turned around to check out the other side of the library, whisper-shouting your name as he went. His chest was beginning to constrict as all the worst case scenarios flooded his mind. She had a gun, she would have fired a shot if she was in trouble.

Just when he thought he was going to completely lose it, you emerged from the last row of books with a few paperbacks tucked under your arm. You saw Joel and gave him a smile before you could register the look on his face. He let out a huge breath he hadn't realized he was holding before he grabbed you roughly by the shoulders, making you frown.

"What'd I fuckin' say?!" he seethed, giving your shoulders a harsh shake.

"Excuse me?" you said, squirming away from his grasp.

"I said 'don't leave my sight', and what'd you do?" he said, raising his voice at you. His jaw was clenched as he stared daggers into you. You scoffed and pushed past him, heading back to the conference room.

"I'm an adult, Joel. Stop treating me like a child," you said over your shoulder. "Besides, you were the one who disappeared. I couldn't find you to tell you where I was going."

"I don't fuckin' care, you wait til I'm back and then we go together," he growled, following you back towards the other side of the building. You whipped around to glare at him, making him skid to a stop on the worn out wooden floors.

"I get why you're worried, Joel, I really do, and I appreciate your concern. But I just want a little freedom to live my life. And you're not the boss of me!" you snapped, throwing your free hand up in the air before turning on your heel, back to the privacy of the conference room. You just wanted to pick the best books possible based on what you and Carrie needed so you could get the hell out of there and go home.

Joel's blood ran hot at your words. He remained rooted to the ground where you left him, seething, as he replayed your argument in his head. Maybe he overreacted, but he was too pissed off to think clearly. Blood rushed in his ears as he angrily raked a hand through his hair, thinking again about how soft you've made him. He never considered it a bad thing before, but out in this world when he needed you to just listen to him, it could be a bad thing. You've always been capable, he knew that, but there's been too many close calls in the past and your safety was his only concern. He couldn't risk losing you, it wasn't an option.

He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to stomp out his anger, running his palm over his mouth as he paced back and forth, gripping his revolver. Your words just kept bouncing around in his head over and over. Then he stopped, letting his hand drop from his mouth as he stared at a fixed point on the wall, thinking about your last words: you're not the boss of me.

He shoved his revolver back in his holster and he walked calmly over to the conference room. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching as you stood in front of the table, diligently checking your list and sifting through piles of books, setting aside the ones you wanted to take by tossing them with a grunt towards the empty duffel bag next to the table.

He could tell you were still angry. You refused to look up at him, even though you knew full well he was standing there watching you. Your mouth was pressed into a thin line and your brows furrowed while you worked, determined to ignore him.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice firm. You stopped what you were doing and sighed before you met his gaze.

"Joel, I really don't feel like -"

"Nuh uh. Wasn't up for debate. And that's Mr. Miller, to you," he said, staring you down. You froze, confused, as you searched his eyes for any playfulness, but found none. You hadn't sat down, but you hadn't said anything either, the gears still turning in your head.

"You said I ain't the boss of you," he told you, pushing himself off the doorframe as he entered the room, sliding the rifle from his shoulder and leaning it against the wall. "But you forget, sweetheart, there was a time I was. Maybe you need to be reminded," he said lowly, his fists coming to rest on the table across from you as he leaned forward, issuing a challenge.

He could see the realization click. Your breathing quickened and your cheeks had a light dusting of pink across them as you slowly lowered yourself into the chair behind you, keeping your eyes glued to his face. He held back the smirk that threatened to pull across his lips, refusing to break the facade.

"So you can do what you're told," he murmured, leaning back from the table, looking down at you. You still didn't say anything, but the anxious tapping of your finger on your leg gave you away. He slowly made his way around the table, his eyes never leaving your face. You kept your head straight, looking ahead at the empty doorway, but you studied him from your peripheral as he approached.

He came to a stop right next to you and watched as your lips parted to accommodate your need for more air, your chest rising and falling faster than usual under your V neck T-shirt, where he could just make out the swell of your breasts from his angle. He hummed appreciatively and reached out a finger to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking pride in the way your breath caught in your throat.

"Did you get those reports for me, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, dragging a knuckle gently down your cheek and watching as the heat crawled up your neck.

It took you a moment to understand the game, but you caught up. And once you did, it felt like you had been transported back in time. You were reminded of how painfully nervous he used to make you, but instead of putting you off, it was making you squirm in your chair with anticipation.

"No," you all but whispered, then cleared your throat so he could hear you. "No. Didn't have enough time, I'm sorry Mr. Miller."

Still staring straight ahead, you felt rather than saw him stiffen next to you, and you swallowed roughly. He tsked and shook his head with a sigh. He gripped the back of your chair and flattened his palm on the table, leaning in so he was mere inches from your face.

"You wanna explain to me what's more important than the reports I asked for?" he growled in your ear, and he watched you visibly shudder. When you took too long to respond, he spun you around to face him so fast, it pulled a gasp from your throat, and you had to reach out to grip the arms of your chair in order to steady yourself.

"Answer me," he demanded through gritted teeth, his hand coming from the back of your chair to grip your chin firmly. It took you by surprise how into this he was, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if this had been building up for a while, but you pushed the thought away, trying to focus on the moment.

"I overslept," you squeaked out, inwardly cringing at the lame excuse. But Joel didn't miss a beat. He dropped your chin from his hand and straightened up, still glaring down at you.

"You overslept," he repeated, disappointment dripping from his words as he stared down at you. You slowly dragged your eyes up to meet his. Looking up at him meekly, you nodded.

"See, that ain't good," he told you with a shake of his head, crossing his arms. "How do you expect to make it if you're so goddamn irresponsible?"

You briefly wondered if he was still pretending or if he was trying to warn you about survival, but again, you pushed that thought away for another time.

"Can I make it up to you?" you asked him shyly, shifting your weight as the ache between your legs grew, desperately needing attention. You saw a flicker in his eyes at your question, but he refused to break.

"Gonna have to fire you, I'm afraid," he said sadly. "I've fired people for less, and you need to learn."

"Please, I'll do anything," you begged him, scooting to the edge of your seat.

"Anythin', hm?" he repeated back to you, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded eagerly as you finally allowed your gaze to flick down to his jeans, his belt right at eye level from where you sat. You could see his erection straining against the denim, and your tongue shot out to lick your lips instinctually.

Joel let a lazy smirk tug across his face.

"You wanna suck on the boss's cock, huh?" he asked you teasingly, and again, you nodded, your adrenaline squeezing your throat to the point where you had trouble finding your voice.

"Go ahead, then. I ain't stoppin' ya," he said, his voice gravelly, his accent thick. Your hands flew up from your lap to his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you pulled the leather loose, then got to work popping the button on his jeans and carefully pulled the zipper down. All the while, Joel watched you through heavy lidded eyes, his breath only stuttering momentarily when you took him in your hand and began to slowly pump him up and down.

You looked up to him for approval as you twisted your wrist, your thumb swiping over his slit and dragging his precum down his shaft with your fingers.

"Don't got all day," he snapped. "You either want this job, or you don't."

"I want it," you whispered, your eyes glazed over with lust.

"Then fuckin' show me," he said, thrusting his hips into your hand. His mask slipped slightly when your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his eyes slid shut.

"Shit," he whispered to himself as you pulled him in deeper, your tongue swirling around his girth while your head bobbed up and down, taking him in further and further each time. Your fist gripped his base to hold him steady, your swollen lips brushing against your fingers as you did your best to take him down your throat. His hand tangled in your hair, and you whimpered when his hips jutted forward, triggering your gag reflex. You sputtered around him before you pulled away with a sharp gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your watery eyes up to meet his. He tutted and shook his head, trying to ignore how his cock twitched when he saw your wrecked face.

"Am I too big for that pretty little mouth?" he asked you, and your mind bounced back and forth between answers.

"Yes. I-I mean, no, I can do it, let me try again," you stammered, reaching out to him before he smacked your hand away.

"Up," he commanded, and this time you didn't hesitate. You shot up from your chair so fast, your head was spinning.

"Take 'em off," he told you, his eyes flicking down to your pants. You quickly slid out of your boots and shimmied out of your jeans while Joel watched you, his hand lazily stroking himself as you worked. You were about to pull down your panties when he stopped you.

"Not those," he said roughly, and you gulped and nodded. You had never seen this side of him before, and you felt like your brain was short circuiting. Sure, he used to be gruff and a bit of an asshole when you first met, but whenever you had slept together, he was usually very soft and attentive. He tilted his head towards the table.

"Hands," was all he told you, and you immediately turned to flatten your sweaty palms against the old, smooth wood. You hardly ever found a reason to be embarrassed around him anymore, but when he tapped your ankle to make your legs widen and he spread your ass so he could see the mess you had made between your legs, you felt the heat burning into your cheeks.

You jutted your hips back, eager to feel his fingers on your aching center, but he refused to touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he slid his cock between your legs, rubbing himself against your clothed heat, languidly thrusting back and forth.

"Joel," you whined, the ache inside you becoming painful. Your eyes shot open and you let out a yelp when his hand came down on your ass, your skin stinging from the aftershock.

"What'd you call me?" he muttered angrily in your ear. You had no idea how he was able to restrain himself this long when you thought your legs were already about to give out from under you.

"M-Mr. Miller. I'm sorry," you moaned, your head falling forward between your shoulders as he continued to rub himself against you.

"Messin' up a lot today," he mumbled behind you. You screwed your eyes shut as the tip of his cock prodded your clit, your lower abdomen tightening with each thrust. Joel watched each time he pulled back as his cock glistened with your arousal, even through your underwear, your inner thighs were slick and wet. Knowing you couldn't see him, he allowed a grin to spread across his lips, loving how docile he made you in a matter of minutes.

"Please," you whimpered, desperately begging for him to relieve you.

"Please what?" he shot back, squeezing your hips as he continued to drag his cock against your folds.

"Please fuck me, Mr. Miller," you croaked, on the brink of tears. Joel chuckled at the strain in your voice.

"First sensible thing you said all day," he told you, pushing his jeans and boxers further down his legs. "But tell me why I should listen to you, when you don't bother listenin' to me?"

"I'll listen!" you cried out, your fist pounding on the table in frustration. "I'll listen... just, please," you said softer now, "please, please, please." You sounded pathetic, begging for him bent over a rickety old table in some beat up town, but you only had one primary need at the moment, and you couldn't think about anything else.

"Good girl," he whispered against your ear, and you shuddered underneath him. He hooked a finger inside the soaked fabric and pulled them to the side, revealing your aching cunt to him. He hissed through his teeth, desperate to touch you but he knew you wanted it even more, so he refrained.

He lined his leaking cock up against you, just barely touching you, but the contact made your whole body jump, your nerve endings acting like fireworks under your skin.

"Gotta be still," he muttered, and he waited for your breath to even out and your body to stop fidgeting before he continued. He leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"I ain't gonna be gentle," he warned you, then dropped his voice to a whisper before adding "tell me if it's too much." You whined and tipped your head back, but he waited until he heard you whisper back okay before pushing himself inside you with one quick motion, bottoming out with a heavy groan.

Your walls fluttered around him at the sudden intrusion, frantically trying to accommodate his size as he pulled back and slammed into you again and again, punching the air from your lungs.

"Oh, fuck," you cried out, falling to your elbows on the table. His grip on you was sure to leave marks as he pulled your hips back against him over and over, driving himself as deep as possible inside you. The burn that was akin to pain quickly dissolved to pleasure as your body relaxed and welcomed him in, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix with each snap of his hips.

Two leftover tears fell from your eyes and landed on the table when you squeezed them shut, your jaw slack as he rammed into you, each time hearing a soft grunt from his throat from the effort. He leaned forward and ran a hand under your shirt and up your stomach, yanking down on your bra and freeing your right breast, which he greedily squeezed in his palm before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making you squeak.

"Fuck me, Joel," you said breathily, and your eyes quickly snapped open at your mistake. "I mean-"

His hand disappeared from your breast and rested gently on your ass, rubbing the already pink skin as he waited for you to correct yourself.

