#and like is having his blood a good thing or a bad thing they are getting confused. bc ace said before dying that he has a demons blood...

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.2

CW: Detailed description of wounds and torture, talk of derealization, disassociation, medical inaccuracies Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. ALSO I CAN'T FIND THE SAME GIF I USED FOR THE LAST ONE IM SO SAD and also this is shorter than the last one.

thanks to @haven247 for being my beta idea playlist part 1

“I'm a medic, please I don't know anything!” wrists strapped, metal on metal, ears ringing

“Stop please I-” touching, pulling, biting

“Im just a medic pl-” it hurts it hurts stop it please

“I don't know anything!” I'm innocent in this

“Please!” just let me die

“Stop it, please!” hurts hurts hurts

God just let me go

Humans are a funny thing. They crave life and living, no matter how awful the circumstance. You thought a lot about the apocalypse shows you used to binge watch, though about how they all fought to survive, even when it would have been better to die. You never really understood them until now. How someone could lose everything, be betrayed and hurt again and again and still want to live. And yet here you are.

Maybe hope if foolish. You'd lost hope for a long time, or at least you'd thought you'd had. But as the soldiers came crashing into your prison, as they held you at gunpoint as you tried to save their friend, you could feel her crawling out of the dark recesses of your heart. Her light was flickering, but there.

Stepping outside almost sends you into shock. The sights, the sounds the smells, everything just came rushing at you like a freight train. For so long you'd been floating in some half-aware state, the world around you muted and dull, and to have it crash back in like this was startling, to say the least. You would have fallen if not for the dark-skinned soldier holding your arm in a vice-like grip.

You can hear gunfire and screaming, so loud it almost made your ears hurt. Smell the smoke and the burning rubber. Feel the wind in your tangled hair and the blood slicking your hands. The blood. It is hot and slippery, coating your hands and soaking into your ratty t-shirt. You can hear Ghost's rattling, wet breaths, smell the metallic scent of his blood, feel the way his meat, his muscles and fat, brushed against your hand as you kept him from bleeding out, can feel his organs pressing against your fingers with each shuddering breath he takes.

Oddly enough, these sensation help ground you. They were things you knew, feeling you had grown accustomed to since your first day in med school.

You reach a helicopter, the rotors already spinning. Its a bit of a struggle to get in while making sure you don't let go of Ghost, but you manage. The soldiers carrying him place him on a row of seats, and you kneel down next to his body, hand still firmly holding gauze in place.

It wasn't doing much good, but it's not like you could tell anyone.

"Help him." The soldier with the mustache orders the moment you're in the air. He thrusts a med-kit at you, and the dark-skinned soldier opens it for you, showing you the contents.

They don't give you much to work with. Some gauze, a needle and thread, bandages, and a lighter. Rudimentary supplies. But hey, you've done more with less. Probably.

Your free hand drifts to the lighter, a distant memory of a soldier and a gunshot wound in a similar area flashing through your mind. It's not quite the same, more than just an artery nicked this time, but cauterization is all you can really do.

You grab the lighter, flicking it on and holding to his body. a hand closes like vice around your wrist, yanking your hand away.

"What the 'ell are ye doin'" A man with a Scottish accent practically snarls at you. You whine in response, tugging your arm uselessly.

"Soap." The mustache man says sharply, "Let 'em work."

"Sir-"

"Let them go." Your wrist drops, and you fumble with the lighter before holding the fame to Ghost's skin. You watch in sick fascination as his skin bubbles and burns, the fat and muscles shrinking away under the flame, the blood vessels sealing precariously as the heat sears them shut.

You don't know what effects this will have on his organs, if he'll be able to function the same way again. But you have to keep him alive. You look at his pale face, watch the way his chest shudders with every breath.

God you hope he makes it.

~line break~

They don't let you was before throwing you in a cell. Okay, maybe they didn't throw you, but regardless, you were still cuffed to a table with Ghost's blood crusted to your skin. It was gross. And cruel. They had stripped you away the second you reached the infirmary, not letting you see what was going to happen to your patient.

The door swings open and you flinch, looking up at the soldier that comes in with eyes. Its the man from the helicopter. Soap, you think his name is.

"Yer lucky the medics sayd he'll live." He says, his voice distinctly Scottish. He stalks towards you, sitting on the table on your left side.

" 've been instructed tae question ye, but first we ha'e tae git a look at yer face." He reaches for your mask, tugging it off your ear. All he succeeds in doing is pulling your head forward.

The mask is secured behind your head with a metal clasp, and could only be opened with a specific key, ensuring you couldn't take it off. You had tried, at first, to pull the stitches out, and this was the solution. You can't pull out stiches if you can't touch your mouth.

Soaps brow furrows, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. HE grimaces as he touches your hair, finally just pulling a knife out of his pocket. You tense automatically, squirming away as he brings it closer to you.

"Oh for fu- hold still!" He grasps your head, sliding the knife through the cloth by your ear. The mask falls away, leaving your face exposed

"Lets see what we're-" He freezes, the knife dropping to the floor with a clatter as he sees the mess that is your face. Your lips are sewn together, and the skin of your cheeks is red and raw from the tape that holds your feedign tube on.

"Oh shit." the blood drains from his face, his hand fumbling for the comm unit on his vest.

"Cap? Yeah, we've got a problem."

A/N: Okay, i'm not sure I like the second half, but here it is! Part 3 will have more Ghost/medic interaction :) tags: I definitely didn't get them all, I'm sorry there was just so many of you @smile6890 @cricricorner @unclearblur @redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho @z-wantstowrite @i-ate-ur-fries @fakeguysarehot @shitrandom @yunho-leeknow @idontreallyexistyet 

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon doesn't remember the name of the woman who took his virginity. At this point, all these years later, he's not sure if he ever knew it. It was a chance encounter, quick and a little dirty but fun. Fine.

He'd been in the neighborhood pub, the one he escaped to when he didn't want to be at home, shooting pool. He wasn't that good at it, not then, but he practiced for something to do, and as he racked up the balls for a third round against himself, he apparently caught her eye.

A bit older than him, the woman was immediately forward and flirty, and it wasn't a secret, even as inexperienced as Simon was, as to what she wanted. His body must have felt some kind of desire with the way it reacted to her, blood rushing south as she slid her hands over him in the dim light of the nearly vacant bar, but when she invited him to her flat down the street, it wasn't lust that made him agree.

It was curiosity. He wondered what it would feel like to be wanted, even on a base level like this, and if it would fill up whatever hole that had been inside him for as long as he could remember.

And it did. A little.

He'd never even kissed a girl before, always too closed-off to get in any kind of position to do something like that, but that night, he kissed the woman from the pub, over and over again. He followed her movements, let her put her hands on him and place him where he needed to go, and it was something.

When their clothes came off, left in a haphazard heap around her cluttered living room, it was something more, and when she pushed him to the couch and sunk down onto him, the unfamiliar warmth almost overwhelming, for a second, it was everything.

He came too fast, and it was over too soon. That night, he slid back into his own bed, alone again. He couldn't tell if he felt better, knowing there was something he could do to soothe the ache in him, or if it was worse, having the relief for a moment then going back to nothing.

A few nights later, when the weekend hit and the pub was more crowded, he caught the eye of a pretty girl in the corner, shyly checking him out, and he got his answer.

For Simon, for years, it was better to have a little bit of comfort. Just a little bit, because he never saw a way that he could have more. A stranger from a bar, one from the grocery store that asks him to reach a high shelf and flirts a little too much ... he gets good at spotting whatever that first woman saw in him. The part of someone that's open to a quick, needy fuck.

He sees it in you. Clocks it straightaway, but he also sees something more.

It's in the way you pull back after he kisses you hard and deep, the only way he really knows how to kiss. He stops, thinking you've changed your mind, but you're still there, still close, with such a soft look in your eyes now. You initiate the kiss this time, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks, keeping him in place as you slow things down.

It's disorienting almost, he tries to shake it off, to get back to how this is supposed to go. He yanks your shirt off, and you let him, but when he moves his hands to roughly palm at your chest, you patiently pull them back down to rest on your waist.

"Slow down," you murmur, smiling up at him. "We've got a little time."

It's muscle memory for him at this point, finding a woman and bringing her to a quiet, private place, pushing into her, feeling the brief reprieve it brings. But with you, the rhythm is all off. It's somehow very good and very bad, all at the same time.

"Thought you wanted something here," he mutters, his meaning clear -- he thought you wanted him.

"I do," you answer. "I just don't want it to be over in five minutes. That ok?"

He's not sure what else to do, so he nods. And he slows down.

It's different, sex when you're not rushing towards the end-goal. His hands, used to action in moments like this, pushing and pulling and gripping, instead find yours. Your fingers intertwine, and you kiss him, almost lazily, like you’ve got all the time in the world. Like he’s worth it.

To Simon, it feels strange and new, but not really -- like it's all happening through the filmy haze of a dream, where somehow he knows every step of this dance and yet nothing at all, all at once. To you, from the soft sounds slipping from your lips, it feels right.

When it's over, and you're both breathless and sated, he feels like that boy again -- the one who'd never been kissed and who didn't know where to put his hands. But now, he notices, one hand is still grasping yours and he squeezes it, just barely.

"That ok?" he asks softly, and he's not sure if he's speaking to you or to himself.

"Perfect," you tell him, turning your head to give him a smile.

He doesn't know if he'll ever see you again. But he's memorizing the weight of your hand in his, the steady sound of your breathing as it returns to normal. And even if he never has this with you again, in the moment he knows that he's capable of it. And that's enough.

[larluce]

Ooooh, I love this!

Well, first I would justify WHY Merlin got pregnant. I know mpreg generally doesn't care about logic, but I personally prefer it when fics don't use the excuse "Merlin has magic" as the only explanation for being able to bare children.

So in my mind, the story would go like this: Arthur discovers Merlin's magic and they’ve been distanced from one another since then. Merlin still serves Arthur, but there's no banter between them anymore. For once Merlin acts like the perfect servant, just does as he's told and speaks when asked. And Arthur hates it.

Arthur is still hurting for the lies and the betrayal, but he also misses Merlin deeply. Arthur is so distraught, he ends up getting drunk in a tavern like he never did before and Merlin is the one who has to get him out of there. Due to this they have a heart to heart conversation. There are yells, there are tears and finally forgiveness. Their relationship begins to heal from then, slowly but surely.

Is in the process of healing when that night happens. They made it a rutine to speak alone at night in Arthur's chambers to talk things through, the good and the bad of the things Merlin has done. They always had a bit of wine to endure heavy conversations, but that night they drink a bit too much, so it happens. First a kiss, then 2 kisses, and then suddenly, their clothes are gone and they are making love. The next day, when they wake up naked next to each other in Arthur's bed, they decide to act like nothing happened.

What they didn't know, is that that night was a special one, when the planets aligned with the full moon. The druids from more than one comunnity were doing a ritual, praying to the goddess of fertility and to Emrys, the god of magic itself, that magic may be reborn in Camelot again and flourish.

And that’s how Merlin ended up pregnant with Arthur's baby.

So yes, when Merlin first tells Arthur, he doesn't react well due to that talk he had with his father about what happened to his mother, distrusting Merlin again, but also because they hadn't completely restore their relationship by that point.

Merlin is hurt that Arthur thinks he planned this, that Merlin tricked him into getting him pregnant. He doesn’t even know how it happened! But no matter what he says, Arthur doesn’t believe him.

Merlin thought they were making progress, but it seems he was wrong. His word, his loyalty to Arthur, everything he's done meant nothing to his prince after all. And this knowlegde destroys him.

So Merlin decides to do something drastic: abort. He prepares himself the potion to do it and with tears in his eyes he drinks it.

When Arthur goes to Gaius's chambers to look for Merlin after realising how cruel he had been for accussing Merlin of something so horrible, he finds the worst image he could have seen: Merlin lying on the floor, unconcious and with a growing stain of blood between his legs. Arthur loses it, picks Merlin up and calls for help, desperate. Gaius, fortunately, arrives in time and treats Merlin the best he can and stables him. When Gaius figures out what Merlin tried to do and tells Arthur, the prince can't feel more guilty and devasted.

Arthur: (tears rolling down his eyes, holding Merlin's hand while he lies still unconcious on bed) The baby... Is the baby...?

Gaius: Merlin may have wanted to abort, but his magic didn't. It protected the baby, so it's still alive, but...

Arthur: What?

Gaius: Now his pregnancy is more delicate than ever. Merlin will have to stay in bed and do minimal effort during all his pregnancy and...(his voice breaks) he might not survive childbirth.

Arthur: (breaks down crying)

Merlin: (opens his eyes weakly) Arthur.

Arthur: Merlin! (Leans and holds his hand more tightly)

Merlin: (smiles weakly) It’s okay, Arthur. I got rid of it. You won't have to worry about it anymore.

Arthur: (cries harder)

Arthur apologises over and over again and of course Merlin forgives him, because is Merlin, but the damage is done that's something Arthur will never forgive himself.

Time passes. Arthur visits Merlin everyday during his pregnancy and takes care of him. As Merlin's belly grows, so does his hapiness, but also his fear. He loves this baby with all his being already and the idea of being a father, but the possibility of losing Merlin during childbirth is terrifying. He can't lose Merlin. Is this how his father felt when his mother was pregnant with him?

Is when he compares himself to his father that Arthur realises he loves Merlin. He's been in love with his manservant this whole time. Arthur never felt more stupid.

Then. I don't know. I guess Uther would find out at some point and try to kill Merlin and "that evil creature" he has on his belly. And chaos would ensue.

I saw this meme and the first thing that came to my mind was that I need a fanfic based on this meme. Not just an casual Mpreg merthur story but one were Uther has an actual serious talk about dangers of magic with Arthur and as a example he tells the story of how he's mother got pregnant and died because of magic. He's warns Arthur so that he won't make a similar mistake of trusting magic just like in the meme AND then few weeks later he discovers that he got his manservant pregnant because of one time fucking they did when drunk and went to pretending they were just friends. Imagine the consequences omg.

Like Artur feeling betrayed by Merlin, realising he disappointed his father, Merlin being scared for his life, being accused of tricking Arthur and getting pregnant because of his evil sorcerer plan, hiding it from everyone, not knowing that he could actually get pregnant in the first place he is horrified.

I think it would be interesting if Arthur knew that Merlin has magic before it, fully trusting that he is a goodhearted person, keeping his secret safe. Then he has that talk with Uther and after that Merlin tell him about the pregnancy and Arthur's mind goes back to this talk. He 'realises' that he had been tricked by a sorcerer and Merlin beags him, swears this was an accident.

The potential for heavy angst is immaculate...

[jxwl4k]

Hi J!! I have a little request 😊

Reader (she/her and a little girly if possible🙏🏻) and Katsuki are on a date or shopping, and they both run into Katsuki's old "friends" from middle school. At first, Katsuki didn't recognize them at all (until it hit him who they even were 💀), and then they started small talk. Katsuki really didn't give a fuck, the poor guy just wanted to spend time with his girl. Until they saw Reader and started completely objectifying her with comments like, "And that's your play thing?", "She's pretty to look at" without even acknowledging her as a person. In the end, Katsuki stands up for Reader and reminds the guys where their place is.

I would be very happy and wish you a good night/day, drink enough water, and take care of yourself.🩷✨️😚

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Mine .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff, slight angst

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Katsuki Bakugou defends YN when his old friends objectify her during a shopping trip, showing them no one messes with what’s his.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling shopping street. Katsuki Bakugou was doing his best to keep his cool, but it wasn’t the heat that had him irritated. No, it was the fact that he was on a date with YN, his sunshine, the one person who could make him forget the world around him. She was everything soft and delicate, and he loved every bit of it.

“Hey, YN, do you think this would look good on me?” she asked, holding up a cute pink cardigan that seemed to make her eyes sparkle even more.

“Definitely,” he grumbled, his tone softening only because he could see how excited she was. Katsuki was never one for shopping he’d rather be training or blowing up the nearest target but anything to make her happy.

She smiled, holding the cardigan to her chest. “Okay, I’m getting it!” YN was a little girly, and he’d gotten used to it, even if it made him roll his eyes half the time.

As she skipped ahead to the register, Katsuki followed behind, hands in his pockets, his usual scowl in place. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything until a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

“Bakugou?”

Katsuki’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing in confusion. Standing across from him were two guys, both grinning like they knew something he didn’t. It took a moment, and then it hit him. They were from his middle school.

“Shit… no way,” Katsuki muttered under his breath.

YN, still standing at the register, hadn’t noticed the encounter yet. Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair, clearly unimpressed. “What do you two want?” he grumbled, his gaze shifting to the two old “friends.”

The guys grinned, clearly surprised to see him. “We were just talking about how you turned into a big shot hero. Not bad, Bakugou,” one of them said.

“Yeah, real big shot,” the other chimed in, crossing his arms, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face. “Didn’t expect you to be hangin’ around here, though. You always hated places like this.”

Katsuki just shrugged, uninterested. “I’m here with my girl. Don’t have time for your shit.”

The guys exchanged amused looks, their eyes flicking over to YN, who was chatting with the cashier, completely oblivious to the conversation.

“Is that your play thing?” one of the guys asked with a smirk, his voice dripping with condescension. “She’s pretty to look at, I’ll give her that.”

Katsuki’s blood began to boil, but he kept his posture relaxed, trying not to snap in front of YN. But the way they were talking about her? It made his skin crawl.

“She’s not a ’play thing,’” Katsuki bit out, his voice low and dangerous.

The other guy leaned in, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. “C’mon, she’s cute. She’s gotta be a fun little distraction for you, right? You always were the type to get bored quick.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his patience wearing thin. This wasn’t middle school anymore. YN was his no one talked about her like that.

“Listen up, assholes,” Katsuki’s voice was suddenly sharp, his usual scowl back in full force. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s not some object for you to ogle or make jokes about. She’s a person. And I won’t tolerate any shit from you two.”

The guys blinked, clearly taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Whoa, calm down, Bakugou. We were just messin’ around,” one of them stammered.

Katsuki stepped closer, his towering presence making the guys take a step back. “You wanna mess around? Fine, but not when it’s about her. You’ve got your place, and that’s not it.”

YN finally turned around, the confusion clear on her face when she saw the tension between them. “Katsuki?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

Katsuki’s expression softened the moment he turned to look at her. “Don’t worry, babe. These idiots are just trying to get under my skin.” He shot the guys one last glare. “And trust me, they’re not worth your time.”

YN frowned, her lips pursed. “I don’t like when people talk about me like that,” she murmured.

Katsuki reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “They won’t anymore,” he promised, his voice low and firm.

The guys, now realizing they’d pushed their luck too far, muttered a quick apology and scurried off, clearly aware that they’d crossed a line.

Katsuki watched them go, his face hard, before he turned to YN. His fierce expression softened, and for a moment, it was just him and her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone much softer now.

YN smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affection. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just hate when people treat me like I’m not… well, me.”

Katsuki nodded, pulling her close. “No one will ever treat you like that again. You’re mine, and that means no one messes with you. Got it?”

YN’s heart skipped a beat at his words. “Got it,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

And as they walked off down the street, Katsuki’s arm securely around her, he couldn’t help but feel proud. Not just because he’d stood up for her, but because she was the one person who truly made him feel something real, something that mattered.

And he’d be damned if anyone ever tried to take that away.

© jxwl4k 2025

[mintyys-blog]

hai! Can you do Nicole! Or Jecka! Reader with Mark variants? From class of 09 🤭🤭‼️‼️‼️

HEADCANONS | mark variants with Nicole or Jecka! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: smoking, swearing

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work (AI generated or otherwise) without my permission. @mintyys-blog

MAIN MARK

Mark never fully understood what drew him to you. Maybe it was how you laughed at things you shouldn’t. Maybe it was the way you always said what everyone else was too scared to. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because despite your dark humor and unapologetically brutal mouth, you never once lied about who you were.

You were curled on the couch in one of his hoodies, makeup smudged, eyes bored as you scrolled through your phone. “Some girl on Twitter just said you’re the reason half of Chicago is dead. She’s not wrong.”

Mark looked up from the kitchen, confused. “Are… are you okay?”

You turned slowly to him with a smirk, “I’m fine, boy scout. Why? Gonna cry if I say something mean again?”

“No,” he muttered. “You’re just—You’re a lot sometimes.”

“Good,” you replied with a wink. “Be more worried if I start acting soft. That’s how you know I’ve been kidnapped or lobotomized.”

You didn’t flirt like other girls. You insulted him and then smirked when his ears turned red. You were quick-witted, toxic as hell, and had zero interest in playing the role of doting girlfriend. But when he was injured, when he dragged himself home bloody and half-conscious, you always patched him up. You always made sure he ate. You cussed him out the whole time, but he never missed how your hands trembled while stitching him back together.

“I don’t need your help,” he said once.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, and I don’t need birth control, but here we are making bad decisions together.”

For all your venom, you never made him feel unsafe. Even when you called every man a walking red flag, even when you mocked him for getting teary during a movie—you still climbed into bed beside him every night. You were fire. And sometimes he burned, but God, he couldn’t stop coming back.

SINISTER MARK

Sinister Mark was used to liars, manipulators, and people who smiled sweetly before stabbing him in the back. But you? You were different.

You never hid what you were.

You called yourself a sociopath in the first ten minutes of meeting him. Made a joke about how you only cry when your dealer dies. When Mark raised an eyebrow, you just gave him a crooked grin and said, “At least I’m honest about it.”

He found you fascinating.

Not because you were evil. He’d met evil. He was evil.

No—you were comfortable with your darkness. You wore it like silk. Made it look glamorous and sharp all at once.

“Your eyes are twitching,” you said one evening, stretched across his couch in a stolen Viltrumite cloak like it was just another thrift store piece. “You thinking about murdering a planet again, or are you mad that I flirted with the bartender to get a free drink?”

He didn’t answer. He was still watching you.

“You’re so fucking creepy,” you laughed. “I like it.”

Sinister Mark wasn’t the kind of man who coddled or doted. But he let you talk. Let you unravel your venomous thoughts without flinching. Most people would’ve tried to fix you—he just let you be.

You toyed with his knives, walked barefoot around blood-soaked floors, and made ruthless jokes at the worst possible times. And when he called you out on it?

“You think I care about moral high grounds? Babe, I’m dating a guy who vaporized a school bus.”

The truth was—he trusted you.

You didn’t have morals, but you had rules. You never lied to him. You never betrayed him. You treated him like a weapon to be admired, not feared. And for someone who was used to being a monster under the bed?

That kind of devotion was addicting.

He didn’t say I love you. You didn’t either. But the moment you laughed while stitching him up, whispering “Don’t die, asshole, you owe me dinner”—he realized he wouldn’t let anyone else have you.

Ever.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark was the emperor of the Viltrumite Empire now—but none of that meant anything to her. She sat on the throne’s armrest in ripped tights, a wrinkled band tee of MSI barely hanging off her shoulder, and a cigarette between her fingers. He didn’t like the smell, but he let her have it. She was one of the only things that still made him feel anything other than rage.

“Shouldn’t you be interrogating someone or vaporizing a planet?” she asked lazily, her pupils slightly blown from whatever she’d taken an hour ago. “I’m bored.”

Mark’s fingers tightened on the armrest, but not from anger. It was restraint. Every time she looked at him with those indifferent eyes, that tired smirk—it reminded him that she wasn’t afraid of him. Not really. And he liked it. Needed it.

“Maybe I wanted to see you instead.”

“Ew,” she snorted. “Cringe.”

He rolled his eyes, pulling her effortlessly onto his lap. She didn’t resist, just exhaled smoke toward the ceiling, still smirking.

“You’re gonna ruin your lungs.”

“And you’re gonna ruin the galaxy. Guess we’re both problematic.”

He chuckled under his breath, running a hand along her bare thigh. “You didn’t answer my message last night.”

“I was busy,” she lied, easily. “Nicole had another freak-out over some dude trying to text her ‘good morning.’ We had to spiritually hex him.”

“Nicole’s psychotic.”

Y/N turned to look at him. “And you’re not?”

Touché.

He didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he kissed her—tasting smoke, lipstick, and the chemical tinge of something that probably wasn’t legal on Earth anymore.

She leaned back with a lazy smile, one hand curling behind his neck. “You gonna marry me or what, Emperor?”

He blinked. “Was that a proposal?”

She popped a pill from a little case in her bra, swallowed it dry, and shrugged. “Nah. Just gauging your reaction.”

He laughed. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, baby.” And somehow, she meant it. In her own messy, numbed-out way.

VILTRUMITE MARK

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was loud. Thick with tension.

Mark stood across from you, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in suspicion—or maybe frustration. You couldn’t tell. You were too busy lighting a cigarette, one leg casually crossed over the other as you sat on the countertop in his home. Your home now, apparently. Not that you gave a shit.

“Can you not do that in here?” he said tightly, waving his hand at the smoke cloud.

You took a long drag anyway. “And you can punch a guy’s face off, but my Marlboro Light is the problem?”

“You’re going to destroy your body.”

You snorted. “Bit late for lectures, Daddy Warblood. We passed destruction like four exits ago.”

Mark moved closer. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

You flicked ash into a glass. “So am I. You didn’t fall in love with a nun. You picked me.” You tilted your head, smirking with venom. “Unless you’re regretting that.”

Mark glared. “You know I’m not.”

“Then what’s the issue?” you said, hopping off the counter, leaning into his space like you weren’t talking to a genetically perfect super predator. “That I talk shit? That I don’t simper and coo like your little Earth girls? That I know how to make a grown man cry and piss himself in one sentence?”

He didn’t move when you pressed a finger against his chest.

“I’m not soft. I’m not sweet. I’m not your dead mom’s idea of a wife. But I’m real.”

Mark stared at you. You could see it behind his expression—he didn’t always understand you. Hell, he probably didn’t even trust you fully. But you weren’t here to be trusted.

You were here to be feared. Loved. Broken maybe, but beautifully so.

And for all your filth, your cruelty, your manipulation—he never raised a hand to you. Never hurt you. Because some twisted part of him liked it. Liked you.

“You’re reckless,” he finally muttered.

You grinned. “And you’re into it.”

He kissed you then, harsh and possessive, like he was trying to shut you up with his mouth.

Didn’t work. But it was a good start.

OMNI MARK

Omni Mark didn’t understand her.

Not in the way most people claimed to “not get girls”—no. He was a being that had lived centuries, had studied humans, ruled them, ended them. And yet… Y/N—dressed in a pleated skirt, MSI blaring from the busted speaker in the corner, cigarette tucked between her fingers like it belonged there—was a complete enigma.

“You’re smoking again,” he muttered, voice low and unimpressed, standing in the doorway with his arms folded.

Y/N exhaled slowly, then lazily glanced over her shoulder. “And you’re breathing again. Guess we both have addictions, huh?”

She grinned as he stepped forward.

“You’re going to destroy your lungs,” he said, tone flat.

She looked up at him from the couch, her makeup a little smudged from the night before, a pill bottle sitting open beside her. “I mean, if the warlord I’m screwing isn’t killing me, I gotta get creative.”

“You call that creativity?” he shot back dryly, eyeing the mix of medications and the ashtray.

But she just patted the seat beside her. “You knew what you were getting into, Viltrumite Daddy.”

He ignored the nickname. Always did.

Omni Mark never said much about her habits—he’d erase her stash, toss the pills, demand she eat instead of pop a bar—but never yell. He wasn’t a yeller. He was worse—controlled. Cold. And yet, there was a strange protectiveness in the way he watched her—especially when she slept, or when she mumbled his name during a bad trip.

“Sit,” she said more softly this time. “I’ll switch to edibles or whatever if it’ll make you stop hovering.”

He sat beside her, one hand resting on her thigh—not possessive, just grounding.

“You are… volatile,” he muttered.

“Mm. So are nukes,” she replied, nuzzling into his side. “But people worship those too.”

He glanced down at her—eyeliner smudged, fingers trembling slightly from the high, and a playlist of angry electropunk pouring from her phone—and said nothing.

But he didn’t leave. He never did.

NO GOGGLES MARK

There was blood on the floor again.

Not yours. Not his.

Just another idiot who thought they could mouth off to you in front of him.

You were wiping a smear off your cheek with the back of your hand, smirking as you stepped over the crumpled body. The twitching was slowing down. Good. You hated when they made noise for too long.

“You didn’t even let me finish my sentence,” you huffed, glancing over your shoulder at him.

Mark was leaning against the doorframe, hands still bloodied, his expression unreadable under the splatter. His lips twitched, like he might smile—but with him, who could tell?

“You said you wanted a quiet night,” he said flatly. “So I shut him up.”

You clicked your tongue, flicking a piece of brain matter off your boot. “I meant dinner and maybe fucking on the couch while something burns in the oven. Not murder in the goddamn foyer.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, looking down at you like a predator sizing up something just as sharp. Just as dangerous.

“But you liked it,” he murmured, his voice deep and calm. “Don’t lie to me.”

You met his stare. Didn’t blink. “I loved it.”

And it was true.

You weren’t like his other versions of Y/N. You didn’t gasp when he tore someone apart. You didn’t flinch at the violence or beg him to stop. You egged him on. You lit the match. Sometimes you handed him the knife.

And when you did it yourself? He watched. Intrigued. Turned on.

The two of you weren’t in love. Not really.

It was something darker. Something fucked up. A deep need to hurt and be hurt. To own each other in a way that was just shy of ruin.

“You ever get bored of this,” you whispered, pulling his shirt by the collar and pressing against him, “you better kill me. Because I’m not letting you go.”

He stared at you.

Then laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

for some reason I found it really hard to write both Nicole’s and Jeckas personalities— so they aren’t the most accurate.

[zorosangell]

I wanna read about kata so bad 😞🖐

Uhhh what do you think about jealous katakuri, like the other siblings are a bit flirtatious towards the reader and it makes him a little jealous or sth, I don't even know

⛥ﾟ・。 rooftop

SECRET BONUS/prequel to pocus -- when cacker gets a little too vocal about his admiration for you, katakuri becomes furious, and begins to genuinely consider the option of fratricide. luckily, you're able to talk him (and suck him) off the ledge... aka the story of Latte and Frappe's conception.

cw: nsfw, fluff, comfort, angst if you squint, lovesick katakuri, lovesick reader, he is thirty, you are twenty-nine, soda is six, cocoa is three, reader is a sweetheart, cracker's a creep

By no means could Katakuri ever genuinely hate his brothers.

They were his family... his blood, and for the better majority of his life, some of the closest companions he'd ever had—only companions, given the general didn't have many to begin with.

They'd seen him through thick and thin, been at his side through countless battles, and accepted him as his true self without issue—past the usual teasing that came with having a surplus of siblings.

But... if there was one thing that could change his mind on the sentiment... it was his wife.

And the way his brother was drooling over her right now.

"God-damn!" Cracker gaped, eyes bulging out his sockets and tongue nearly lulling out his mouth as you entered his view, gracefully. "Just when you think she can't get any hotter!"

Sharply, your husband's eyes flicked to him, brows cinched in a disapproving furrow as he knew exactly who his brother was looking at without even having to check.

"Watch it," he warned, firmly, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Oh, I'm watchin', all right."

The purple-haired man cheesed, utterly pleased as his eyes followed you toward sweets table.

Or, more accurately, your body.

Like a dog with a bone, he stared, mesmerized, as you made your way over, hips looking ripe and tender for the grabbing.

After a recent vacation to Snack Island, you'd developed a delectably smooth tan, the expensive lotions he was sure you used giving your skin an alluring shine.