"You wanna try that again?" he asked, attempting to show you mercy.

"Mr. Miller," you said shakily. "Fuck me, Mr. Miller." But you chewed on your lower lip, your breath shallow as you braced for impact anyway. Joel raised an eyebrow as he slowed his hips, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smug grin.

"You want it, anyway, don'tcha?" and you nodded, your teeth sinking into your lower lip now so hard you were sure you would draw blood. You let out a gasp of relief when his hand came down again on your ass, the stinging on your skin spreading throughout your whole body, drawing out a filthy moan.

"Fuck," he muttered, and he could tell he was beginning to lose himself in you. He quickly pulled your right leg up so your knee was resting on the table, opening your hips even more as he picked up a ruthless pace. His left hand released your hip in favor of gripping your shoulder while his right hand acted as a brace for your leg so it wouldn't slide down to the ground.

"Please, Mr. Miller, I need..." you groaned and dropped your forehead to the table for a moment when the angle changed, and he began hitting that sweet spot inside you only he could find.

"Whaddya need?" he panted through clenched teeth, his hand squeezing your shoulder to keep you still as he pounded into you, chasing his release.

"Need you to touch me," you whimpered pathetically, bringing your head back up, doing your best to stay upright and not collapse into a puddle on the table.

"I think only good girls get that," he said lowly, his eyes dark as he watched the side of your face contort in pleasure. "Do'ya think you've been good?"

"No," you whispered, shaking your head.

"Why weren't you good?" he questioned you, the power now going straight to his head.

"Because I didn't listen," you admitted weakly. He nodded and hummed in agreement.

"And what're you gonna do from now on?" he pressed, leaning forward so he could make sure he heard you answer.

"I'm gonna listen," you told him, and he grinned from ear to ear.

"That's right," he said, his right hand traveling under your elevated hip to reach your clit, pressing firm circles over the bundle of nerves and eliciting a groan from your mouth. He could tell by the way you were squeezing him that you were right on the edge of an orgasm. His fingers picked up the pace, swirling around your clit with the expertise and knowledge only he had over your body.

"I always take care of you, don't I?" he gasped in your ear, feeling his own orgasm approaching. You nodded, your heart trapped in your throat as you tipped over the edge, your vision going spotty and curses falling from your lips. He gently sunk his teeth into your shoulder blade and removed his hand once he felt your weak thrusts trail off.

"Shit, sweetheart, I'm close," he grumbled, dropping the act and letting his eyes slide shut as he rested his forehead against your upper back, his left hand still firmly planted on your shoulder. He felt your body shudder underneath him, an aftershock of your own climax.

"Come inside me," you said softly, and his eyes snapped open, not sure if he imagined it or not.

"What?" he rasped, and when you repeated yourself, but louder, his breath caught in his throat. He had only done that once before.

You could feel his hesitation, so you turned your head to the side, trying to catch his eye.

"It's okay," you assured him, trying to wordlessly explain that, like before, the timing of your cycle will work out in your favor, knowing that you were about to get your period any day.

He groaned, the unexpected permission to fill you sending him careening towards the brink. He slammed into you mercilessly, and you winced as you tried to breathe through the overstimulation, knowing he was close when his hips stuttered against you. He let go with a loud moan, falling forward as his hips slowed, filling you with his hot spend.

He gasped against your back, his breath hot through your shirt as his hips involuntarily thrusted shallowly forward until he stilled, quietly catching his breath.

"My leg," you reminded him after a moment. Your hips were sore from the angle, and your body was giving up on you.

"Oh, right," he murmured, picking himself off you and sliding out of you with a hiss. He hooked his finger back around your panties and put them back in place, effectively trapping the sticky mess against you, but you didn't care. Your body felt weak and you just wanted to collapse to the floor, which is exactly what you did. Joel joined you, his eyes closed with the back of his head resting against the wall. He blindly tucked himself back into his jeans with a sigh.

You rolled your head to the side to take in his relaxed face, eyes still closed as he breathed deeply. With a grunt, you stood up and scooped your jeans off the floor, shoving your legs back through them carelessly and then squatted to lace your boots up. You looked back up to find Joel watching you, his face breaking out into a smirk when your eyes met.

"C'mon, Mr. Miller. We should head out soon," you teased, smacking his leg as you straightened up.

"I like that a little too much," he said with a sigh as he stood to help you pack up the books in the duffel bag.

The ride home was relatively quiet, the both of you exhausted. The sway of the horse and the feeling of him everywhere was enough to knock you out cold. You thought at one point you may have dozed off against his back for a few minutes, but you weren't sure.

When you arrived back in Jackson, the sun had just set. You slid down from your horse with a wince. Riding a horse in general made your hips and back sore, but combined with the events of the afternoon made your legs almost crumble when you hit the ground, but Joel was right there to catch you, like he was expecting it.

"Told you I always take care of you," he muttered in your ear, and you smiled.

You walked hand in hand slowly down the street, the string lights twinkling above your heads, as you made your way home. When you passed by Tommy and Maria's house, Tommy poked his head out the door to get your attention.

"Why don't you guys join us? Maria made stew," Tommy offered, and you felt your stomach rumble at the words. You briefly thought about declining and just going back home to sleep, but ultimately your hunger won out.

"You look wiped," Maria said after dinner, joining you on the couch while the men made themselves drinks in the kitchen.

"Yeah, long day. I haven't done a trip like that in a while," you told her, readjusting slightly on the couch. The dried mess between your legs had become incredibly uncomfortable and you were dying to go home, but you were too lazy to move.

"And we agreed you ain't doin' any more for a long time," Joel said, entering the room with Tommy.

"That right?" Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You glanced back and forth between the two brothers before slowly nodding.

"Yeah," you said. "Not for a few weeks."

"Months," Joel corrected, sitting next to you on the couch and draping an arm around your shoulders.

"Months," you repeated after a moment, and Joel had to bring his glass up to his lips to hide his smirk.

Tommy shrugged and asked Maria where a certain record was, causing the two of them to stand in search for it, bickering about who was the last to see it. Joel leaned into you and planted a soft kiss on the side of your head.

"Good girl," he murmured, making you blush. You agreed to his terms for now, but you knew the disagreement was far from over.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

[creedslove]

DESERVE IT - PART SIX

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You give Javi some time to explain his connection with Los Pepes and a conversation makes you realize your feelings for Javier are still confusing.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, smut, (but without details for no spoilers) Javi being sweet, and then being jealous

A/N: that's not my best chapter but if you guys want Javi and reader together here's some crumbles

• PART ONE

• PART TWO

• PART THREE

• PART FOUR

• PART FIVE

4.1k words

Javier paced the room and rubbed his face, still not believing how all that shit happened.

He knew working with Los Pepes wasn't a smart move, but he was so done, so fed up and at that moment, it was the only way out to stop Escobar's terrorism spree. If the cops weren't strong enough, maybe the criminals who didn't agree with his ways could be.

He wasn't proud of it but after Carrillo's death he realized something should be done as fast as possible. When a strong man like Carrillo was cowardly murdered in a trap, he saw anyone could be killed like that. Fuck, Murphy and himself should've been there, they should've been dead by then and the only reason they got away was pure luck.

He could deal with his self hatred, with his shame and how low he got, but he couldn't deal with all that coming from you.

He wasn't stupid, you were both past that point, you did hate him, and you couldn't stand him, but until then, no matter how bad he hurt you, it was on the personal side. Not that it hurt any less, but he knew it was bound to happen, he always screwed things up and even if he hadn't pushed you away at that moment, he would break your heart one way or another.

But he still had your respect as a cop, as an agent, especially after he'd saved you from Carlos, you still admired him professionally, but now? He was sure he was nothing to you.

He didn't know what options he had now, if had any at all, you'd said you wouldn't tell anyone, but were you telling the truth? Maybe he scared you off acting like a creep earlier, but he couldn't control himself, it just happened and when he realized, he was already pressing your body against the wall, he already had his lips on your skin, it was a sudden need, his body ached for it and all he wanted to do at that moment was to show you he wasn't a dirty cop and he still your Javi.

Your Javi.

He wished he was still your Javi, he missed that dearly.

He thought of lighting up another cigarette but gave up, getting the envelope in hands and crossing the hall. He knocked on your door insistently. He knew you were there and he hadn't seen any indications your prince charming was around, so he waited patiently until you opened it.

His jaw tightened the moment he saw you wrapped in nothing but a towel, you had just got out of the shower and his cock twitched inside his tight jeans. Fuck, you were gorgeous and your body was tempting and inviting. If he could, he would just wrap his arms around your body and press you against the wall. He wouldn't have strength to take you to the bathroom, he would just get on his knees and eat your pussy right there and then before fucking you in the middle of your living room.

You, on the other hand, managed to calm down after you locked yourself inside, you stopped crying and tried to rationalize things instead of leaving it to your heart. You felt crushed at finding out Javier was involved with drug dealers, you could never expect that from him, you always assumed Javi was one of the best agents DEA had in Colombia, his work results were really impressive, you knew how much this job took a toll on the agents, how dark and depressed they eventually got, it was the kind of duty that often broke them, and yet you'd seen Javier being so human at work more than once.

Before he treated you like garbage and you fell out, you had plenty examples of what a sweet man he could be.

He was so kind to people, to you, to kids, and even if he insistently said he wasn't much of a cat person, he still fed the stray one that walked around the building some leftovers.

So could he really be a double agent?

You weren't sure, but apparently he desperately wanted you to believe he was not a dirty cop. He was so desperate he repeated that over and over, while his face was buried in the crook of your neck and his lips dragging small kisses on your skin, or when he had his face buried between your breasts and was getting so dangerously close to your nipples.

Just the mere memory of it was enough to bring that familiar tingle back in a place that longed for a man's touch.

So when you realized Javier was working his sinister power of making you inappropriately turned on, you knew it was time to go for a shower.

You even managed to relax and get your mind off that for a while but when you heard knocks on the door, you knew your torment was about to begin again.

Funny how you just knew it was Javier knocking on your door, you didn't have any external clue, just a hunch it would be him, and once you opened the door, there he was.

You could tell his monkey brain had forgotten absolutely every word he had rehearsed telling you the moment he saw you standing there with only one towel around your body. Of course it wasn't appropriate but at that point you were just so tired you invited him inside and told him to lock the door.

You turned your back to him and disappeared into the hallway, leaving your bedroom only when you were finally fully clothed. The disappointment in his eyes was visible and you just wanted to scoff at his nerve in thinking that after everything you would still welcome him naked and fuck him on the couch just like one of those cheap porn movies he probably enjoyed watching.

"What are you doing here, Javier? I thought we'd already talked about everything… I know I have nothing else to say to you"

Javi placed both hands on his waist and nodded "I know you don't, but I gotta tell you a few things and you will listen to me"

You rubbed your forehead and weighed your options: you could either willingly let Javier explain himself or you could ask him to leave and that would lead into another argument and accusations and you were just exhausted of that, not to mention Javier has his ways of making you hear, he proved that earlier by almost making you cheat on your boyfriend.

You were really enjoying your relationship with Manu, but you also knew Javier and how powerful his touch was and you also knew yourself enough not to trust the two of you so close like that. You just couldn't play with fire.

So you got up, grabbed a bottle of wine, two glasses and allowed Javier to start.

You listened through one, two, three, four glasses of wine.

Javi made sure to explain to you detail by detail, how he felt the night Carrillo executed those boys and how he began losing faith in the police. Then Carrillo was executed in a humorless action of destiny and he turned to the most unlikely ally to defeat Pablo Escobar.

You didn't interrupt him and once Javier had finished his account you could see he got even more relaxed, of course it could just be the effect of alcohol but he was so relieved he didn't have to keep that secret all by himself and he could finally feel like a weight had been lifted off his shoulder.

He killed the rest of the wine and stared at you, waiting for what you had to say.

You shook your head and sighed, letting all his words sink in.

Javier wasn't a double agent, he kinda was actually, but he didn't benefit from that deal with Los Pepes, and he didn't give them privileged information from the DEA unless it was about Pablo's sicarios whereabout. The body count that grew each passing day had a lot of Peña's doing. But none of those dead bodies when they were still alive were good people, and they wouldn't hesitate to do much worse than what Javier was doing.