Eye roaming over your body, he took in the deep, wine red of your dress, which hugged your form beautifully and exposed your smooth leg in a rather high slit, not to mention the gold bangles and jewelry that adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

You looked good enough to eat—even more than endless variety of treats surrounding him.

"Mama! Cupcake!" Cocoa pointed, dazzled by the staggeringly tall tower of confections as she tugged at your hand.

You nodded, happily, adjusting one of her flyaways as a small smile broke out onto your face.

"Yes, honey, those are cupcakes," you confirmed with a giggle. "Do you want one?"

Frantically, she nodded, excitement etched clearly across her tiny face.

"Look! They even got chocolate!" Soda grinned, letting go of your other hand and using his taller reach to grab two, handing one off to his younger sister. "Here, Co! Try it."

Confused, the little girl examined the dessert with a raised brow.

"Chocwate?" she asked, poking the frosting.

"It's good," Soda assured, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Trust me."

With your assistance, she removed the wrapper, before slowly raising the treat to her lips.

But, just as she was about to take a bite, her tiny grip accidentally loosened, the cupcake falling and landing frosting first on the brightly colored ground.

Saddened, she stared at it, lip jutting out in a pout and eyes already becoming glassy.

"My chocwate..." she teared up, disappointment weighing heavy in her tone as her lip began to wobble.

"Oh, honey, don't worry. We can—"

"It's okay. You can have mine," Soda assured.

Quickly, he peeled the wrapper off his cupcake, carefully handing it over and watching as his sister took a bite.

And instantly, she lit up with wonder, unseen galaxies now visible in front of her eyes as the rich, unique flavor danced on her tongue.

It was nothing like she'd ever tasted before.

"Yummy!" she gasped, wasting no time in finishing off the rest of the confection.

"You think that's good?" Soda smirked, taking her hand before starting off toward the other buffet. "Wait until you try a chocolate chip cookie!"

"Cookie?" she raised a brow, her small legs doing their best to keep up with him.

"You're gonna love it! It's got a ton of chocolate!"

"Chocwate!"

She needed no more convincing, and was now completely on board with the plan.

"Don't get any chocolate on her dress, Soda!" you called after them. "And don't get any on your suit, either!"

"Yes, Mama!" he replied, the two not even bothering to turn back as they set their sights on another large table of snacks, Cocoa giggling all the way.

You couldn't help but smile at the display, forcing Cracker to instantly clutch his chest with an iron grip, as if he had been shot.

You were a vision, the paragon of beauty and grace—and hotness.

What he wouldn't give to have just one—

"You keep looking at my wife like that, Cracker, and we are going to have a problem."

Katakuri seethed, tone deadly calm as his eyes sharpened like daggers, staring his younger brother down with a furious glare.

His jaw ticked as he watched the man gaze upon you, his expression displaying his thoughts clearly as he practically undressed and fucked you with his eyes.

In an instant, his chest began to smolder with a rage reserved only for when matters concerned you, the feeling akin to a third-degree burn as it began to rise up his throat and sting his tongue.

It was obvious to anyone with working eyes that you were a gorgeous woman, and if one was truly being honest, it would not be far fetched to say that at any given time there were probably ten other men eyeing you up in the same exact way .

Obviously, that fact didn't make Katakuri jump for joy—no man enjoys watching his wife be gawked at and lusted after.

But the sting felt different when it was one of his kin doing the hounding.

His fellow crewmate... his brother... his blood.

He knew Cracker was a bit of a sleaze in terms of women, but over the years he'd hoped the man would mellow out and dial back his outspoken attraction toward you.

For respect's sake, at least.

But, alas, seeing his brother objectify you so openly and comfortably gave Katakuri the honest motivation to think of the unthinkable...

'One brother gone wouldn't be so bad...'

"Careful, Cracker," Oven chuckled, amused by the sight before him as he and Daifuku made their way over. "Don't need haki to see that you've got a jellybean in your future."

"Or a trident," Daifuku sniggered right along. "Whichever comes first."

"I'm just sayin' what were all thinkin'," Cracker smirked, tossing an arm around the Minister of Flour—which was promptly shrugged off, "Katakuri, brother, you have got to be the luckiest bastard in the world. Your wife is the prettiest chick at this event."

His brows furrowed, the pink-haired man staving off an eye roll.

He knew that.

Obviously he knew that

That was like telling him the sky was blue or the sun was yellow.

It was a fact that was irrefutable, and one he didn't need reminding of—especially from Cracker.

The man who was dangerously nearing the edge of Katakuri's patience.

Luckily, his haki predicted an angel of diplomacy swooping in to save his brother's hide.

"Hello, boys," you greeted, kindly, your voice as smooth as sun-warmed honey as it seeped into your husband's ears.

"Hello, (y/n)," the brothers greeted in unison—save for Katakuri—each one sharing their own knowing looks.

"You look lovely this evening, my dear," Daifuku complimented before Cracker could say something crude.

"Thank you. You all look very dashing as well," you smiled, gaze flicking over to your husband, who was oddly quiet. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Actually—"

"Not at all," Oven interjected, slapping his hand over Cracker's mouth. "You need something? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, everything's fine," you assured, waving him off. "I was just hoping I could steal my husband away for a moment, if that's okay."

Katakuri could not have moved faster if he tried.

"Let's go," he quickly stated, his hand settling in its place at the small of your back as he ushered you away, not so much as offering a glance toward the brothers he was leaving behind.

"Damn..." Cracker sighed, still muffled by Oven's hand as his eyes trailed down to your ass. "Hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her—"

Instantly, his two older brothers hit him upside the head, the combined force knocking the Minister of Biscuits out.

"Really... I can't tell if he's drunk or just stupid," Daifuku sighed, disappointed.

"Katakuri's patience can only run so thin," Oven stated as he tossed his little brother over his shoulder. "Best to keep the two apart before he murders him in front of the guests."

Raising a brow, he glanced at Cracker, whose face was still contorted in a rather pervy expression despite being unconscious.

Annoyed, he groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned to walk away.

"On the contrary... a good ass-kicking might teach him a thing or two... little creep."

As you led your husband to a hidden, more secluded part of the rooftop on the Whole Cake Chateau, he couldn't help but be hit with a sudden bout of confusion.

You were acting very odd.

Cryptic... secretive... unable to keep yourself from smirking.

It was unlike you, and beginning to make him worry.

But before he could even open his mouth, you pulled down his scarf to kiss him, roughly, pressing him firmly against the wall.

"(y... /n)!" Katakuri gasped into it, eyes wide as his back hit the hard surface, your kisses trailing down to his jaw and neck.

Slowly, you dragged your teeth over the skin of his collarbone, sending a shiver up his spine as you looked up at him with hooded eyes.

He swallowed hard, a sudden buzz jolting through his chest, twisting his stomach with knots of arousal.

"(y/n)... the ceremony is going to start..." he stumbled as he tugged his scarf back up, instinctively resting his hands on your hips, face growing hot as your lips trailed down his bare chest.

"How long?" you sultrily asked, nipping at the flesh of his pectoral before slowly lowering to his stomach.

He cursed under his breath at the sensation, quickly shifting his gaze to the sky as he took a deep inhale.

If he looked at you, he was going to get impossibly hard.

"...Tw-enty minutes!" he gritted out, taken aback as you began to palm him through his leather pants, his dick painfully sensitive.

A devilish smirk curled on your lips as your other hand hooked into his belt, gently undoing it before slowly pulling his pants down to his ankles.

He watched you loop your hands through his boxers, body on fire.

He'd never get over the sight of you, never lose the rush that coursed through his veins every time he looked at you.

"You're so beautiful..." he muttered to himself, unaware that he said his thought aloud.

But the sweet compliment went unnoticed.

You were to busy gaping at his cock as you released it from its prison.

No matter how many times you saw it, the sight would always leave you salivating.

He was big, thick, and extremely hard, his bulbous, pink head dripping in pre that dribbled enticingly down his thick shaft, where a couple veins throbbed under the tender skin of his cock.

He kept himself trimmed, each pink-purple hair cut short but curly like the faint hairs on his happy trail.

From his cock hung two heavy balls, soft, sinewy with pink hair, and holding all the cum he held for you and you alone.

He relished in your gaze, feeling like the sexiest man in the world.

"We got time," you cooed. "Right now... I wanna show you who I belong to."

You started by spitting all over his cock, causing him to groan at the sight of your saliva dripping over his shaft and balls.

Then you began to stroke him, having to use both hands because he was just too damn big for one.

Katakuri's toes curled while his head tipped back, eyes screwing shut.

"Shit!" he hissed under his breath, doing a poor job at withholding his sounds of pleasure.

Your soft, smaller hands felt so good stroking his big dick.

Every move you made caused his body to tingle, his cells coming alive from the pleasure you were giving him.

The lewd, wet sounds of your hands stroking his wet cock didn't do him any good either.

Especially when you finally wrapped your lips around him.

Katakuri's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull the minute he felt your soft lips and wet tongue wrap around him, turning all kinds of tricks and skills on his dick.

Flicking, licking, sucking.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, pawing at the wall beneath his gloved fingertips.

He's never been treated so well.

'Looks so good on her knees like this...'

He blushed red at the lewd thought.

He shouldn't be thinking of you in such a horrible way!

But the way you were sucking on his dick and taking him in your throat was making him think different.

You gripped the base of his cock with one hand as you opened your throat for him, taking him as deep as you could go.

The gagging sounds that slipped from your pretty throat nearly made him cum, especially combined with the way it tightened around him.

So wet... so tight...

"F-Fuck... (y/n)!" he groaned, his strong fingers creating indents against the thick wall. "Gonna... cum soon!"

You hummed appreciatively, nodding your head.

The way it bobbed caused his cock to brush against the roof of your mouth, sending tingles throughout his dick.

"Cum for me, Kuri," you urged, speeding up your stroking until his toes were curling and his thighs were shaking. "Cum all over my face."

You went back to eagerly sucking him off, slurping him down like it would be your last meal.

His balls began to tighten, already feeling himself reach his peak.

You looked up at Katakuri, finding his eyes locked with yours, pink hairs and sweat sticking to his forehead.

And your lustful expression was the last thing he needed to push him off the edge.

He came, spilling his seed in your mouth without warning, a moan of your name and a whine of ecstasy leaving his lips as he did.

You felt his cum stream inside your mouth, warm and overflowing.

So much so that some began to spill, your eyes widening as it dribbled out the corners of your lips and down your face, dripping off your chin and onto the floor.

The sight so lewd, yet so arousing.

"(y/n)... that was... you were..." he panted, shoulders relaxing into the wall as he let out a heavy sigh. "Are you all right?"

You gave him a warm smile, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before standing back on your feet and returning his package to his pants, zipping him up and redoing his belt before placing a kiss on his lips.

"I am fine, my love," you stared into his eyes, lovingly, placing a few more pecks across his face, his skin burning with each touch.

"You didn't have to do this," he stated, solemnly, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you close. "You shouldn't be on your knees for me."

Your gaze softened, hand rising to gently cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone as your forehead pressed against his, "Kuri, nearly ten years and you still have yet to realize just how much I adore you."

Slowly, your hands slid down to rest on his chest, the man nearly letting out a groan at the drag of your nails, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I saw how Cracker was being... and how angry you were... and I wanted remind you that everything about me—my body... my mind... my soul—belongs to you, Kuri. There's no man or brother in this world that could ever turn me away from you. You are the father of my children, my beautiful husband, and I love you with all my heart."

Katakuri blinked at you, shocked.

He would never, ever admit it to anybody—including you—but for a moment he felt just about ready to shed a tear.

No one had ever said something so loving to him before, or with such passion.

It only tripled the size of his heart, creating more space for you to monopolize and rule over, effectively, until it finally bursts one day.

Without warning, the man suddenly scooped you up, relishing your gasp of surprise as you threw your arms around his neck, eyes slightly wide.

"Kuri, what are you—?"

"Where are the children?" he asked, quickly, intense eyes glancing down at you.

"Playing with Smoothie, Citron, and Cinnamon," you answered, breathless and slightly confused.

He nodded, quickly turning around to sneak toward the back entrance of the Chateau.

"Good," he nodded, voice low and sultry with a tone that only came out when he was truly in the mood. "We'll return for them after the ceremony."

Suspicious, you raised a brow.

"Why...? ...Where are we going?"

Knowingly, his gaze flicked to you, his eyes glazed over with a look that could only be attributed to complete and utter carnal desire.

He didn't even have to say anything.

The half of his expression that you could see was already half-lidded and dark, practically burning your face from his inside out as you realized what trouble you'd just gotten yourself into.

"Oh."

Of course, it was a surprise to no one that the twins were born nine months after the fact.

[sramoonlight]

Favorite human

What if the Wayne have a familiar?

Content you’ll see here: blackcat!reader, platonic!batman, mentions of death, subtle spoilers from comics, blood, angst

English it’s not my first language so please be patient

Everything happened one night you were doing magic, your plan was to find a familiar, an animal who would be by your side on this magical journey

Until it went wrong, you don’t know why, or what did you did but there you were, standing on your paws, you couldn’t even pick your wand so you just gave up, there was no point of keep trying

Maybe you will go back to normal in a few hours.

But you didn’t, you passed a whole year in your cat form, to be honest, you started to think it was great

At first it was, you managed to steal the food in your fridge until your landlord discovered you were missing and you had to leave your apartment.

Then you started living as a stray cat, that got you a lot of trouble, you didn’t know cats have their own hierarchy

Anyways, one night you were walking around in an old forest looking for something to eat

And you could hear someone crying, you’re used to appear in front of children who will easily give you some of their food so you ran out of the woods

There it was a kid, fancy clothes as he crying in the porch of a whole mansion, or was it a manor? You don’t know the difference

You managed to get through the bars running to the kid, he didn’t notice you at first so you meowed

— A cat…? How? — you climbed on his lap licking the tears on his cheek, the boy chuckled by the feeling

Of course, a cat tongue is kinda funny for a kid

— Are you trying to make me feel good? — No, well, maybe, this kid looks rich he wouldn’t feed you the usual cat food

— Thank you.. — he hugged your body, you moved to lick his face again

— I lost my parents, do you have a mommy cat? — you don’t know why, but that felt like a question for you

Well, you don’t have one, your mother left you when she found out what you do

That sure answers his question, right? You meowed in a low tune and he got your message

— So you don’t have no one, we are alike, right? — he smiled, even if the tears were rolling through his cheeks

You looked at him, he’s an orphan, sure is a bad thing but you can’t think of something better than be rich.

You sighed, even if your body didn’t show it, reaching for his cheek you let a paw touch his face

— You’re so kind, if you don’t have a home then you can live here — and he started petting you, instantly you melt on his touch making him laugh

You didn’t notice when he picked you up taking you inside of the house, but oh god how you loved the salmon the butler gave you

Maybe you can stay there for a few days, just for the food.

And yet, you stayed for a few years, you were there when he became Batman and when Dick was adopted.

That kid gives the best scratches behind the ears, you will climb into his arms just to get some but when he left the manor you felt bad

You could go behind him, leave this manor with him, but who could take care of Bruce? He can be a little harsh but he is still your first human, maybe you are not really a cat but being by his side made you realize how much you loved this life

So, when Jason died, you stayed by his side, letting him cuddle you were he cried to sleep

Maybe you miss that little boy, when you were sad because you couldn’t see Dick anymore, he was the one who sneaked a piece of dinner so you could taste the lasagna or meat

And you loved when he read you his favorite books, maybe you fall asleep on his lap but you know how much it meant to a guy like him

So, when Tim arrived at the manor you promised yourself you wouldn’t replace Jason

Yes, he’s the new Robin, but Jason was your favorite kid (Sorry Dick) so you did your best to keep him away, whenever he tried to pet your head you would hiss at him without a doubt

Bruce always told him it wasn’t normal, and maybe you smelled the outsiders from him, but he knew, he knew you wouldn’t replace Jason that soon

Then, you started to tolerate him, you let him sit beside you but if he tried to get closer you would hiss at him again or try to scratch him

He didn’t give up, he tried and tried until you accepted his pets just for a few seconds.

Months later, Jason was back

No one saw you being that loud before, when Bruce brought him to the manor you meowed at him like you were crying

He understood your tone, and just for that day he stayed, just because you wouldn’t leave his arms even if he tried to pull you away

Your kid was back, your sweet kid was back and you were so happy, it doesn’t matter if he fights with Bruce a lot, you would sneak out of the manor to see Jason on his small apartment

He didn’t complain, he would let his window open so you could sneak inside and sleep next to him

And if you didn’t? He would steal you from the manor, don’t worry.

With Jason again, you finally let Tim be close to you, he couldn’t be more happy.

The worst happened, with Damian arrival you lost your favorite human

Alfred would try to get you to eat but you could only lay on Bruce’s bed, even Jason tried to take you out of it

And everything you could do was lay there, smelling the last thing that your human touched before leaving, that means you didn’t bond much with Damian even if he tried to spend time with you.

Your body was getting slim, your bones were showing but you couldn’t do anything but lay there.

— What are we going to do? We can’t let they die — you heard Dick talk to the rest of the boys, you don’t have the strength to go see what they are doing

You just lay there.

— they are sad, even if we try they won’t eat anything — Tim said, you can feel his gaze on you

You sighed, burying your head on Bruce’s pillow, his scent is starting to fade

— they need Bruce, nothing will change if he isn’t here — everyone looked more concerned with Jason’s words

Not even Dick saw you this sad when Jason died, back then you will stay strong to help Bruce fight the pain but now, you don’t have anyone

Jason was your favorite kid, but Bruce was your favorite human nothing can compare.

You hear a few steps and then someone sits at the bed with you, suddenly, a sense of blood made you look up

Bruce’s blood.

It was mixed with one you never smelt before, but he wasn’t there, it was his son who offered you his bloody finger

— Will this make you be happier? I’m his blood son, I should have something from him — you hear how Dick enters the room telling Damian to not upset you

But you stood up, slowly you sat on his lap, your little nose on his hand as you smelled Bruce’s blood even if it wasn’t his

It smelt like him.

That night, you ate for the first name in weeks.

[maritoke]

I FINALLY FINISHED IT The long promised Arsenic fanfic, taking place in @cuppajj's baau.

Warning: Lots of fighting at the end, and it is quite brutal (one of the faries gets a sickle to the face). A few unnamed faeries also died. This thing is also very fucking long, over 13k words. Also no beta, we die like Elder Faerie

-------

Whenever Midnight Lily would leave the Silver Kingdom to attend a meeting with other Neo-Beasts – Mercurial Knight would be the one left in charge. It wasn’t an issue in the slightest. He always made sure the kingdom would be in perfect order. And if there happened to be any issues or accidents, they would always be minor. Nothing that couldn't be immediately fixed or that should bother the Queen. 

Until today that is. Because today Mercurial Knight was for a short second convinced he was just sleeping. That the sight in front of him wasn't real.

Because in front of him was a tied up traitor. A silver blessed faerie, beaten up and forced onto his knees. Even his metallic wings were tied with a chain, probably out of fear that he would be able to cut through simple rope. He always had the sharpest wings afterall.

Five knights were pointing their spears at him. All tense. All at high alert. Still afraid of the deserter despite having him down on his knees. An adequate concern. For all five of them looked worse than the traitor.

He had some cuts, and several bruises. His hair, his skin, his armor, even his wings were all covered in blood. But not his own. At least mostly. The knights that were pointing their spears at him had their armor heavily damaged. Stained red. One of them was shaking, still standing despite being too weak. Two of them had trouble holding their spears.

“What happened?” He finally asked. Finding his voice after a small wave of shock.

“He was outside of the forest. Close to the borders.” One of the soldiers started. They sounded out of breath, their voice soar.

“He seemed confused, so we decided to take the opportunity. There were more of us.”

“But we underestimated him…”

Mercurial couldn't help but agree. The Silver Traitor was a threat on his own, always had been. But it was easy to feel a bit overconfident, once the fear took a step back. For who wouldn't want to be the one to defeat the betrayer? Especially given one was in a group?

“You still did a good job. You captured him.” He noted. Trying to lighten up their moods even if just a little. 

Then he noticed how the traitorous faerie smirked. There was a smugness in it. Silently challenging his words.

“Captain, but we were…” One knight started unsurely, before looking away.

“There were ten of us… now only five of us are left.”

Mercurial Knight Cookie took a sharp breath in. Five dead. He had killed five faeries on his own. It was bad, very bad. The worst part was that it did not surprise him. Of course he would cut their numbers in half, even when he had been caught by surprise. Still as lethal as ever.

“You still did a good job.” He repeated, although this time he said it slower. He ignored the scoff that came from the traitor. “I'll handle it from here… you five go to the medic.” He ordered. He would send someone later to take care of the bodies.

-------

He stood guard by the imprisoned traitor.  Locked in a silver cage that was hanging from the branches of an oak tree. In a more secluded part of the kingdom. So no one had to worry too much. Out of sight, out of mind.

The man had been forced into different clothes. Wearing a simple white robe now. He was cleaned, for everybody's sake, because no one would be able to stand the scent of blood. The deeper wounds were treated, but bruises and mere cuts were left alone. His sickles were confiscated (he still used the sacred silver, the audacity) alongwith his armor. His wings were still bound with a chain. 

Mercurial Knight didn't trust other faeries with the prisoner. Regarding both the safety of citizens… and the very traitor. Most were scared of him and he would probably abuse that fact. But there were also those who hated him a lot. The betrayer was a very capable soldier, but one can't defend himself while locked in a small cage.

The prisoner was quiet. Sitting idly, and leaning back onto the bars of his cage. Only moving his wings a little every so often. As much as the chain allowed him.

It was uncanny how calm he was. He was serving in the Silent Legion all this time, but still. It was out of character for him. To be this collected in a situation that was definitely not in his favor. 

“You're taking your imprisonment surprisingly well.” He commented. 

He glanced at the other faerie when he heard him move. The prisoner sat up straight. He slowly turned his head to stare down at Mercurial Knight. His green, vibrant eyes could drill through him. He kept on moving his wings. Although this time more forcefully. So the screeching sound of metal could be heard loud and clear. 

The Captain looked away after a moment. He understood the silent message easily, (don't mistake my composure for ease, for I am seething). He didn't make any comment when even after thirty minutes he could still hear that awful screeching noise. He did, however, slightly grimace. 

After hours passed the noise suddenly came to halt. Something, or rather someone, got the prisoner's attention. Mercurial Knight couldn't help but let out a very small sigh of relief. Thankful that the other finally stopped. He still stood straight, keeping guard, while another person approached.

“Oh my… what has happened here?” A soft voice rang around them. Like a sweet but solemn melody. 

Queen Lily returned. She held herself high, as a royalty should. But she was holding her staff rather tightly. Confused, uncertain. She clearly didn't know who the prisoner was. She didn't know all the faeries yet. For now he was to her just one of the soldiers, who for some reason was locked away. 

By her side was Silverbell, who accompanied her often. He certainly was the one to inform her of the situation, and dutifully brought her here immediately. He glanced every so often at the prisoner, but looked away quickly every time. Either he was afraid of him or simply felt uncomfortable to be around such a person. No matter the reason, his reactions were valid and reasonable. 

“Queen Lily, this is Arsenic Cookie. Traitor of Silver Kingdom.” Mercurial explained.

It took her by surprise. For just a short moment it seemed like she was about to take a step back. She quickly got a hold of herself. She straightened herself up. Held her head high. She looked the traitor up and down. 

“I see… for how long have you been plotting under my rule? How many are there that support y–”

“Madame, I've abandoned this Kingdom before you were even born. Not everything must revolve around you.”

Arsenic's words cut swiftly like a knife. The sudden and blunt interruption threw Midnight Lily out of the rhythm. Leaving her shocked, and even more confused than before. She stared at him, looking him up and down again. Her eyes open a bit wider and her brows furrowed.

On the other hand, Mercurial Knight just gave Arsenic a glare, which was completely ignored by the traitor. Of course, he would interrupt her majesty. She should be corrected, but he could have waited. What a lack of respect. At least he remembered to use honorifics. 

“... When exactly?” Queen asked. 

“You have to be more specific,” Arsenic said as he tilted his head to the side. “When did I leave? Or when was I proclaimed a traitor? These are two separate events, mind you.”

There was a beat of silence for a short moment. 

“When did you become a traitor?”

This time the quiet lasted longer. Both the Queen and the betrayer just kept staring at each other. One with confusion and curiosity, the other with boredom and slight. Each waited for the other to break eye contact. But none of them did.

“After The Beast of Silence gave first orders. I cannot give you a specific date. Afterall, I wasn't in the Faerie Kingdom when I was declared a traitor.”

Midnight Lily's eyes widened in realization. That it wasn’t just some mere traitor, some faerie (even if silver blessed) that separated themselves from the rest. He was still a soldier. He was still an active soldier fighting for her direct enemy. Because out of all beasts Silent Salt was certainly the biggest issue for her. 

For not only were they directly linked to her, due to Midnight Lily having the other half of their soul jam. The problem was also in their very ingredients, and the knight's territory. Because if the books could be trusted,  the soil in the Land of Silence had a very high concentration of sodium, which meant her forest wouldn't be able to spread there. Her powers were great, a force to be reckoned with, but it was still deeply rooted in nature. And nature had decided that if something wanted to grow in the Land of Silence, then it either had to struggle or required constant help. And if she were to constantly use her powers just to make sure the trees would actually gain height, she would tire herself out.

Her forest grew fast thanks to her, but she did not need to have it under constant control. For all the flora got its nutrients from the soil, the water from the rain and rivers. The forest was self-sufficient. It wouldn't be doing so well at all on Silent Salt's territory. She could infect grass and flowers but they were so fragile. Trees were more reliable with their strong roots and their tough bark…

She was jumping too far ahead. She had a lot of time yet before she would be even halfway towards Salt Flatlands. Slow but steady. Slowly but surely. Don't make any rapid decisions, they only ended badly. Focus on now. Focus on a current problem. 

Arsenic Cookie. The traitor who for some reason was back in Silver Kingdom. Why? Did he not know of who was now a ruler? She doubted it. Even the most ignorant of cookies must have heard of her by now. Was he given an order then?

“Why are you here?”

But she was given no answer. Arsenic just kept staring at her, looking bored. For a short moment she thought that maybe he was out of it. The bruises were still visible. Sitting here in a cage, dressed in a white robe, he didn’t really resemble a soldier. 

“I asked–”

“I've heard you the first time, Madame.” Arsenic said, interrupting her again. “I simply refuse to answer.”

Midnight Lily slowly started to realize that getting anything out of him wouldn't be easy. Of course he would be reluctant to answer her, it was stupid of her to assume he would cooperate. And it was a shame, because he could be a mine of information...

Well, if she couldn’t get the information out of him, she could get some information about him instead. Traitors were still important figures in history. There definitely were some scrolls about him, some songs about his crimes. There had to be. And maybe then she could use the knowledge about him to make him talk.

She let out a sigh as she broke eye contact. She looked to the side. 

“Silverbell, please, go to the library and bring me every scroll with the information on our prisoner.”

The archer needed a moment to snap out from whatever trance he was in. For the entirety of the conversation between Arsenic and Midnight Lily he was gripping his bow tightly. Not being able to fully look at the traitor, yet ready to defend himself. The traitor of course wasn't oblivious to it. When the Queen looked away, he glanced at the archer. His green eyes made Silverbell tense up immediately. 

“Yes, your majesty…” The fae said as at first he slowly backed away. As if thinking the prisoner would get out of the cage any moment. Only after a few seconds he flew away towards the library. 

Arsenic observed the faerie but quickly lost interest in him. He looked back at Midnight Lily who was now walking away. He bit his lip, thinking about something, whether asking her would even be worth it. 

“Madame!” He called out to her. Ultimately deciding that he could as well just take his shot.

Midnight Lily stopped in her tracks. But she only turned her head around. She was willing to hear out whatever he had to say, but wouldn't waste more time on him. Maybe tomorrow, or in a few days.

“Although I am in no position to ask, I have a small request.”

“You refuse to answer my questions and then you dare to ask something from me?”

“The difference between us is you expected me to answer. Where as I am surprised you haven't walked away yet.”

A second passed. Then two, then ten, then twenty. 

“What is your request?” She asked. Her song-like voice a note higher at the end. Her curiosity was raised once again.

“I want my sketchbook back. It was in one of the pockets of my armor before it got confiscated.”

“How should I know it doesn't have any sensitive information or magic properties that you could use to your advantage?”

Arsenic rolled his eyes at her statement. He was quiet before he sighed. Not looking at her anymore. 

“Read through it and check it as many times as you want.” There was a bit of strain in his voice. His displeasure clear as day. “You won't find anything suspicious nor useful there. Unless you're particularly fond of drawings of plants and buildings.”

She didn’t answer him. She turned around and left.

-------

Arsenic’s sketchbook was in a horrendous shape. He definitely was bringing it everywhere with him. The cover was dirty, although it seemed he had tried to clean it before ultimately giving up. Some pages were loose, some were folded a bit, some had dirt or blood on them, sometimes both. It was also clear that the object must have been soaked once by accident. But half of it was still empty. Arsenic had to be really determined to finish the sketchbook despite its poor state.

Midnight Lily sadly had to admit that the traitor was speaking the truth. There was no sensitive information that he nor she could use. These really were just drawings. Mostly made with pencil or crayons. She counted maybe ten drawings that used a different medium, like ink or paint. He drew a lot of things, mostly flora and architecture as he said.

She herself found the drawings depicting other cookies the most interesting. Most of them were knights, which was predictable. But there were many of them. Each was shown doing something else. A sketch of two knights sparring. A sketch of someone riding a horse. A sketch of a group of people spending time at the bar… and there was even a glass stain on that page.

There were a few sketches of Silent Salt too. And it felt strange. To see the beast through the lenses of someone devoted to them. It gave her mixed feelings. Because in one drawing they were like an otherworldly being. And in the next they could be mistaken for just another soldier. Taking a break with their horse by their side.

It humanized them so much. 

She held herself back from tearing that page out. The owner would notice it was missing immediately. And although he was chained and trapped in a cage – she'd rather play it safe. She didn't want to give him another reason to get out, no matter how petty it could be.

She looked up when she heard the door to her room creak open. She smiled a little when Silverbell entered. It took him a while but he brought the scrolls she asked for. Along with a binder that seemed to be full of various papers. Although that was a lot less than what she was hoping for.

“Only five?” She asked.

“I'm sorry, but that's all I could find. Arsenic was also mentioned in a few very old songs about Silver Knights, but there was nothing more specific. Just named as an example of an inspiring soldier…”

He apologized despite the fact Lily wasn't mad at him at all. He carefully put on the table all the objects. Midnight Lily closed the sketchbook and put it aside.

“Here are dozens of documents regarding Silver Knights. These are mostly statistics and reports, but it should have the most information about Arsenic.” He explained as he gestured at the binder. “Other four scrolls are anonymous. They paint him mostly in a negative light, which… were to be expected.”

It looks like the entire kingdom harbored quite a huge dislike towards the rogue faerie. Not like it was surprising.

“And the fifth one?”

Silverbell was quiet for a short second. When he finally opened his mouth he looked away from Midnight Lily.

“Fifth one was written by Elder Faerie… it’s more sympathetic in comparison to others…”

Upon hearing that Midnight Lily’s eyes opened wide. She focused on that one specific scroll. She furrowed her brows. She believed Silverbell, but it was hard for her to imagine. Not the fact that Elder Faerie had written a song, for she had seen his compositions, she had heard them. All of them were beautiful, she could listen to them for days. She struggled to understand why he had made this one sympathetic. She knew very well that he had been very protective of the Silver Kingdom, any threat to it he had taken seriously. Why was Arsenic an exception then? In her opinion a traitor was one of the worst threats possible. Especially given what she had heard from Celestial Cheese and Frigid Cacao…

“I see…” She mumbled quietly. “Thank you, Silverbell… you’re excused. Although you’re welcome to stay if you want.”