In conclusion, what Javier was doing was wrong, but you didn't really care, you knew he was helping make the streets safer even if it was in a twisted way.

What really concerned you was his integrity. It was dangerous, and what if they thought he wasn't useful anymore? What would happen to him? You remembered you left him waiting for words of support or despise or anything at all, what he couldn't bear was the silence.

"I don't like this, Javi" you admitted and bit your lips "it's dangerous, if the DEA finds out about it, you can lose your badge, you can go to jail! And that's not even the worst part: you can get yourself killed!"

He knew you were right and he wished he could turn back in time and undo all the shit he had done, he hated to see how worried you were, the hint of disbelief and disappointment that still lingered there.

"Just like Steve's cat!"

You quickly added and saw how Javi let out some belly chuckles at your words. For some reason that sounded inappropriately funny and you couldn't help but laugh as well, the best example you could think of was a dead cat and for whatever reason it amused Javier.

It'd been a really long time since you two had shared a laugh and you only realized how much you truly missed it at that moment. He was able to calm down and took a deep breath, going oddly silent and took your hand, holding it in his

"If I were killed, would you care?"

He asked you in a low, shy voice and tried reading your expression, he just needed to know if you still had any good feelings left for him or if he had just screwed things up royally and there was nothing left of the two of you.

You stared at him in disbelief, biting your lips as you observed his sweet brown eyes, making you melt on the inside. You liked Manu's eyes, but now you were so close to Javi, you were sure no one could beat his warm pools of brown, looking like a lost puppy craving for love.

"Javi" you whispered and saw how big his hand was compared to yours, how his long fingers stroked your skin in a caress "of course I would care… I-I think I would die too"

You admitted and saw how his expression got indecipherable this time, you felt so exposed, so raw to admit that, but when he pulled you for a hug you knew you had done the right thing by being honest with Javi. You also needed to be honest with yourself. You still had pretty strong feelings for Javier, he was your everything, you wanted to make things work with Manu, but Javi owned your heart in a way you thought no other man ever would.

"I think you should go home now, Javi" you told him gently and he nodded, he knew now you still had feelings for him, and he had feelings for you, but Javier decided to do the honorable thing and step away. For once, he was going to respect your decision and only if you admitted to yourself first and to him you wanted him, he would be with you.

•••

"So, Connie's back and we're having a barbecue so we want to invite you, Y/N" Steve said with a grin as you stood by his desk. Once more, some documents and files had been delivered wrongly to your department and you had to take a trip to the DEA division to hand it over.

You felt kind of guilty to think the last time you were there and you went snooping through Carlos' desk and found the evidence on Javier. You knew the correct thing would be giving them to Steve and reporting Javier for his illicit actions, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Instead, you gave them to Javier and promised you wouldn't say a thing.

Still, your eyes ran around the room, silently checking for another yellow envelope like that, whoever took those pictures and tried ratting on Javi could try doing it again.

You realized you weren't paying attention to Steve, so he just laughed softly, he'd been in great spirits ever since his wife returned. So he didn't even care if the world was falling into pieces.

"I said you can take Manu if you'd like, and maybe Javi can bring his girlfriend" he winked at the two of you and thought it was even more amusing to see how Javi shot you desperate, puppy eyes at his joke.

"I don't have a girlfriend…" he said embarrassedly and you nodded, rolling your eyes at Steve "you're very funny, Steve, we missed that" you smirked and said goodbye to them.

After that night, you and Javi were on speaking terms again, though you didn't have much to talk about - or the things you did want to talk about weren't so appropriate.

Steve looked down at his desk and noticed your forgotten your notebook. You often carried with you taking notes and writing down important stuff.

He grabbed it and saw when something fell from inside of it. He frowned curiously and laughed as he saw it was a picture from Javier.

"Hey Jav… Y/N forgot her notebook here, you should go and hand it to her" he called his friend's attention and placed the notebook and the picture down.

Javier frowned and took it into his hands. He couldn't believe it. It was a picture of himself and his horse, from the last time he'd been home. It was taken at his dad's ranch and he had his characteristic sunglasses on and a big smile on his face.

Javi usually kept that picture in a portrait in his living room, he'd seen you staring at it before, always complimenting his smile and making him blush, in a dorky way he always felt embarrassed.

He had noticed the picture seemed to have disappeared a few months ago but didn't actually care a lot about it, he had so many other things to worry about other than that.

However, the mystery was solved and now he knew where it'd gone.

He checked the back of the polaroid and felt his cheeks heating up and felt so thankful Murphy hadn't paid attention to it, otherwise he would be teased for the rest of his miserable life.

He recognized your handwriting immediately and he didn't understand why you'd written that, but it brought a smile to his lips, feeling a warmth spread through his chest.

"Javi és el fuego que arde mi piel ♡ "

He shook his head and got up, taking the elevator and going straight to your floor. He felt a sudden need to see you, it wasn't enough, he wanted to hand you the picture, see your face when you realized he knew about your habit of stealing from his place.

He saw you focused on the piles of paper in front of you and took a second to admire how beautiful you were, he cursed himself under his breath for the hundredth time for being such a moron, if he had played his cards right, you could have been his by now and he would be the luckiest motherfucker in the world, but now he only had crumbles of your attention and it was already good enough because it was much more than what he deserve it.

"You forgot your notebook, cariño" he said with his usual smirk, leaning his body against your desk and watching you.

You looked up at him and couldn't help but allow yourself to smile, it was just so Javi and it reminded you of good times.

You took the notebook from his hand but he caught your fingers in his grip "rojo te sale muy bien, cariño" he said, looking at your red nails and winking at you.

You didn't have enough time to answer, when Manu patted Javier's shoulder, drawing his attention

"Agent Peña, I don't appreciate when you talk like that with my girlfriend, I'd like you to keep respectful" the younger man said politely and turned to you, pecking your lips gently, which caused Javi to look away.

You said goodbye to Manu, promising to meet him later, though the situation embarrassed you a little, you also felt pretty good about the scene Javier just witnessed. One peck on the lips would never hurt him as much as the image of him and a hooker that looked like you hurt your feelings, but if he looked bothered and that was a victory for you.

You could tell Javi gritted his teeth and licked his lips softly, raising an eyebrow at you

"So you guys are an item for real?"

You tilted your head and nodded

"Well, yeah… it's recent, but it is a nice relationship"

Javier shrugged in disdain and bit the inside of his cheek

"It's surprising, I figured you could do better than Manuel"

You scoffed and laughed at the nerve he got, nor believing he had the guts to talk about Manu like that.

"Yeah? And who would be better, you?"

Yes, me.

That was the first thing that crossed Javi's mind, squinting his eyes softly as a heat spread in his lower belly, he felt so annoyed at your sassy, bitchy reply, before things happened you had never been this bratty towards him, and at the same time he felt a hint of annoyance something else woke inside of him.

He felt like he wanted to teach you a lesson, punish you so you wouldn't be all sarcastic towards him, and more importantly, you wouldn't look for another cock than his. He would bend you over his lap, lift that slutty skirt up and give you one, two, three swats, watching as his handprint would be there, in a delicious shade of red, marking your beautiful cheeks as his, at the same time he would pull your panties to the side, spread your legs a little and he would shove his fingers into your soaked cunt, making you whimper as he finger fucked you and you had to rub your clit on his rough jeans to help you get your relief.

Instead, Javier just sighed and placed his polaroid on your desk.

"I'm still a DEA agent, I could have you arrested for theft, Y/N" he said before straightening up his body and walking away, leaving you mortified at the fact he'd found out you'd stolen that picture of him.

•••

"So, what's Peña's deal with you?" Manu asked as he filled your glass of wine and got comfortable on the couch. It wasn't the first time he had been to your apartment, but it was the first time he was going to spend it there with you and that made you a little nervous.

Steve's barbecue would be the next day so you figured it would make sense to have your boyfriend spend the night over, instead of making him drive back and forth.

You thanked him for the wine and took a long sip, finding the right words to tell Manu.

You didn't want to lie, but you also couldn't tell him the truth… how would he react to knowing you were crazy about Javier Peña? You were sure he wouldn't take things well, who wouldn't? Javier had such a reputation, it wouldn't work.

"Well, Javi-Javier and I were very good friends, we used to be close friends" you began "and I know how that sounds, but I never had sex with him or anything remotely close to it, I did develop some kind of a crush, but it faded with time" there it was, your first lie.

"We had some disagreements and we fell out with each other, then he kept his distance and I did the same as he was engaged in some peculiar relationship…" second lie.

But you couldn't screw things up with Manu, you couldn't tell him the whole reason why you fell out with Javier was because you kissed and he felt guilty about being a dick, and then he made things even worse by hiring your lookalike hooker, how could you just dump all that on him?

Luckily to you, Manu was a ray of sunshine, he was a truly nice guy and deep down you knew he was way better than you deserved it. He softened up and smiled, leaning in and kissing you.

One kiss led to a second, then a third and when you realized, Manu had you under him. His cock was buried deep inside of your cunt and though you were wet, something was missing.

You didn't know exactly what, you rubbed your clit at the same time he pounded into you but it wasn't the same you were expecting to feel.

It was weird, you couldn't exactly tell what was off, but something was indeed off and you didn't know what to do.

You closed your eyes and tried focusing on moving your hips against your boyfriend's but suddenly a flash of brown eyes appeared in your mind. You shook your head unconsciously, but your mind wouldn't just obey you, suddenly you were imagining a mustache scratching your skin, as familiar lips kissed you down.

Your imagination was so vivid you could practically feel Javier's fingers on your body, his touch, his arms holding you and that set a fire into you you didn't think you were holding in.

And then you moaned. Loud.

You finally began enjoying yourself, each thrust you pretended it was Javier fucking you, making you one of his whores and it wasn't right, it was disgusting and it sent you to a very messy orgasm.

Javi walked down the hall carrying some groceries bag he got after postponing it forever and now he finally had food to make himself dinner.

He got some drinks to take to Steve's barbecue the next day and also a bottle of your favorite wine, maybe he could knock on your door later and invite you over for a glass, now you guys were on speaking terms again and maybe you'd enjoy it, right?

He looked for his keys in his jacket pocket absentmindedly when he heard muffled sounds. He thought it was odd and looked around, but this time the sounds were louder, enough to be heard in the hallway.

He frowned as an anxiety crept up in his chest, as the possibility of a scenario formed in his head.

But it couldn't be true.

It wouldn't, would it?

He swallowed and walked to your door, he didn't feel proud of it but he needed to be sure.

He placed his ear against the door and gasped when he recognized what kind of noises were those.

You were moaning.

Javier didn't know how to describe what he felt, it was like his limbs went numb at the same time he felt his whole body heating up in an unpleasant way as his heart raced.

Jealousy, anger, bitterness, rage, it all took over him.

He couldn't believe you were letting that boy fuck you like a bitch.

He wanted to break into your apartment and take that piece of shit away from you. He wanted to pull you by the hair, bend you over on your cute coffee table and pound you from behind, he wanted to make you moan like that. He wanted your red nails scratching down his back, he wanted you calling his name as he brought you to the best orgasm you could have. He wanted his sheets soaked with your honey, he wanted to be drowning in your juices, he wanted his mouth on your nipples, on your clit, on your ass. He wanted his cum to drop down every part of your body, but he couldn't have it because you were someone else's.

He stepped away from your side of your hallway as if it burned him and went to his place, fumbling with the lock and just throwing the bags inside.

He immediately turned around and walked back to his car. There was no way he would stay home that night, not when he could hear you being fucked by another man across the hall.

_____

A/N: I may or may not be a little too horny for Javier 🤷‍♀️

[cloakedsparrow]

The Batpups as Cat-Types

Upon coming to live with Bruce, Dick was like a fairly standard cat. He could alternate between cuddly darling and vindictive gremlin in the blink of an eye. One minute he’s snuggled next to Bruce while he reads the paper, the next, he’s holding eye contact while he pushes an expensive vase off a nearby table. He’ll be happily playing with one of the hundreds of cat-appropriate toys Bruce got him, then Bruce turns his back for five seconds and he’s somehow gotten himself perched atop the molding above the door. On top of this, Bruce had never owned a cat before so he did stupid new cat-owner shit like letting Dick wander around the neighborhood, where he caused tens of thousands of dollars in property damage and nearly got himself killed at least four times a day.

Jason was a loyal and completely domesticated house-cat who got tossed into the streets after his owner died. He adapted well for survival, but once he was brought indoors again, he was more than happy to curl up in a sunny spot and just vibe. He’d endured some trauma, so sudden loud noises or unknown individuals trying to pet him resulted in him hissing and darting under the nearest table or hiding behind the books on the shelves. Around those he trusted, however, he was a sweet, chill cat. Unfortunately, Bruce assumed all cats were gremlins like Dick, and that Jason would have the potential to be even worse due to being on the streets, and so responded as though Jason were a gremlin-cat whenever he did something unexpected. This led to a lot of misunderstandings and resentment.

Everyone assumed Tim was well domesticated due to living in a nice house before coming to them. In reality, he’d been taken away from his mother too soon and left alone in a huge house that he eventually discovered how to come and go from on his own. This meant that he was, in fact, a feral kitten who had just learned not to do certain things in front of people, lest they get angry at him. He did manage to meow and swat at Bruce until the man slept, ate, and bathed like a normal person, so Alfred and Dick didn’t feel too bad about their mistake in insisting Bruce bring the tiny feral beast into the house. He also made friends with a bunch of other feral kittens, so most of his feral shenanigans occurred with them, away from anything resembling responsible supervision.

Cassandra was a stray cat that followed Bruce home one day and then claimed the whole family as hers. She was good with them, but anyone else who tried to touch her (or the boys when it looked like they didn’t want it) pulled away a bleeding limb. Also, the family quickly learned that letting her food bowl go empty would result in her stealing any food left out, even a whole chicken or hamburger. She still caused less damage than Dick, so Bruce didn’t even bat an eye at half the shit she did. He did have to instill some long-forgotten survival instincts in her, though.

Damian was like that kitten in the Aristocats who paints but also hisses and spits and thinks himself a tough alley cat when he’s actually a pampered kitten. No one ever bothers to correct him and just generally ignores his more violent ways…or worse, thinks they’re cute. Tim gets sick of the little shit drawing his blood eventually and starts hissing back and swatting him whenever he tries it. Eventually, he calms down enough to do more painting and hissing than clawing, at least with the family. They call it a win and they all learn to live together.

[powderblueblood]

FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

(+ one, of the many, where he felt the same about you)

part of the hellfire & ice universe eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, you know the drill, minors dni only warnings are for fluff and eddie and lacy being cute and in denial word count: 2k tagging @chiefbonkpruneegg happy birthday pal <3 enjoy this nonsense

TRACK ONE: LET'S STICK WITH TELEVISION FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

You and Eddie balance on either side of Ronnie Ecker's couch like faithful gargoyles, armed with soup and homework. Ronnie's caught the worst end of some green-gooed virus, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to deliver the necessities; tomato soup with extra hot sauce ("To snot out the demons," quoth Eddie) and history homework. But something on the television sucked you both right in, Poltergeist style, as you entered the Ecker trailer. Some hot young thing called Alex Trebek, captaining the maiden voyage of a brand new Jeopardy.

"You know who would kill on this show?" Eddie says, settling himself on the armrest to Ronnie's sniffling left.

"Guh, who?" Ronnie asks, huffing the steaming vapors of the spicy tomato soup like it's paint fumes.

You're pitched on the other armrest, pointing the rolled up history homework toward the screen. "What is the White H--US Treasury, are you fucking stupid?! Have these people never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What is the White House!"

You toss a glance over to Ronnie and Eddie for reassurance, just in time to catch them sharing a look. A good ol' Lacy know-it-all look. "Oh, shut up. as if I have more useless information rattling around in my brain than--"

Both you and Eddie snap at the TV in unison, "Who is Elvis Presley!"

Your turn to share a look. Game on? Game on.

It rolls on like that for a couple of categories, Ronnie sipping her soup straight from the container between you, hiding a smile as you and Eddie gradually bark louder and louder. Who are the Marx Brothers! What is 'break a leg'! Who was Napoleon!

"What, you're paying attention in History all of a sudden?"

"I'm a solid C student thanks to you, baby."

It occurs to you suddenly and begrudgingly and all at once; Eddie's right. You would kill on this show. But more than that, you want to wipe the floor and wring Eddie Munson out like the mop that he is.

"The greeting which opened each episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

"What is," both of you, in perfect Hitchcock tonality and without missing a beat, "Gooooood eeeeevening."

TRACK TWO: LIKE IF BECKY SHARP WAS FRIENDS WITH A BIG GOOFY HOUND DOG

Your first honest-to-god paycheck from the Bookstore was a fat wad of tens and singles plus change and it was handed to you in a brown paper bag. Invest this wisely, said Ivana, so of course, you followed your heart and your hard earned cash directly to the thrift store.

The front bell ding-a-lings and you walk through the door holding your moneybag aloft like the biggest, blue ribbon winning-est gourd at the county fair. You are proud as hell, because you did this! On your own! This isn't your daddy's money, this isn't the result of a once-toyed with idea that you might make a really good cat burglar, this was yours all yours!

"Put that down already! It's like you're wearing a sign saying mug me!" Eddie, bringing up the rear, yanks your arm back down by your side.

You laugh, mirthful and Hepburnian. "More like try me! I'm a working woman now, Eddie! I can hold my own! I can buy boots, guilt free, no strings, no blood money!"

"Uh-huh. consider that glass ceiling of having an after school job well and truly," he picks up a lamp from the scarcely populated homewares section, mimes slow-motion smashing it, "shattered!"

"Plus!" you cheerily pivot on your heel, a spring in your step that cannot be unsprung, even by Eddie's welcome to the real world, jackass flavored attempts. "Who would ever dare try and rob me when I've got a big, tough guard doggy like you three feet behind me at all times?"

Eddie's eyes narrow, like he's not all the way peachy keen on how you've pointed out your inseparability. But. He doesn't deny it either. A broken-stringed tennis racket bops you on the head.

"You owe me gas money."

"Shut up, please. I am shopping."

TRACK THREE: BUSTER MOVES

We'll always have the movies.

You sit, glassy-eyed, in your regular seats at the Hawk as The Cook starring Buster Keaton ticks along on the screen ahead of you. This Keaton retrospective, which you had been looking forward to for weeks, which you had been threatening to drag Eddie to for weeks, is going down a little... bland.

Not even that over-the-shoulder gaze that has Keaton beaming lasers of lust right into Virginia Rappe's skull adds any spice. You don't even bring up the whole scandal with her and Fatty Arbuckle, which would ordinarily be fertile territory to plow through with Eddie as a rapt audience.

In fact, you don't even tell him to kick his feet off the seats.

You've zoned out, because you still have the chill of the penitentiary's visiting quarters under your skin. Your dad and his cruelty that the bulletproof glass couldn't dull. The usual escape to the movies bit isn't doing the trick.

Then, you feel shaggy waves tickling your shoulder.

"I can do that."

"What?"

Directly in front of you, Buster is giving it his best Salome, his dance moves all angles. This display of pure deadpan goofiness was what made you obsess over Keaton in the first place, falling head over heels for a man who kicked it long before you were born.

And to your immediate left, you have Eddie Munson in your ear, telling you, "I can do that."

"No you can't," you say, and it doesn't sound like half the challenge it usually would.

Then, in a jolt that makes the whole row of rickety theater seats shake, Eddie's on his feet and stripping off his jacket. And before you can utter some totally perfunctory what're you... he's hot footing it down the steps to the splash zone, the front row, of the screen.

"You know I've seen this movie a million times?" Eddie says, projecting his voice right out like he's performing a one man show. Munson: Meditations on Dumbassery. You sit upright, glancing around to double-triple check that you're definitely alone in the screen. And you are-- Hawkins doesn't have as much a taste for the non-talkies as you do. And you were pretty sure that Eddie didn't either, and yet...

"Are you serious?" you ask, a laugh starting at the back of your throat.

"Does this look like a call and response? Let the maestro work, please," Eddie chides you over his shoulder, turning his back and hopping in place like a boxer about to take the ring.

And then, all of a sudden, he's... dancing? Sort of? Well, he's certainly moving his body, but it's nothing like what Buster's doing, and it's nothing like anyone's ever possibly done and not been hospitalized for, because the way his limbs are moving is borderline inhuman and you are laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing in a way that feels like Eddie reaching right through the fog of your horrible, dissociative feelings and bringing you back into the light.

You toss popcorn at him and he totally fails to catch it in his mouth, his face lit up in shades of black and white by the projection.

"A million times, huh?"

Eddie, breathless, shrugs, "Alright, I lied. But you laughed."

Point to Munson.

TRACK FOUR: LIBERATING MY MAGAZINES

It was a favor that he'd agreed to before you even offered to buy him breakfast after, a favor that didn't need sweetening up. As his van rolled into Loch Nora, Eddie's brows knit a little bit-- and you wondered how much of him regretted saying yes so hastily.

"On a scale of one to felony..."

Your house hadn't been sold yet. Repossessed, sure, but not sold. It stood there, darkened and quiet and gathering dust and the sheer sight of it being the only house on your street with an overgrown lawn made your chest feel tight. You bet the neighbors had something to say about that. You bet the neighbors had a lot to say about you. Curtains were no doubt twitching when you and Eddie pulled up in front of your old driveway.

"It's fine. It's my stuff, anyway."

About a half hour later, Eddie drops a pile of slightly-weather beaten copies of Rolling Stone bearing your name and old address onto a table in the diner, the remnants of your now-cancelled subscription.

"You gotta wonder what they're putting in that new print format that kept those things from totally composting."

"Thank god they didn't! I need to finish that Tom Wolfe serial or I'll die," you declare as he picks up a menu and you rifle through the pile. "Order whatever. It's on me."

Eddie snorts. You're still carting around that dwindling brown bag of cash. "You don't have to do that."

"No," you say, eyes darting around to anywhere but his face, "but I want to. For helping me to liberate my magazines."

"Lace. I'd happily liberate your magazines without the promise of pancakes," his mouth twists into this little grin you can't help but think of as sweet, "but they do help."

"Order enough to keep us here for a while," you say, and pass him a Rolling Stone.

The next while passes silently between you two, passing issues back and forth until one of you picks out something the two of you can fight about. Eddie twists his rings around when he's reading; you gather this from the looks you keep sneaking.

It feels eerily relaxed. Slightly domestic. And by the end, over-caffeinated with the way you two are soundlessly cackling over an imagined world where the cover of Springsteen's Born in the USA isn't an ass shot, but a full-frontal dick shot. "But where does he put the flag?!"

It's one way to kill a Saturday.

SECRET SONG: SWAPPING NOTES

In the relentless waves of the morning crush to get to his next class, he almost misses you-- just like he'd like to almost miss this next class. But then, there you are with freshly-manicured nails digging into his elbow.

For whatever reason, you've taken it upon yourself to make sure that Eddie Munson doesn't skip! At least, where you can help it.

"Yoohoo! Spanish is this way," you say, reorienting him in the right direction in that insistent little way that you do. Eddie's pretty sure that if he sat on you, you'd snap, yet he lets you completely manipulate his clearly superior physical strength anyway.

"We're not in Spanish together!" he tries, a last ditch to get you to turn around so he can ditch.

"No, but French is juste par là so you are pas de chance, my friend!" you tell him with a stare that says I've been tracking your movements like a hunter, dumbass. See my big spear? From that gargantuan folder you're clutching, you dig out a paper. "I have that thing you wanted me to look at."

"Sssshut up, I don't need everyone to know," Eddie flushes. It's not homework he begged to copy from you for once. It is actually this comparative essay that he actually thinks he might not have completely screwed up. But he kind of wanted a professional not-screwer-upper-of-homework's point of view, so... that's why your little red pen marks are all over it.