Silverbell gave her a smile but he shook his head. He glanced at the door behind him.

“I'd love to but I don't want to fall behind on my duties. I have a night patrol today.”

Midnight Lily nodded. “Very well, then. Just one more thing.” She said when she grabbed the sketchbook and extended it to him. “Could  you please give it to Arsenic if it isn't too bothersome? There is nothing dangerous within it, so he may have it back.”

The archer hesitated for a few longer moments. Debating whether he wanted to interact with a traitor. In the end he took the sketchbook. He looked it over and grimaced. 

“What… what even happened to this thing?”

“Everything, I presume.”

-------

“Do you think she forgot about me? It’s been four days.”

Mercurial glanced at the prisoner. Arsenic didn’t even bother to look up from his sketchbook when he asked the question. More focused on drawing something. But he couldn’t be blamed, it’s not like he had many things to do now. For him it was either drawing, talking to Mercurial or thinking about one thing too many. 

And Mercurial Knight would rather keep Arsenic busy. At least when he was drawing he was calm. When he was talking it just felt as if he tried to specifically push Mercurial’s buttons. He could deal with it, but he would be lying if he said that Arsenic wasn’t good at getting reactions out of him. And as for him having too many things to think about…

Mercurial subconsciously tightened his grip on his glaive. He’d rather not have Arsenic spiraling again. Last time was devastating for everyone involved…

“Queen Lily has a good memory. She won't be forgetting you any time soon.”

“Why is she a Queen anyway?”

The Captain took a deep breath in and out. Arsenic said it carelessly, but there was a hint of venomous bite at the end. Undermining the authority of the Silver Queen. 

“Elder Faerie chose her for a new guardian on his deathbed. Shortly after Shadow Milk's soul escaped the Silver Tree.”

Arsenic stopped drawing. His pointy ears moved downwards. He kept his eyes locked onto the pages of his sketchbook. Still not looking up.

There was a somewhat tense silence between them after that. Whatever more Arsenic had to say in the topic he decided to keep quiet. And it was clear he wanted to say more, or at least react somewhat stronger. With how tense his body was. With how his lips were pulled into a thin line.

But there were no words said. Only a soft noise of a pencil on paper. Arsenic resumed drawing. 

“You will need to replace this cage or clean it soon. The silver is tarnishing.” Arsenic said after a while, changing the subject. As if the previous conversation had no place at all.

At his words Mercurial Knight lowered his glaive a bit. Turning his head around to actually face Arsenic this time. His eyelid twitched. 

“You're kidding me.”

Arsenic in response simply changed his position as much as he could. No longer leaning back onto the bars. He moved to the opposite side of his cage. The chain on his wings clanged loudly.

And there it was. The tarnish on the silver bars. There wasn't much of it, just one nasty spot, but it was standing out. No longer beautiful reflective shade of gray, its shine gone. Covered with a dark, dull layer of corrosion. Just looking at it was giving Mercurial a headache.

“I genuinely don’t know what you expected to happen when you put a cookie made out mostly of arsenic – a highly reactive element, into a silver cage, when silver tarnishes in contact with sulphide.”

And he had sulfur all over his skin, Mercurial Knight finished in his head. 

He ran a hand down his face. A feeling of defeat in his chest. It had been so long, he had forgotten how Arsenic was basically a walking health hazard. His dough, while mostly made of arsenic and basic ingredients, also contained a small dose of sulfur. But it was just enough for his skin to be dangerous to touch. Just enough for silver to tarnish.

How could he possibly forget about it then? Well, the Faerie Captain was never at huge risk of it himself. Purely because mercury didn't react with arsenic. What about sulfur? Mercury in nature formed minerals with it. Therefore while it wasn’t fully safe for them to interact, it wasn’t as dangerous as it could be for anyone else.

“I've simply forgotten about your reactivity. But you would still be locked in a silver cage… despite the inconvenience.”

Silver tarnishing was an issue. Although the metal itself wasn't damaged – only the outermost layer was affected – it was enough for silver blessed faeries to feel something was wrong. Those who were blessed swore to protect The Guardian, The Silver Tree, The Faerie Kingdom with all they had, sacrificing their former selves for power from silver, linking themselves with the very element. If that tarnish were to spread farther and farther, soon one twelfth of all soldiers would be alerted.

It was ironic. That the Holy Silver blessed a faerie with the very element that could be a threat to it.

“I'll inform Queen Lily about tarnish later today. We will see what she'll decide.” Mercurial Knight said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why do you have to go ask her?” Arsenic asked, for some reason confused. 

“Because she's the queen.”

The traitor looked up from his sketchbook. He stared at Mercurial for a few moments before closing it. He straightened up his posture.

“Elder Faerie was a king and you didn't have to go ask for his judgment every single time. He trusted your decisions.” He noted. “Does Midnight Lily not trust you?”

“Of course she trusts me, she leaves the kingdom under my care whenever she leaves.”

“Then why do you need to ask her? You're a captain now, act like one.”

“I think I know better how to do my job.”

“I beg to differ, given the fact I'm still alive.”

That made Mercurial pause. He took a breath in and out. Arsenic was trying to get a reaction out of him. He shouldn't give him the satisfaction.

“I'm following the orders that were given back during Elder Faerie’s rule. You should be glad he was fond of you despite everything.”

“He was clearly fond of Lily too, and look where that got this kingdom. Nothing but a dark husk.”

There was a sudden grating noise. Arsenic grabbed onto one of the cage’s bars for stability. He shut his eyes tight at the sudden movement of his prison. He quickly reopened them, focusing his eyes again on the knight. Mercurial had just pushed the cage, making it now swing back and forth.

“Watch your mouth, Arsenic.” Faerie's tone was colder than usual. A bark with a threat of a bite soon to follow. 

They kept their eyes locked for a minute or less. Cage was still swinging, its chain grating. But it was slowing down. And so, Mercurial finally looked away.

He regretted it almost immediately. He should've known that Arsenic wouldn't quit. 

Arsenic threw himself at the bars, increasing the momentum of the cage. He put his arm between bars, trying to reach beyond his prison. The cage slammed into Mercurial.  Making him stumble back, almost falling over. Arsenic’s fingers barely managed to graze his skin. And yet it left a stinging feeling. As if he was scrapped by a bunch of needles. He’d grown unused to Arsenic’s touch.

Witches damned knave.

He left his glaive stabbed into the ground. A more sound part of his mind reminding him that using it would be going way too far. When he regained his balance he grabbed Arsenic’s white robe. He fluttered into the air, his wings didn’t even make a noise. He tugged on Arsenic’s clothing, forcing him to stand up, the chain on wings rattled. His other hand was curled up in a fist.

Arsenic gritted his teeth. One of his hands grabbed at Mercurial’s arm. But it did no damage. It couldn’t through the material of the captain’s suit. His other hand was tightly gripping one of the cage bars. Normally it would take a longer time for it to discolor. But now it wasn’t normal. They were almost at each other’s throats. Arsenic’s reactivity was rising. The bar he was gripping was already tarnished.

“Do you even know how to quit?”

Arsenic gave him a smile. A strained one. He was still gritting his teeth. 

“What? Is the captain unable to deal with an insubordinate deserter?”

“You poisonous–”

“Excuse me?”

Both of them immediately turned their heads around when they heard a third voice. Mercurial’s expression changed to a more blank one, while Arsenic looked irritated. They both stared at Silverbell, who looked concerned at the situation. 

Mercurial Knight was the first to break the silence. “Is something a matter, Silverbell?”

“Lady Lily wanted to see you.”

Upon hearing this he let go of Arsenic’s robe, and pulled his arm away from his grip. He glanced at the prisoner, who begrudgingly sat down. Crossing his hands across his chest.

The Captain flew down to take his glaive. As he did so he found Arsenic’s sketchbook. It must have fallen out of the cage when it was swinging. He picked it up and handed it to him. Arsenic gave him a glare. A few moments passed before he took it. 

“Where's Queen Lily?” Mercurial asked Silverbell. 

“Playing her harp.”

He nodded. “I'll be back soon.” He said to Arsenic.

But he was given no response. The prisoner just glanced at him before opening his sketchbook. Not bothered to look when the other left. 

Silverbell however stayed. Because he was ordered to replace Mercurial while he would be talking with Silver Queen. He looked unsurely at Arsenic. It would just be an hour at most. Hopefully…

“What… did you do to get him so mad?” Silverbell asked, his curiosity winning over his fear. He'd never seen Mercurial furious, until today that is.

Arsenic paused for a moment before resuming drawing. 

“I managed to disrespect Elder Faerie, Midnight Lily, myself and the entirety of Silver Kingdom in just one sentence.”

“... That's a lot of disrespect.”

Arsenic let out a small chuckle. “Indeed it is.”

-------

A sweet melody could be heard in the garden. Skilled fingers gracefully pulling at the strings of the harp. A bunch of faeries - especially the younger ones - gathered around. To listen to how their Queen played. Although a trained ear would pick up that some notes were rushed. Not due to lack of skill, but because of a busy mind. A lot she learned in a very short period of time.

Her eyes were soft, a dreamy look. But her brow was furrowed. Paying attention to the music, and trying to decipher the treacherous faerie at the same time. She skipped one note by accident. 

The songs created an image of a smart but cold, almost uncaring man. Sometimes it felt as if authors viewed him more as an entity than a person. Referring to him as a poison. His sickles and hands were described as stained red. And while it certainly referred to the specific… incident. She couldn’t help but wonder if there were more victims who weren't quite as fortunate. 

Midnight Lily stopped playing when she heard someone enter. Ah, Mercurial Knight Cookie, like she asked. She let go of her harp. A few faeries started to clap their hands. Some said lovely words of praise.

She thanked them with a smile on her lips. She politely excused herself. No one questioned her. Why would they? She was Queen Lily. Their ruler and their Queen. Why would they not admire her, be loyal to her?

“You've asked to see me, your highness.” Mercurial spoke up once they were far enough from prying eyes and ears.

“I have a few questions for you regarding Arsenic Cookie…”

Based on many of the old reports it was safe to assume that Mercurial simply knew Arsenic better than other faeries. There had been plenty of times when they both had been patrolling. And he was mentioned in Elder Faerie’s scroll too.

“Songs describe him as being stained red… I tried to look into it but to no avail… has he ever caused any damage to anyone?”

“Arsenic never intentionally attacked any faerie.”

Liar, she thought to herself. But she kept her face neutral. There was one instance at least, when he had hurt someone, and they both knew it. And she wouldn't believe it if she was told it was an accident. It couldn’t be. It just couldn't.

“It could refer to his patrol performance. That was rather public knowledge.”

“Was something wrong with it?”

Mercurial Knight paused. Thinking for a moment. 

“Arsenic followed the protocol to… to a rather extreme degree. During patrol we are meant to make sure no outsider gets too close to our Kingdom. Arsenic was solving that issue permanently.”

“Was it controversial that he killed those cookies?” A bit of confusion slipped into her voice. 

She didn’t expect to agree with a traitor about something. Killing the outsiders, especially those who came too close to the Kingdom, was definitely the most efficient solution. No outsider would live to spread the rumors. No one would come in search of a place out of legend. And it also made less people enter the forest. No one wants to enter the place from which no one returns. 

People needed to travel through the forest, she understood that. And that's what a few cobblestone paths were for. But if the travelers were to go astray she would not pity them. One had to be either brave or stupid to just wander her forest… or have a faerie to guide them, but she couldn't think of a reason as to why any of her subjects would do such a thing. 

“It’s hard to not raise a concern when after almost every patrol one of the soldiers comes back covered in someone's blood.”

Midnight Lily noted the slightest annoyance in Mercurial’s tone. Occurrence must have been quite an issue if even the ever stoic knight couldn't fully stand the memory. Or maybe it wasn't about the situation itself but the fact it had kept on repeating. 

“But at the end of the day he was still executing the given orders. So if anyone had any complaints, they kept them to themselves.”

The Queen tapped her fingers on her staff. Thinking about how to form the next question. The one that was eating at her for days.

“Are you certain Arsenic never attacked any faerie?”

“Not intentionally,” he repeated. 

“Mercurial Knight Cookie.” Midnight Lily said. Her voice was still melodic, but the tone changed. From patient and soft tunes of spring, to colder and sharper winter. “Arsenic attacked Elder Faerie, and according to the scroll you were present when it happened.”

A beat of silence. Mercurial’s wings stuttered a little. However, he still kept his posture straight. 

“Enlighten me, please. How can an attempted regicide not be intentional?”

She observed the faerie captain. His wings stuttered again and his ears lowered just a tiny bit. Yet he kept his expression unchanged. He took a breath in and out before speaking. 

“I was asked by Arsenic to be there with him. If he had planned to kill Elder Faerie he wouldn't have requested of me to be there when he was speaking with the king. And he would have fought me after I pinned him down. Instead he was just… unresponsive and in shock.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Mercurial Knight.”

The soldier swallowed before speaking again.

“Arsenic can’t remember who he was before being blessed by silver, but he can’t fully let go of it either. He’s holding onto… the concept of who he was.”

That would partially explain why in comparison to other silver-blessed faeries Arsenic had the most distinctive personality. Even during that short conversion Midnight Lily had had with him. How he was sitting straight, almost proud, despite being locked in a cage and chained down. As if he didn’t lose, like he the odds weren’t against him. The way he treated talking to her like a chore, his annoyance often clear, not hidden away.

“And it had caused him to spiral several times… it often ended with him lashing out or being aggressive. So when he was talking with Elder Faerie… something must have been said that set him off.”

“Can you remember what exactly got him to lash out?”

Mercurial tried to remember the incident as well as he could. But that one memory wasn’t as sharp as the rest. It was partially blurry. The beginning and the ending were both sharp. 

First had been Arsenic, asking him to accompany him during the conversion with Elder Faerie. Then there had been the king talking with Arsenic. And it had been calm. At the very end he had pinned Arsenic down. Glaive had been stabbed into the floor, right next to the poisonous faerie’s head. Green eyes had stared back at him in shock and fear. The room had been filled with a distinctive scent of blood. Elder Faerie had been clutching at his chest, his robes stained red.

Whatever had happened in between was a blur. He could recall some parts. How at some point simple talking had turned into yelling. He couldn’t tell whether it had been both Arsenic and Elder, or if it had been just Arsenic. Then there had been that scent, that dark shade of red, and suddenly everything had been sharp again. Suddenly he had been pinning down Arsenic.

Mercurial shook his head as he looked away from Midnight Lily. “No. I apologise, your majesty.”

She hummed softly in thought. “Did he face any punishment at all for his crime?”

“He was locked away for three days. Shortly after that he was suspended from his duties for around two weeks if I recall correctly. Then after two days he left the kingdom.”

“He just left?”

“I thought he was missing, so I went to inform Elder Faerie. The king had given Arsenic his approval to leave the kingdom permanently.”

Midnight Lily was silent. She looked to the side, lost in thought.

After she had read through the scroll, she had thought that Arsenic lied to her. She had been fully convinced that an attempted regicide was the reason he had become a traitor. And he had simply lied to her, in hope she wouldn’t find out. But he hadn’t lied. She felt disoriented. She struggled to understand why Elder Faerie had let Arsenic go. She could believe that he had forgiven the traitor to some extent. If he had forgiven her, trusted her despite the evil she had brought upon this world… it was safe to assume, he would have empathy for a faerie who tried to hold onto something long gone.

“Were there any orders given regarding Arsenic in the case he returns?”

“For siding with the Beast of Silence he should be imprisoned. And, well, he is. There were no more orders.”

Lily kept silent. Uncertain what to do now. Originally she planned on executing the traitor, after getting somehow more information out of him. But now she knew she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to go against Elder Faerie’s wishes. If he had wanted Arsenic dead, he would have given an order to kill him.

But she couldn't keep him locked in a cage forever either. He was calm now but it wouldn't take long before he would grow restless. The moment she would need to leave the kingdom for a meeting with Neo-Beasts, he would definitely take his shot and try to run away. And she didn't even want to know what could possibly happen if Saint came to visit, or even Frigid Cacao. 

“Thank you, Mercurial. You're excused.”

… She needed advice.

-------

Celestial Cheese had given a few meetings ago each of Neo-Beasts a small device. It was a small golden box, richly decorated. It would allow them for fast communication, without the need of stopping any of their projects. Currently, Midnight Lily was waiting for Celestial Cheese to kindly pick up. She tapped her feelings onto the table as she read through the soldiers’ profiles and various reports. The device continued to ring.

Although the data was old, she could still make use of it, especially given the recent event. Arsenic was still clearly a very good fighter. He had killed seven out of ten soldiers that attacked him. Five directly in the fight. The other two had died later the same day from arsine poisoning, both had suffered a heart failure.

When she was reading about his abilities and his characteristics related to his ingredients, she felt as if she was studying a living weapon (although, weren’t all silver-blessed faeries living weapons? They were inherently modified super soldiers. Exceeding ordinary faeries by far, not to mention the abilities some of them gained thanks to the blessing). 

Small amount of sulfur mixed with high levels of arsenic made it dangerous to touch his skin. He was also capable of emitting quite large amounts of arsine. He couldn’t keep it up for long but it was never needed. Arsine was horrifyingly lethal. It had a subtle scent of garlic, but before one was able to smell it the dose they had breathed in was already more than enough to kill them. Downside to such ability was the fact that arsine gas was highly flammable. Just one spark would be enough for it all to ignite. Possibly (or perhaps definitely) harming the soldier as well.

Even his blood was poisonous, for Witches’ sake. However, interestingly enough, it wasn’t related to the chemical element. In his bloodstream were large quantities of toxin of plant origin. It wasn’t specified which toxin it was exactly, however there was written that it increased and decreased the heart rate.

Probably a trace of his previous taste. No surprise his taste was changed into arsenic if he already had had poison in his blood. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could track down what toxin exactly it was.

From her train of thoughts snapped her out a sudden sound. She looked up at the device on her table. She watched how the gems on the top started to quickly change colors. From green to golden. Within a second a hologram appeared. She was staring eye to eye with Celestial Cheese Cookie.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting, there were some issues with… my main power source. But it’s been dealt with!” The woman exclaimed happily. “So, what happened that you seek my attention so much.”

In her hands were grapes, as she apparently didn’t find an issue in eating and talking. But who was Lily to criticise her? With how much damage she had done, she was glad Cheese even bothered to answer her call.

Midnight Lily glanced again at the papers. She looked at the profiles of other soldiers this time. Paying a bit more attention to Mercurial Knight’s especially.

“You’re an experienced ruler, Celestial Cheese. You know how to deal with various issues that arise. Being both kind to your subjects but also adamant about obeying your rule… I wanted to ask for advice.”

Radiant Queen raised her eyebrows upon hearing that. She smiled, pleased at the praise and also by the fact that Lily came to her specifically for the advice. A tarnished plant asking the ever glowing sun for just a bit more light.

“Hah! I’ll be honest, that's not what I expected to hear at all! But very well! What’s the problem?” She said before starting to chew onto a green grape.

“... How do you deal with a traitor?”

The surprise that overcame Celestial Cheese was evident. Her eyes wide open. She swallowed roughly. The sweet grape now tasting bitter and sour.

“Someone rebelled against you?”

Out of all people she assumed Lily wouldn’t have that type of issues. Frigid Cacao? He had had Affogato, and once a traitor gets away unpunished there was a possibility another one would show up. Dragonberry? Almost a daily basis issue for that woman, even before she had gained interest in dragons. Had there not been a whole lot of meddlers during the very contest to replace her granddaughter? Saint? He was as kind as he was controversial. Too bad an arrow to the head wouldn’t be enough to take him down. He would get back up with a smile, and comfort the knave who tried to murder him.

But Midnight Lily? From what she had been telling, all the faeries had their eyes glued to her. Never even daring to think twice about what she said. And Saint had confirmed that plenty of times. Sometimes mentioning how lovely and loyal they were to Lily.

“He’s from before our time, he had betrayed Elder Faerie… he sided with Silent Salt.”

Celestial Cheese let out a small hiss. Yeah, that was quite a big treachery. To side with a direct enemy. A beast nonetheless.

“Well… what did you want to do with him originally? I doubt you didn’t have any idea, just doubts about it.”

Midnight Lily looked away from the other neo-beast. One of her hands gripped the edge of her desk. She pulled her lips into a thin line, her brows furrowed. 

“I… wanted to execute him after getting more information about Silent Salt or their followers, their land, anything about them that could help.” She felt sick with herself now. What would Elder think of her? To even have such a cruel idea to harm any of the faeries. What a disappointment she must be. “But… I can’t do that. Elder Faerie had ordered to only imprison him. And if he had wanted him dead…”

“He wouldn’t bother with imprisonment.” Celestial Cheese finished for her. She kept her voice more neutral now. The carefree joy she presented at the beginning was now gone.

“... Exactly… and I just… I don’t fully understand why the Elder Faerie was so forgiveful towards him… He was a very kind person, but the damage Arsenic had done…”

Celestial Cheese sighed. “I think Elder Faerie might’ve had the same problem as I do.”

“What problem?” She questioned, a bit of uncertainty in her voice.

“Being too soft-hearted towards our own subjects.” She said as she leaned onto her hand. Involuntarily she smiled a little at the thought of her people. The biggest, irreplaceable treasure of all. “Regardless of how much they wrong me, I can’t help but give them another chance. Take for example my advisor, Smoked Cheese! For his lack of obedience I had sent him to battle in the colosseum as a punishment. He won, I let him out. Few centuries later he tried to steal my souljam…”

“And you’ve sent him to the colosseum again?”

“Damn right I did!” Celestial Cheese gave her a wild smile. But it got smaller quite quickly. “Just gave him a bunch more trials… I’m certain he’s going to win, though. And since it's three times a charm, he will probably try something sooner or later. And I will probably send him again to the colosseum… He thinks he will change something, and I think I will change him. He’s an absolute annoyance at times, but I wouldn’t give him away.”

Midnight Lily looked down. She could see the similarity Cheese was talking about. Elder Faerie had known the faeries way better than she did. She was almost certain he had known every single subject in his kingdom. The ease with each faerie had approached him. With respect and no fear. The faeries trusted her, they believed in her, but she couldn’t help but notice how sometimes when one spoke to her they were tense. Not as relaxed as with their king around. It was only natural, she assumed. She was a new guardian, but at the end of the day she was still an outsider. She was still learning about her subjects and the history of their kingdom.

“Still… even if you keep Elder Faerie’s wishes in mind, the question is: do you want Arsenic in your kingdom?” Celestial Cheese said. “If the order was to lock him up, you can keep him locked away forever. Make a magic cage out of veins for him, or something.”

Midnight Lily picked up two profiles. One of Arsenic and the other of Mercurial Knight. She had read through reports and statistics several times by now. Arsenic almost always came in as the second best soldier that there had been. There were two things in which he was better than the faerie Captain, and one in which they matched. They were equally as fast, if they were to race each other they would tie every time. What Arsenic was better at waa agility and he had higher pain tolerance.

There was also an index for ‘stability of the ingredients’. She didn’t fully understand it and decided to look into it later on. To her surprise Arsenic was the one who had his ingredients classified as stable. Mercurial on the other hand required a stabilizer.

It was all old data, but it was quite promising. Arsenic was a double edged sword, but still a very good soldier. He would be a good asset to have…

“Having him at my disposal is quite tempting…” She admitted.

“Ah, getting a bit greedy now, aren’t we?” Celestial Cheese teased her. When in response she only got an empty stare, she rolled her eyes. “Eh, don’t be so stuck up! Just for record, even if you plan to let him out of the cage, make him think he has to earn it. Don’t just give it to him… and keep him within your eyesight at the very beginning. Some people really like to test waters right away.”

“... May I use your concept of a colosseum?”

“Do you even have a place to put a colosseum in that forest?”

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not what I meant,” Midnight Lily shook her head. “I… I’m gonna make him fight a bunch of my soldiers, and the captain of my army at the end. The training grounds are quite spacious so it could be used for such a trial. Plus I need to update some data about him, seeing him fight would quickly answer many of my questions.”

“And there’s our Lily. Ever a scientist, always at work.” She grinned. This time she got to enjoy seeing a Silver Guardian looking away bashfully.

-------

“You still don't cover up the stabilizer?” Arsenic asked between the sips of jelly stew. Although he sounded calm there was disappointment in it mixed with irritation.

Upon the question Mercurial became a bit too aware of the blue gem on his chest. Too aware of how the small droplets of mercury were falling off him every few minutes. He held back the urge to look down at the gem or to touch it.

“Arsenic, we're having this conversation almost every single time we are together.”

“And I still think that while you're the best soldier, you are overconfident. If someone will have an opening and take a strike at it, you're going to have a huge issue.”

“They would need to do it from the correct angle with a rather strong blade.”

“Or just put a lot of strength in their fist.”

“... They would break their hand, or fingers at least.”

Arsenic just shrugged before taking another sip. Good thing he was eating normally. Mercurial had been previously worried that he would try to go on hunger strike. Although he wouldn’t put it past him, it would still be low, even for Arsenic.

“I think sacrificing a hand is worth it if you can weaken your opponent for the rest of the fight.”

“Not if you need both hands to wield a weapon.”

“People do a lot of things when they’re desperate. If the end goal is worth it, they would absolutely damage themself more than needed.”

“... It’s still reckless. Even if your opponent gets weakened you still have to defeat them.”

“No.” Arsenic argued. Raising the volume of his voice, even if just for a short moment. He turned his head around, to actually look at Mercurial when he was speaking. “You have to outlast them. It doesn't matter who's a better fighter or who's stronger. It's always about the last person standing. Regardless of how it's achieved.”

“How… pragmatic of you.”

“Is that surprising to you?”

“... No. Not really.”

Eras have changed since they've last seen each other, and yet that was probably the most normal response he could expect from Arsenic. That indifferent demeanor regarding the method of taking someone down, and everything that could possibly entail. It reflected how he fought… to a degree. He had seen him during the patrols enough times. Dealing with outsiders had hardly been a challenge for him. Just one swift swing at the throat.

In sparring sessions or duels he had a tendency to actually get competitive. For other silver-blessed faeries were actually giving him a challenge, no matter how small or how big. He would always follow the set out rules. But by gods, he could be insufferable about it. Definitely crossing the line on several occasions yet still abiding to the rules. Apparently breaking someone’s bone was a fair strategy to him (not a life threatening injury, nor did it permanently incapacitated anyone. In a worst case scenario one simply was indisposed for over a month). Was it technically against the rules? No. Was it absolutely wrongful in every other sense? Yes.

“Just surprised how little you’ve changed.”

Arsenic opened his mouth to answer but he quickly closed back. His ears flicked a little, picking up on the sudden but soft noise. He looked in the direction the sound came from. His mood soured immediately upon seeing Queen Lily slowly approaching his cage. He simply rolled his eyes. He put down his bowl of stew and leaned back onto the bars of his cage. The silver had tarnished even more after their two scuffles from the day before.

The second one had happened shortly after Mercurial Knight had returned from speaking with Midnight Lily. After Silverbell had left relieved (much to Arsenic’s confusion. It looked like his reputation preceded him more than he thought). The first thing the traitor had done was to probe at the soldier until he would tell him something, anything. Of course, Mercurial didn’t tell him what the conversation was about. However, he had made a mistake while being greatly irritated, and had said that there might have been a slight chance of him getting demoted. Arsenic had found that concept hilarious and had mocked him a bit. That had led to the cage being pushed once again, and that had ended with Arsenic ultimately throwing his own sketchbook at Mercurial. He was kindly given it back after a few hours had passed and both of them had calmed down.

Therefore the cage was not in the best shape. And it was doing nothing but aggravating Arsenic Cookie, which made the very ingredients in his dough even more reactive, which tarnished the silver even more. A rather vicious cycle.

Arsenic said nothing when Midnight Lily finally approached his cage. He looked at her with annoyance, meanwhile her stare was a bit more analytical this time. Studying him, as if he was a bug to be observed through a magnifier. He hated how she was looking at him.

“I want to see you fight,” she said suddenly. 

That did actually surprise him. He opened his eyes wider. He broke eye contact for a short moment to glance at Mercurial Knight (stoic as ever, but his ears were slightly lowered). He raised one of his eyebrows at her.

“Right now?”

“No, tomorrow morning at the training grounds. There’s enough space there.”

“I’m in no condition to fight,” he objected. He gestured at his right forearm and the newly changed bandage on it. “I still have several deep wounds and it will take at least one more week for me to recover.”

“I’ll heal you before the fight.”

“... How kind of you, but I’d rather–”

“That was no offer.” Midnight Lily interrupted him. “I will heal you, and you will fight.”

Arsenic was quiet for a moment. He sat up straight. Chains on his wings clanked as he moved.

“And despite that I still refuse to fight. You can drag me out there by force, and I will not raise my weapon… Unless I will get something worthy out of it.”

“If you prove yourself, I’ll grant you autonomy.” She took a note of how Arsenic raised his ears a bit at that. “If I deem your performance… satisfying, you will be permanently out of the cage. You will be allowed to roam free all around the Silver Kingdom, however you will be under Mercurial Knight’s supervision, since he’s the most familiar with you.”

“And where will I sleep if you find me entertaining enough?”

“There’s a lot of free rooms at my home. You’ll have one assigned. But I will be placing a locking spell on the room once it’s a nightime.”

Ah. So he would be basically on a supervised parole with a curfew. He furrowed his brows. Not much of a freedom. But it would be an improvement nonetheless, a big one at that. Though, it did look like he was being moved from one cage to another one, just bigger this time.

Still, more space actually would allow him to plan ahead. Not just blindly guess what would happen if he tried to leave. He would be able to observe, to listen in to various conversations. Mercurial constantly following him would be an issue, but he wouldn’t suspect much. Arsenic back in the day hadn't interacted that much with other faeries (too much of a risk of accidentally hurting someone…), and now he would have even more of a reason to not do it. No one wants to talk to a traitor afterall.

“I find it interesting you're willing to sleep with a renegade under your roof.”

“I've been through worse. I am certain I can stand having you as a guest.”

Arsenic was silent for a few longer moments. He gently tapped his fingers in a slow rhythm. Thinking it through again. 

“May I know how the fight is supposed to look? Or is it classified information?”

“You will first fight against five knights–”

“Make it ten,” Arsenic interrupted her.

“You will fight against ten knights of my choice,” she corrected herself, although a bit unsurely. “And after that against one silver blessed faerie.”

“What are the rules? Except for no killing, for I assume you’re not going to sentence eleven people to death.”

“You’re that confident of your abilities? That you would be able to kill all eleven of them.”

“Madame, I fight with sickles.” He stated bluntly. “Many weapons were designed to slice, stab or pierce. Sickles however cause disembowelment and dismemberment way easier than other weapons. I simply want to know how much you want to keep the ground free from blood.” He explained.

Queen Lily pulled her lips into a thin line. She bit the inside of her cheek. She was aware she needed to set out firm rules, and she had thought about it. But she did want to see him fight. At least similarly to how he would fight in the actual field. When he would actively aim to kill an opponent. But that would be problematic on countless levels, and it would be hard to find a lunatic who would willingly fight Arsenic to the death.

“You won’t be allowed to emit arsine, and therefore the other silver-blessed faerie won’t be able to use their ability either.” She started. “You cannot kill any of your opponents, nor cause any permanent damage… Other than that you have a fully free hand.”