"Why, whose reputation am I sparing?" He sees your point. You are basically walking arm in arm with him. You. "But, y'know, I was right about you! The thought is there, the execution just needs a little fine tuning."

"So it was..."

"Not amazing! But not awful. I've done my edits and you can just copy as per-- but absorb them, please, okay? Learn something?"

Eddie's head rolls back on his neck with this petulant groan and he almost clocks a freshman at elbow level, shaking his arms in total frustration. God, now you were giving him homework on top of his homework? He should have just paid you to do the homework!

"I hate when you want me to better myself! Shit!"

"Well!" you say, in that bright, adorable, annoyingly-self satisfied way, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't see potential, so suck on that."

[detectivestucks]

A Jealous Hokage XIV

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader x Obito

Summery: The confrontation between you, Kakashi, and Obito does not go well resulting in Obito visiting you at your new job to apologize. Lady Tsunade gets involved.

Warnings: NSFW, dom kink, knee riding, squirting, slight choking, nipple play, anal play, unprotected penetration

Word Count: 7.7k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Part 13 New Here? Check out Part 1

A/N: Okay, so not as long but still long...but we're so close to the end!

Kakashi was starting to zone out at his desk when suddenly Obito comes bursting into his office.

“KAKASHI WE NEED TO TALK!”

Kakashi’s heart drops to his feet when he sees you suddenly in his presence caked in blood.

“Y/N, what happened?!”

You look up at Kakashi feeling flustered and embarrassed. Your brain was still reeling from the scene you left no more than three minutes prior. You begin to open your mouth to speak when Kakashi cuts you off.

“Wait, Obito, why are you-? How are either of you-”

There is no need for him to finish his question. Obito was following you just as Kakashi told him not to do and he teleported you here after you got yourself into trouble.

“Nevermind.” he says trying to collect his composure but still passing Obito a glare as to say he would deal with his insubordination later.

“She was attacked by the Stone!”

“Why would our allies attack her?! I just got a raven from the Tsuchikage-”

“One of their Black Ops didn’t trust her and he corralled three others to attack!”

“Eight others” you interject. “I’ll have you know I fought off five of them by myself. Stop treating me like I’m weak Obi!”

Yes, you were grateful to Obito for saving you but you knew exactly what he was trying to do by running to Kakashi like this.

“If you’re so strong why did I have to come and save you?!”

“Are we really going to ignore the fact that I was up against nine shinobi, one of whom was Anbu, and I held my own until help arrived?!”

“Yes! Cause help had to arrive!” Obito shouts.

“Wait, why did you have to wait for help to arrive, where is Naruto?” Kakashi suddenly chimes in.

“Exactly” Obito states, rounding on Kakashi “Where was your golden boy, Kakashi? He was nowhere to be seen while she was pinned to a tree!”

Kakashi’s face flashed a look of heartbreak. He scanned over your blood stained skin and uniform. He could only imagine how you felt pinned to that tree. Nine men had ambushed you. He never thought there would be so many people hunting you at once, nor did he think it would happen so soon. This was a mistake.

You saw the look on Kakashi’s face for what it was, your days outside the village walls were over.

“I believe Naruto was poisoned by the food they gave us.” you finally say, hoping it might help the situation. But Obito’s fury immediately undoes your efforts.

“How does he get himself fuckin poisoned,  Y/N?! He’s one of the strongest shinobi in the world but he can’t tell his food’s been poisoned?!” Obito is livid and he turns towards Kakashi. “If you had just listened to me this would’ve never happened! She’s lucky I showed up when I did!”

“You need to calm down Obito!” you shout. 

He’s only making the situation worse as you watch the wheels turn in Kakashi’s head. “You didn’t need to go into a full susanoo to cut down four men. Clearly you’re letting your emotions get the better of you!”

“And you need to stop being so calm about this, Princess! I told you that you were going to get yourself killed!”

“Well if that’s how you feel, then I guess you didn’t do a good enough job training me!”

“ENOUGH!” Kakashi was through listening to you bicker. “Obito, where is Naruto?”

“Probably back by the Stone.”

“When we’re done, go get him. He probably needs medical care.”

“Fine.”

“Y/N” You gulp. Your nerves are on edge. You still had so much adrenaline coursing through your body from the fight in the woods, not to mention your current confrontation. 

“You’re done going on missions.”

“Kakashi no!”

“It’s too dangerous. You’ve only done three visits and look what’s happened.”

“I’m not going back to my desk!”

“You are and you will! Look at yourself! Do you really think you can walk into my office covered in blood and expect me to keep sending you out of the village?!”

“That’s not fair! Obito’s the reason I was doused in blood! It wasn’t nearly as bad as it looks!”

“NINE ninja, Y/N! Nine!”

“Kashi-”

“Lord Sixth!”’ he corrects.

You fall silent. Was he seriously asking you to call him by his title right now?! A title to which he hates being called? Hell no. You chew on the inside of your cheek, brows furrowed as you pull your courage together.

“You know what ‘Lord Sixth’? I’m done.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kakashi lets out an exasperated sigh, “Y/N-”

“No my Lord, I’m done. Accept my resignation and don’t bother chasing after me. We're through.”

Kakashi lifts his head as he is stunned into silence. He’s not sure if his heart is even beating as his brain contemplates your words.

You begin to cry as you talk, “After all the shit you put me through, I’m finally happy and you think you can just take it away after two missions?!”

“Y/N you almost died” Obito tries to help

“Stay out of this Obito! You’ve done enough!”

Obito quickly shrinks away, his eyes darting over to Kakashi, still frozen like a statue. His only movements come from the tears leaking out of the corners of his glazed eyes.

“This relationship is over.” A salty stream is freely pouring down your cheeks. “I can’t live like this anymore Kashi! I’m done.”

You run from his office towards your own. Rushing to go gather your things. You slam your office door open startling Shiho who was working late.

She shouts your name in surprise as she clutches her chest. The sight of your crimson body, blood dried everywhere except for a trail of clean skin carved down your cheeks by the hot tears falling from your eyes, was frightening. 

“I’ve resigned, Shiho. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N are you alright?”

You ignore her question and just gather your many textbooks in your arms. They were heavy but thanks to the adrenaline that had yet to expire, you’re able to carry them just fine. 

You storm out of headquarters and speed walk to your apartment, scaring several people in the streets as you go. With each step towards home you start to feel the tiredness creep in. Adrenaline finally slipping away.

For the first time in your life, you were without a job, a plan, or a goal. All you knew, as you sniffle back your emotions, is that this chapter with Kakashi is closed. 

********************************************

“Hi Ms. Sarutobi! You getting flowers for your mom again?”

You smile at little Mirai. She came into the Yamanaka flower shop at least twice a week to buy flowers for Kurenai. Her messy dark locks and chubby little cheeks were just the sweetest. She stopped by on her way home from preschool whenever she was thinking about her mom. Every time you look into her red eyes, you find yourself hoping that one day you have a kid as thoughtful as her.

“Yes Miss Yamanaka! Can I have camellias for my mommy and lilies for my daddy?”

“You going to visit daddy today too?”

“Yes miss!”

“Well tell him I say hi!” you chipper as you wrap both of the bouquets separately

“Okay Miss Yamanaka!”

“Have a good day!!” you wave as Mirai’s little body leaves your aunt’s flower shop. The bouquets standing nearly as tall as her. 

You have been working at the Yamanaka flower shop for the past few weeks. Taking on temporary pay while you figure out what you’re going to do long term. How drastically different your life is today than it was a year ago. What were you thinking trying to date someone like Kakashi? For someone so smart, how could you act like such an idiot? It was hard not to fall for the stupid silver-haired genius. He was everything you could’ve ever wanted... but at what cost?

The good news is that Kakashi had respected your request to not have him chase after you. He hadn’t tried to come talk to you or see you since the night of your resignation, which you appreciated. Despite initiating the break up, you were still utterly shattered over the entire ordeal. You didn’t think you had it in you to see how poorly Kakashi was probably doing right now. You know you hurt him. He had envisioned marrying you and honestly, you thought you would. The two of you had been together for over a year.

All this craziness started a year ago. 

It’s a wild thought to have. If you had just kept your hands to yourself…you’d probably have been a well respected department head instead of working at a flower shop. Or maybe if you had just chosen Obito when he first asked you on a date. How different would your life be?

You wipe off your hands and walk to the back of the flower shop to take a break. 

Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen Obito since the night of your resignation either. You would’ve thought he’d be the first one to knock on your door the second you and Kakashi called it quits. Perhaps his feelings for you were just born out of competition with Kakashi. That thought adds to the crushing weight over your heart.

Was none of it real? 

You’re lost in your thoughts for hours as you take care of the customers entering the shop. You paint a smile on your face while your melancholy brain churns in the background. 

Eventually you walk up to the door and flip the 'open' sign to 'close.' Wiping the sweat off your brow, you take off your apron, laying it on the counter and head to the back. As you disappear, you hear the bell ring behind you.

“Shop’s closed!” you sing to the stranger

“Come on, have a heart” you hear a familiar voice rasp. “I was looking for some flowers to apologize to a beautiful woman.”

“Obito?”

Your head perks up and you rush out onto the shop floor. He stands there as handsome as ever, scarred face looking a mix of cocky and sheepish. 

“Princess”

“Obito” your heart floods with warmth but then you remember what he said “So you-you’re getting flowers for your girlfriend?”

“Well she’s not my girlfriend, but someone I care about very much.”

“I see.” you say, slightly chewing on your lip as you look around at flowers you think would be appreciated by any woman waiting for an apology.

“So what’d you do that you need to apologize for?”

“I’m the reason she quit her job and broke up with her boyfriend.”

You stand up straight, your eyes flashing over to him. Obito strides up to you, standing dangerously close.

“Princess” he grabs your hand, holding it gingerly in his “I’m sorry. I freaked out when I saw you pinned against that tree and I-” he closes his eyes trying to force out the words, “I acted on emotion instead of what was best for you.”

Tears well up on your lash line before spilling out onto your cheeks. You had no idea how bad you needed to hear those words. 

“Obito…thank you.”

“I should’ve come sooner but I didn’t want to come when the break up was fresh. I-I wanted to give you time to heal. I’m so sorry that I contributed to your pain.”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms around Obito’s neck, burying your face under his jaw. He wraps his arms around your waist holding you close. 

“Thank you Obito, I really needed to hear that.”

“I’m so sorry Princess. I would do anything to make you happy.”

“You’d do anything?”

“Anything” he breathes into your neck.

You lift your face so that your glassy eyes could stare into his chestnut ones. You stand there in silence, lost in each other's gaze when you see Obito’s eyes fall to your lips. Your mouth parts as you're about to speak when Obito closes his eyes and leans in for a kiss. 

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips crash into your’s. They’re soft but firm, working perfectly against your own. You can sense the faint smell of a campfire mixing with his musk. The trademark of an Uchiha’s fire nature. His lips move slowly, savoring your taste, not wanting to rush anything about this moment. He inhales deeply, and in doing so, not only allows your pheromones to consume him but take control. 

He starts to suck on your bottom lip, pulling a small moan from you as you open your mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen, pushing your tongue into his cavern. He grants you access with a quiet moan of his own. The sound leaving you dizzy. Your tongues dance together as sparks fly between you. It feels like time is slowing down but your pulse still quickens. One hand travels up to his unkempt mane while the other digs into the muscles of his back. He grunts and steers you into the nearby wall, slamming you up against it as he continues to explore the inside of your mouth with his pink muscle. 

One of his hands travels down to your hip and rubs light circle over it, occasionally allowing his fingers to sink into the flesh of your behind as he presses his pelvis into yours. The sounds of his satisfied humming ring loudly in your ears. The noises and feelings of being desired so primally fill you with lust. He had wanted this for so many months and now you were finally giving it to him. Allowing him to taste the fruit that had been forbidden for so long. The way his body responded to yours fueled your veins with fervor. 

Obito pulls your leg up to wrap around his waist as he continues to grind into you. Lips never breaking from the heated kiss you share. You can feel the bulge in his pants begin to grow. It presses harder and harder against your center and you begin to drool thinking about how it would feel between your legs. Your soft moans grow needier and Obito can’t help himself. He grabs both of your hands, stealing them from off his body and lacing his fingers with yours. He slams the back of your hands up against the wall behind you. 

Your leg falls from his waist and lands outside his leg. Desperate for friction you begin to rub against his thigh. His kiss has you worked up and you feel the arousal form from the coiling in your core.

Obito smiles into the kiss. 

“Geez Princess. You feelin that desperate that you're trying to get off on my knee?”

“Yes” you pant, “need…more”

Obito begins to rock his leg up and down, rutting it up between your legs as you grind your folds against him. Slick is seeping out into your underwear as you let the fabric covering your sex tug at your clit. Losing all sense of shame, you moan loudly into his mouth, grinding harshly against him. 

Obito feels as if he’s died and gone to heaven. You on the other hand hadn’t been touched since before your last mission. It had been nearly two months without so much as self gratification and now that someone was paying attention to you, you were greedily chasing your high. But this wasn’t just someone; this was Obito. A man who loves you, who’s saved you, who takes care of you when you need him. You begin to fiend for him. Your arms struggle against the wall wanting to grab him, scratch and claw at his back, pull his hair, but Obito’s grip only tightens as a smug chuckle leaves his lips. 

“Never thought I’d see the day where you want me more than I want you... I’m going to enjoy this.”

Your breathing labors, you’re kissing him harder, pushing your chest into him. You were straining to soak up as much of him as possible, needing to fuse his body with yours. Your mind was swimming with lust as you felt the familiar build in your center. The spring coiled tighter and the intensity of your motions grew until the coil finally snapped.

Your breathing hitched as your walls clenched around nothing. Your heart racing fast in your chest as you fall limp against his muscular body.

Obito brings your arms back to his neck as his finger moves under your jaw, lifting your chin so that you are looking up at him again. 

“I hope you weren’t going to get yourself off and just leave me like this.” He says as he seductively pushes his erection into you. An involuntary moan passes your lips and your eyes slightly cross at the thought of him inside of you. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” he chuckles, “You weren’t going to forget about me.”

You feel your very mushy mind further dissolve into soup as his raspy tone resonates in your ear. Fuck, he’s so hot. How did you resist him all this time? How much loyalty must you have had for Kakashi to not allow yourself to fall helplessly into Obito’s web? It didn’t matter anymore, you were free to get caught in his snare and be devoured by him.

You close your eyes and lean into his mouth, taking custody of his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled back. As it slips from your grasp you open your eyes and with a serious glare you whisper two words Obito’s only heard in his dreams, “Take me.”

Obito’s eyes flash from brown to red as his sharingan takes over and his breathing becomes heavy. He lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist and carries you over to the flower shop counter, setting you down and tearing off your clothes.

His mouth is all over yours in a much sloppier kiss as he rids your delicate frame of the concealing fabric. You claw off his shirt, anxious to lick and nip as the muscle underneath. The more skin that’s exposed, the more your lips stray from his mouth, tracing along his jaw, his scars and the column of his neck. You were sucking and biting and marking him without shame or care of who might see his bruises. The sexiest moans come from him each time you release your mouth after leaving a new mark. The slick already dripping out of your bare cunt puddles on the countertop with each sound from his lips. 

Your hands make quick work of the front of his pants, pulling them down so that his hardened member springs out, slapping him in his abdomen. You bite your lip as your eyes widen in hunger, looking down on his manhood. 

White precum oozes at the tip, leaking out a physical sign of his immense desire. You smear it with your thumb before bringing it to your mouth. Looking Obito dead in the eyes as you suck it off your thumb. He swears his heart stops as he watches your lips wrap around the digit and sees your cheeks hollow. 

His jaw drops and his breathing becomes ragged. Your hands return to his erection, holding him at the base as you drop a glob of spit on his tip, letting it drip down before stroking him.  Your spit acts to lubricate your hand as you tug along his shaft. Obito pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, dying to close his eyes from the blissful pleasure of your small hands wrapped around his length but he can’t bring himself to look away. 

As your hands graze up and down you admire the curve of his member and the large veins running its course. You imagine how his shape will feel buried inside of you. How it will brush against all those spots that bring tears to your eyes. Before you realize it, a drop of drool falls from your lips and you quickly look up to see if Obito noticed. Your eyes are met with his and the cockiest smirk stretches his lips. 

“You droolin over my cock, Princess?”

A flush covers your cheeks and you mumble, “Maybe a little.”

You cast your eyes down in embarrassment when Obito’s hand fists your hair and pulls back till your gaze meets his intense carmine stare. 

“What was that?” he rasps

You swallow as you stare down your nose into his hungry glare

“Yes sir. I was drooling over your cock.”

Obito licks his teeth before his seductive smile splits his face. Keeping his tight grip on your hair, he leans into your ear and hums. “Don’t worry baby, you can have this cock all to yourself.”

“Thank you sir”

Obito’s eyes close as he groans at your words. He kicks his pants off the rest of the way and slots his manhood between your lower lips, sliding in its entirety with no preparation needed. You were sopping wet, anxious to have him inside of you and it was everything he made it seem in his genjutsu. 

Just the insertion alone stole your breath and formed a creamy ring around his base. 

“Gods damn, Princess. So fuckin tight” 

Obito’s breathing was labored by the feeling of finally, finally having your walls restrict around him. It was better than any dream he had or any genjutsu he conjured. This was the most surreal moment of his existence. He pulls your forehead up to his and rests them together. 

“I love you y/n, I fuckin love you with every fiber of my being.” There it is. The words he’s been dying to tell you. The ones dancing on the tip of his tongue for months. He finally said them out loud.

“Obito I-”

But you don’t have a chance to finish because he pulls you into another heated kiss. One hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapped around your upper body, pulling you into him as he begins to stroke in and out of you. You start to moan into his mouth from the strokes. It felt so sinfully good. His tip brushes all the right places and his girth stretches you wide. You feel stuffed full and you can’t get enough of him.

“M’gonna take care of this cute pussy and give her all the attention she deserves.”

“Yes sir, thank you”

“Keep callin me sir and I won’t be able to control myself, Princess.”

Obito’s strokes become harsher causing you to flail your head back in bliss, loud moans spilling from your open mouth.

His harsh snaps increase in speed and your brows pinch together in agonizing pleasure. “I’m sorry sir!” you cry as you lose all dignity. “I just want you to keep stuffing me with your cock.”

Animalistic grunts rumble from Obito’s chest, his pace quickening. The slapping sounds of his balls beating against your wet cheeks fill the room. Your creamy arousal seeping out and coating everything between your thighs, his entire pelvis, the entirety of your rear, and a good portion of the counter. You’re consumed by desire and can’t help the deadly grip it has over your body. 

Obito’s speed picks up another notch and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body falls limp on the counter as you’re fucked stupid on his length. Each of Obito’s hands grab both of your breasts as he uses them as leverage for his thrusts. Your body bounces off of Obito’s hips with each collision but he holds you at the counter’s edge by the grip on your tits. 

His face dives into your chest, licking and sucking on each nipple as if it were his to own. He’d teeth on one while his fingers rolled the other causing you to choke on your own groans. It was filthy the way you consumed each other. The long build up of sexual tension all spilling out here on the flower shop counter. 

While still sucking on your nipple, he shifted one of your legs over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You gasped at how far he reached, his tip brushing all the right spots. You fear your eyes might permanently cross from the pleasure. Rhythmic moans are pushed out of you to the beat of Obito’s hips. Your hands clutching onto his midnight strands, nails digging into his scalp as his tongue unrelentingly laps at your buds. 

“Obito I-I’m gonna-m’gonna…”

“Say it pretty girl. Use your words.”

“M’gonna cum!”

Almost as if granting you permission, Obito pistons into you at rapid fire not just pushing you over the edge but launching you there. He wraps one arm around the back of your neck and the other pinches one of your nipples, tugging it harshly. When you cum it sprays out like a geyser, soaking his chest and dripping down his legs. You had made a huge mess and it thrilled him. 

He pulls out of you to lap at your sex. His tongue poking in and scooping out the mix of cum and spray, feasting on your labia like a man starved. It was overstimulating and you were flinching and spasming with each minute movement. 

“Obiiiiiii” you scream

Your entire core tenses up, you abdominals become sore from how tight you're squeezing. 

“Please!”

You’re thrashing from sensitivity but his grip around your legs only increases. He restrains you with all his strength, too lost in his own ambitions to let you slip away. He’s gone deaf to your cries. All his senses honed in on your taste. How soft your skin is against his tongue, how sweet your creamy cum is. He licks in and around your entire sex, consuming as much of your essence as he can. 

When he’s finally full he flips you over like a doll and sinks in from behind. Your eyes once again crossing from how his curve hits your squishy spots. Your panting and out of breath. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take but he’s not gonna stop till he gets his fill. He’s been waiting months for this moment. His unrequited love finally reciprocated. 

He starts out slow, rolling his hips gently into yours. His still soaked front soiling your backside with each kiss of his pelvis. Every time he buried himself up to the hilt a guttural groan is pressed out of your diaphragm playing like music against his ear drum. 

“Obi…thank…you.”

You say it in a soft tired whisper and a switch inside him flips.

His hands perched on your hips, grip you tightly as he begins to slam into you. Each collision sending a ripple of shockwaves through the flesh of your behind.

“Spread your cheeks.”

“Yes sir.”

Obito once more groans at the moniker. He shifts his hands up to your shoulders, giving him better leverage as you bounce off his thighs. He looks down watching how he disappears inside of you and it is a vision he will ingrain into his memory forever. He feels how his core tightens as he watches the wet slick coating his member grow more and more glossy. 

Your cheek laying against the cool countertop is pried away by Obito’s hand slipping around your neck. His grip tightens and you gasp at the restriction, your fingers sinking deeper into your own spread cheeks. 

Obito looks down noticing your neglected back door and spits on the puckered hole. He removes his other hand from your shoulder, trailing a finger down your spine all the way to where the spit pools at your sphincter. Chills populate down your spinal column as an involuntary whine slips past your throat. His constant pounding keeping your abdomen wound tight. 

He pushes his finger in as you hiss, clenching around him in response. An amused hum flushes out of him as he begins to rim you. You cry his name between gasps of pleasure and he sinks his finger in deeper. He strokes it in and out of you till he finds where your walls clamp down on him and he begins to focus on that spot.

Stroking slightly with his finger and timing it with the thrusts of his pelvis. You dissolve into a babbling mess, nothing but a heap of flesh existing in this moment for Obito to use as he pleases. He tightens his grip on your neck, cutting off your nonsensical noises as he snaps into you impossibly fast. Your nails dig into your own skin leaving behind scratch marks on your backside as you cream around him, toppling over into another orgasm.

Watching the accumulation of your cum at his base spurs Obito on and he loses all control. He pulls his finger out of your rear and sinks his clutches back in your hair. He yanks on it, lifting your chest and arching your back like his personal whore. You lose grip of your cheeks and slam your palms against the countertop, supporting your weight as Obito pounds into you with his entire being, completely lost inside your velvet walls. 

You scream as another intense orgasm wreaks havoc over your body and you spray everywhere. Obito looks down at the puddle you’ve created and shouts, “Fuck!” 

He closes his eyes and grunts. His thighs clench as the tightness in his core breaks. His moans are deafening as he empties himself inside of you. Erratic strokes milking himself within your spasming walls.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to bust in you like that.”

He pulls himself out quickly, shuttering at how his fast retreat brushed his sensitive tip, continuing to stroke himself so the rest of his cum empties on your backside.

“No.” you tiredly pant. “It’s okay. I’m on birth control.”

“Thank gods. I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

You stand on shaking legs to turn to him, grabbing his shoulders for stability. You breathily smile, tired eyes beaming at him. “It’s okay, really. I got carried away too.”

Just as you finish your sentence your legs give out and Obito catches you. 

“Is there a bathroom or something we can clean ourselves off in?”

“Yeah, there’s one in the back.”