Arsenic smiled at that. It’s been a while since he got to fight other faeries with so little limitations.

“May I wear my armor?”

“I don’t want to see any colors or symbols of Silent Salt in my kingdom,” she said firmly.

“How about my old armor?” When she tilted her head to the side, he continued. “When I left the Silver Kingdom I didn’t take my armor with me. If it’s still here, I’d like to use it.”

“... to that I can agree.”

“Then I hope you will like the show tomorrow.”

-------

The next morning he was woken up very early by two silver knights. There was no Mercurial Knight Cookie by his cage to his surprise. One of the soldiers opened the cage and helped Arsenic get out of it. He would have quite a trouble on his own, since the chains wouldn’t allow him to use his wings for flying. The other knight kept pointing their spear at him. Just in case he tried something.

He was taken to a small building close to the training grounds. Even from a distance, as they passed by, he could already see that quite a lot of faeries gathered to watch the fight. He grimaced. Did they really have nothing better to do than watch him fight? Or did they decide to treat it as if it was a brand new event to celebrate? As if faeries didn’t have enough festivals to fill in the entire calendar.

…

He wondered how many days out of the month were dedicated to celebrate the memory of Elder Faerie. Because it definitely was celebrated more than once a year. If it wasn't, Arsenic would actually be somewhat disappointed.

He was harshly forced into the changeroom. He could already see his armor on one of the benches. He hadn't seen these light colors in forever. His sickles were next to it. And oh, how nice of them. He was also given a sharpening stone. As if he hadn't sharpened them before he left the Flatlands. But it was alright. The tool would still serve its function, just would be used on something else.

He turned his head around and looked at the two guards. One of them was holding the key to the lock on the chain. They stared, uncertain.

“I don't have all day. Hurry up.” Arsenic said with a snap. 

The knight huffed annoyed. They walked up to him and started to search for a lock. It took them a short second. When the silver-blessed faerie heard a ‘click’, he didn’t waste a moment. He started to take that forsaken chain off right away. And oh dear, did it feel great to finally have a full mobility of his wings again. Being able to bend them as he pleased, he immediately flexed them.

The knights started to leave, surely to guard the room from the outside. Although they were more tense now. They probably assumed he would try to run away once he puts on his armor and grabs the sickles. It was very tempting that he could admit, but it was also incredibly stupid.

It took Midnight Lily a while to show up. When she entered the room, Arsenic was already half dressed. Currently he was tightening the straps on his shoes. His prisoner robe was disregarded, thrown to the side as if it was merely a rag.

“I see you couldn't wait until I arrived first.” She commented as she slowly walked up to him. Noting the various bandages wrapped on his arms and stomach as well as his various scars.

He had a lot of them. Multiple from stabs and deeper cuts. Most likely by weapons but some seemed to be of animal origin. Uneven claw marks. There was also a burn scar that reached below the bandages on his stomach. Perhaps someone had lit a fire when he had been emitting arsine? That sounded plausible.

“The wounds on my legs had already healed. Figured out I can as well start dressing up. Putting on the entire armor takes a while.” He said as he buckled up the last strap on his boot. He leaned back against the wall. “Well? Do your thing.”

She looked to the side.

“I need you to remove the bandages. While I can heal you, healing magic isn't my domain. I need to touch your body and see the wounds…”

Arsenic slowly turned his head to face her. His ears lowered down. He didn't say anything. He took a deep breath in and out but deep inside he was still boiling. He grabbed one of his sickles before she could even say anything. 

The cotton fabric of bandages gave in easily. The blade cut through it like through the air. He made quick work of all bandages. Nothing but useless fabric now.

Reluctantly he put down the sickle. Midnight Lily walked up to him as he took off the bandages. She couldn’t help but wince at the sight. 

The redness of the wounds contrasted heavily against his pale dough. The bruises around them, purple and yellow shades, made it look as if they weren't treated well. But she knew better. If that really was a case, the wounds would've been infected by now. The wound on his torso wasn't as much on his abdomen but more on his side. It was a deep wound that needed stitching. A spear must have almost pierced through him. She would need to remove the thread.

“The thread must be removed. Are scissors here?”

“No,” Arsenic said and took his sickle again. 

This time Midnight Lily didn't even think to protest. She watched how easily he used the weapon for something so trivial yet delicate. The weapon he himself called designed for disembowelment. One trembling of a hand and his wound would worsen severely. 

When he removed the thread he didn't even flinch. Just made a slightly annoyed expression. Most likely not even at the feeling of having something from his body removed, but at having stained his hand with his own blood. 

She removed one of her gloves. There could be no fabric getting in the way. She furrowed her brows. She looked at his wounds then at her hand, then again at his wounds. She could heal him, she was sure of that. She was more concerned about how much poisoning she would suffer. She was no Dragonberry, there had been no need for her to build up a resistance to poison. She took a sharp breath in and put a hand on his chest. Just how Vanilla had taught her long ago. Merely a few seconds passed and she already could feel irritation on her palm.

The light magic spread through his body very quickly. Arsenic couldn’t help but grimace. He had been healed with magic in the past. But it had been hurtless. This time it felt different. Tainted. As his wounds mended he felt a sensation of needle going through his skin. 

Midnight Lily took her hand away abruptly. Not being able to stand the irritation anymore. She swallowed before turning her hand and seeing the palm. It was mostly read but it already started to get swollen. Her entire arm started to tremble. 

“Calm down, you’re not going to die. I’m yet to meet a person who would die from skin contact with arsenic sulphide.” He chided.

He looked over his healed wounds. The only signs that they were there were light, barely visible scars. As if they were very old.

“Go rinse your hand and use aloe gel. The irritation should be gone after… a few days,” he advised. “Give me a bit over an hour and I’ll be ready to fight.”

It took her a moment to register his words. But she simply nodded her head in answer, and left. There was no need to say anything more. 

Arsenic waited for a few minutes after she walked away. Then he reached for the sharpening stone and looked back at his wings. His wings had become blunt, especially since he had kept gritting them against the chain just to annoy Mercurial Knight. Damn him and his temper… He tightened a grip on the stone.

Sharpening his wings always felt uncomfortable.

-------

The training grounds had no seating. All the faeries were watching from above, from within the branches of the trees. And there were a lot of them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had such an audience in Silver Kingdom. Outside of it? Once or twice, a long time ago. In tournaments in Flatlands. Cookies from all over the Beast-Yeast had gathered to watch or participate. He had felt very out of place, surrounded by all the different people.

Now he was among his kind but he still felt out of place. There no longer were light or silver shades that he had remembered. No one wore them. They all wore dark colors. Oh, irony if he’d wore his usual armor from Silent Legion, he would fit more in. And now that he wore the original colors of a Silver Knight, he looked like an outcast. Always a bit out of place, wasn’t he?

Arsenic tightened his grip on sickles. He looked around. He was in the middle of the arena. On the other sides, all around him, were ten knights. By their position he already knew once the bell would ring it would start the fight right away. No time for a bow before the fight. He flexed his wings as he counted. Only three of them wielded a sword, the rest of them used a glaive or a spear. Seems like polearms were still a very popular choice for a weapon.

The bell rang. Its chime echoed.

He smiled a bit. He would take his time. This was going to be fun.

He put speed and mobility over power. Stay out of reach. Move back. Each swing of their weapon he would either block or change their trajectory. The latter was very good. Gave good access to the wrists.

Slice. Then a scream. Sword dropped. A lot of blood spilled. He took out all swordsmen this way.

The polearms were harder to deal with. He had to aim specifically right under the blade to change the trajectory. And the sheer amount of moves one could do with a glaive or a spear. Tricky. 

So he went for the fingers. He had to be careful to not slice them off. He still accidentally left one of the faeries without a finger. But they didn't yell to stop the fight. So he kept going. If no one says anything, it didn't happen. 

Two polearms down. Their fingers almost butchered up. Unable to even hold a weapon anymore.

Only five left.

Being attacked upfront and from behind at once was awful. He used his wings to block the spear from behind. It threw off the knight for a short second. The two of them kept on pushing. Arsenic clenched his teeth and ducked to the side.

The spear from the back hit his armor but didn't pierce it. The one that was in front sliced his cheek. A minor wound. 

He took a swing. The knight that had been in front of him yelled and clutched their side. Desperately trying to stop the bleeding. 

The second one attacked again, and again. From the first blow Arsenic moved away. Second, he blocked. He kicked their left shin. When they went down on one knee, he sliced down. Deep into their shoulder.

Seven down.

The next two went down fast. A bit too fast for his liking. But it was to be expected when he pierced through their wings. Tearing it as easily as if it was a chiffon. Pretty, delicate things. Reaching so deeply into their backs. One slice and it can hurt to walk.

But it mattered not. It could be sewn up and mended. Therefore it was fair. Just half a year of not flying for them.

The last one was a good fighter. They got a scratch on him. But they still were nowhere near the level of a Silver-Blessed faerie, even a brand new one. But they did have a mark of one, painted with a violet paint. They were yet to undergo a metamorphosis. What an honor it must be for them. To be chosen for the blessing, probably by the very Queen herself. What an honor to have their soon to be past life fully go to waste.

Arsenic didn’t think that he went too far when put a sickle through their face. It was a light swing, but it still dug deep. He reached the bone in maybe one place. They were shaking and clutching their face. The blood was dripping down onto the dirt.

But it didn’t matter. In a month max they wouldn’t have a scar. They wouldn’t even remember this event. For them this situation simply never happened.

After a few moments he registered that he had their blood on his face. He tried to wipe it off with his hand. He looked up at the upper branches of the tree. He was able to catch a glimpse of Midnight Lily. He waited for her verdict.

“Arsenic Cookie won.” She said. Her voice was loud but it wasn’t quite a yell.

Right after those words was a ring of a bell. End of the round. He could have a few minute break. Although he wasn’t quite tired yet, he would gladly take it. He wanted to wash the blood off himself at the armor, at least as much as he would be able. Red easily stained everything.

-------

The break lasted around twenty minutes. All the knights had been taken to the hospital. Some of them hadn’t been able to walk by themselves. The faerie whose face he had cut was still shaking. What a hysteric.

When Arsenic was entering the arena again, he could already see the Mercurial Knight from far away. He wasn’t surprised, he didn’t even expect anything else. Of course she would put him against the captain. Since they had been already yelling when he had been in a cage, they could as well put their words into actions. For the entire Faerie Kingdom to see, why the hell not. Sure.

They stood on opposing sides. The bell rang. But none of them made any move forward. Instead Mercurial bowed. Arsenic couldn’t help but crack a smile at this. He bowed as well.

They waited a few more seconds. The fight started.

Fighting Mercurial was always a challenge. He had been a commander and now a captain for a reason. Arsenic knew that. He would be stupid to think he’d beat him. It had never stopped him from trying, though. 

Speed and mobility over power. But now he had to be more defensive as well. Mercurial rarely gave him a chance to attack. He was very fast. Arsenic rarely had an opening for an attack. He could only focus on moving away. Only on blocking. Only on deflecting strikes. Mercurial almost managed to knock a sickle out of his hand. Arsenic couldn’t aim for his hands or wrists, because every time he struck the other would move out of the way easily. Down side of the short range weapon. 

Blocking could be particularly bad at times. The strength of the blow made his arms and legs buckle. He didn’t feel tired nor in pain (probably thanks to the adrenaline). But once the fight would be over, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to feel his limbs.

He needed to get rid of that glaive. That would be risky, and could probably shatter his wings (he genuinely doubted Mercurial would do that to him. Piercing through his side? That was on a table). Oh well, it was still worth a try.

When Mercurial striked again, Arsenic ducked to the side and put his sickles away at his sides. When the captain was retrieving, he grabbed the shaft. He opened his eyes in surprise. The rouge furrowed his brows and pulled the weapon towards himself. Mercurial pulled back. 

Mercurial was stronger. Everytime he pulled back, Arsenic had to flutter his wings to make sure he wouldn’t just tug the weapon away. The captain was clearly getting annoyed with him. Judging how he slowly started to lower his ears. But he seemed to pick up on Arsenic’s idea. He clenched his teeth and adjusted his grip.

Out of all things that could happen, Arsenic didn’t expect Mercurial to let go. The glaive fell out of the traitor’s grip. It got tossed to the side, rising the dust as it hit the ground.

Then Arsenic got grabbed by the collar of his cape. In a short second he got thrown onto the ground. Wave of pain went through his entire body. He yelped. One of his wings was bent at an awkward angle. Its sharpened edge was cutting into his right arm.

In the next moment a fist punched his face. He felt blood dripping from his nose. Mercurial was kneeling above him, holding him down in one place. Arsenic raised his right arm to Mercurial’s face. Trying to push him away if only just a little. Another punch. To the eye. Hurt like hell, but he still could see.

Something shining caught his gaze.

He clenched his left fist.

CRACK.

Mercurial moved away from him like from a fire. He moved towards his glaive. He was clutching at his chest. His entire frame was shaking. Mercury slowly started to drip from the top of his head.

Arsenic panted and heaved as he got up. Blood from his nose reached his tongue. It made him cough. From both of his hands was dripping blood. One from a long cut that had also stained his wing. His left hand however was mangled, fingers broken, glove tattered.

There were blue shards on the ground. Glimmering in a light. 

Mercurial held tightly onto his glaive. He moved his hand away from his chest. He hissed at the sight of the damage. The pain he felt intensified. 

The stabilizer was shattered. Crack went half way through. He was bleeding. The gem was still mostly embedded into his dough. But it wasn't working as it should. 

“Are you insa–”

“Shut up and fight!” Arsenic yelled as grabbed his right sickle and pointed it at him.

He knew he couldn't defeat Mercurial. But he could outlast him.

It was fair play. There definitely were stabilizers at the hospital, and Mercurial was smart enough to have a bunch of them at his own house. He'd live.

From now on Arsenic didn’t even bother to try to attack or even block Mercurial’s strikes. He only avoided, constantly moving side to side. To be just a tad away from his range.

It didn't fully work out. The captain managed to get a slice at his side. The blood flowed down his leg. 

Mercurial’s movement was slowly getting worse. More uneven. The mercury was dripping from him more and more. From the top of his head and wings. Sometimes it would block his vision.

Being made out of liquid metal wasn’t so great anymore, was it?

It felt like it went on for hours. Although in reality it's probably been only several minutes at most. Adrenaline started to die down. Arsenic became more aware of the state of his body. Of how much pain he was in. His body was shaking, fighting with itself to keep standing still. Just a moment longer. Just a few more minutes, come on.

He got startled when Mercurial stabbed his glaive into the ground. He leaned onto it for support. He breathed heavily through his mouth. His shoulders were tense. He stared intensively at Arsenic for a few long moments. He swallowed harshly.

“I yield,” he said finally. The displeasure in his voice was almost palpable.

Arsenic just blinked at him. His body was still shaking. He was gripping his sickle so strongly he couldn’t feel his fingers.  

“What?”

“I yield,” Mercurial repeated. This time through his teeth. 

Arsenic started to laugh. It sounded empty, lacking any energy. His legs finally gave way. Mercurial winced when he hit the ground. He couldn’t let go of his sickle. He hugged himself with the broken hand, trying to cover up the wounded side. Everything hurt. He heard his own blood rushing in his ears.

He didn’t even notice the bell ringing. 

Someone tried to grab his arm. At first he jerked away. But he quickly relented. It hurt to move. With a struggle he was brought back to his feet. He leaned onto whoever was helping him. 

“Get up, you biohazard…” Mercurial muttered. “We both earned ourselves a visit to the medic.”

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

On my delusional and creepy men shenanigans again. Last time I brought you Ghost, today I bring you König.

König who spends his rare leave in his cabin in Alps, far away from people that could stare, even further from clients or teammates. Just a little time for his own to heal up after the last unfortunate op.

Reconnect with nature, chop some wood, reassemble the rifle for the fifteenth time this week. Nothing exciting, but also nothing unpredictable.

Quiet controlled environment where nothing out of the ordinary happens. No gunshots, no blood, no death.

Just him, thick woods and mountains.

König who gets two people on his doorstep and yeah, he should have guessed that if there is a road nearby, there will be tourists stranded in the snow storm.

His mistake, next year he will take care of it and demolish that fucking thing once and for all.

Still he notices you just behind the friend of yours, your eyes the only thing that he can see — lower part of your face wrapped in scarf and that’s smart, the winters are vicious in the mountains and you probably would like your nose to not get a frost bite.

König who lets the two of you in his house, not stepping aside so you have to squeeze past him, his eyes a little manic as he tries to see a little more of you. What are you doing this deep in the mountain?

What brought you to König’s doorstep?

He thinks about it for a moment, staring down at you while your friend chats him up filling the thick silence. You do your best not to look at the menacing giant of a man who locked and deadbolted the door as soon as you stepped in.

You try not to think about him pocketing the key.

Would you like to stay for dinner?

König watches you in the reflection of the small window above his sink, corner of his lips twitching when you finally shed you coat. And nothing else.

Your scarf stays on, wrapped securely, nor do you pull off your gloves

Skittish. Wary. Careful.

Good girl.

You shouldn’t trust a stranger.

And you definitely shouldn’t trust König.

Not when you stumble right into his den, shaking and tense, your gut telling you that something is wrong.

Not when he has locked all three locks on his doors the moment you and your unfortunate…who is that guy by the way, Schatzi?

Doesn’t seem to be a husband since there is no ring, hardly a boyfriend with how little he checks on you (or a really bad one and therefore he should be gone anyway) and König doesn’t see any resemblance for you to be family so…a friend maybe?

Well, that’s just too bad. König doesn’t need this many people in his house.

König watches your reflection, his eyes drinking into obvious roundness to your figure. Shoulders broad and legs strong, even in that thick woollen sweater and full winter gear.

König forces himself to look away, his fingers twitching, when he shifts his weight from one leg to another, his cock chubbing up.

Pretty girl with body that makes his mouth water. Pretty girl on whose thighs alone König could feast all winter.

Oh, that is so fucking good.

Mother used to say that those who wait patiently get what they yearn for and it seems like König just got exactly what he wanted

Danke, Mutter, danke shön. You were right as always.

König who hums, offering you to wait out the storm in here, while he pretends to make you and your friend some tea.

König who slips a knife of his in the sleeve and turns around, his voice cracking like a faulty vinyl record when you look him in the eyes again.

Your friend will have to go, Schatzi.

But don’t worry, your König will take care of everything. Your König will take care of you, he promises. You won’t need for anything, süße.

After all, what kind of husband would he make if he neglected a wife that fate dropped right in his hands? It was meant to be, Schatzi, he just knows it.

And so will you. Even if it takes time.

But not to worry, you will have it in abundance. After all, you are home now. And this is where you will stay.

[accio-victuuri]

THANK YOU, FILMMAKER WANG YIBO… 💕🫶🏼

this is a sort of recap post for the huabiao awards and basically a post to celebrate yibo and the amazing actor that he is. i know that we all have mixed feelings about this, and every other nomination that he didn’t win, but it’s important to go back to why we are here and support him. it’s because he is yibo and his works do not disappoint both the fans and the general audience. we already won when we watched those films — whenever that was for you.

we were all holding our breath if he will make it to the red carpet, sadly, he didn’t. that actually went on hs. his schedule was already so tight with the race and flying to qingdao. thankfully, his team took some excellent photos of him and with all the racer 85 related props 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

then as soon as he sat down, he was a bit late to the ceremony too, the host cued him and mentioned his name. he stood up and bowed to the audience. i love the cheers for him!

the award for outstanding actor was early, i guess all of us got nervous and hopeful that he will get it. he didn’t but he was so gracious. he was nodding and clapping. the tag on hs for him is how you can’t lipread what he’s saying. some are guessing that he said that it’s not easy, meaning it’s not easy to win it. and considering he was up against zhang yi, it makes sense.

you probably read about how hard it is to get nominated for this category. this award is given every 2 years. no distinction between supporting and main actor and there are only 2 nominees. just imagine all the eligible movies and actors — but still, yibo was chosen. he is the first post 90s actor to get nominated. and this is technically, within his first year of being a movie actor and releasing his works.

i have no bad blood with zhang yi. he is a well loved actor and what a coincidence that they both posted about each other’s movie before, and now, they ended up being nominated side by side.

yibo recognizes excellence. if anything, i’m sure this makes him want to strive more to be on that level. i’m trying hard to not quote timothee chalamet’s SAG speech here but it fits so well — “ i know we’re in a subjective business, but the truth is I’m really in pursuit of greatness. I know people don’t usually talk like that, but I want to be one of the greats.” and he is on his way to becoming one of the greats. it’s a privilege to watch him grow into that, and i hope we all stay on for years to come and see it happen.

the surprise was how he was actually gonna be onstage. not only that, he was there with zhang ziyi and jackie chan to give a tribute to Chinese Cinema. it makes me proud to see him be the representative of the young generation. because he really is. and he doesn’t even need to pretend and perform to be that — he already is. it comes natural to him.

overall, he was in a good mood. why wouldn’t he? he is attending an event celebrating the movies he worked hard for. tho my favorite is when he smiled like a kid after he presented on stage and how he was interacting with his seat mates — especially Ma Li.

lastly, i’ll talk about some pre-awards chatter. weeks before, people were talking about if yibo would go or not. moreso, if he will be nominated. it’s so ironic cause his antis were babbling about how people that are not invited are blacklisted cause it’s the 120th anniversary celebration. but lo and behold — not only is he attending. all the films he participated in are nominated. he is nominated as best actor. and during the broadcast, he went onstage with jackie chan and zhang ziyi. 😂😂😂😂

it’s the usual song and dance. it’s yibo’s favorite past time. proving his haters wrong.

same thing with them saying he is “banned” because it’s been a while since his last movie project - mermaid. clearly not. tonight’s program showed how he is the movie darling. he is just doing what he said he will be in his past interview, that he wants to experience the world to be able to be better in his craft. i couldn’t get that out of my head when he said it and that explains all his decisions. he is gonna be so selective with his next movie project and i’m excited what he picks next! he’s always had an excellent intuition of what roles will work well and challenge him. the rest can breathe for a while cause he is not coming for their wigs — yet. lol. i have a feeling that as soon as mermaid is out, he is gonna raise the bar again. we just have to wait patiently.

anyway, that’s all. the road ahead is long and we will continue to accompany actor wang yibo! 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

[manicpixiedreamkira]

kigatsukeba

part one

megumi x reader, aged up!megumi (and others), early twenties, working as sorcerers, post shinjuku showdown arc but megumi doesn't have his face scars, megumi trying and failing to be in control of his feelings, gojo's gone, bonded through trauma, friends to fwb to lovers, drinking/getting drunk, jealousy, confusing feelings, megumi sucks at feelings, miscommunication, misinterpretation, megumi being stubborn, reader being clueless, slowish burn, idiots in love, jerking off, a bit of size kink ngl, megumi is older here so he’s taller (like 6'2?), he's also buffer (he's toji's son guys, c'mon), reader is described as smaller/shorter than him, takuma ino mentioned, smut, unprotected piv, nasty sex (multiple times), but also love making, confessions, aftercare, a bit of angst, but there's fluff here too, megumi's down bad, not beta'd

a.n: let me know if i missed anything, hope y'all like this one <3

w.c: 11,228

Megumi Fushiguro didn’t jerk off.

Not because he was a prude, or shy, or hadn’t thought about it—he had. He was a twenty-something man with a healthy sex drive and more than a few opportunities to take the edge off.

But he didn’t need to.

He was disciplined. In control. Raised with restraint wired into his spine like steel. If the need got bad enough, there were hookups—casual, clean, quiet. No mess, no entanglements. No reason to wrap his own fingers around his cock like some desperate teenager.

Until tonight.

Until your scent sank into the sterile hotel air, soft and lingering. Until it clung to the couch cushions beside him, where you’d been tucked up against a throw pillow with your damp hair dripping onto your shoulders, skin still flushed from the shower. Until he could still see the shape of your thighs in the shorts you'd worn to bed, still hear your laughter under the glow of the movie you'd picked—some dumb action thing you swore was "a cult classic."

Until all of that stayed behind when you left.

The door to your room had clicked shut almost an hour ago. The suite had gone quiet. And still, the ghost of you lingered.

So now, Megumi had his cock in his hand.

Fingers curled tight, dragging up the flushed length of it, slow and frustrated. The head was red, slick with precum, veins straining against the weight of his restraint. His teeth dug into his lower lip so hard he tasted blood.

He hated this.

Hated the way his brain conjured the image of you, lazy and smiling, your bare legs stretched across the ottoman while you licked popcorn salt from your thumb. Hated the way your scent was everywhere. Hated that your name was on the tip of his tongue, curling like a curse.

His hips jerked against his fist, and he choked down a sound—something dark, desperate, pathetic. The walls were thin. You were right there.

And this—this was humiliating.

He squeezed harder.

God, he hated himself.

—

It was supposed to be a special-grade curse—dangerous enough that two full-fledged sorcerers were dispatched without question—but someone had definitely screwed up the classification. By the time you and Megumi arrived, it was clear the threat was barely even worth a second-year’s time. A third-grade curse, at best. One of you could’ve handled it solo, easy.

Still, neither of you complained. It was Shizuoka—quiet, a little more suburban than Tokyo, with the ocean close enough that the air smelled fresher. The hotel they’d booked for you was nicer than expected too, tucked a little away from the touristy parts, the restaurant downstairs good enough that you decided to make a night of it.

After the clean-up and the paperwork, you and Megumi shared dinner at the hotel restaurant, lingering over fresh sushi and grilled fish, sipping tea and half-heartedly talking about work. Mostly, though, you caught up. Missions had kept you both busy in different parts of the country lately—you hadn’t seen him in nearly two months.

It was easy, like it always was. He didn’t have to force conversation with you. Didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself. You laughed about old missions, filled him in on some dumb drama with other sorcerers at Jujutsu High, told him about the new cat you adopted. He listened, really listened, watching you from under the messy fringe of his hair with something almost soft in his eyes.

If he noticed how the curve of your mouth distracted him, he didn’t say anything.

If you noticed how he looked at you a little too long, you didn’t either.

Later, after dinner, you both showered and changed into comfortable clothes—loose shorts and a tank top for you, sweatpants and a t-shirt for him—and sprawled across the couch in his room to pick a movie.

Now you were lounging sideways with your hair still damp, loosely swept to one side. A blanket was thrown haphazardly over your legs, one foot sticking out. The TV glowed across your skin, casting faint blue shadows that made you look ethereal. Megumi tried not to stare.

“This is the dumbest movie I’ve ever seen,” he said flatly.

You beamed. “Isn’t it amazing?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. He’d let you pick the movie, like he always did, and like always, you chose something objectively terrible. Over-the-top stunts, cheesy one-liners, paper-thin plot. And yet—he was smiling a little. You made it entertaining. You always did.

“Admit it,” you said, nudging his shin with your toe, “you’re having fun.”

He didn’t answer, which only made you grin wider.

Outside the wide windows, Shizuoka’s lights twinkled against the dark, the city slowing down for the night but never fully asleep. Your mission was done. You had nowhere to be until tomorrow. The world, for once, felt slow.

You yawned and stretched, arms above your head, tank top riding up just slightly before you let them drop again. “Alright. Bedtime. Early train and all that.”

Megumi nodded once, eyes carefully on the TV.

“Night, Fushiguro.”

“Night.”

You stood, gathered your things, and padded off toward the left-side bedroom, the one you’d claimed when you arrived. The door closed softly behind you.

He didn’t move.

Just sat there, rigid, jaw tense, listening to the distant hum of the hallway and the quiet creak of the walls. Thin enough that he could hear you shuffling around, zipping up your overnight bag, plugging in your phone.

Thin enough that if he weren’t so tightly wound, so furious with himself, he might imagine hearing the faint rustle of your sheets as you crawled into bed.

Instead, he pressed his palms to his face, exhaled sharply through his nose, and cursed under his breath.

He needed a shower. A cold one.

—

But he doesn't take a shower.

Instead, thirty minutes later, he’s flat on his back in the dark, one hand buried under the waistband of his sweats, jerking himself off to the thought of you—after making sure to lock his door. It’s not even a coherent fantasy. Just flashes. Snapshots. The sound of your voice. The way your hair stuck to your neck. The shape of your thighs when you shifted positions on the couch. That one time you stretched in front of him in your sports bra before a mission and didn’t even notice he’d stopped talking mid-sentence.

Your smell. That lotion. Sweet and warm and unmistakably you.

He bites back another noise, this one closer to a whimper.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s noticed you. He’s not that blind. He’s seen the way other people look at you—sorcerers, civilians, even cursed spirits in the middle of battle. You’re beautiful. Sharp. Capable. Terrifying when you want to be.

But this is the first time it’s hit him like a goddamn truck.

The first time he’s had to acknowledge how deep it goes. How the fondness has turned into tension, how the teasing has gotten sharper, closer. How your hands linger longer when you pass him a drink. How your voice softens when it’s just the two of you.

His eyes squeeze shut as he strokes faster, chasing the high he doesn't want to admit he needs. His name on your lips. Your lips on his skin. The idea of you slipping into his bed and—

Fuck.

He comes with a stifled grunt, biting down hard on his own wrist to keep the sound from leaking out. His whole body tenses, the aftershocks wracking through him as he lies there, spent and furious and still half-hard because it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He wipes himself off with shaking hands, then lies back against the mattress, chest heaving.

He’s so fucked.

—

The next morning, Megumi was already awake when your alarm buzzed faintly through the wall.

He hadn’t slept.

He’d laid there in the dark for hours, shame prickling under his skin like a fever, staring at the ceiling and replaying every humiliating second over and over in his mind.

The worst part wasn’t that he jerked off.

 It was that he couldn’t stop thinking about you even after he came.

 It was that it didn’t make it better. It made it worse.

Now, sunlight was creeping pale and soft over the city outside. The train back to Tokyo left in a few hours. And Megumi knew he had to face you.

When you finally emerged from your room—stretching and yawning in an oversized hoodie and leggings, hair still mussed from sleep—Megumi’s stomach twisted painfully. You smiled at him, easy and warm, completely unaware of the disgusting mess he’d made of everything inside his head.

You could have climbed inside his mind right then—he felt that vulnerable, that raw. Like you could peel him open and see every shameful, ugly thought he'd ever had.

He dropped his eyes to the floor immediately.

“Morning,” you said, voice a little scratchy.

He grunted something back that barely qualified as a greeting.

You cocked your head slightly. "We’ve got time before the train—wanna grab breakfast downstairs?"

Your tone was so casual. So normal. Like nothing had changed. And maybe for you, nothing had.

But Megumi couldn’t even look at you.

He shook his head stiffly. "Not hungry," he muttered.

You blinked. "You sure? Their buffet looked—"

"I’m fine."

It came out harsher than he meant. Too harsh. He saw it—the flicker of confusion in your face, the way your mouth pressed into a softer, uncertain line.

Guilt bloomed hot under his ribs.

He felt like throwing up. For touching himself thinking about you. For thinking he could pretend nothing had happened. For hurting you now, too, on top of everything else.

You nodded once, careful, and disappeared back into your room to grab your things.

He hated himself more with every second that passed.

—

The train ride back to Tokyo was miserable.

You tried—god, you tried.

Little things. Commenting on the weather. Pointing out a funny ad in the station. Mentioning how badly you wanted a real breakfast once you got home.

Each time, Megumi answered in one or two clipped words, eyes glued to the window or his phone, refusing to meet your gaze.

He felt your energy falter gradually—like a dimming lightbulb. Confusion first. Then hurt. Then that heavy silence he knew was you giving up.

It made him feel even sicker. But he couldn't fix it. Couldn't find it in himself to risk looking at you again and you seeing everything written on his face.

So he stayed turned away, watching the landscape blur past, counting the minutes until he could get away from you.

Coward.

—

When the train finally pulled into Tokyo Station, Megumi was up and moving before it even fully stopped.

He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder with a speed that was almost rude. You barely had time to get up before he was halfway down the platform.

"Fushiguro—?" you called, voice cutting through the sea of people.

He half-turned—just enough to throw a glance over his shoulder. Not enough to meet your eyes.

"I’ll see you later," he said quickly. "Thanks for the mission."

And then he was gone—shoulders stiff, disappearing into the morning crowd before you could say anything else. 

You stood there for a long second, your bag dangling from your hand, the city roaring around you.

Had you done something wrong?

You replayed the past twenty-four hours in your head, frowning. Dinner had been fine. The movie had been fine. You hadn't fought. Hadn’t said anything weird. Hadn’t—

You sighed, pushing those thoughts down and started moving, blending into the busy city folk.

—

Two weeks went by. 

You didn’t see him.

Not at Jujutsu High. Not in the training halls. Not even with Yuuji and Nobara, having lunch at that chinese place they always seemed to be at.

The absence sat heavy in your chest, even though you told yourself it was stupid to care. It wasn’t like you were anything important to him. Just friends. Just mission partners.

And maybe not even that, anymore.

It wasn’t until Yuji’s birthday—March 20th, a Saturday this year—that you finally crossed paths again.

Nobara was throwing a party for him at a loud ramen place near Shibuya. She’d booked a private room, packed with more people than should have fit, all of them loud and happy and shoulder-to-shoulder at the long tables. The air thick with laughter and clattering bowls of noodles.

You were already there, wedged between Aoi and Maki, when Megumi arrived, a few minutes late.

You felt his presence before you even saw him—like your body knew.

He ducked inside the room, hair damp from a shower, wearing a black hoodie half-zipped over a plain t-shirt. 

He looked exhausted. 

He looked beautiful.

He looked like he wanted to turn right back around and leave the second his eyes landed on you.

You caught the stiff jerk of his shoulders, the way his mouth flattened into a hard line. You turned quickly back to your drink before you could make it worse.

But your chest ached.

—

You weren’t planning on getting drunk.

But a few shots in, it stopped feeling like a decision.

The private room Nobara booked was packed, heavy with the scent of broth and beer, the buzz of a dozen overlapping conversations. Ramen bowls clattered against the wooden tables, servers squeezed between chairs with trays of drinks, and someone had cranked the music up too loud on the old stereo in the corner.

You lost track of how many shots Yuuji poured into your cup. You lost track of how many toasts you cheered to. You stopped caring. Mostly, you drank to drown the sharp, ugly knot in your chest.

Across the table, Megumi sat stiffly, his dark hair falling messy across his forehead. He’d shrugged off his jacket, and the plain black t-shirt he wore clung to the lines of his shoulders, his arms. Even sitting down, he was long and lean, legs sprawled slightly under the table in a way that made him look like he didn’t quite fit in the too-small space.

He wasn't drunk.

He never got drunk.

He'd had a beer, maybe two, the lazy flush of alcohol just barely pinking his cheeks, but that was it. Always controlled. Always careful. Always responsible.

You hated him for it tonight.

You hated the way he sat there, silent and brooding, without so much as looking at you.

So you drank more.

You wore a slip dress tonight—short, backless, the silky fabric clinging to the curve of your hips, dipping low across your spine. It shimmered slightly when you moved, catching the dim restaurant light like liquid metal. Your makeup was heavier than usual too, smoky and dark around your eyes, your mouth glossed and soft.

You knew you looked good.

You wanted Megumi to look.

But if he did, he hid it too well.

Somewhere between your third and fourth drink, Yuuji slung an arm around Megumi's stiff shoulders, laughing too loud.

"What's with the funeral face, Fushiguro?" he teased, breath warm with sake. "It's my birthday, not yours, asshole!"

Megumi shrugged him off without much force, shooting him a withering look.

"Just tired," he muttered.

"Tired of what?" Nobara crowed from across the table, half-sprawled over Maki. "You've been sitting there looking like someone kicked your puppy all night!"

"I don't have a puppy," Megumi said, deadpan.

Yuta leaned in, smiling, voice gentle. "Maybe he just needs another drink."

"I think he needs to get laid," Todo declared, raising his glass with a booming laugh.

The table erupted into laughter. Even Toge, nestled between Panda and a slouching Noritoshi, muttered a muffled "Salmon" into his drink.

You laughed too, a little too loud, the alcohol making everything slosh and sway a little inside you.

When you looked over at Megumi, his jaw was clenched so tightly you thought he might break a tooth.

Good, you thought viciously.

Let him suffer a little.

That's when Ino slid into the empty seat beside you.

Takuma Ino—messy, charming, handsome in that way that didn’t feel serious. He’d hit on you before, more than once, always easy, always harmless. You never thought much about it.

But tonight... you were angry. You were drunk. And Ino was smiling at you like he thought you were the most interesting thing in the room.

"You look incredible," he said, tipping his drink toward you with a lazy wink. The dim restaurant light caught his sharp cheekbones, his strong jaw, the slope of his nose. The shadows made him look sharper, older. Handsomer.

Still—he looked like nothing next to Megumi.

That only made you angrier.

You smiled back at Ino, slow and syrupy, letting your hand trail lightly down his arm.

"Do I?" you said, leaning in, letting the neckline of your dress slip a little lower.

Across the room, Megumi’s hand tightened around his beer bottle so hard his knuckles went white.

He told himself to ignore it. He told himself you were drunk, you didn't mean anything by it. He told himself he didn’t care.

And for a few minutes, he almost managed.

Until he saw Ino’s hand slide lower on your back—fingers brushing the bare skin where your dress dipped scandalously low.

Until he saw you tilt your head back and laugh at something Ino whispered against your ear.

Something sharp and ancient tore through Megumi’s chest. He was moving before he realized it.

One second you were laughing into Ino's shoulder—the next, a large, strong hand clamped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

"Hey—!" Ino protested, half-rising from his seat.

Megumi didn’t even glance at him. His grip was firm but not painful, his body radiating a heat and fury you could feel down to your bones.

"She's done for tonight," he said curtly.

No one argued. Not even Ino.

Too much of something simmered under Megumi’s voice. Too much promise of violence.

You stumbled a little as he pulled you toward the door, your head spinning. Your heels clicked clumsily against the wood floor.

"Fushiguro," you slurred, trying to pull your hand free, "what the fuck are you—"

"Be quiet," he muttered under his breath.

Your heart stumbled.

Not because of the words. But because of the way he said them—low, rough, desperate.

You shut up.

Megumi didn’t let go of your wrist until you reached the sidewalk, the noise of the restaurant fading behind you. Only then did he stop, his chest heaving slightly, his hand dropping away like he was afraid of burning himself.

The second the restaurant door closed behind you, your skin prickled with cold, the flimsy silk of your backless dress no match for the crisp breeze rolling in from the river. You hugged your arms tightly to yourself, wobbling slightly on your heels as the alcohol buzz settled deeper into your bones.

You swayed slightly, like you were going to fall. He caught you instinctively, hands steadying you at your waist—but the second you were upright again, he snatched them back like he couldn't stand to touch you.

You stared up at him—blinking, confused, still dizzy with alcohol.

He was tall.

Much taller than you, the way he loomed over you without even trying—broad-shouldered, all lean, restrained strength wrapped in soft cotton and dark denim.

You had to tip your head back to meet his eyes.

And he was looking at you like you were a problem he didn’t know how to fix. Something dark flickered across his face—something he quickly, ruthlessly shoved down. 

The night air bit sharper against your skin now, sobering you just enough to register the awful silence stretching between you.

Megumi still hadn’t said a word, still as stone and gaze trained on the pavement. Just a shadow in the orange wash of the streetlight, broad-shouldered and silent, his expression unreadable.

You turned your head slowly to face him, your voice sharp and slurred with anger.

"You dragged me out of there," you bit out, voice louder than you intended, "and you can’t even look at me?"

Megumi flinched almost imperceptibly—like your words physically hurt—jaw clenched. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, and even now, in his rigid silence, he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes.

"You’re drunk," he said shortly. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Fuck you, Megumi," you snapped, chest heaving. "I know exactly what I'm saying."

He raked a hand through his hair, rough, frustrated. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something—something real—but still, nothing. No answer. Not even a flicker of emotion.

You gave a bitter, breathy laugh and turned away from him, hugging yourself tighter. A shiver rattled your shoulders.

And then, quietly, there was the rustle of fabric behind you.

He stripped off his jacket in one swift movement, draping it over your shoulders without looking at you. His hands brushed your upper arms only briefly, barely even touching, but it was enough to send a warm pulse through your chest.

The heavy fabric smelled like him—cedar, clean soap, something faintly citrusy underneath.

You looked up at him in surprise.

Even now—especially now—he couldn’t stand to see you shivering on the street because of him.

You tugged it closer instinctively.

It covered most of your slip dress, the silky hem barely peeking out from underneath, hiding the vulnerable expanse of your bare back and thighs.

You blinked. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, mostly to the sidewalk.

Megumi’s face was a mask. But inside, he was screaming. He didn’t even trust himself to touch you again. Didn’t even want to risk it.

You crossed your arms against the cold, his jacket still warm from his body. It was only then you realized—in his rush to pull you out—you’d left everything behind. Your jacket, your purse, your phone... even your damn house keys.

Panic flickered up your spine, quick and mean.

"You made me leave all my stuff behind," you said accusingly, your words wobbling. "What am I supposed to do now, genius?"

Megumi's shoulders stiffened.

"I’ll figure it out," he muttered.

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to scream.

—

She was cold because of you, Megumi thought. She was standing here without a jacket because you pulled her out without giving her the chance to grab her things. Because you couldn’t stomach watching Ino touch her. 

Because you couldn’t do a single fucking thing without messing it up.

You shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his coat, and Megumi glanced back toward the restaurant—jaw tight, throat working.

You’d left everything. Your phone. Your purse. Your house keys. Even your damn jacket.

He could take you back, let you go in, get what you needed. You deserved that, at the very least.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The thought of Ino still sitting at that table—smirking, buzzed, smug, maybe even brave enough to pull you back down beside him—sent a hard, nauseous twist through Megumi’s stomach.

He didn’t trust himself not to lose it.

So he pulled out his phone instead, typing out a quick message to Nobara:

[ hey. she left her shit at the restaurant. grab it before you go? i’ll pick it up in the morning. ]

A moment later, the read receipt popped up.

[ sure. you owe me. ]

He slid the phone back into his pocket and looked at you. 

You stared at him, confused and blinking through the drunken haze.

He didn’t answer.

A minute later, he ordered a cab.

—

The car rolled up to the curb a few minutes later.

Megumi opened the door, gesturing stiffly for you to get in first. You stumbled, nearly missing the step up into the backseat. The ravenette was there instantly, steadying you with a hand on your lower back—but he jerked away again like he'd been burned the second you were inside.

He gave the driver his address without hesitation.

You blinked at him, still confused.

"My place," he said shortly. "You’re not getting into your apartment without keys."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the seat was warm and you were so tired, and it was so much easier to just slump against the window and close your eyes.

—

The ride was short but suffocating.

You could feel Megumi beside you, rigid as a statue, tension rolling off him in waves. His hands stayed firmly planted on his thighs the entire time, clenched into white-knuckled fists.

When the cab pulled up to his building, Megumi got out first, circling quickly around to your door.

You hesitated before climbing out, legs wobbly in your heels, the cold sinking deeper through your skin despite his jacket wrapped around you.

"Goddammit," Megumi muttered under his breath.

The stairs to his apartment loomed ahead.

You squared your shoulders, stubborn, trying to prove some kind of point. But your heel caught on the very first step and the world lurched sideways beneath you, your ankle buckling. 

Strong hands caught you before you could hit the ground.

Megumi exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

"You're impossible," he muttered under his breath.

You blinked up at him, dizzy. “You’re the one who—”

“I know,” he bit out, frustrated. “I know.”

Before you could say anything else, he bent low, one arm behind your knees, the other at your back—and lifted you.

“Megumi—”

“Just—don’t.” His tone was tight. Controlled. But there was heat simmering underneath, wild and cracked and guilty as hell.

You wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You hated how safe you felt, pressed against him—despite your rage, despite your confusion—curling unconsciously closer, cheek resting against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He smelled like cedar and clean soap. Like safety. Like someone you’d once known well and now couldn’t reach.

He didn’t look down at you once—carring you all the way to the third floor, barely breathing heavily, his jaw locked tight.

At his door, he shifted you higher against his chest with a grunt and somehow managed to fish out his keys. The door swung open, spilling the familiar, clean scent of his apartment into the hallway.

He set you down carefully just inside the entryway.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed dangerously again.

With a frustrated sigh, Megumi guided you toward the couch, his hand at your waist, keeping you upright.

You collapsed into the cushions with a groan, burying your face in his jacket still draped around your shoulders.

He hovered for a second, clearly unsure what to do.

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him, mascara smudged slightly beneath your eyes.

"Why do you even care?" you muttered, voice raw. "You don't even like me anymore."

Megumi tensed.

"You don't even look at me," you mumbled. "You don't talk to me. You don’t want me around."

The words hung between you—heavy, accusing, bitter.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

A beat passed. Then two.

You laughed, short and sharp, and turned your face away from him.

“Thought so,” you whispered, curling into the couch.

You didn’t see the way he looked at you after. Didn’t see the way his fingers curled tight at his sides like he wanted to reach for you—but wouldn’t let himself.

You were already asleep.

—

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the smell.

Crisp, clean, familiar—cedar and soap and something warm underneath.

The second thing was that you weren’t on the couch anymore.

You blinked against the low citylight leaking through the curtains, heart thudding heavily in your ears as you sat up slowly. Megumi’s bed was bigger than yours—neat, sparse, a simple navy comforter tucked tight around you. His jacket had slipped halfway off your shoulders in your sleep, cool silk brushing against your skin.

You were still in your dress. Barefoot.

The room was silent. Heavy.

You pushed the jacket back up around your shoulders and slipped out of the bed, the cool floor making you shiver.

Somewhere past the half-open door, you heard it—the faint, broken rhythm of someone's breathing.

Careful, quiet, you padded down the short hallway until you reached the living room.

And there he was.

Megumi sat hunched on the couch, elbows braced against his knees, head cradled in his hands. The thin cotton of his t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the tense line of his back rigid with something you couldn't quite name. His legs were spread wide, his long frame taking up most of the space—a tall, powerful body crammed uncomfortably into a small seat he clearly hadn’t been able to sleep in.

For a second, you just watched him.

He was so much bigger now than when you’d first met years ago—taller, broader in every sense. Even folded over like this, he still took up too much space. It hit you all at once: how much he'd grown, how different he was, how painfully far away he seemed now.

"Megumi?" you called softly.

He jerked upright, hands flying off his head, his whole body tensing like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

His face—God, his face.

There was a flush blooming under his cheekbones, hot and sharp against his pale skin. His mouth pressed into a hard, thin line, and he couldn't meet your eyes.

"You should be resting," he murmured, voice low.

You took a tentative step closer. "I woke up and... I was confused. Why did you move me to your bed?"

He hesitated, fingers clenching into fists. "You were uncomfortable," he muttered, voice rough, not looking at you. "On the couch. Figured... the bed would be better."

You shifted awkwardly, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself. "And you?"

Megumi grimaced. "I'm fine."

You glanced down at the cramped, sagging couch, trying to imagine someone as tall and built as him trying to fold himself into it for the night. Your throat tightened painfully.

"You gave me your bed... and you took this?" you said, voice cracking slightly.

He still wouldn't look at you.

"I—" he started, then broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" you repeated, a bitter little laugh escaping before you could stop it. "Then why won’t you even look at me?"

Finally, he did.

And what you saw there—wild guilt, raw frustration, something worse lurking underneath—nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You took a step closer, heart hammering.

"What did I do?" you asked, voice wobbling. "Tell me, Megumi. What did I do that's so awful you can't even stand to be around me anymore?"

He flinched, like you’d slapped him.

"Nothing," he said hoarsely. "You didn’t do anything. It’s me."

You shook your head, fighting tears. "Then what? What’s so bad?"

He opened his mouth—and for a long, awful second, no sound came out.

Then, low and broken:

"You're in my bed," he said, almost to himself, like he couldn't believe it. "Wearing that—" his hands clenched tightly, knuckles white. "Smelling like you do. And I can't fucking stop—"

You froze.

Your heart thudded, confused. "Stop what?"

His whole body radiated tension, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

"I can't stop wanting you," Megumi ground out. "Even when I don't have the right to. Even when I know it would ruin everything."

You stared at him, mouth dry, vision swimming.

And that’s when you noticed.

The heavy bulge tenting the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric, painfully obvious now that he was sitting back against the couch cushions. His thighs were spread wide, like even now he couldn’t hide how wrecked he was.

Your stomach twisted sharply. Heat bloomed between your legs—and then just as quickly, cold fear.

Because if he wanted you, why was he acting like this? Why was he avoiding you, treating you like you were some burden he couldn't wait to unload?

The tears you'd been holding back finally slipped free.

Megumi stiffened instantly at the broken sound you made.

"No," he said, alarmed, standing up so fast the couch squeaked. "No, don't—shit, don't cry—"

You stumbled back a step, brushing your cheeks angrily. "You hate me," you said, the words tumbling out half-sob, half-accusation. "You’re disgusted with me and I don’t even know why—"

"I'm not," he said fiercely, crowding closer without even thinking. "I'm not disgusted with you. I could never—"

You hiccuped through a shaky breath, clutching his jacket tighter around your shoulders.

"Then why?"

Megumi raked a hand through his hair again, looking wild, desperate.

"Because I want you," he said, voice ragged. "Because I'm not supposed to. Because you're drunk, and you're hurting, and if I touch you it’s just—it's wrong."

You blinked up at him, tears shining in your wide eyes.

"But you’re hurting me anyway," you whispered.

And that—that—split him wide open.

He cursed under his breath, stepping back like he was physically restraining himself. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. His chest heaved with every breath.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I’m so fucking sorry."

You stared at him, breathing hard, jacket slipping off one bare shoulder.

Megumi’s eyes flicked down—then snapped away, jaw locking tight.

He looked like he was about to break.

"I'm sorry," he said again, quieter this time, almost to himself.

You stood there, wavering, hugging his jacket around your shoulders like an armor. Your lip trembled, your eyes shining, and Megumi thought he might throw up from the way it made his chest tighten painfully.

He took a slow breath, forcing his voice steady.

"Please," he said, the word scraping raw in his throat, "go back to bed. We can... talk in the morning."

You stared at him like you didn’t believe him, like you were trying to read something from his face that he didn’t know how to hide. And maybe you could—maybe you always could, that was the problem—but still, you stayed frozen there, shivering slightly, the silk hem of your dress brushing against your thighs in the draft.

Megumi felt like his body was locked in place. His hands fisted uselessly at his sides, nails biting into the heels of his palms. His cock was still hard—achingly, miserably hard—straining against the waistband of his pants, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

He deserved it. He deserved to sit there with this shame crawling under his skin, with his body betraying him at the worst possible moment, with the sight of you crying burned into his fucking memory.

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay still, to stay silent, to stay contained.

Because if he let himself speak, he knew it wouldn’t come out right. If he let himself move, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

You blinked at him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, and Megumi squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to pull himself back together.

"Please," he said again, softer now, pleading. "Just... just go back to bed."

Maybe—maybe if you slept, maybe if you forgot enough of tonight, he could fix it in the morning. Pretend none of this happened. Pretend he was still the responsible one, the one who could be trusted not to ruin everything just because he couldn’t get a fucking grip on himself.

He opened his eyes and found you still standing there.

For a terrible second, he thought you were going to stay, going to push, going to ask him for something he couldn't, shouldn't give you.

But then you blinked slowly, wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, and without a word, turned and padded back down the hallway toward his bedroom.

Megumi stayed frozen in the living room until he heard the soft creak of the mattress as you climbed back into bed.

Then, and only then, did he let himself move.

He sagged onto the couch like the strings holding him up had been cut, head falling into his hands. His cock was still painfully hard, a pulse of need that throbbed through him with every breath, but he didn’t touch himself. He didn’t even consider it.

No.

He deserved this.

He deserved to sit here, miserable and aching, with the weight of his own self-disgust settling heavier and heavier across his shoulders.

Every heartbeat was punishment. Every shallow breath, every twitch of his muscles.

This was what he deserved for letting you get close enough to hurt. For being weak enough to want you. For making you cry.

He stayed like that, head bowed between his hands, until the first pale threads of morning light began to creep through the cracks in the blinds.

—

You woke up slowly.

The first thing you noticed was the dull, pounding ache behind your eyes, like someone had stuffed your skull with cotton and wrapped it too tight. The second was the heavy warmth of the comforter over you, the faint scent of soap and cedar sinking into your skin.

Megumi’s scent.

You shifted, muscles stiff and aching, and only then realized you were still wearing last night's dress—rumpled now, the hem twisted high around your thighs. Megumi’s jacket was still draped over your shoulders, half-off, half-on, swallowing you up in worn fabric and the echo of him.

You pushed yourself upright with a groan, blinking blearily at the morning light bleeding in through the curtains. Everything hurt—your head, your throat, your pride.

And the memories—

They floated up slowly, sickly, filling your chest with something thick and sour.

The fight. The crying. The way Megumi had looked at you—gutted, guilty, refusing to touch you even when you had all but begged for answers.

You pulled his jacket closer around yourself, cold despite the sunlight, your heart thudding unevenly as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.

The apartment was silent.

For a second you just sat there, gathering yourself, dread pooling low and heavy in your stomach.

Then, cautiously, you stood.

Your bare feet made no sound against the floor as you padded toward the door, jacket trailing behind you like a shield. The hallway seemed longer than it had last night, every step loud in your ears.

You found him in the kitchen.

Megumi stood by the counter, his back to you, hunched slightly like he hadn’t slept at all. His hair was a mess, tangled at the roots like he’d run his hands through it a thousand times. His hands were braced on the edge of the sink, knuckles pale with the pressure.

He must have heard you—but he didn’t turn around.

You hovered by the counter, nerves scraping raw inside your skin, your voice catching in your throat.

"Morning," you said, voice hoarse.

He flinched.

It was subtle—just the barest tension running up his shoulders—but you caught it, and it made something twist painfully inside you.

Slowly, Megumi straightened. His fingers drummed once, twice, against the counter before he finally turned to face you.

You almost wished he hadn’t.

There were dark shadows under his eyes, tension carved deep into the lines of his face. He looked—wrecked. Like he’d fought a battle with himself all night and lost.

He opened his mouth—then closed it again, jaw tightening.

You swallowed hard, clutching his jacket tighter around yourself.

"I remember," you said, voice small. "Not everything, but... enough."

A beat of silence stretched between you—long and sharp and unbearable.

Megumi shifted his weight, his broad frame seeming even bigger in the tight space of the kitchen, dwarfing everything. His arms crossed over his chest—defensive, protective, like he was trying to physically hold himself back.

"You were drunk," he said finally, voice rough. "It doesn't matter."

You let out a shaky breath. "It matters to me."

He looked at you then—really looked—and you hated how much it hurt. Hated how much guilt and self-loathing you could see bleeding out of him, barely restrained.

"You’re mad at me," you said quietly, not a question.

"No," he said immediately, too fast, too sharp. "I'm mad at myself."

You blinked, confused.

"I made you cry," Megumi said, the words like gravel dragging out of his chest. "I hurt you. That’s on me."

You took a step closer, careful, feeling the heat radiating off his body even from a foot away.

"You didn’t hurt me," you said. "You just... confused me."

His mouth twisted, bitter and miserable.

"I can’t—I can’t want you like that," he said, voice low and cracked. "It’s not right."

Your breath caught.

"Why?" you whispered.

He turned away again, bracing his hands on the counter, bowing his head.

"Because you’re drunk," he muttered. "Because you’re my friend. Because you deserve better than—"

"Stop," you said, sharper than you meant.

He froze.

You stepped closer until you were right behind him, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the tension vibrating through him like a wire pulled taut.

"I’m sober now," you said. "And I know what I want."

He let out a rough, broken laugh—one that sounded more like a sob.

"It’s not that simple."

"Why not?"

He turned then, so suddenly you flinched. His hands caught your arms—careful, barely touching, like he was afraid he might hurt you just by holding on too tight.

"Because if I let myself have you," he said, voice raw and shaking, "I'll get too greedy."

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You stared up at him—at the storm raging in his dark eyes, at the way his fingers trembled against your skin—and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the truth clearly.

This wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t disgust. It was need.

Fierce and desperate and so long denied that it had festered into something wild inside him.

Your hands lifted without thinking, tangling in the front of his t-shirt.

"I can be greedy too," you whispered.

Megumi made a strangled sound—something halfway between a groan and a curse—and dropped his forehead against yours.

He was trembling.

"You don’t know what you’re asking," he breathed.

"I do."

"You’ll hate me."

"I could never."

Megumi’s breath stuttered against your skin, the heat of him leaking through every careful inch where he wasn't quite touching you. His fingers curled tight in the fabric of your borrowed jacket, and you could feel how badly he was shaking—like he was fighting himself at every breath.

"You'll hate me," he whispered again, voice cracked and low, like the confession cost him something he couldn't get back.

You stared up at him, heart thudding too fast, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words—to shove them into a box you could understand.

Hate him? For what? Was it really that simple?

You swallowed, heart lurching painfully—but you still didn’t quite get it. Didn't see the war he was losing inside his own chest.

Instead, you gave a shaky little laugh, trying to lighten the crackling tension choking the air between you.

"I mean…" you started, teasing, trying for levity, "if you’re just talking about sex, Megumi... we can make that work."

Megumi froze—went so still you thought maybe he'd stopped breathing.

You blinked at him, confused, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Dark, wild, burning like a fuse had finally hit the powder.

"I’m serious," you said quickly, heart hammering harder. 

You smiled, a little awkward, a little too bright. "I mean... it's not like I never thought about it," you joked, nudging at the tension with a clumsy, hangover drenched bravery. "You're hot, Megumi. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t... you know. Thought about it. Back in high school. Still do, sometimes. And if this is just... you know, a physical thing, that’s fine. We’re adults. We can be smart about it."

You winced internally the second the words left your mouth—but it was too late. They hung there, stupid and weightless, in the heavy, aching air between you.

Megumi's jaw clenched so hard you saw the muscle jump. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with them. His whole body was wound tight, every inch of him vibrating with something you didn’t know how to name.

You thought you did, though.

You thought it was guilt. Fear. Worry about crossing a line you couldn't uncross.

You mistook the devastated look in his eyes for hesitation—for regret—instead of what it really was: need, thick and choking and helpless.

You pressed on before he could retreat fully, heart thudding painfully.

"I'm not gonna freak out," you said quickly, voice softening. "If it's just sex, it's just sex. I don’t want to lose you over something stupid. We’re friends first, right? We can... figure it out."

You meant it. You meant every word. You would rather give him this, would rather let your heart ache quietly in your own chest, than lose him altogether. You could handle it. You could be smart. You could keep it simple if that’s what he needed.

So you smiled—small and earnest and maybe a little shaky—thinking you were offering him something safe.

Megumi made a rough, broken sound in the back of his throat and turned away, raking both hands through his hair like he wanted to tear it out at the roots.

Your stomach twisted, misreading it entirely.

You thought he was trying to resist. You thought he was scared of ruining what you had—the ease, the history, the friendship built over years.

You didn’t realize he was breaking apart because he knew he couldn’t pretend it would ever be casual. Not with you.

Still, you didn't want him to spiral alone in whatever guilt or shame he was carrying.

"Just... think about it," you said, softer now, stepping closer, your fingers brushing lightly over his sleeve. "You don't have to decide right now. I just... I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m not gonna hate you."

He turned his head slightly—just enough that you caught the shadowed edge of his profile. His lips were pressed into a hard, miserable line, like he was swallowing back something sharp and dangerous.

Megumi stared at you like you’d just offered him a loaded gun and told him to aim it at his own heart. Like you didn’t even know what you were asking him to survive.

But he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t correct you.

Maybe he couldn't.

His fingers just flexed uselessly at his sides. His throat bobbed in a rough swallow. His jaw was so tight you could see the muscle ticking in the hollow beneath his ear.

He couldn't breathe around you. Couldn't think. Couldn't even stand there another second without feeling like he was going to tear himself apart.

Finally, he muttered, hoarse and rough, "I need to go get your stuff. Nobara has it."

You blinked at him, a little thrown by the sudden change of subject, but you nodded anyway, giving him a small, shaky smile he didn’t see because he was already reaching for his keys.

"I’ll be quick," he added, already moving toward the door like the apartment was on fire and he needed to escape before he got caught in the blaze. "Stay here. Take a shower. Eat something. Wear whatever you want."

You stared at his back, your heart thudding unevenly, confused and stinging all over.

"After that... I’ll drive you home."

You nodded slowly, even though he wasn’t looking at you.

At the door, Megumi hesitated, one hand braced against the frame, the other clenching around the keys, the metal denting the flesh of his palm.

His shoulders stiffened, and he said, almost too quietly:

"I’m taking the bike. It’ll be faster."

You opened your mouth—not sure what you were going to say—but he cut you off before you could even breathe.

"Your dress," he said, voice tight, still refusing to turn around. "It’s not... it’s not bike-appropriate."

There was something almost broken in the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just about the logistics. Like if you climbed on behind him wearing that little slip of silk and nothing else, he wasn’t sure he'd make it back in one piece.

You stood there frozen, jacket swallowing your frame, lips parted and unsure, while Megumi finally forced himself out the door — pulling it closed behind him with a soft, definitive click.

You stared at the wood a long moment after he was gone, heart hammering hard and helpless in your chest.

The apartment buzzed with silence. Heavy, humming, full of words you hadn't been brave enough to say.

You hugged his jacket closer around yourself—the scent of him sinking into your skin—and let yourself skin to the floor, your knees pulling to your chest, the cold of the hardwood bleeding through your bare legs.

For the first time all morning, you realized:

Maybe you hadn’t understood anything at all.

—

The door clicked shut behind Megumi as he stepped back into his apartment, your bag and jacket slung over one shoulder, a plastic to-go container from the ramen place clutched in his other hand—some mercy from Nobara he hadn’t asked for.

He moved on autopilot at first—slipping the keys back into his pocket, toeing off his shoes—until his gaze caught, snagging helplessly on the figure moving across the kitchen.

Soft morning light spilled through the large window to his balcony, pooling across the counters, catching the slight sway of your body as you shifted from one foot to the other. You moved carefully around the stove, stirring the contents of a pan with a spatula, the buttery smell of cooking eggs soft in the air—smothered under the domesticity you’d stitched into his kitchen like a thread he hadn't noticed pulling tight.

And you were wearing his clothes.

An oversized black t-shirt hung loose on your frame, the neckline dipping slightly but clinging just enough to stay in place, soft cotton brushing the delicate line of your collarbones. His gray sweatpants sat low on your hips, cinched tight with the drawstring, the extra fabric pooling at your ankles in lazy folds, right down to where your socked feet met the floor.

You looked small like that. Warm. Not just because the clothes dwarfed you, but because you made them look soft, lived-in—like you belonged to them. To him.

You glanced up when you heard the door, offering him a cautious, wobbly smile—so soft, so unsure—like you were ready for him to push you away again.