Obito scoops you up bridal style and carries you through your aunt’s shop to the bathroom, setting you down to help clean your sex and legs. Obito wipes off his chest, pelvis and thighs before picking you up again and carrying you to your clothes. He sits you down in a nearby chair, dressing you like a helpless fragile being. Kissing each part of your body before covering it with cloth. 

Once you are decent, he goes and dresses himself, then heads back to the bathroom to get towels to clean up the mess on the shop’s counter and floor. You blush deeply as Obito remarks how much you squirted, forcing him to go retrieve additional towels. 

You begin to swing your legs in the chair as you watch him. Eyes soaking up his muscular frame as he attentively mops up your mess. 

When he is done, he turns to you. You notice how his eyes have turned back to their soft brown color. The intensity is gone and his loving nature returns, gushing from his very pores. He leans down and pecks your cheek. 

“So where do we go from here?”

“I think for now, we go home.”

“Who’s home?”

“Mine of course.” you say with an innocent smile

Obito kisses your forehead. “Do you have any belongings you need to bring with you?”

“My pack is over there.”

He reaches over and grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he picks you up once more and uses Kamui to bring you home. He lowers you down onto your bed and plants a tender kiss on your lips before letting you go. 

“I’m kinda hungry. You mind if we eat?”

“Sure Princess, what do you want?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. I have leftovers in the fridge. Is that alright?”

“Of course.”

“You like dumplings?”

“They’re my favorite.”

You blush. “I guess that’s what they call serendipity.”

“I guess it is.”

You guide Obito over to your kitchen, holding his hand as you take out the dumplings and heat them up. Obito stands behind you the entire time, hugging you, unable to let you go. He was incredibly clingy but after these lonely weeks you welcomed it. 

Once done eating you lay on the couch together, resting in Obito’s arms without the guilt of your feelings for Kakashi laying over your heart. Yes you still loved him but you weren’t built to date a celebrity. A normal relationship is what you need and Obito can give that to you. You nestle deeper into him, enjoying the bliss of something new. 

Eventually you drag yourselves off the couch and get ready for bed. You phish out a new toothbrush for him to borrow and he strips down to his briefs, using them as his pajamas. You can’t help but ogle at how the gray spandex stretches over his bulge. He was definitely a shower, not a grower, and it was an arousing detail to note. 

The two of you crawl into your bed, him spooning you from behind. As Obito wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, he thinks about how this was the happiest day of his existence. He knows he’ll never allow himself to forget it. Obito nudges your neck with his nose as he settles against you, the smell of your shampoo filling his nostrils and lulling him off to sleep. A deep satisfying and peaceful sleep that both of you found yourselves desperately needed.

**********************************************

The morning sun filters through your curtains, splashing its rays over your faces. You squint as you look over your shoulder at Obito resting so peacefully behind you. You softly roll over in his arms, trying to get a better look at him. 

Your fingerpads trailed along the scarlines of his face that tore deep into his skin yet added so much character to his square jawline. Your eyes flitted over his shaggy tuft of raven hair that never seemed to be combed down. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you preferred it that way. Your eyes then follow your hand as it grazes over his bicep. You notice the blend of white skin with his nude tone and marvel at the power of Hashiraman cells. Your fingertips begin to trace the veins that span the course of his arms, feeding oxygen to the bulky muscle built upon every bone in his body. The man was more in shape than Kakashi, which was saying something. 

You folded your arms in between your chests and continued to gaze up at him. How could a man be so intimidating to everyone he meets yet to you he is nothing but warmth? You bury your face into his chest, not ready to wake up yet. You want to lay just a little longer in his arms before you begin your shift at the shop. 

As you rest your head against his chest you hear him softly moan and tighten his embrace. It makes you smile knowing how happy Obito is to be sharing this moment with you. The love of an Uchiha is a powerful force. It’s hard to push away feelings so strong. To finally accept his affection felt easy and right. You just wish you could stop thinking about Kakashi. It hurt so much to even think his name. Yet everytime you open your eyes to look up at Obito, you see a reflection of Kakashi in his features. 

“Mmmm…” you hear the grumbling of his groggy voice as he squeezes you during his morning stretch. 

“Obi!” you squeal. 

“Sorry Princess. Don’t wanna let go.” he sleepily says as he rubs his cheek against your hair. 

“I don’t wanna get up either but I have to go to work in a few hours.”

“Perfect. We can cuddle for a few hours.”

You giggle at his neediness. “No, I have chores to do, Obi. I can’t lay in bed!”

“Lies. There’s no chores.”

“Obi…” you try to tickle him but he only squeezes you tighter. “Obi” you kiss his jaw. “I’d love” another kiss to his neck “to say and cuddle but” you kiss him one final time, “I have things to get done.”

“Do we have to get up?”

“Yes Obi” you giggle again. 

Why is he so cute?

You squirm out of his arms and start getting dressed for the day. He lays in your bed and watches you. It’s not till you say that you need to shower that he fully gets out of bed, insisting that he needs to join you to ‘conserve water.’ After a little bit of fooling around, you finally get clean and dry off, ready to get started on your to-do list after a spot of breakfast. While finishing your food Obito suddenly changes the course of the conversation.

“Princess, when are you going to get a real job?”

You give Obito a bit of a glare for his phrasing of the question.

“Well, I haven’t quite decided what I’m doing yet. However, I’m very tempted by Lord Garra’s offer. I even visited the Sand last week to look at potential housing.”

Obito felt his heart drop to his stomach. 

“You’re moving to the Sand?!”

“Well, it’s that or learn a whole new trade.”

“But you don’t need to go to the Sand to do translations! You can do that here at the Leaf!”

“I can’t Obi. You know that.”

“You can’t run away to the Sand just to avoid your ex boyfriend, Princess! Stop acting like a child!”

“I’m not acting like a child! I’m accepting a higher position with better pay! It’s a promotion and if you love me as much as I think you do, you’d be proud!”

“But…” He doesn’t want to say it but he can’t handle the idea of you running away just when he finally got you. 

“You can visit me. You can teleport into the village whenever you want.”

“I’m not supposed to do that though. It could cause an international incident.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

“Yes Princess! It was!”

“Obito, what’s the big deal?!”

“The big deal is your leaving! And over what?! Some drama with Kakashi!”

“It wasn’t just some drama Obito! You know that better than anyone else!”

Obito goes quiet before he speaks again

“Am I ever going to be enough?”

“What?” You felt disarmed by his question

“Enough for you to be happy? Enough for you to stay?”

His eyes look up at you, their full intensity boring into your stare. You don’t know what to say. Work is important to you. You don’t want to sacrifice it again. Especially not over a guy, not a second time. 

“Obito…It’s not about if you’re enough. It’s about not repeating the same mistakes.”

“I…I um,” Obito is trying to hide his hurt but he feels the sudden need to be alone. “I’ll see you later, okay Princess?”

“Obito, I’m sorry!”

“We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Obito, please don’t leave.”

“Have a good day, Princess.”

He kisses the top of your head as he hugs you goodbye, ignoring your pleas to stay. 

“Obito, wait!”

He closes the door and disappears, making a quick exit to avoid further hurt. You sit at your table a mess of emotions. 

This morning had been so good. Why did he have to ask that stupid question?

You grab the plates off the table and go to deposit them in the sink before heading out to run your errands feeling your chest tighten as you think about Obito.

************************************************

Kakashi is back at headquarters holding an intelligence briefing with the elders, Sasuke, and your replacement. Lady Tsunade joins them after finally making it back to the village after an extended trip around the great nations, enjoying her retirement. Having nearly a year’s worth of events to catch up on, she was naturally invited. 

“We believe these markings on the wall of the temple speak of a second divine tree that will be planted after a century.” The new intelligence officer states, “Based on the age, we believe that is only a few years away.”

“That’s very troublesome news. And we’re sure the translation is accurate?” Lord Hamura asks

“Admittedly we’re not. It was the best we could do with the resources we have.”

“What does Y/N think?” Lady Tsunade interjects

Kakashi scratches his temple and casts his eyes towards the floor.

“What? Did something happen?”

Sasuke clears his throat and speaks on Kakashi’s behalf. “She quit a few weeks back.”

“She what?!”

“She was unhappy about being taken off active duty after there was an incident with the Stone.”

“Why was she on active duty to begin with?! She was supposed to be Department Head!”

Tsunade’s anger towards the news of your resignation was only made worse by the confusion she felt. Lady Koharu speaks up to clarify. 

“Well actually, after it was revealed that she was in a romantic partnership with Lord Sixth we had told her we could no longer accept her candidacy.”

“You WHAT?!”

Tsunade’s fuse was short and the news of everything that happened while she was away enjoying her retirement had it lit.

“It was a conflict of interest.”

“You IDIOTS! She’s the most talented linguist in the five great nations and you care about who she’s dating?!”

“As you can see, we were right to worry. She didn’t respond well to direct orders from Lord Sixth when it came to her last mission.”

“Well you see Lady Koharu, that was-” Kakashi barely had the strength to say the words out loud, “That was my fault.”

Tsunade stands to her full height, anger feuling her words, “You numbskull geezers fail to see the full picture. Who cares who she seeing? We need her! Kakashi, you better prepare to beg.”

“Lady Fifth, I-I don’t think she’ll hear what I have to say right now.”

“Fine. I guess it’s up to me to fix the mess you three created.” The look of fire in her eyes has the entire room uneasy “She’s going to be Department Head. If that’s what it takes to get her back, that’s what she’ll get. She deserves the position anyways.”

The elders shrink before Tsunade as they nod in agreement. 

Feeling the matter was settled Tsunade left the meeting to go find you and rectify the situation. 

****************************************************

You're cutting the stems off a new batch of flowers in the back of the shop when you hear the bell ring. “Ino, can you get that?” 

You overhear the sound of female voices followed by footsteps heading in your direction. “Ino, what is…it?”

Your words trail off as you realize Lady Fifth is standing before you. 

“Lady Tsunade, to what do I owe the honor?” you bow your head as you address her.

“Oh drop the formalities, Y/N. We’ve worked together enough.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

“To bring you back, of course?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid. We need you back at headquarters.”

“I’m sorry. I know you have been gone a long time so you don’t understand, but I’m quite happy with my decision to leave.”

“Y/N, we need you. We cannot investigate the Otsusuki without you.”

“I’m sure Sasuke is doing just fine.”

“Y/N, your mind is quintessential to the success of our intelligence team. Come back to headquarters.”

“Lady Tsunade...”

“Y/N, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I can’t…after everything that’s happened.”

“You’ll be Department Head.”

“Wha…” The word gets caught in your throat. Disbelief widened your eyes. “The elders-”

“Have spoken. As a village advisor myself, I have every right to contribute to this decision and the elders agree with me. Like I said, I’m not taking no for an answer here.”

“You’ll-you’ll give me the job, just like that?”

“You earned it. It was never going to belong to anyone else.”

“Lady Fifth, I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll take it.”

“Y-yes, yes, of course, I’ll take it!”

“Good. I intend to stop by your new office on Monday. Make sure you’re there.”

“Yes ma’am”

With your confirmation, Lady Tsunade pressed an office key into your hand and retired from the shop. 

You were left feeling a whirl of emotions. You weren’t looking forward to seeing Kakashi again, or working for him, but you did need the pay and it was your dream job. One you had spent five years working towards. The promotion that was rightfully yours now actually is! Kakashi drama aside, you hold the key to your chest and squeal in excitement. 

You need to find Shiho and celebrate.

**********************************************

A bit hungover after a late night out with Shiho, you drag your feet across the village carrying your box of textbooks and office decorations. You wished you were on better terms with Obito so he could just Kamui you to the building but you hadn’t seen him yet to tell him the good news. 

You fear you broke him yesterday morning with all that talk of going to the Sand. You want to find him and tell him you’re not leaving. Tell him you’re going to face Kakashi and start fresh as Department Head. But alas, it is Saturday morning so he wasn’t going to be at headquarters. Who knows where he spends his time beyond headquarters, missions, and bothering you... 