Like you were still trying to give him a safe out.

Megumi’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the strap of your bag.

"Hey," you said, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear, voice pitched soft. "I made you something."

You gestured toward the pan, where a half-folded omelette was browning gently at the edges. He could smell it from where he stood—eggs, cheese, something savory and sharp tucked inside.

You remembered. You always remembered the small, stupid things he never said out loud—like how he preferred salty over sweet in the mornings, how heavy breakfasts made him nauseous, how he took his coffee black without ever complaining about it.

The lump that formed in his throat was sudden and vicious.

He forced himself forward, dropping your bag by the door, setting the container carefully on the table without really registering the motion. His body moved on instinct, trying to pretend normalcy, trying to suffocate the riot building under his ribs—one heavy step, then another—until he was close enough to reach you if he dared.

You watched him—guarded but hopeful—twisting your fingers absently in the hem of the too-long t-shirt. Then it hit him. 

The scent.

Subtle at first, creeping under the buttery heat of the kitchen, but impossible to miss once it reached him. You smelled like him.

His soap, his shampoo—cedar and musk, brightened faintly by the citrus edge he'd stopped noticing years ago—soaked into your skin, into the damp ends of your hair, familiar in a way that left no oxygen in his lungs. 

You had washed yourself in him. You weren't just wearing his clothes. You weren’t just standing in his kitchen. You were wearing him. You were wound into his life now—sewn into places he hadn't even realized were empty until you filled them. 

That knowledge sank its claws deep.

It was unbearable.

It was beautiful.

It was going to kill him.

He clenched his fists once at his sides, willing the heat roaring under his skin to die down, to give him some semblance of control—but it was useless. His hands itched to touch you. His mouth ached to say things he shouldn’t even think.

It was worse than before. So much worse.

Because now he knew you wanted him—even if it was just a flicker, a clumsy admission, a casual offer you’d made thinking it would be simple.

You smiled at him again, smaller this time—cautious, uncertain.

The soft curve of your mouth, the way his t-shirt swallowed your frame, the fact that you smelled like his fucking soul—it twisted something brutal deep inside him.

And Megumi knew, in some awful, bone-deep way, that he would take it. He would take whatever you offered him—even if it ripped him apart from the inside out.

Still, he forced himself to move.

"I’m gonna take a shower," he muttered, voice rough and low, already backing toward the hallway. "Then I’ll drive you home."

You opened your mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to ask him something else—but he didn’t give you the chance. He turned away before he could see the look on your face, the soft, confused crumpling of your expression—disappearing down the hallway like a man fleeing a fire he couldn't outrun.

Megumi hated himself for putting that look on your face.

It was cowardice. But if he stayed—if he let himself sit across from you, smelling like him, wearing his clothes, smiling at him like he hadn’t already broken something essential between you—he would crack open entirely.

And there wouldn’t be any putting himself back together after that.

—

The bathroom door clicked closed behind him.

Megumi leaned heavily against it for a second, head bowed, breathing ragged.

He shed his clothes like they were burning him, stepping under the scalding spray without looking at himself in the mirror. The water pounded against his skin, steam curling up around him in thick, smothering clouds—but it did nothing to drown the ache rooted low in his gut.

He scrubbed at his hair, at his skin, trying to wash away the ghost of you—the sweet, clinging imprint of your body in his clothes, your voice still echoing inside his chest.

He couldn’t. He never would.

He twisted the tap off when the water ran cold and grabbed a towel, roughing it over his hair with more force than necessary. His body was tight with frustration—blood still hot and heavy in his veins, his cock stirring half-hard again at the memory of you in his kitchen, socked feet and sweet and his in ways you didn’t even understand.

He wrapped another towel low around his hips and shoved the door open—still toweling his hair dry, eyes half-closed—when he froze.

You were sitting on his bed. Waiting for him.

The comforter was twisted around you, your legs tucked under your body, a stubborn pout blooming on your mouth as you glared at the doorway like it had personally offended you. Your damp hair clung to your temples, messy and soft.

You looked... furious. Frustrated. And so heartbreakingly beautiful he thought he might actually fall to his knees.

Megumi’s brain short-circuited.

He stopped breathing.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, your gaze catching—and sticking—low on his body, on the way the towel around his hips barely hung there, still damp from the shower, clinging to the hard lines of his waist, the ridges of muscle cut low across his abdomen. Water still beaded at his throat, trailing down the tense lines of his chest.

You swallowed—visibly—your breath hitching.

And then—

The barest flicker of want flashed across your face—raw and unguarded and so blindingly obvious it punched the air from his lungs.

And when your eyes lifted again, locking onto his—

It was over.

His cock hardened instantly—painfully—straining against the towel, throbbing with brutal, humiliating urgency, blood flooding south so fast it left him dizzy.

You caught the movement—the twitch, the thickening at the front of the fabric—and your lips parted, your breath hitching almost silently, thighs pressing together instinctively where you sat on his bed.

Megumi’s whole body locked up.

For a second, neither of you moved. The air was thick, humming, heavy enough to drown in.

And in that frozen heartbeat— 

Megumi realized he was done.

There was no guarding himself anymore. No holding back. Not when you looked at him like you wanted him. Not when every trembling, uncertain beat of your heart was written across your face.

He was already drowning. He may as well let it pull him under.

—

He moved before he could think—before caution, before guilt, before anything but you existed in his blood. One step, then another, until he stood at the edge of the bed, the space between you crackling like a live wire.

You blinked up at him, your pout slipping into something softer—questioning, uncertain—but you didn’t move away. You didn’t run.

You just looked at him—chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths, damp hair framing your face—waiting.

Megumi dropped the towel from his hips with a dull thud against the floor. There was no ceremony in it—no attempt to hide the way his cock strained heavy and flushed between his thighs, already leaking at the tip, already so hard it hurt. But he didn’t reach for you with it. He didn’t even touch it himself.

You stared—your breath catching sharply in your throat.

The scars were impossible to miss.

But they were there.

They would always be there.

And still—he was beautiful.

More beautiful than anything you’d ever seen.

You leaned back into the bed, your hands curling loosely into the sheets beside you—an unconscious invitation.

He, instead, reached for the hem of the t-shirt you wore—his shirt—curling his fingers carefully into the soft fabric, pausing just long enough for you to nod once, almost imperceptibly.

He peeled it up over your body, baring you inch by inch.

No bra, just smooth, warm skin—the soft swell of your breasts, the gentle slope of your waist. His hands trembled slightly where they brushed your sides, fighting the instinct to grab, to worship, to fall apart.

He tossed the shirt aside without looking, gaze locked on you like you were something sacred.

Then his hands slid lower—slow, reverent—tugging at the waistband of the sweats you’d borrowed.

You lifted your hips automatically, helping him, and the pants slid down easily, crumpling at your ankles. He knelt briefly, steadying himself with one hand on your calf, the other working to peel the fabric free.

That’s when he saw the socks still clinging to your feet.

A muscle ticked sharply in his jaw—something raw and restless flashing across his face.

He hated it—hated leaving anything between you. Hated the barrier of it, the wrongness of something so small when the rest of you was already laid bare before him.

He hooked his fingers into the cuffs, tugging them down carefully one at a time, leaving you completely naked in front of him. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows, watching him with wide eyes, your breath coming a little faster now.

Megumi sat back on his heels, dragging his gaze up the beautiful lines of your body—the soft curves, the warm flush blooming across your chest, the way your thighs pressed together instinctively under his stare.

That's when he noticed. You weren’t wearing panties.

You must have folded them away with your dress from last night—leaving yourself dressed only in him, in his scent, in his space.

It undid him.

He crawled up onto the bed, straddling your hips lightly, his hands bracing on either side of your head. His hair dripped faintly onto your skin, dark and wild across his forehead, casting shadows across his desperate, wrecked face.

He cupped your cheek, rough thumb brushing your skin, his expression cracking wide open—reverent, starving.

"Need you," he rasped, voice raw, before crushing his mouth to yours.

The kiss was messy—desperate—all teeth and tongue and broken sounds.

You whimpered into him, arching helplessly, your hands flying up to fist into his still-damp hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.

Megumi groaned low in his chest—a hungry, guttural sound—as he kissed you harder, tilting your head back, his mouth sliding hot and open against yours. He kissed you like he was drowning. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped against your mouth, panting, "feel so good... so fucking good."

He kissed down your jawline, your throat, mapping every inch of skin with his lips, his teeth—hungry, possessive. His hands roamed greedily, skimming over your waist, your hips, your ribs—leaving nothing untouched.

"Mine," he whispered against your collarbone—low and rough and barely audible.

You shivered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the hard lines of muscle beneath your palms.

He worshipped your breasts next—kissing over the soft curves, mouthing at your nipples until they peaked under his tongue, drawing gasps and helpless moans from your lips.

"Fuck," Megumi groaned, scraping his teeth lightly against sensitive skin, "could spend forever on you, pretty girl."

Your legs fell open without thinking, hips canting up against him, desperate for more friction, for more of him—anything he would give.

He kissed down your stomach—lingering over the dip of your navel, the soft curve of your hip bones—leaving open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thighs until you were shaking under him.

"So perfect," he muttered, voice hoarse, hot against your skin. "Gonna make you scream for me, baby. Gonna ruin you."

You whimpered—a broken, wrecked sound—and Megumi’s hands slid under your thighs, spreading you wider, lifting you toward his mouth.

You gasped softly as he bent down, pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh, inhaling the clean, dizzying scent of your skin. He pressed another kiss higher, then another, slow and deliberate, until his nose brushed the tender crease where your thigh met your hip.

You were already wet—glistening faintly in the low light, the smell of you thick and sweet in the air between you.

And then he buried his mouth against you—tongue flattening against your soaked pussy, licking a slow, filthy stripe up your dripping folds. He groaned against you—the sound vibrating straight into your bones—and licked again, deeper, hungrier.

"You taste..." he muttered into your cunt, voice wrecked, "...fuck, baby, taste so fucking good... like you’re made for me."

You cried out, thighs trembling, head tossing back against the mattress as his mouth worked you open—his tongue fucking into you, circling your clit in devastating patterns that made your whole body shudder.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, clutching, desperate for something to anchor you.

"Please," you gasped, voice wrecked, "Megumi—!”

You jerked, a soft, but he only held you steady—hands braced under your thighs, locking you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

"That's it," he rasped against your cunt. "Give it to me. Let me hear you."

His tongue was relentless—flicking, swirling, tracing maddening circles around your clit, dipping down to fuck into your dripping heat and back again. Every sound you made—every breathless little whimper, every shuddering gasp—sank into his blood, pulling him deeper, deeper.

He could have lived with his mouth between your thighs forever.

Could have drowned there, if you let him.

You moaned—high, broken—your hips grinding helplessly into his mouth as he licked you harder, faster, losing himself completely in you.

He rutted against the mattress without even thinking—humping slow, desperate circles against the sheets—chasing the friction he needed like a man starved.

Your fingers twisted into the sheets—into his hair—tugging, clutching, as your thighs trembled around his head.

And Megumi—God, Megumi—he was dizzy with it, overwhelmed by the taste of you, the heat of you, the desperate slick noises filling the air as he licked you messily, sloppily, building you higher and higher until—

You broke—with a soft, shattered cry. 

And when you came—when you sobbed his name and clutched his head between your thighs, trembling and wrecked—he followed.

Spilling hot against the mattress, undone by nothing but your taste, your sounds, your smell.

It was messy—his body locking up with the force of it—and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough.

But he was wrung out. Hollowed. Broken open in a way he didn’t know how to survive.

He slumped forward with a low, exhausted groan, nuzzling his face against your bare hip, arms wrapping loosely around your waist like a lifeline.

You lay there stunned, your body still twitching with aftershocks, your hand falling instinctively to card through his messy, damp hair.

You could feel him trembling still—feel how hard he’d fought to hold himself together and how completely he’d lost, feel the weight of his exhaustion, his surrender.

Still, he didn’t try to fuck you. He didn’t even move to touch himself again—to maybe see if could go another round.

He just pressed closer—snuggling into your skin like he could crawl inside you and stay there forever.

You stared down at him, confusion flickering through the soft haze of afterglow.

Is this... how friends with benefits are supposed to work? you thought vaguely.

Just him... going down on me and falling asleep?

You didn’t understand it.

Didn’t understand how he could be so... so selfless. So unguarded. So Megumi.

But you didn’t push it. Didn’t question it.

You just let your hand drift lower, tracing the broad span of his back—feeling the thick ridges of the scars that marred his ribs, sitting low under his pecs. Another one—brutal, ragged—slashed across his stomach, cutting from one hip to the other, just above his belly button.

You shivered—not from fear, but from memory.

The scars were old now—years healed—but they told stories you couldn’t forget. Stories of possession, of battles he almost didn’t survive.

Your hand hesitated briefly over his stomach, over the brutal scar left where Sukuna’s mouth had once gaped open.

Softly—almost reverently—you smoothed your fingers across it, feeling the uneven texture under your touch.

And when you lifted your gaze, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

You knew, if you squinted, you could probably still catch the faint ghost of the ones that had cradled his face—two pale shadows along his right temple, over his eye and along his cheekbone, another one just below his left eye—almost invisible now, healed under Shoko's careful hands.

But they were there. 

A ghost of the pain he carried.

A ghost of the boy he had been—and the man he had become.

You tucked the comforter up around his broad shoulders, cocooning both of you in warmth. He stirred slightly—a low, content hum rumbling against your skin—but didn’t wake.

And so you stayed there, tangled together, your fingers gently stroking along the scars and across his soft, dark hair.

Letting him rest. Letting yourself hold onto him, just a little longer.

Wrapped in him. Wrapped in something dangerously close to love.

© MANICPIXIEDREAMKIRA - do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[danieyells]

YELLING AND SCREAMING AND OH MY GOD WHERE DO I FUCKING BEGIN?????????

GREAT EPISODE FROM START TO FINISH

HODGE AND PODGE SPRITE AND THEM ACTING OFF AROUND HYDE

ELIAS!!!!!!!! Oh his "dear heart" is going to eat some of you alive isn't it lolol

HARU LORE!!!! HARU CRUMBS!!!!!!!! SHION CRUMBS!!!!!!!!! DIONYSIA CIRCUS????? HARU WAS AN ACROBAT????? ANOMALOUS ANIMALS AS PART OF HIS CIRCUS ACT????!?

ROMEO TRUSTS HYDE SO MUCH. . .BUT NOW HE'S SO DONE. . . . .HE AND TAIGA AND EVEN FUCKING RITSU ARE READY TO BE OUT FOR BLOOD. . . . .

But saying the warding card was fake. . .Taiga's gun and his bullets are anomalous are they not? Hyde said warding cards can be damaged by anomalies. Plus the card was damaged but Romeo wasn't hurt. So I don't think it was actually fake at all. I really think it was a real warding card and Hyde's just a hardass about the way they need to learn things. The real world, anomalies out there, the real missions. they aren't kind or merciful, so they need to be ready for the world to be unkind too. But from their perspectives it just looks really really bad. . . . The filename says the flower is a snowdrop and idk about japanese flower kanguage but google says that snowfrops represent hope and rebirth and new beginnings which seems appropriate for a card that's meant to keep you safe from death(but could also be symbolic of the new beginning/rebirth of Sinostra's cooperation and trust in one another). . .i just feel like hyde is just too obvious y'know? So i'm probably just thinking wishfully

HEY IF YOU CHOSE TAIGA TO SHARE THE ROOM WITH I THINK YOU CANONICALLY FUCK. SO THERE'S THAT.

OH MAN AND TAIGA WHAT WAS WITH SAYING YOU COULD JUST STAY IN THE OTHER WORLD WITH HIM. . .OR LAYING DOWN AND DYING. . .WHAT HAS TAIGA FORESEEN. . .WHAT DOES HE KNOW THAT MAKES HIM SO READY TO GIVE UP. . . .

RITSU IS! SO GOOD!!!! JUST ACTS WITH SO MUCH AUTHORITY BECAUSE HE'S SO FUCKING CONFIDENT AND HE HAS NO SENSE OF HIERARCHY or i mean he does but like he knows he_s the smartest person ij the room and just. God. GOD.

I HAVE A HEADACHE BECAUSE I HAVEN'T SLEPT ENOUGH I THINK BUT EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS EPISODE WAS SO GOOD. FRONT TI BACK TOP TO BOTTOM GOOD EPISODE

I wish we knew which house the next episode was gonna be but they've stopped putting the sprite info in in advance and the preview image and name don't tell us much. . .it looks like a white limo soooo Frostheim again?

Jdbdudjdj SO MUCH BABYGIRLING FROM ROMEO. . .GOD THE WAY HE AND HYDE TALK TO EACH OTHER THE WAY HYDE SAYS ROMEO'S NAME SO SWEETLY. . .ROMEO SAYING HE TRUSTS HIM. . . . ALSO ROMEO GETTING THE SAN CHA HUI GUY DRUNK AND PROBABLY SEDUCING HIM FOR INFO. . . . . .

Just. Great episode for all three ghouls. Great hyde episode. Good lore crumbs. JUST. SO MUCH. ALSO CONFIRMED HARU IS CHINESE MAYBE? I FIGURED BECAUSE OF THE 'TOAD ON THE MOON' HOME SCREEN LINE. . . .

SINOSTRA IS SO FUCKING BACK ASSUMING HYDE/DARKWICK KEEP UP THEIR END OF THE BARGAIN!!!!

God god my head hurts so much from the hype and the energy and gooooood it was so good i'm gonna sleep well i'm in such a great mood all around I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START WITH IT. I AM GOING TO SLEEP.

[readerstories]

what about nr 3 on the list with deadpool & wolverine? with who is up to u

Okay so this got away from me a bit lol, but anywho, here's some Poolverine x gn! reader :D Drabble requests with the latest reblogged prompt list open until the end of the weekend!

Prompt: 3) “How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?”

Warnings/tags: established relationship, pre-relationship, polyamory

Wordount: 815

Logan is still not quite used to being around a lot of people without it being a bad thing, but Wade's friends (and by now, his) filling the apartment are kinda nice. He most likely will get overstimulated at some point, but for now he's relaxing on the couch, beer in one hand, the other arm thrown over the back.

“How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?” Is the first thing Wade asks when he flings himself down onto the couch next to Logan, and bullies his way into his side. Logan grunts, arm moving from the back of the couch to curl over Wade's shoulders.

"Not that I don't think you are enough, but I think it would be really hot to have some more filling in this sandwich! Or for me to be the filling between two hot bods! Or you between one hot bod and one half-rotten bod." Logan growls at the insult Wade hurls at himself, but that's something to take up and argue about later, not right in the middle of all their friends. Which by the way, Logan is happy none of them have enhanced hearing (that he knows of), because of course Wade had chosen a chaotic moment to bring this new topic up.

"Who?" He's not unfamiliar with polygamy at all, it can be a lot of fun, but he's picky (he can allow himself to be that now, in this universe).

"I'm not going to point, so look over towards the snack table, but try to be subtle even if that isn't your strong suit, my little brute." Logan looks around the room, pretending he's just letting his eyes wander, before they settle at the two people standing and chatting over there.

"Dopinder?" Wade groans, hitting his head against Logan's shoulder.

"Yes, Dopinder, straight as an arrow Dopinder, who is disgustingly in love with a woman. No! The actual cutie chatting to him, you fool!" He figured Wade meant you, but fucking with Wade is fun, even in small ways. He lets his eyes wander all over you. You are indeed cute, but also hot. The clothes you are wearing look comfy, but also good, like you put effort in even if you were only seeing friends that no doubt have seen you in worse.

You catch him staring, his gaze almost like a physical weight. You give him a little smile and wave before turning back to Dopinder. You shake your head with a smile at something he says, Logan wonders what about.

"I can hear your gears turning in that not so little head of yours." Logan turns to Wade, who's watching him with big and eager eyes. It would be a lie to say he hadn't looked before. He had looked since he first saw you at the first party Wade did after Logan moved in.

Well, it wasn't the first time he had seen you, but he was a little preoccupied to notice how good you looked when you were crammed into the polaroid that Wade had waved like a shield in the Honda.

He had never planned at doing more than looking, happy with having just Wade, but since the man is offering…..

"Yeah." Wade grins at him, leaning forward to plant a wet, but quick kiss on his mouth.

"Fucking knew it. Their charm is irresistible." Wade glances over to you, clearly checking you out while Logan checks him out, squeezing his shoulders.

"How are we doing this?" Logan asks, drawing Wade’s attention back to him.

"Well, I think you should get up and get over there, work your irresistible charm. Conveniently, you need a new drink." Logan looks at his still half full beer, but before he can say anything, Wade snatches his drink and downs it in one go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and it's through sheer will that Logan's thoughts and blood doesn't go straight south.

"Now up and at 'em' tough stuff." Wade pats his cheek, Logan snaps after his fingers, but gets up. "And be a dear and grab me some snacks. Some actual ones, not just the one we are trying to get into the pants off.” Logan rolls his eyes, starting to walk over to the snack table where Dopinder is showing you something on his phone now. Your mouth is full of food, so you cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes connecting with Logan's over the edge of your hand.

Logan hopes this goes well, he's rusty flirting with anyone else but Wade (he doesn't think the threat of stabbing you would go over well). But he doesn't worry too much as you keep looking at him as he approaches, and then draw him into the conversation as he nears.

[ifellintothestyx]

Angry again over the ATLA fandom's treatment of Ursa, one of the biggest victims in the entire series of the FN Royal Family.

People treat the Royal Family like it's just another abusive household, which results in the overly harsh treatment of Ursa, who was the most powerless person in that entire family by political standards. She was a lowborn, engaged to the younger prince as a test to merge the bloodlines of the Royal Family with that of an Avatar's. She was basically forced into an experimental arranged marriage to a disposable heir, cut off from her family, and thrown into a pit of vipers AKA the Royal Palace.

Imagine being in her shoes. Imagine having virtually no support or standing in an unfamiliar place where even the slightest mistake could result in either humiliation at best or death at worst. She is married to a horrible man who despises the fact that he doesn't even get a noble for a wife, that he is being ridiculed by being married off to a lowborn and basically being told that it was impossible for him to ever be the Fire Lord, since if he had a fair shot wouldn't they have ensured a better marriage prospect? He gains no supporters or additional backing through his wife, which he should have had as a prince, and doesn't that just sting? He's discredited in Azulon's eyes, and in the eyes of the nobility, so what chance does he have to rise above his station now?

Who do you think took the brunt of his shame and anger at his situation? Who would have suffered most at the hands of an angry young man who had no qualms with burning his own thirteen-year-old son for just daring to speak up unasked?

People claim Ursa had let go of Azula because she thought Azula was a monster and that she only helped Zuko because he was kind. Zuko was allowed to be kind because he was deemed weak, and Ozai didn't want to pay attention to him. He is only kind because of his mother's influence, which he wouldn't have had if he was up to Ozai's standards. If he had been, Ozai would have kept Ursa and Zuko separate to better control Zuko and ensure his son's loyalty. He wanted his heir to be a child that he could paint entirely in his own image to cover up the fact that their other parent was a peasant, which would cast further doubts on his rights and position within the palace.

People make it out to be like Ursa CHOSE to save Zuko, laughably assuming that this woman had the ability to CHOOSE anything, much less ANY sort of power within the palace. Even her own children outranked her in the nobles' eyes by virtue of having royal blood. She lived in the place where her husband worked and where all the servants answered to either him or his father, so she was never truly free to move or act. Every move was watched. Every interaction was noted.

Ursa was able to influence and help Zuko by showing him a form of kindness, but notice how she never said a bad word about Ozai or the Royal Family? She couldn't. She never twisted Zuko away or tried to outright call her husband wrong—she even defended some of his actions despite knowing otherwise. She could not act or speak freely. She knew she was being watched. She couldn't even pull Zuko away completely from Ozai—that's how utterly powerless she was. Her children loved a monster, and she could do nothing to stop them.

We are shown in canon that Ursa and Zuko spend time together, but that's just it. Ursa never tries to turn Zuko "good" or convince him Ozai is terrible because she CAN'T. She does her best by being stern and setting examples, and Zuko is desperate enough for love to internalize every moment with her, but the pond scene shows how Ursa was only able to do just that—play the role of a stern, kind mother.

And the thing is—if given the chance, she'd save them both. She loved them both, even if Azula reminded her too much of the monster that she married. If she had ever had the opportunity, she would have left with both. Except she couldn't because once Ozai had his prodigy, she was never going to be able to go near her child ever again. Ursa would try, through Zuko as we see in the flashback, to reach her daughter somehow, but it never worked. If she truly always thought of Azula as a "monster", would she let her "perfect son" go play with her? She could have shut Azula out completely and discourage her from ever coming close, Azula is young enough to still listen to her Mom, but we see both Azula and Zuko at her side reading the letter. Ursa doesn't lean away from her daughter. We see her hesitate but never flinch away when she is near Azula.

Ursa only spent time with Zuko because he was the only one she COULD have paid attention to, not because she CHOSE to. Ozai paid him no interest, so she was ALLOWED to spend her time with Zuko. If she had the chance, the allowance, to spend time with Azula she would have done it in a fucking heartbeat. People paint her as "saving" the one "who could be saved" or "throwing Azula to the wolves to focus on Zuko" as if she had any fucking choice, as if she didn't took what crumbs she could get to be close to her children. She didn't toss Azula aside, Ozai KEPT THEM APART. I REPEAT, HE KEPT THEM APART. He did NOT want his lowborn wife influencing his prized heir with her ways, so he kept them apart, READ THAT AGAIN.

It was never Ursa "choosing" which of her kids to save and protect. It was always her doing her best to use her limited, almost non-existent freedom of movement to reach her children in any way, and Zuko just happened to be free. If anyone was doing the whole "focusing on one kid and tossing aside the other" it. Was. Ozai.

[daengtokki]

part eleven | litotes // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 15k

RATING: mature/mdni—contains: family trauma (specifically mother/daughter), casual racism, self harm, suicide mention, miscarriage mention, blood play, cannibalism (just a little), things staring ominously from a distance (again), hallucinations

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: The first chapter to be given a proper title at posting! And the meaning of this title is a hint for what’s to come in part twelve. Take your time reading...reread everything after this if you'd like (I know a few of you that like doing that, and it's amazing to think about—seriously). I will have part twelve up before I leave for my dominate concerts.

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

[ PLAYLIST PARTS 1—6 ]

The quiet in his head becomes unbearable, and he never imagined he would think that. Quiet. Beautiful, comfortable silence—that’s what he has with you when he gets into bed every night. This isn’t the same.

Seungmin didn’t always come home to his big empty bed at night, not before you came around. Sometimes he would close a bar, stumble to an empty park and will something to come out of the darkness for him in his drunken stupor. Some nights he would check into a hotel just to look at something different for a change. The monotonous torment of his existence became intolerable too often.

He came very close to telling you and Heecheol about his state of mind last spring—May 23rd, to be exact. Seungmin checked into a motel not unlike the Dalkkum in Hongcheon, and the only thing he brought along with him was every pill he could find. Before he went through with it, or almost did, he sat in a hot bath and watched the full moon move across the sky for an hour or so…however long it took the water to go cold—and instead of acting on his big plans, he drank the bottle of champagne he was going to wash everything down with, and a second bottle, and then he passed out on the balcony.

The next morning, he didn’t really want to die anymore. Not as much, at least. The anniversary of that day could have been bad. The anniversary of his mother’s death could have been worse. It wasn’t, because you were there with him.

“Stop…” he pushes until Heecheol releases him. “Please, I can’t.” Seungmin is far too gentle, but…he also kept going and kissed right back, so what right does he have to overreact now? The sting of his lips remains even after Heecheol turns away, but first he looks Seungmin up and down like he’s just realizing he’s in the room. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

It takes him a few beats before he can turn and force a smile. “It’s fine.”

The static hasn’t returned, at least. The room is still too quiet, too warm, too heavy. Seungmin isn’t quite sure what to do now aside from leave. “I should get back home. Tokki is all alone with the boys.”

“I was going to ask if I could take you two out for dinner, but I guess that wouldn’t work with two little ones.” It’s not the awkwardness of the kiss he’s concerned about, it’s the babies. “But ordering in is always an option. I’m sure getting a good dinner on the table is tough while taking care of them.”

No, Seungmin thinks. He isn’t sure how taxing things will become in the next few weeks and months, but he’s looking forward to finding out. “I’m not sure—“

“Look, I’m sorry I was kind of forward there. But you didn’t…forget it.”

“Today might not be the best for getting together.”

Heecheol turns away again and starts undressing. First his shirt, up and over his head and thrown to the floor. He pulls at his waistband, but the sweats remain on for now, to Seungmin’s relief. Now he remembers his phone going off, and he knows it’s you before he even looks at the screen.

my mother is here

He has to check the name again. Yeah, it’s you—maybe you mistyped, or spoke into your phone and it didn’t hear correctly. Maybe you were just talking to the boys. This day can’t get much more strange. “Huh?” A stupid response, but he feels stupid right now. Heecheol’s eyes are burning right through him as he waits for your reply.

are you almost home?

Thank god he is. The apartment is only a quick walk away. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten”. “I have to go. I’ll text you.”

“Will you?”

Seungmin isn’t sure how to answer that, but he tries not to huff in frustration. “If I don’t…you text me.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I tell her everything.”

***

How does your mother know where you live? Well, because you told her. But you’ve never received so much as a letter from anyone. No gifts or care packages filled with comforts from home, hardly a phone call. Why travel so far when you can’t even text?

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow, and he can’t even hold his hands still enough to slide the key in the deadbolt. Seungmin is nervous, but the day hasn’t been kind to him. He has reason to feel like he’s going to vomit at any moment.

“Seungmin…” You walk to him, arms folded over your chest, and he knows why. One of the babies is crying in his cot, the other is working his way to the same volume. “She’s in the nursery.”

“Why?”

“Checking it.”

“Checking…checking what?”

She pops out, and Seungmin is actually relieved. The image in his mind was much scarier than what just appeared in front of him, but still, her face is sour. She looks like you, but not so much that it’s an undeniable mother/daughter relationship. She could just as easily be your aunt, or an older sister.

“You must be…” she stops to think, and her accent is much more severe than yours. “Forgive me, I just learned it fifteen minutes ago.”

“Seungmin,” you repeat.

Her eyes move between the two of you. She’s saying it under her breath, as if she’s trying to get a feel for how to say it out loud. S-sungmin, is what comes out. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet the reason…reasons…my daughter never came home.”

She turns away and looks at them. They’re together in their cot, surrounded by the laundry you were folding. The tv is still playing, and Seungmin wants to laugh again when the Twilight Zone theme starts playing in the silent room. He holds it in, but he can’t hold in his smile when he sees them, slowly quieting and soothing each other. How does he respond to that, though? Seungmin looks to you, but your eyes are on the floor, arms still folded across your chest. “Uh, well, I take good care of her if that is a concern.”

The resemblance is a little stronger now. Her lips purse, and she folds her arms across herself just like you do. “Your English is very good.” She sucks her teeth like he tends to do.

“Thank you. Her Korean is getting very good.” Seungmin smiles in your direction, but you look like you’re going to vomit.

“Oh is that right?” Now her hands drop to her hips. “I’m surprised, you never were to good with your school work. And…”

You watch his face grow red, and the clench of his jaw is obvious, especially as she makes her way to the cot. He takes a step closer, and you do the same.

Seungmin jumps when she spins to face you. “And this. Twins! Didn’t think it was in the cards for you, considering…”

Considering what? Seungmin doesn’t say it, but you can tell he’s thinking it. Your mother is being purposely vague and her saccharine voice and smile are making you sick. If she thinks there’s some chance of pushing the two of you apart, she’ll go for it.

Considering what? You know what she’s thinking of course, and you’re surprised she didn’t come out and say the word. Seungmin doesn’t know, and it’s not because you purposely kept it from him—there is nothing to gain by keeping secrets in this house. Maybe it was your fear keeping you from saying the word and dwelling on the possibility even more, or perhaps putting the thought in Seungmin’s head scared you. He was already so worried.

Another smile for you, sweet, but with a question mark behind it. “Excuse us for a moment.” He says, eyes fixed on you, and his fingers gently grip your wrist. Reading him his easier now, but at the moment, your racing heart and swirling stomach aren’t quite sure what to think. Seungmin closes the door, leaving just enough space for him to peek out, and pulls you into his arms. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” He laughs. “I can handle her attitude. I can handle it for both of us.”

“I’m sorry…there are things I should have told you—“

“We can talk about it later, if you want. First we handle this.” Seungmin looks through the crack in the door. Your mother hasn’t approached the boys, and they’re still quiet. “Fresh shirt?” He starts pulling it over your head before you answer. “She won’t get under my skin.”

***

The whole apartment feels off with someone new in it. It wasn’t quite like this with Heecheol…oh, Seungmin almost forgot. How could he forget? It wasn’t just the kiss that made things weird—everything, including Heecheol himself, was strange. This is more manageable, regardless of how uncomfortable everyone is going to be. She looks at the two of you briefly, then walks toward the cot again. The moment she reaches in, Seungmin reacts. “Have you washed up?”

“Excuse me?”

The moment of awkward silence is excruciating.

You chime in first. “We always wash up and change if we’ve been out…before we touch them. They’re, um, we can’t risk them getting sick.”

“How early were they?” She backs up and eyes the kitchen sink, and you can tell she wants to touch them, hold them. She can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how much she might not actually like Seungmin and your sons, she won’t pass up the opportunity to hold a baby.

“They were due September 4th, and born on June 1st.”

The urge to hold them is too strong, because she heads for the kitchen to wash her hands. But not before looking Seungmin in the eyes. “Lucky.”

They were lucky. Lucky that you kept them alive long enough, and lucky they were healthy when they arrived. Bad luck used followed you everywhere, but not anymore. Now Seungmin follows you everywhere.

“What are my grandson’s names?” Haneul is wrapped tight and scooped up first, and she looks him over with a weird curiosity. “My only grandbabies. Never thought I’d see the day, and that it would be you. Definitely never thought—“

“That is Haneul,” Seungmin interrupts. “Ha…neul.” He repeats it slowly and clearly, but you know she won’t appreciate his patience with this, or with her. “And Haesung. Haesung is his little brother.”

“Do they have middle names…nicknames?”

You jump in before Seungmin gets a chance. “No. Haneul and Haesung.” Letting her call them something else is out of the question.

“No cute nicknames yet.” Seungmin lies, but he sounds convincing. Haneul was Sky before he was born, and Haesung eventually became the new Puppy.

“Shame they look nothing like you.”

“Why are you here? Did you fly all this way just to…just to torment me?”

“You’ll never learn to respect your mother, will you, girl?” Haneul is placed back in his cot, and she takes a moment to touch Haesung’s cheek before turning her full attention to you. “Well, now that you are one, maybe you’ll appreciate how much work it takes. Hopefully your boyfriend…husband…doesn’t go dying on you like your father did.”

The air feels too heavy to breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the mention of your father’s death, something she never talks about, or the intrusive thought of losing Seungmin. The sleep walk into the woods started it, and it’s been off and on since then. He seems unfazed by the comment, but he has to be—all of it has to be trying to dig in.

His mouth twitches. “Husband.” A week after leaving the hospital, you made your marriage official. “I don’t plan on it.” Seungmin moves between her and the cot so they can see him again. Both have quickly given in to their exhaustion.

“We never do.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get her to leave after the awkward first meeting. Seungmin booked her the only room he could find—the same hotel where Heecheol is currently staying—and sent her on her way. This won’t be the end of her, though. Your mother has never stepped foot in an airport before getting on a plane to Seoul, and she’s never wanted anything to do with you unless it was for her own benefit. She didn’t fly all this way for one brief encounter.

“When she asked for my address, I assumed she wanted to send something. This is not what I imagined. And no warning.”

As irritating as it was, Seungmin can’t help but find it amusing. “The no warning part doesn’t surprise me, for some reason.” He turns on his side and puts a hand on Haesung’s full stomach, and when he closes his eyes, the rest of his day comes rushing back to him. “Oh,” they pop open, but you don’t react. You’re sitting up, focused, drawing pad in your lap—the sound of the pencil moving back and forth on the paper seems to be as soothing to the boys as it is to Seungmin. “Today...earlier today, before I got home.”

“Oh, the guy? You said it was a bust.”

He glances up at you, and you’re staring hard. The pencil goes straight to your mouth as you wait, and he can see your teeth start to work on it. It’s only been a few weeks since you painted the mural in the nursery, and since then you’ve started reclaiming a small part of the former you he never knew. Seungmin can feel you becoming lighter and happier as you adjust to the new life with him and the babies…not just you and him. Neither of you had much time to find each other anywhere but on the surface, or at your very cores. Now you get to explore everything inbetween.

And now he has to tell you he kissed someone else.

The graphite hits the paper again, and the next move you make is ripping it from the pad and crushing it in your fist. “I had a miscarriage a few years ago. I almost died.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant, and it…well, it didn’t grow where it was supposed to. And I almost bled to death.”

“You…almost died?”

"I was relieved when I got that first ultrasound and saw that they were in the right place.” You take a long, hard look at him, and then your pencil is on the paper again. “Hold still for a second.”

Seungmin listens. He doesn’t blink, or let his mouth twitch into the frown he’s holding back. All he wants is to move closer, pull all three of you into his arms and hold on tight. Months ago, he truly thought he wouldn’t have enough of himself for all of you, and he was wrong.

Haesung isn’t happy about being moved from his warm spot on the bed, but you tuck him comfortably into his cot. Seungmin does the same with Haneul, and you remain back to back until they begin dozing off again. And then the bed moves, and you feel him getting close. A hand wraps gently around the back of your neck, but his fingertips only graze and fall away from you. Seungmin reaches for the crumpled piece of paper and smooths it out the best he can. A rough sketch stares back at him—his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the soft curves of his jaw. It’s a good depiction of him…like looking at a faded photograph, but seeing it through the eyes of whoever took it. It’s how you see him. He crumples it up again, and wonders why you were unsatisfied with it.

“Sometimes when I’m in bed with you, when I can’t sleep, I think about that night.” It comes from nowhere. You’re not sure why you mention it at all.

The memory is now tucked away where he has to reach for it to truly remember. He counts in his head, seven months…three weeks? Here the two of you are, two babies, and it’s barely been eight months since you’ve crossed paths. Seungmin prefers remembering that very first encounter on the street…walking you home. He likes thinking back to how it felt to fall for someone so quickly and (for him) recklessly; how it felt to want to touch you, to draw pain and pleasure from you. Break your neck, kiss you, find the fear that was already rising to the surface, and then protect you from it.

He looks at you now like he looked at you then, the strange, mysterious thing that you still are. “Why do you think about it?”

Seungmin seems surprised when you turn to your sketch pad again. “I try to remember everything, exactly how I felt and what was going through my head. It’s hard. Maybe I blocked some of it out.”

“What do you remember?”

“I still remember where I went when everything went dark. The pain of giving birth brought back memories from that first time. It went dark then, too. A different dark, but…”

He’s hypnotized by the measured movements of your hand, but he hears every word you say. You’ve died before, came back, died again.

Your attention turns to the walls around you, the half open curtain being moved by the warm breeze. “I remember being so afraid of dying in this room when you tucked me back into bed. The locked door, the knife. The pain I was in...”

“I was worried. I was afraid you’d get hurt if you tried running home in the dark. And that I’d never see you again. I actually thought I’d be able to explain myself and change your mind by morning.”

“The thoughts running through my head that night might surprise you.”

“Like?”

For no reason, you feel embarrassed to admit it. “I wanted you closer when you got back into bed, but I guess that could have been the tea taking hold.”

“I wanted you to feel safe. That’s all that mattered, but it was impossible.”

“Waking up the next morning was nice, until I remembered. Everything after that was adrenaline.”

Seungmin moves closer, “even the kiss?”

“We talked about the kiss.”

“We did," he whispers. “The way I saw that night in my mind was perfect. I was going to be different, finally…I don’t think I knew it then. I didn’t know how much I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up with you still there.” Even after all this time, saying every word that comes to him, no filter, feels like jumping. Fight or flight tries to kick in. Looking back and forth between the babies grounds him again. “I’m glad you kissed me, even if it was mostly to distract me.”

The nerves in his voice are more obvious than he thinks. “Mostly because I couldn’t resist your mouth.”

He laughs, and his entire body relaxes into his fluffed up pillows.

The sketchpad is back on your side table, and a quick peak into the cot lets you know Haesung is sound asleep. “I still can’t.” You wait for him to look at you, and eventually, he does.

Seungmin’s smile creeps slowly across his lips as he examines your face. He peeks into Haneul’s cot—sound asleep—and then back at you.

“She’ll try to pull us apart. I know she will.” That’s why you brought it up, but it didn’t occur to you until just this moment. “I’ve never been allowed to be happy or satisfied, not in peace. I thought I finally won by being seven thousand miles away.”

The smile fades quickly, and he struggles for a moment to find the right words. What is it you need to hear? Seungmin can tell you a million times how much he loves you… “nothing can pull us apart, just—“ He stops himself. The word still hanging on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t know why he thinks it. Death. “She can try if she wants to, but she’s going up against me.”

You’ve missed his cocky attitude. He’s become so good and soft, and sometimes you forget who still lives deep down inside. Seungmin can still drive his knife into someone’s neck if he feels like it, or slam their face into a wall. He’ll break his knuckles sending a message. “C’mere.”

“Hm?”

“Get over here,” you purr, and pull your shirt over your head.

Seungmin’s eyes drop to your chest, and his tongue pokes out as they jump back to your eyes. His crawl to you is slow, and he cages you in with his arms as he comes down for a kiss. The heat is already radiating from him when his shirt comes off, but he pulls back.

The lamplight from your side of the bed illuminates the deep cuts across his chest. They look fresh, ready to bleed again. “What’s this?” You latch onto his arm and hold him there. “Minnie?” He flinches when your thumb grazes the length of the biggest, deepest one, but relaxes almost immediately. “Did you just do this?”

“Yes…”

“Why?” The look on his face as you touch it makes you think he just needed to feel something under his skin, and he still needs that. Or maybe it’s more penance. You push again, glide your finger across it, and his stomach tightens as he quietly moans. Fresh blood trickles out when your nail digs in, and Seungmin grips the pillow beneath your head to steady himself. Another release. The satisfaction in his face sends a pulse up your thighs, and he can feel it—your legs are forced open, and he’s easing his fingers into you before your mouth can close around the newly opened wound. His gentle touch, the sharp taste of his blood…your head swims and you ache for more of him. Your teeth sink into skin, and the warm metallic taste fills your mouth as his fingers are replaced with the impatient push of his cock.

“More,” he whines. Blood continues to trickle, but it slows. The pressure from your tongue seems to hit the right spot, but not for long. “More…please.” He’s careful, and you know he’s using all of his restraint to fuck you slowly. Seungmin pushes into you and against your mouth for more.

You close your lips around him and suck at the hot, salty skin; bite until you taste more blood. Every moan makes you bite down a little harder, and as his pace picks up and you feel an orgasm rising, your teeth sink in and break new skin. The sound he makes is beyond any climax you’ve given him—pain and relief mixed with ecstasy. He struggles to hold himself steady, but you pull him down against you, kiss up his chest and neck, and make even more of a mess. “Minnie…are you okay?”

Seungmin kisses you deeply and cleans the blood from your lips. “No, you’re being too gentle on me.”

“Gentle?” You look down at the open cuts and bite marks on his chest. He smiles when you touch him again. “Too gentle?” And he laughs when you lock your legs around his hips.

“Let me feel how much you love me.”

He doesn’t have to ask again. You grab his shoulders and sink your teeth in, and this time you don’t think about the pain you cause him, the mess you’ll make…the mark that’ll be left behind. Seungmin groans as you break the skin again, and he licks his lips as you pull away with a piece of him between your teeth. You keep your eyes on him—you can’t look at what you did yet, but…

His soft cry hits your ears. Haesung, little brother, who sometimes feels like Haneul’s big brother. What time is it? That cry forces you out of whatever trance you’re in, no matter how deep it is. You wipe at your mouth in your half-sleep, and then your eyes open to the pitch black of the bedroom. The smell of blood is still in your nose, and you jump up when you remember… “Min?” You reach and set your hand on his stomach, warm and damp with sweat, and you don’t move until you feel him take a breath.

Haesung cries again, just for a moment. He’s coming out of the same deep sleep you are.

“Seungmin?” Your eyes start to wake up, and your vision clears. The marks on his chest are red and angry and fresh, but not much worse than they were before you got your hands on them.

Seungmin stirs when you run a finger across them again. He mumbles and closes his hand around yours, and sighs when you kiss his chest. “Hey, you alright?”

“Had a weird dream.” You wipe at your mouth and bring blood back on the heel of your palm. “You should probably work on pulling out until I get back on birth control.”

“Oh, you think you’ll get pregnant again?”

“It’s possible. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“Yet?” He sits up and kisses your cheek. “Tell me about your dream.”

“I bit some…flesh off of you, and I think I ate it.”

“Oh?”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, but the little grin on his face isn’t very surprising. “Yeah, while we were having sex.”

He notices you examining his chest, and looks down at it himself. “You ate a piece of me…” he whispers, and the grin doesn’t fade. “Would you consider this a dream…or a nightmare?” Seungmin wipes at your mouth and stares you down as he waits for an answer.

“Somewhere in between. Do you have a fetish you haven’t told me about?”

“No, but the thought of you doing it and enjoying yourself is a little hot. So…maybe, yes.” He looks around nervously, fidgets with the blanket. “It feels romantic.”

“Consuming your lover to have him be a part of you forever…romantic? Yes, but having you here with me is so much nicer.”

“Okay, I won’t ask you to...eat me. But thank you for confirming what I already knew.”

You slide your hand across his thigh and onto his growing cock. “What’s that?”

“Dangsineun isanghaeyo.”

***

Seungmin doesn’t resist when you clean and bandage the newly open cuts on his chest. He tossed and turned and scratched in his sleep, and the sheets were smeared with bright, fresh blood before you changed them. He looks up at you with tired eyes as you work—maybe something else. He looks sleepy and sad, like he’s still waiting on more forgiveness from you, but there’s nothing more to forgive right now. You bend down and kiss him, and he returns it with a smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

He shakes his head and sits up, “thank you.”

“They have to go outside today, I almost forgot. They have their first check-up in a few hours.”

“That’s right.” Seungmin crawls to the cot and scoops up a mostly awake Haneul. “We get to see how well you two are doing, and how much weight you’ve put on with us.” He holds him against his bandaged chest, and you can hear the soft noises coming from Haneul. “You feel a little heavier, buddy. Dongsaengeul hwaginhae bopssida.”

Haesung is asleep, and he’s still. The moment you lay your eyes on him, your body goes cold. “Haesung?” Something feels off about him.

Seungmin is up and on your side of the bed a moment later, Haneul still in his arms. Maybe you’re overreacting and he’s in a deeper sleep than usual, but he’s pale, and the only movement is the tiny flutter of his lashes. You grab his foot and rub the skin, and he gives a half-hearted kick, “something is wrong,” and a feeble cry. You take Haneul from him, but Seungmin is surprisingly calm as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Mwo-ga jalmotdwaesneoyo? What is it, puppy? Jo wassoyo.” He sets his palm on Haesung’s forehead, tilts his chin up, and his eyes flutter open.

You’re too scared to say anything.

Seungmin looks back at you and forces a smile, but his attention returns to Haesung. He rolls him onto his side and rubs his back, and you start to wonder if he prepared himself for something like this. Why didn’t you? You got comfortable and felt safe too quickly—how could you be so careless?

After another two seconds of slow, excruciating silence, Haesung sucks in a lungful of air and starts to cry. It feels like the delivery room all over again; the horrible silence, holding your breath for the smallest cry. This one grows louder and louder, and you’ve never heard anything so wonderful. Haneul squirms a little in your arms, and he decides to match his brother’s screams.

“I’m sorry.” Your throat tightens up, and the tears that roll down your cheek fall onto Haneul’s messy hair. You watch as another follows, and from the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin reach for you.

“Sorry, why?” He wipes at your cheek, but it doesn’t make stopping any easier.

“I panicked. You didn’t.”

He shakes his head and smiles again, much easier this time. “Last month my therapist told me…reminded me…I have gangbak jangae, very strong intrusive thoughts. I think we talked about this before.”

You nod at him and wipe at the tears burning your eyes. “We have.”

His mind jumps back to the static in Heecheol’s hotel room. “Not just the voices, or the noises. Or the urges. I haven’t told you how scared I’ve been of something happening once we got them home.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been so confident, and perfect.”

“I’ve been staying up all night…watching them, talking to them, learning everything I can.“

“Learning?”

“How to care for them. What to do if something happens. I’m sure you’ve realized I shut off your alarm once or twice to let you sleep. I fed and changed them. Because I was already awake.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m sore, and you’re so tired.”

Seungmin is careful picking up Haesung, but he seems fine now. His cheeks are pink, and his cries don’t quiet until he’s safe against Seungmin’s chest. “Sore?”

“I have to feed them, or pump every time I get up or they get a little painful…but—" his face falls, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was helping.”

The look in his eyes hurts. Seungmin hasn’t done much in the past few months except prepare, but he’ll beat himself up for this, you know that. “Five or six solid hours of sleep is a good exchange for some soreness. But promise me you’ll sleep.”

“Promise. I’ll sleep when we get back. We’re going to the hospital now so Haesung can get looked at.”

***

It looks like a smile, but it can’t be yet. It’s too early, but Seungmin is going to pretend that’s what he saw anyway. Haneul just yawns back at his dad’s excited laugh, and luckily, Haesung follows with a cry for attention. “I’m right here, pup.”

Haesung was sent home after a few hours with a clean bill of health, so you’re convinced you overreacted this morning, but still, both of you will be on high alert for the next few days—sleeping in shifts, mostly. One of you has to be awake with them 24/7, and you know Seungmin will insist on taking the brunt of it. He’s already doing it, sending you away for a nap when he told you he’d rest after their appointment.

“Minnie, you promised, just for a few hours…get into bed and close your eyes.” He’s still quietly singing when you walk up behind him and rub his back—for a minute there, I lost myself…I lost myself. Even as he sits hunched over on the living room floor, his hushed singing voice is pretty, but he’s still so shy about it. “Please, puppy.”

That grabs his attention, and he turns his head toward you. “Can we talk first?”

“Sure, what about?”

“About yesterday, when I was following that guy. Heecheol texted me, and I ended up losing track of him.” That doesn’t feel right. “Actually, I thought I heard him…his voice, I heard him calling out, but he wasn’t there. That distracted me.”

“That’s understandable. But he texted you, too?”

Seungmin is relieved he doesn’t have to explain the intricacies of his mind to you. “Yeah, he’s here in Seoul. I sent your mother to the same hotel he’s staying at. But I also visited him, and that’s where I was when you told me she was here.”

“Oh, how is he?”

“Uh, he kissed me.” His chest hurts from how erratic his breathing has become. He wasn’t expecting to just come out with it.

You keep quiet for a moment while you think. You admit this isn’t the biggest shock, but Seungmin’s uneasiness means there’s more to it.

“He asked me to visit, so I figured I’d stop before heading home, since it was on the way…”

“And you kissed him back?”

All he can manage is a nod while he nuzzles his face against Haesung. Tiny fingers clench around a lock of hair and tug, and Seungmin smiles despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Did you,” you stop and give yourself another moment. “H-how do you feel about it now?”

“Strange. I don’t know why I did it.”

He stares at you, waiting for something…anything. Are you angry? Maybe you should be, but you don’t feel anything boiling to the surface, or ripping at the seams right now. There’s a knot in your stomach bouncing around, giving you that weird homesick feeling you get when you think too much about the past, or the uncertain future.

His eyes move from Haesung to you. Seungmin usually has no problem with eye contact, but tonight that’s not the case. Every time the intensity gets to be too much for him, they find something else.

“What was going through your mind when it happened, before it happened?”

Most of it is just coming back to him. “I felt off when I got there, but I was already feeling that when I heard his voice in my head.”

“Off how?”

“Uhm, dizzy. Everything was loud, like how I feel when it gets really bad.”

You set a hand on him, move your fingers through his hair. “But you didn’t want to kill him, I assume.”

Seungmin still can’t wrap his head around how intense and uncomfortable everything was until the moment they made contact. “No. Everything calmed down when he kissed me.” Maybe he didn't have to mention that part. Seungmin looks at you when you don’t respond, and one Xanax later he finally goes to sleep.

*

A good first check-up has done wonders for some of your anxieties (now you have new ones), but you still find yourself glancing at both of them much more frequently as you get comfortable on the floor. It doesn’t last long. Your phone vibrates and you know who it is before checking.

So, are you two going to take me out for dinner?

She can’t be serious. Two preemies, barely settled at home, and she expects to be taken out to dinner. But you’re not surprised, because selfish comes naturally to your mother. Why didn’t your sister come along and entertain her? It may have been slightly more stressful, but it’s better than her being alone.

“We aren’t taking the babies out anywhere crowded yet, but I can order in and we can have dinner here in a few hours.”

hours?

“Seungmin just went to try and sleep. He’s been up all night.”

aren’t you supposed to be the one up all night?

Oh my god. "Don’t worry, mom, I was still up every 2.5 hours. I’ll send you a ride at 7. In the meantime, go outside and try some street food. It’s nice out today.”

You decide to ignore the next message, but nothing comes. They both stare up at you with sleepy eyes, and you watch as they get closer and closer to it. Now you sneak to the bedroom, quietly click the door open, and walk softly (and quickly) to the sketchpad in your drawer. Seungmin already seems to be out. He has to be, because there’s no hint of a scowl, no pinched eyebrows. But he definitely fell asleep anxious about his confession…as he should.

The second sketch you started last night feels better than the first, but not having him next to you for reference makes it difficult. You pull up your camera roll and open the album you made just for this—every angle of him you managed to capture in the last week; awake, sleeping, candid, and a few where he actually smiled sweetly for you. Looking at him like this makes him feel distant somehow, like you should be aching for him even though he in the next room. It almost makes you want to push away the bad creeping up inside of you and get into bed with him. Could that make things better? Would giving in and forgiving be easier?

After a solid two hours, your hand starts to cramp. Haesung starts to stir again, and this time he’s up fast and hungry. Seungmin will hear him, and you can’t have that yet. “Are you hungry, pup?” He doesn’t settle right away when you set him against your chest, but as soon as you get him into the right position, he knows he’s getting what he wants. “Maybe we can get you fed before your brother wakes up." But that’s unlikely, and you know it. Haneul will know his brother is up, so you might as well make a bottle now. Seungmin is awake, though, so your plans of working on the music box after they eat will have to wait. It will get fixed someday.

“Minnie?” The noise coming from the bedroom gets louder, and it’s odd. Haesung is back on his pillow while you check on him, and being put back down gets him crying again. “I’ll be ten seconds, sweetheart. I promise.” The look he gives you feels like understanding, but he only quiets for a moment. “Hana…” You keep your eyes on him as he looks around for you. “…dul…set…”

The doorknob clicks loudly despite your best efforts. “Net…daaasut…" The room is dark, as if it were already well passed sunset, but your eyes start to adjust and pick up the scene in front of you. “Yeo— Seungmin?”

The movement at the edge of the bed isn’t right. It feels off, and it’s not even because of the popping in your ears or the spots in your eyes. It’s the dark shape, much darker than the room around it; the shape of Seungmin still under the covers; both things existing in the same space. The shape isn’t him. Of course it isn’t him, you know that, because the thing at the edge of the bed is wrong. It doesn’t belong here. You can smell it. The feeling of dread you felt in the woods is here, in the house…in the bedroom, looming over him. The charm around your neck feels heavy as you sneak toward the light, but when your fingers touch it, the thing moves. “J-jeoli gayo.” Under your breath, because nothing else will come out.

Finally, the lamp is within reach, and when light fills the corner of the bedroom, it’s gone. There’s nothing except him—the steady breaths of Seungmin beneath the covers, and Daengmo peeking up from your side of the bed. You’re just tired. Even after your nap, you’re sleep deprived and anxious about the babies…

“Oh…boys.”

Both cry in unison right as you think it, and the shape is almost forgotten as you run back to them. The first thing you see is them tucked safely in their spots, both red in the face. The second thing you see is it…again. No, it’s them. Yours, white and soft with painfully blue eyes, and his, the inverted version—as black as the shape, but this isn’t what you saw a moment ago.

You kneel in front of the boys, set your hands on them, but your attention doesn’t leave the dogs. “What do you want?” It comes out like a whisper caught in your chest. As soon as one baby begins to settle, the white one stands on all fours and stretches like a cat before disappearing into the nursery. The other one doesn’t move yet. He’s staring you down with eyes like the ones you wake up to every morning, and as Haneul finally quiets, the dog looks to its left, then its right, and he bounces away. “It’s okay, boys, umma is here, and daddy will be up soon. Everything is okay.”

“Daddy is awake.”

When you look back, he’s mid-yawn and mid-stretch, and a tired smile is plastered across his face. “You barely slept.” And whatever was in there with him couldn’t have helped. He had to have felt something.

“I feel good, though. It was a good sleep.”

“Was it?” You have to tell him what you saw. “No bad dreams?”

He shakes his head and joins you on the floor. “No bad dreams, not that I remember.”

Maybe later would be better. It’s not the most ideal thing to be dwelling on over dinner, so for now you focus on remembering every detail for when the time does come. “Are you hungry?”

***

Even when he dresses up, it’s still casual—his closet is full of the most basic pieces, yet somehow, whatever he throws together looks like it was styled by a professional. He’s always effortlessly cool, and it’s not surprising how easily he seems to pick up the men and women he goes for. Tonight is no different, except that he looks…cute. When he walks out of the bedroom, he laughs at the look on your face.

The black denim shorts hit just above his knee, just tight enough around his slender thighs; socks pulled up tight; an overpriced white t-shirt under a short sleeve button-up. There’s a little embroidered bear on the chest pocket, and Seungmin runs his hand over it and makes sure you see. He has his black rim glasses on tonight to pull it all together.

You jump up and flatten the front of your outfit. “It’s just dinner, you didn’t have to go crazy.” The green linen dress you bought in December, the one that looked like the dress you lost along with the rest of your belongings, is just as casual. The most important part is that it still fits you the same way it did when you tried it on, so you’re back to your old self, physically. “That bear looks familiar.”

“I put the same one on the overalls they don’t fit into yet.”

“Oh, no bear for me?”

Seungmin doesn’t always catch your sarcasm. “There were only three, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, as long as you guys match.”

“What’s for dinner? And are we prepared for her?”

You tidied up and set the table, yes, but mentally preparing yourself is pointless. The amount of effort you put into yourself, the apartment, and the babies will not matter, but you try anyway. “I put rice on, and there’s plenty of banchan left. I was going to order bulgogi since she didn’t give us much time. That might be tame enough for her.”

“Order it now, and we can pretend we cooked everything. I’ll go pick her up, and I’ll take my time.”

Seungmin doesn’t have to take his time, because the traffic does all the work for him. The food will be delivered and ready to serve while he sits at this red light, he thinks. This is why he only drives when it’s truly necessary, and he guesses this is one of those times—whatever keeps your mother happy and off your back is worth the extra annoyance to him.

“You can tell her I’m here.” He's not keen on the idea of her having his phone number. And now is the perfect opportunity to close his eyes...

“Seungmin?”

It doesn’t get through to him the first time. He’s reclined in his seat, music playing softly.

“Mo!”

“Fuck, what? Oh…”

“Sorry buddy, didn’t realize you actually fell asleep. I don’t think you can park here long, though.” Heecheol leans in a little, hands gripping the car door. “I can show you where the parking lot is.”

He’s still not completely with it until he sits up and grabs the steering wheel. “No, no I’m not staying. I’m just picking Tokki’s mother up. She’s staying here, since we don’t have the extra room anymore.”

“Oh. Gotcha. I thought maybe I was getting a visitor. I wasn’t sure if you got my message yesterday.”

Blood rushes to his face, through his ears. Heecheol says something else, but he misses it completely. He wasn’t sure if he got the text? “Cheoli, I was here yesterday. In your room. Don’t you remember?” Another night of drinking too much, perhaps. Maybe Heecheol was drunk yesterday, but Seungmin would have tasted it on him. He looks at the brace on his wrist, and wonders if he’s on a particularly strong pain medication, or maybe he was just high from swiping pills from work. No, what the fuck am I thinking?

“Mo, I think I would remember you visiting me.”

So he doesn’t remember the kiss. Heecheol doesn’t remember him almost fainting on his room, pushing him away after they shoved their tongues down each other’s throats like they’ve been waiting years to do it. Meanwhile, Seungmin can’t get the feeling out of his mind. Now what. “I must have had a very strange, vivid dream them.” He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the pack of cigarettes stashed there, and he goes as far as striking a match before realizing what he’s doing. He shakes the flame away and throws the pack back where he got it. A cigarette is what he needs right now, and what he can’t have.

“Yeah, I guess so. And her mom is here?”

“She surprised us with a visit yesterday. And I see her coming right now.”

“Oh yeah, I can see the resemblance. I’ll leave you to it, and maybe I’ll see you soon. Cute shirt.”

Heecheol tugs at Seungmin’s collar before he walks off, and now he’s left alone while your mother approaches. Her scowl actually makes him nervous, but you told him she looks like that all the time…and he can’t remember what you called it. You said you do it, too, but Seungmin doesn’t think he’s seen a look like this on your face, not since the first time he told you to leave his apartment and never come back.

The door unlocks, and she jumps in without a word. He thinks that’s less remembering what he looks like, and more you telling her what kind of car to look for. Mom isn’t nearly as charmed by his looks as you are.

“Hello.” Seungmin adjusts his glasses and smiles as sweetly as he can. She may not find him irresistible, but he’ll be damned if she doesn’t think he’s cute. “I hope the hotel was comfortable.”

“It was alright. Better than the one by the airport. Who was the boy at your car a moment ago?” She looks around, expecting to find some clue as to why he was leaning in through the window.

“Oh, he’s a good friend of mine. He is also staying at this hotel while he’s in Seoul.”

“Is he coming to dinner?”

You might not appreciate a surprise guest. You definitely won’t appreciate a surprise guest if it’s Heecheol. Seungmin stifles a laugh as he thinks about it; your unbearable mother, and the guy he stupidly kissed behind your back. “No, not tonight. Just the three of us. Five of us.”

“It smells good in here.” He kicks off his shoes and waits for her to follow, which she eventually catches onto and does. “Do you want some tea, or coffee? Maybe something cold.” He decides to remain helpful, overly sweet, and charming no matter what she throws at him, if she does start throwing.

“Coffee is good.”

The three of you are not here to greet them, surprisingly. Even after pouring a mug and fixing it how your mother requests, you don’t emerge from the bedroom, and you don’t make a sound. He excuses himself. “She might be in the middle of feeding them. I’ll check.”