In your new office, you lift the picture frame of you and Shiho from the Gala out of the box. It really was a beautiful dress you wore. You don’t think you ever felt prettier than you did that night. You grab another frame out the box. This one is brand new. It was a picture of you and Shiho from last night. 

Is it professional to have a picture of yourself drunk on your work desk? Absolutely not. But is it a core memory you want to look at whenever you are stressed? Yes. 

As you set the frame down you hear a man walking down the hallway. You notice his footsteps and your eyes lift just in time to see a white mane come to a halt in your doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Part 15 Masterlist

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello, I don't know if you remember me, but I sent you an order by message and you told me to send it to you again, here it is.

Hello, first of all, good day/afternoon or night.

I've been reading your latest posts, and I really love them.

If it's not too much trouble, I wanted to place an order for Tim Drake x Male Reader.

I would like the reader to be the son of trigon and for him to be a sorcerer.

That he already knows Tim when he is in civilian clothes, but at night he is a watchman who consumes the souls of criminals (I don't know if I make myself understand)

That one night he meets batman and robin (if you want you can make them have the heroes) and they try to capture him, but during the fight he starts flirting with tim and all that, but then tim realizes that the sorcerer is the person who likes (the reader) but does not tell batman to protect him. Then you can continue with the plot, but that's my main idea.

I hope I have not bothered you.

Tim Drake x Son of Trigon male reader

Headcanons

Reader is Ravens brother in this, since you know, they’re both children of Trigon. Sorry this took a while to write.

You were one of Trigons hundreds of children, but you were born around the same time as Raven and the other seven deadly sins, so you got lumped in together with them. You quite enjoyed humanity, so you found your place amongst them with ease.

You didn’t actually know about your connection to Trigon or Raven for that matter the first large chunk of your life, just that you were strange and everyone always seemed cautious of you on an instinctual level. You were also born in Gotham, which made you work harder on hiding your less than human abilities, because of Batman’s no meta rule.

You had an ability similar to your half brother Gluttony, that allowed you to consume the souls and very strength of your victims. And after your mother is fatally harmed by the rogues of Gotham, you decide to make something out of yourself.

You tended to stick to the shadows and only go after the worst of the worst, like traffickers or serial killers, knowing that most who did smaller crimes did it because they had no other choice.

Your abilities also allowed you to see a person and their souls, in the way that you can see if they are a good or bad person, which you use to find your targets.

Because of your heritage you have to use magic to hide your true appearance. As without your illusions you have multiple eyes and sharp ears, along with redder skin, all thanks to Trigon.

You go to the same school as Tim, which is where you meet for the first time. And thanks to your abilities you see that he is the best of the best when it comes to people and their morals, that he truly wants to help people, which makes you want to befriend him.

You and Tim grow closer, spending a lot of time together outside of class, which results in you visiting the manor on multiple occasions to hang out together.

Tim’s family of course tease him about you being his boyfriend, which always results in him glaring at them and blushing.

You are normally a very physically affectionate person to the people you care about, so you always hug Tim or hold his hand, or have kissed his cheek a couple of times before.

Sometime during all of this you figure out he is red robin, thanks to his soul shining so brightly in and out of costume. This happens during one of the attempts from the batfam to catch you, as they know you are killing people.

After this you can’t help yourself but make a game out of it, whenever the batclan tries to catch you, especially when its Tim. You flirt with him, blow him kisses and wink half of your four eyes.

Its four, since when you go out as your vigilante title you remove your illusions, so when the batclan sees you for the first time they can immediately tell your one of Trigons many children.

This causes some urgency to catch you, as all but Raven of Trigons children have been evil, but Tim can’t get himself to hurt you or fight you hard enough to cause lasting damage as there’s something familiar about you.

It’s when you one day catch him with magic as he slips trying to catch you, and you pull him up onto the rooftop you’re on and kiss his cheek that you realize who you are.

The way you kiss his cheek he can immediately tell it’s you, since he’s thought of the times you’ve kissed him before many times.

He ends up confronting you after observing you for a while, and when he learns you know who he is too, it becomes a little tense between you two until you both sit down and clear it up.

When Tim learns you do this to better the world, and that the people whose soul you devour are so evil they could never return to good, he doesn’t fully approve but accepts you for who you are, it helps you spend so long stalking your victims to make sure they truly are evil.

After this Tim helps hide you when the batfam are out looking for you, not that you need most of his help since your magic is so powerful. But he does use it as an excuse to spend time with you, hanging out under invisibility magic and talking on a rooftop.

At some point during all of this you two end up dating, as Tim confesses on accident during one of his rambles after not sleeping for a few days. When he realizes he confessed he tries to backpedal, until you teleport over to him and kiss him on the lips.

This keeps up for a while, you take care of your prey and Tim hiding you when you need it. He also spends slow patrol nights together with you. At some point they probably end up bringing Raven to Gotham to find you, since the rest of the batclan doesn’t know you and doesn’t know if you’re a threat.

So, your half sister ends up tracking your magic since you are family, and imagine the batfams surprise when they track you and find you and Tim kissing like teenagers on a rooftop on top of a blanket in the middle of a picnic date.

It leads to a lot of yelling and embarrassment, and then scolding from Bruce, and then Tim introducing you, his boyfriend, to his family. This is also when you meet your half sister for the first time, who’s happy to meet you when she finds out your life herself, fighting for good and have turned your back on your shared father.

Bruce still isn’t happy about your killing, so you tune it down even more. You leave your prey alive, but they wish they were dead, lets just leave it at that. The batfam crank up their teasing even more when they learn who you are outside of masks, causing Tim to yell at them to get out of his room and throw pillows at them.

At some point you probably join young just us, Tim’s team. Kon, Bart, and Cassie are just happy Tim’s happy, and they also brag about having a strong sorcerer on their team now too.

[chiisana-sukima]

Hello, what do you think about the take, and what Dean says in that one episode, that Sam is not like John than Dean?

Hi, Nonny! Thanks for the ask!

I'm guessing the episode you mean is 04x19 Jump the Shark, where Dean says Sam is more like John than he himself (Dean) ever was. If not, my apologies for misinterpreting, and I hope this is interesting anyway.

Imo accusations in spn of someone being like John are mainly about four things: anger, stubbornness, the desire for revenge, and child endangerment. And about those, my main thought is this:

image source

I do think early spn makes comparisons between John and Sam that are intended to represent character flaws Sam needs to struggle against and overcome. Sam is sometimes angry, he's often very stubborn, and there are multiple seasons where he's driven in part by desire for revenge. For better or worse though, I don't find the comparison very compelling; mainly because anger, stubbornness, and desire for revenge are all morally neutral. The only actual bastard in that combo up above is the child endangerment, which isn't really relevant to early seasons Sam.

Anger, and even hate, don't actually lead to the dark side of the Force; maladaptive responses to emotions do. Whether one wants to go to Blackwater Ridge like Dad said to practice one's vigilante serial killing profession or search for Jessica's murderer to do the same is not the compelling ethical problem spn makes it out to be. Either option results in killing (people-like-)monsters that are killing people while being too busy to kill other (people-like-)monsters that are killing other people. And everyone who's dead at the end of the day is equally dead regardless of whether one's motive was "pure" (saving people) or "stained" (revenge).

To give spn what credit it's due, s4, where this comparison from Dean occurs, *is* the closest Sam ever comes to having anger and desire for revenge drive him into maladaptive and harmful behavior. Especially in the flashback scenes to when Dean was in Hell, Sam is at least having a really rough time of it, even if he still honestly seems to not be harming anyone (more than usual for a hunter) but himself.

Any moral dimension is significantly undercut by the fact that Sam's kill count in s4 is not especially high (Sam 9/Dean 10), as well as by the fact that the behavior Dean doesn't approve of is saving possessed hosts instead of offing them indiscriminately as collateral damage to get at the demons inhabiting them.

And this quote itself is especially weirdly vibes-over-substance in that Dean is just disillusioned with Sam because Sam is disillusioned with life. There is no actual moral element to discuss. Adam was long dead before they got there. Sam is technically on the correct end of the argument: being left in the dark--the path Dean was advocating throughout the episode, and that he's bitter in this speech that Sam disagreed with him on--did possibly factor into getting Adam and his mom killed. Certainly Sam disagreeing with Dean in the present did not. But honestly, who cares either way? None of it is relevant now. Dead is dead, and neither Sam nor Dean had anything to do with it or has anything to be ashamed of.

Which brings me to the one thing the person who did have something to do with it actually should have been ashamed of: John treated all his kids badly. Whether he was motivated by anger and a desire for revenge or by fear for their safety or the side effects of alcoholism or not being able to keep it in his pants or whatever else is really only minimally relevant in terms of how much harm his behavior caused them.

And while I'm not a huge fan of the "Dean is Sam's parent" reading of spn, there's no doubt that because of John's neglect and parentification of Dean, Dean often feels like he was functionally Sam's parent. Which is fine! Feelings are neutral! But he also conducts his half of their relationship from within that paradigm; which is not great in the show's present because Sam is an adult.

And given all that, lets get back to Dean's "you were more like him than I'll ever be". Who, by the end of the season, is endangering their "child" here? Who, in Levee, puts their own needs and the needs of the hunt above the life of the person they (feel they) raised? Who says "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back"? And how likely do we all think it is that the writers didn't do that on purpose?

[singingcicadas]

The main thing I have against Spotlight: Hot Rod is that it portrays him as being constantly weighed down by past losses and guilt, to the extent that he even limits himself for fear of facing the potential negative consequences that his misjudgement might inflict onto others - the "prefer to go solo" line - when it contradicts the very essence of his character as established in MTMTE and the main comics (even Autocracy), which specifically presents him as the type of person who is unburdened by the past and for the most part consciously remains unaffected by the consequences of his actions. It's why he has a perpetual Peter Pan thing going on, because he moves on from one day to the next, one crisis to the next, for four million years without letting the experiences change him - which includes the experiences of deaths and sufferings of both himself and others - and maturity and growth cannot be achieved without change.

His impulsiveness and headstrong obstinacy is in part a compensation mechanism for insecurity and subconscious self-doubt but is also an intrinstic aspect of who he is, someone who plows onward while refusing to look back. He can feel sorry but he does not do regret, much less mire himself in it like his spotlight appears to suggest. As a matter of fact he doesn't mire himself in anything at all - be it politics, responsibility, or guilt. He doesn't regret Nyon, nor Ironhide, nor Optimus' resignation, nor leaving Cybertron, nor trusting Megatron. Not even the Overlord incident, since although he does feel bad for his poor decision getting a bunch of people killed, in the end the biggest issue that he has with it is the 89/101 voting result (which isn't even solely about Overlord).

It's obvious that he wants - expects - to stay as captain in spite of everything and having the vote cut so close got him hard because it's a blow to his ego. He practically admits to this when Optimus calles him out, which again is in direct contradiction to his spotlight monologue.

If he's willing to apply this kind of introspection for a failed mission that can’t even be attributed to his fault, then a lot of his later screwups would never have happened.

Choosing to return the Matrix to Optimus is supposed to be a landmark incident of Rodimus' character growth, yet he regresses right back in MTMTE, in which he develops a recursive pattern of messing up, trying to do better by making amends, then returning to his old ways because he can't fully commit. There's no fundamental change going on. I would argue that the true pivotal moment of change to his character took place during his talk with the guiding hand in Mederi, when he first learns to look past himself to accept what's best for other people, how his decisions might affect them etc. - even if it clashes with his own desires.

And then he chooses to save Getaway, and the speech that gave everyone the confidence to open their matrices. There's change and growth and maturity, he learns to fully empathize and appreciate the people around him. But with this growth comes a double-edged sword: by opening himself to connect with other people he leaves himself open to be affected as well - he is irrevocably changed by his experiences aboard the Lost Light, by the people around him he's grown to care about, so that when the Lost Light lands for its inevitable end and everyone departs to pursue their own lives, he alone remains mired in place, with nothing but the past to cling to. After a lifetime of moving on and brushing horrors off without lasting issue he's suddenly unable to move on. The remainder of his life becomes defined by the weight of memories and loss (and the empty comfort of a parallel universe of which its existence he'll never know).