You are—cross legged in bed with one single lamp illuminating the dark room. Haesung is in your arms, and a mostly empty bottle sits next to Haneul.

“Hey, need some help?”

You shake your head. If your hair wasn’t pulled back, the ends would tickle Haesung’s pink cheeks. Seungmin can make out his shiny eyes staring up at you as he eats, and it’s a relief to see him so content after this morning. He can’t see you, though. You’re hunched over, head down and face hidden.

“Everything okay?” He barely hears your mhm as he approaches. Seungmin is stupidly mesmerized by your exposed skin—the curve of your shoulder and neck…your chest. When you finally look to him, he sees your wet cheeks, and your red eyes. “Oh, what’s wrong? Are you…are you alright?”

All you give him is a shaky nod, and his stomach turns when he kneels to grab your free hand. He can see how puffy your face is, and that you’ve been crying for a while. There’s a wet spot on Haesung’s blanket where you let your tears fall. “Did your mom say something?”

“No, it’s not her.”

It hits him, and for a moment, he wonders why you didn’t feel this way a few hours ago. Why didn’t you give him the response he deserved? You seemed almost dismissive of it, but the feeling has had time to sit—in your head, in your stomach, your heart. “Oh. I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” Your silence, a single sniffle and a wipe of your cheek confirms it. “I really fucked up.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If we hadn’t met, and you found him, would he be as special to you?” Haesung unlatches when he senses his father, and he does his best to turn toward him. You adjust and cover yourself, and Seungmin notices how quickly you hide from him. “Like us?”

“Heecheol doesn’t know me the way you do. He likes what he sees on the surface, and the memories we have.” Lying to you isn’t going to help, so he just says exactly what comes to him. “I guess it’s possible. If we didn’t meet, I don’t know where I would be right now…but if you had left, I think I would have killed myself.”

You believe him, but being a reason for him to keep going while his mind wages war against him is a strange feeling. One of the reasons. He has two more, and one is comfortable in his arms right now. “Seungmin, please don’t fall in love with someone else.”

***

Your mother stares, tries to figure you out. She thinks she can, but you’re not the person you were before you left home a year ago. You’re not even the person you were the day after that night in December. Nothing has changed you quite like your babies have, but Seungmin comes very close.

Haesung is in her arms, calm for the moment, but his eventual fussing finally moves her attention away from you. “When you were a baby, you screamed constantly until you were three or four months old.” She brings him closer and runs a thumb across his brow. “Colic.”

“So did—“ you stop yourself. You refuse to help her start an argument. As far as your mother is concerned, you were the difficult child. “They’ve both been okay so far. They sleep well.”

Seungmin interjects. He senses your uncomfortable shift all the way in the kitchen. “Haemuljeon?”

“Yes, please.” It’s the first you’ve eaten since this morning, and shoving several pieces in your mouth is temping, but you wait.

“What is it?” She pokes at one with her fork before scooping it up and inspecting. “Oh, shrimp?”

“Seafood pancake, shrimp and green onions. I left the squid out.”

To your surprise, three little pancakes quickly disappear, and Seungmin is obviously pleased with himself. He spent a whole twenty minutes throwing them together.

The fourth one is held up and examined again, “These are very good.”

“Thank you.”

“You made these?”

He nods and puts on his cutest smile again. “I did. They don’t take much time.” But it falls when he sees the look she gives you—a mix of annoyance and impatience, he thinks. Seungmin still remembers that look very well, and he knows how it feels to be on the receiving end. “Uhm…”

“Your husband cooks for you?”

This may be the most uncomfortable silence the apartment has ever experienced, and that includes the murder. Both of them. Sometimes Seungmin forgets about the first one you witnessed—it feels like so long ago now. He knew you were the one after that night.

He remains silent a few moments longer. Your mother needs to hear you stand up for yourself.

“We don’t think much about who does what. And he was raised well…he knows how to take care of himself, and us. And I know how to care for them. So, yes.”

The look on her face is satisfying, but visions of her bloodshot eyes and blue lips take over his mind and he can’t push them away. Her throat crumpling under his grip. Begging for mercy, gasping for air, pleading forgiveness for how she treated you. No, he has to push it away. Seungmin can’t kill your mother—can he? No, not a very smart idea. For now, it lives in his head. “Tokki made everything else.”

Not a complete lie. You made the rice, and you made three different banchan…just not today.

“Tokki?”

He turns away to laugh at her harsh pronunciation, grabs the rice and sides, and nods as he sets everything down. “Tokki…” he repeats, soft and slow. “It means rabbit.”

“Cute.” She doesn’t seem amused, though. “Rabbit.”

Seungmin wants to take the baby from her, but doing it gracefully, and like he isn’t irritated by everything about her right now, is difficult. Luckily, Haesung starts to get upset and pulls away, as if he can sense his father’s need for him. It works perfectly. Your mother hands him off without a second thought, and Seungmin gets the cuddle that he wants.

“Does…Tokki…know your friend from the hotel?”

“Huh? Oh…yes.”

Heecheol? You can’t lift your eyes to look at him, but you can feel his on you. He was visiting Heecheol again. Seungmin left for thirty minutes and found time to visit him, and in front of your mother, no less.

You stand and keep your cheek pressed against Haneul as you head for the bedroom, and nobody says a word as you do.

“Sore spot?” She took a chance mentioning Heecheol. It could have gone either way, and it paid off in her favor. You were right. Even though the meeting was brief and accidental, you don’t know that, and Seungmin has to hope that you’ll trust and believe him when he goes in there to talk to you again. But he doesn’t go right away. “No, no we’re all friends.”

No more comments, she just gives him a nod.

“But maybe,” he holds Haesung up and looks him over, “you’re due for a change. We should check before we have dinner.” It’s a valid reason to disappear for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

***

The room is still dark, but the curtain is pulled back enough to let the light from the setting sun spill across the floor. He’s nervous. In all of your time together, the only tense moment between the two of you was the morning you cut his hair, the nightmare you had about him…the day he found out about the pregnancy test. That was a silly thing to fight over, if you could even call it that. Seungmin knows this is different. He understands you’re feeling left out right now—betrayed, maybe. It seems like a strong word, but if you knew how deeply he kissed him, you’d be even angrier.

Haneul is cuddled up next to you. There’s enough light to see his tiny hands reach toward your face and successfully grab at strands of your hair. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your bedroom.”

He doesn’t correct you. It hasn’t been his bedroom in a long time, and he doesn’t want to be pushed back to a time when it was his…alone. “I know you don’t want to be out there with her, and maybe not with me either. I can entertain her if you’d rather have your dinner in here.”

“No. I’m not going to make you sit out there with her by yourself. That’s not fair.”

He’s relieved when you sit and look at him, and even more relieved to see your face dry. No tears this time. “He saw me sitting in the car waiting. I didn’t go looking for him. We talked for two minutes.” No, maybe this time it’s anger.

“She’s probably listening to us right now. I’m just making this easier for her.”

“Then she can hear me tell you how much I love you, and nothing she can do or say is going to change that.”

His phone buzzing in his pocket is deafening—one text, and then another. And a third. Heecheol has impeccable timing.

“What did he say?”

Seungmin pulls out his phone and reads. “Hope your dinner is going well. In-laws can be pretty scary…I’ve heard, at least. No personal experience. I hope her umma is as kind as yours was.”

You scoff.

“I was trying to remember everything I did yesterday, and I definitely didn’t see you. I hope your head is in a good place. Are you keeping up with your meds?” And the last one; “sorry, I’m already a few drinks in, and I hate drinking alone. I hope I can see you all sometime soon. Especially the twins.”

“He doesn’t remember yesterday?”

“No. I mentioned it when I saw him, and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Heecheol not remembering means nothing to you. “But you remember. It happened, right?”

Did it? Would it be unusual if the memory was entirely false? It’s not a thought he’s going humor. The last thing he should be doing right now is trivializing what ultimately comes down to cheating. However small it seems in the grand scheme of things, it’s as big as anything in your mind. “Yes. Even if I dreamed it, what I feel is very real, and I feel awful. I’ll do anything I can to fix things.”

You decide to leave it at that, mostly because you have no idea what to say. Forgiving and forgetting the whole thing would be easy, because you do believe his remorse is real, but you still think some part of him enjoyed the kiss. If he falls into that trap again, how could you forgive him? It might make him the charming, heartless killer you assumed he was before he convinced you otherwise. “Let’s try to get through dinner.”

***

It could have been worse. Your mother ate with almost no complaints, though she made sure to question whether you actually made dinner.

“You were always clumsy in the kitchen.”

You never let me cook with you, you thought. Seungmin lets me cook with him. He speaks to me like his mother probably spoke to him—patiently, sweetly. Defeat was working its way in all day, and you’re not surprised that it won. You took everything quietly. No disagreement, no back-talk, no arguing.

"You quit your job? One income household must be nice. I assume you have a job?" Seungmin wasn’t prepared for it. He was not prepared for her to question you as a house wife, but also question not supplying an income in the same breath...he’s settling uncomfortably into the realization of what you had to fight back against growing up. Nothing you did was good enough. Everything you did was (and still is) wrong. Watching you hunched over at the table made him think of his mother, who did her best raising him, and as far as he’s concerned, did a great job despite the obstacles she faced. Maybe she too sat at the kitchen table just like this after Seungmin went to bed; scared, heartbroken, helpless. Putting that smile on for you the next morning was only possible after a long night of sorrow.

You don’t even have him to turn to for comfort right now, or you don’t want him. All you have right now are the boys, and you’re watching the clock tick down to feeding time.

“You could always move back home, bring your husband and kids…”

“What?” Seungmin sits up and looks to you, but you’re still staring at your half empty plate of food, completely checked out, and he doesn’t blame you. “Uhm, I don’t think so. But…my mother grew up in the US, well, she lived there for six years when she was a kid.”

That grabs her attention more than anything else has. “She did? Why didn’t she stay?”

“She missed home. But it was a good time in her life, I know that. She spoke English well enough to teach me when I was little.” He hates these moments where they seem to be getting on like good friends, but he’s just trying to get you through the night. “Which was very lucky when I met you.” Finally, you look up at him, but he can sense your mother look somewhere else. She turns away, takes a drink—anything to get through the moments where Seungmin lays out his affection. Your mother doesn’t even want him loving you.

You say nothing in return, and at last, the alarm goes off.

He hopes when he returns, you’ll be better. If not, he needs to fix what he did. Seungmin has never had to do this, so he’s in the dark, and who can he turn to for advice? It can’t be Heecheol, not this time. He needs his mother…he needs— “Oh.”

It’s late, and his aunts will certainly be sleeping, but he pulls up her info and calls anyway. When he left five years ago, he told himself he wouldn’t burden his family anymore, but he’s been sending cards and checks to his aunts for four of those years. Phone calls are rare, and visits even moreso, mostly because he's still afraid his mask will come off without realizing, and they'll see the monster he turned into.

It rings a few times, and just when he expects the answering machine to chime in, he hears the sound of a landline receiver click.

“Yeoboseyo?” She sounds sleepy, and a little stern. Probably wondering who the hell would call her after 10pm.

“Gomo annyeonghaseyo!”

“Eh? Puppy?”

“Yes it’s me, I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I hope you weren’t asleep.”

Her laugh takes Seungmin back ten years. “No, I’m still a night owl unless I take something. Is everything alright? Haven’t heard from you in some time.”

“Everything is alright. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

“Don’t apologize! You have your own life to live, and we have your cards to let us know you’re still out there. But…you sound like you need something. That's a nice change.”

It’s no surprise that Eun-ji can hear something in his voice, both of his aunts could read him like a book unless he worked hard to hide it. “Just some advice.”

“My favorite thing to give! Ask away.”

“How many times can I apologize before she gets tired of hearing it? Does it even help?”

“Oh no, a fight?”

“I’m not sure I would call it that, but…”

“And a girlfriend. You’ve never mentioned having a girlfriend in any of your letters. Is this new?”

Are you still new? Maybe this would still feel new to most people. “Uhm…eight months.” Maybe Eun-ji will give him more insight. Despite never marrying, both of his aunts have had plenty of experience with relationships, and they never shied away from talking to him about it. They didn’t shelter him—Seungmin sheltered himself, until he didn’t. “Sort of, but it doesn’t feel new.”

“Do you know what made her so upset, was it something you said, or did?”

“It was something I did, but there may be some other things out of my control adding to it.”

“You don’t have to explain what you may have done, but give her some space, at least for tonight. Oh, do you two live together?”

“We do. And we got married last month.”

“Married! Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Married? Who?”

Seungmin hears another voice in the background getting closer.

“Who are you talking to at this hour?”

“It’s Minnie, Woo…say hi.”

“Seungmin, you got married and didn’t tell us?"

He’s feeling awful all over again. The distance he put between him and his remaining family was for their own safety, of course, and what little sanity he could hold onto. Mentioning you and the babies didn’t cross his mind, because you and the babies fill his mind completely. “I did, I’m sorry I didn’t call, or write.”

"We have missed your letters. You’re such a lovely and thoughtful writer."

“I will write, and I’ll visit.”

Eun-ji returns to the phone, “give her space, but stay close. Make sure she knows you’re there for her if she needs you, but no hovering.”

“Thank you, both of you. I should get back to the apartment.”

“Jal jayo, puppy.”

***

Just as he suspects, the apartment is silent. The table is cleared, the dishes are clean, and the only light is the one he put near the still flourishing moonflowers. A sick, empty feeling starts to rise in him—you didn’t wait up. Was he gone too long? The drive to the hotel was quick, and he didn’t linger; the drive back was even faster, and the conversation in the car only lasted…he checks his phone…six minutes.

The bedroom is dark and silent, too, but he can make out the lines of your body curled up beneath the thin blanket. Both cots are next to each other, pulled close. You fed them, cleaned up, and went right to bed.

Instead of stripping and climbing in with you like he so desperately wants, he grabs an extra blanket and decides the couch might be better tonight. But first he kisses each boy on the forehead. It’s necessary, but it’s also a chance to peek at your sleeping face. “Jal ja.”

***

The bedroom door is cracked, and he plans on listening for any hint of a cry all night. He’ll take his aunts advice and Seungmin will give you space, but if you both happen to each have a baby to sooth in the same room, well…he’s going to take that opportunity.

Puppy?

Seungmin leans back and takes a long drink of the beer he knows he shouldn’t be drinking. He’s stressed, and he’s tired. Of course he’s hearing things.

What’s bothering you, sweetheart?

The voice is there, but his meds make him question whether it’s there and real, or there and not real. She wasn’t there when he called for her before…so why now?

You’re hurting, I can feel it. I can’t stand to see you so sad.

“I’m going to be sad for a while, I’m sorry.”

Everything will be okay soon

“How do you know that? You can’t. I don’t know that.”

Silence.

"Why are you back now? Where were you before?" He tries to whisper. “That’s it…you’re gone? Umma?” But it comes out in choked stutter, and louder than he expects. Seungmin doesn’t want you to hear him talking to himself. “Umma?”

She’s gone.

The couch is cold and uncomfortable, but his pillow and blanket still smell like you. Daengmo does, too, because he almost always ends up clutched to your chest in the morning. It makes him wonder if there’s a small comfort of yours that was left behind—something soft that you clung to every night when you needed to forget the day. He feels a pang of guilt knowing you might wake up at some point and reach for him. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because he made himself tea and his brain is already starting to get fuzzy, and too tired to care about how much he doesn’t want to sleep here. The last thought that runs through him is a small hope for good dreams. Seungmin wants to dream, and he wants to dream about you.

*

he’s running. he hasn’t run like this since he was a kid running the bases. no…not since the incident with the bartender. the burn in his chest is unbearable and if he doesn’t stop to catch his breath, he’s going to collapse from the pain. a tiny bark in the distance is the only sound, and it’s not like he imagines his big black dog sounding. this is different. is this what daengmo sounds like? daengmo doesn’t bark, he thinks, daengmo is a telepath. and he can see his breath. why? it’s july…

“seungmo…”

he knows who that is. heecheol says it again in a teasy, sing-songy voice.

“mo, look at me…turn around”

“where are we, cheoli?”

“you don’t recognize this place?”

he doesn’t, and as he turns, what looks back at him is nothing…nobody. hecheol is not where his voice is.

“where did you go?”

“this is where we felt it for the first time" heecheol is laughing as he says it, as if he’s proud.

“yeah, I think I remember” how many memories of his are still shoved where he can't reach them? “where is that barking coming from?”

heecheol shrugs, “barking? you must be hearings things.

His eyes pop open to the dark living room. He hates it. Waking in the pitch dark alone can send him spiraling if he lets it, but this time he takes his deep breaths until his heartbeat begins to slow. Daengmo is clutched tight in the bend of his elbow, crushed under the weight of whatever he was dreaming about. Some of it sticks in his mind. “What a stupid fucking dream,” he sighs and fluffs his dog back to life. “Do you bark?”

It takes no time at all for him to drift back to sleep.

this time he’s home. not in uljin, but right here, in this apartment. it looks different, like maybe you finally redecorated (because you hate the couch, and the chopped up rug—you don’t like the minimalist style he went for and never changed)

“tokki?”

no answer. you have to be here, though. he heads for the bedroom, and it feels like he’ll never get to the door. every few steps, he resets, and he’s right back where he started.

“tokki!”

finally, he twists the doorknob. the bedroom is empty. the bed is neatly made, but a few of your drawers are partially open. no cots, no mess of nighttime feeding things on your bedside table. the only thing he sees is his silver medallion where your phone usually sits. he pulls open the drawer and finds it empty. the chest where you put all of your winter things is empty, too.

“what’s happening? where are you?” he says it to himself in a shaky voice. you wouldn’t leave and take his children without a word. would you?

This time, he can’t slow down his racing heart. Seungmin can barely catch his breath when he sits up, and as he does, Daengmo slips to the floor with a soft thud. A moment later he’s up on his trembling legs, headed for the bedroom. It was just a dream, you’ll be sound asleep when he opens the door, all three of you. You’re awake, and the sound of you humming to them makes it to his ears. Feeding them, talking to them, humming the same tune his music box used to play. The courage to open the door and go in is not in him, despite how relieved he feels after the dream. You didn’t pack up and leave him in the night—his brain did that, but Seungmin is just as afraid of losing you now as he was in December.

“Are you at least trying to keep the nightmares away?” Daengmo stares quietly until his soft neck gives out and his head falls to one side. “Can you try harder, please?” Seungmin’s eyes close, but open again immediately. “I didn’t mean that, I know you’re doing your best.”

The third attempt is dark and cold and wet.

he hasn’t dreamt about the shed in months, but he knew it would return eventually. the soil beneath his fingers is as real as it has ever been, and maybe it’s because he’s been away for so long—seungmin has been too comfortable and safe with you. the other hand clenches around something soft and damp. daengmo is clutched in his left hand, limp and dirty, two sad black eyes staring right at him.

"why are you here…you’re not supposed to be here"

the shk sound of the shovel hitting dirt makes his stomach turn. he’s next. as long as he’s finished off before being put in that hole.

"no…no, I don’t wanna die anymore” tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks “please don’t kill me”

he can’t move. the squeeze of his fingers and eyes, that’s it. he’s stuck, and every bit of energy he has left turns his head toward the sound

"tokki? help me, I can’t move." it’s only in his head. the only sound that leaves his mouth is a sigh

No, not again, he thinks, because he can’t move. There’s the smallest sensation of his finger twitching against the couch, but that might be his imagination. It definitely is. He thinks about moving his arm, but his brain can’t find where to send the signal, so he relaxes. Seungmin almost lets his eyes close, but the floor creaks. It’s not real. The sleep paralysis sounds are never real, and he knows that. It’s taken him years to train his mind to remember that.

what’s wrong…puppy?

Is that you? It sounds like you. No, it’s not real. But it’s never addressed him before.

I watched you yesterday. she saw me. she didn’t tell you, did she?

What did you see? Seungmin’s eyes are wide open and he sees nothing. Where is it? He can hear it, and now he can smell it—the smell of damp, rotten earth and a freshly lit cigarette burns his nose and throat. It’s not real.

I am very real

Something cold touches his bare shoulder and slowly moves toward his neck.

she hates you, do you feel it coming from her? how silly to think someone could ever love you

It’s right. Seungmin can feel it right now. The love you felt for him is slowly leaving you. Or maybe it was never truly there, because how could it be?

how silly to think you could love someone unconditionally, and that they could love you in return

Even if she hates me, I still love her. Seungmin thinks about you in there with his children, holding them close and singing, and he feels like he could cry. Unconditionally. He does. A tear slides across the bridge of his nose, and through blurry eyes, its bone white face comes into view.

The force of his body and mind waking simultaneously almost sends him to the floor, along with everything else. The blanket, Daengmo, his phone. The sun is starting to glow faintly in the window, and he hoped by morning he would feel better, but that’s not the case. Seungmin feels worse; empty, hopeless, stupid, broken, unlovable. He remembers everything It told him.

He stumbles into the bathroom and wonders if he should take his aunts advice and continue to give you space, because all he feels he can do is kneel in front of and beg for forgiveness again.

The reflection looking back at him, is that really what you love? Why? Seungmin runs his fingers through his hair and pulls. All the worst parts of him are showing, he can’t hide them and he never could, and you’re finally coming to your senses.

He drops to his knees and swings the cabinet door open, rifles through boxes of hair dye, extra toiletries and forgotten things thrown under here and out of the way. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for in the little black bag, and when he rips it out and plugs it in, he isn’t even sure it’s going to work. But it does, and the buzz of the clippers is louder than he expected. One more look at himself, and then he pulls at his bangs again, up and out of his face, and the clippers have little trouble going through. Again and again, over and over…erratically at first, but as he calms, the strokes become slow and careful. And he doesn’t know it, but the buzz wakes you from your deep sleep.

Seungmin doesn’t hear as you carefully make your way toward the sound, and if he would have closed the door, you might not have heard him at all.

The door creaks as you push it open, but he still hears nothing.

“Seungmin, what are you doing?”

He jumps and drops the clippers into the sink, sending the guard flying onto the floor, and finally quieting them.

“Seungmin…”

Why are you looking at him like that? Confused, disgusted, mad that he woke you… “I’m sorry.” The feeling rushing through him is familiar. It’s the itch, the one that makes him want to claw at his skin until there’s nothing left. The itch that It put into his brain, and in every nerve in his body. Seungmin looks at himself in the mirror, only for a moment, before bracing himself on the sink and sending his face straight into it.

The sound is unbelievable, and the crunch of glass is even worse the second time. All you see is red. It pours from the center of his forehead and onto every part of his pale face…it drips as he stumbles backward, and when he leans forward to keep from falling, you unstick yourself from your spot and put your arms around his neck. “Seungmin, look at me.” You reach for the hand towel and drape it over your shoulder, and he naturally falls into your embrace. Three small shards of glass stick to his wound, and he stares, bewildered as they’re carefully pulled away. “Why?”

He lets out of body shaking sob when your hands slide over his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sush him, run your fingers up his neck and into his much shorter hair. He feels as cold as the bathroom floor, and sitting here in nothing but shorts is not helping. “Why did you do that?”

Seungmin only groans and pushes his forehead against your shoulder. “I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." It's a lie, but whatever gives him a small amount of comfort right now. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay?"

There is no energy in him to tell you no. The throb in his head might be the worst physical pain he’s ever been in, but it’s somewhat soothed by the sight of you. Seungmin presses the towel against his wound and one sleepy eye watches as you kneel and turn the water on. Nothing would be better than crawling closer to touch the bare skin of your thighs, or the shoulder peeking out from the bed shirt you’ve worn down to almost nothing—the same shirt he gave you the night you came back with him. He won’t, though. Seungmin will keep his hands to himself until you invite him back in.

"Come over here."

His steps are still shaky and cautious, but your hand reaching back gives him more courage. You touch his leg, and goosebumps move all the way up to his neck…then your hands are on his hips, pulling gently at the waistband, sliding them down his thighs. Such a stupid moment to feel a jolt of pleasure in his dick. Not now. A drop of blood escapes and lands on your arm, and then another until you stand to face him.

“In.”

He listens and carefully steps into the water, and he’s relieved when you hold him steady on the way down. It’s not a good time to trust his coordination, considering the lightheadedness he’s keeping from you. But there’s an awful lot of blood on the sink, the floor, him…and now it’s in the water, bursting and spreading like rainclouds. He watches, transfixed, and he moves the towel in an attempt to make more. There’s a warm gush between his eyes, and then you’re back, pressing a clean white towel against it.

“Tilt your head back a little.”

“Are the boys okay?”

“They’re good…they’re asleep. I’m gonna clean this up and try to get a better look. It might sting.” The brand new first-aid kit came in handy. Ever since the garden shear incident, you decided to prepare in case something similar happened again. This wound doesn’t seem as deep, but there has to be pieces of glass still stuck in the two criss-cross gashes—one is at least two inches long, and the other isn’t much smaller. They’re jagged, very unlike the cut on his arm, and you know it needs stitched by a steady hand. “Close your eyes.”

The sting of the antiseptic brings a new pain. He lets himself cry out in release as the warmth of blood mixes with it, and a soft piece of gauze soaks it up. He thinks back to the shed, and the pounding, bleeding wound he woke up with on the back of his head. There must be a scar there, but he never looked for it. He might be able to see one now.

“I don’t see anymore glass. Nothing big enough to see, at least.”

“Feels like…” yours eyes meet, and he stops. He has no business complaining about the pain he caused himself. There may not be anymore glass, but it feels like there is. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Seungmin’s eyes close as you pour warm water over him, filling the tub with more blood, more clumps of his buzzed hair. “I’ll even this out in the morning.”

He wants to tell you cleaning up and taking care of his stupid, reckless behavior is not why you’re here, regardless of how you meant it. But he can’t get any words to come out. You could have left him feeling embarrassed and in pain on the floor…it would have been so easy just to go back to bed. But you’re here, another clean washcloth in hand, wiping away the blood on his lips and chin and down his neck. “Thank you,” he repeats, because he doesn’t think you want to hear another I’m sorry. “I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, and he knows you hear him, but you don’t say anything in return. He’s not very easy to love right now. “The first time we went to Uljin, I said...” Why is he even remembering this? “You asked about who took me in after umma died, and if they were good to me.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I was gonna say…I wasn’t easy to love. I don’t think I was a bad kid, I was just,“ Now you aren’t even looking at him, “I was sad all the time, always in a bad mood. I cried a lot, didn’t talk or leave my room for days at a time.”

“That didn’t make you hard to love, you were just hiding from it.”

He knows his aunts would agree, and he knows you’re probably right, but that’s not the case tonight. “I don’t wanna be hard for you to love.”

***

Morning comes while you finish cleaning and bandaging him, which you’re getting very good at, and he almost heads for the couch. Seungmin seems surprised when you stop him and take his hand in yours. He’s relieved, because all he can see by the couch is that white face staring down at him, the promise of more nightmares. None of that will mix well with the pain in his head.

“Go, I’ll get your things.”

The bedroom feels safe despite what his nightmare told him—I watched you sleep, and the sounds of the babies waking up distract him from everything going through his mind. It doesn’t matter right now. If the monster is here and watching him, there’s nothing he can do the fight back against it…is there? He never could before. Finding someone to kill…”it’s only been,” he picks up Haesung and holds him tight against his chest… “too long I guess. Not enough.” Killing has always been his only defense, and he hasn’t done it in weeks.

“Not enough what?” You return with Daengmo and a handful of painkillers.

The last attempt was a failure, at least so far, but the noises have yet to return. “Nothing, just…thinking. Maybe I’m overdue.”

“Overdue to…kill?”

Seungmin nods and switches babies. And as preoccupied as he is with them, he notices an unusual hesitancy in your reply. “No noise or voices, but it still feels close.”

“What feels close?”

“It does, the voice. Voices. But, something else, too.”

“Oh, right.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m, uh…“ anything but sorry, stop saying that word. “I’m just tired.”

You crawl across the bed and adjust his pillows, add an extra one so his head stays elevated, but he doesn’t get in right away. Seungmin watches you return to your own spot first. “We should.”

“Talk?”

He’s relieved when you nod, and now it’s easier sliding in next to you, but his spot feels cold in more ways than one. You want to talk, though, and that’s good.

“Something is close.”

This isn’t how he expected things to start, but he’ll take it. The quiet of your voice sends a shiver over him, but it’s replaced by a more pleasant one when you run your palm over the mess he made of his hair. He felt like he was doing an okay job, but he quickly realized the state he was in did not allow for a steady hand. “What do you mean?” The monster’s words come back to him again. She saw me, she didn’t tell you.

“Yesterday, I thought I saw something at the foot of the bed while you were asleep. I heard something, thought you were awake, and I came in to check on you. But I think I was just seeing things because it was gone when I turned on the light.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“A shadow, a black figure…like a person covered in a cloak, I guess. Tall, hunched over. It felt weird.”

“Did you smell it.”

“Yeah.”

Seungmin can only assume it was the rot of the forest, and the decaying stench of the thing that haunts him. He doesn’t need to ask. That same sickening scent from his dream is still stuck in his nose.

“Did we bring it home with us, Min?”

***

Seungmin?

You already know you’re dreaming, but this is the most lucid you’ve been since you were pregnant.

Seungmin, you’re holding too tight

The grip on your waist is pushing the air from your lungs. A pinch doesn’t faze him, and neither does a squeeze of his forearm. You can feel the taut muscle move beneath his skin as he holds even tighter.

Minnie please

But you’re stuck in some half paralysis. Just like a dream, you’re moving through air twice as thick as it should be, and you feel like you’re drowning.

Seung—

Your eyes open, and the room is unbearably bright. The only thing squeezed around you is the sheet you tangled yourself into, but you are a little breathless from your dream. “Min? Are you…” He’s not here. It’s late, though, and you start to panic at the thought of sleeping through an alarm. But even if you did, sleeping through two crying babies would not be possible.

Both cots are back on your side, so Seungmin took the time to move them both close to you. And both are sleeping peacefully.

The kitchen and dining room are empty. The bathroom is empty, but you know he was in here, fixing his hair most likely, changing his bandage—the first-aid kit is still sitting on the sink.

“Where did you go, Seungmin?” A few more steps back toward the kitchen bring you some sort of answer—the folded note on the coffee bar would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t hoping to find something. Scribbled on the front is a cute attempt at a bunny, and on the inside is a single, messy line of Hangul..

이것도 고칠게요

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere / @fackeraccount / @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna / @maddycline / @smilefordongil / @lolniall / @caughtinthemoment163

[echo-exco]

With Damians recent developments towards wanting to maybe be a doctor, I think it could be interesting to see that dynamic with reader.

Where his hands are stained with blood, yours have only helped others. Maybe youre both volunteering at the same hospital, and the patients there flock to you like a flicker of hope in the darkness. The patients of Gotham are much more wary than anywhere else, so gaining their trust feels nigh impossible. Somehow, you've done it. Like second nature, like you haven't even noticed.

Something akin to envy might first spark in him, as a natural response, before relenting his pride and trying to learn what makes her "better" at this than him. Of course he wouldnt know she was a meta, but still.

Also you can totally ignore this your wonderful fic just had my mind spiralling lol

I LOVE THAT!! THAT’S A REALLY GOOD IDEA!!

But unfortunately, I don’t think we have something like that with Damian here yet… 😔 (or maybe we do, if my inner author feels motivated enough).

(Small warning for a long reply)

Damian and healer!reader’s relationship is already quite complicated on its own (with some one-sided, inexplicable hatred).

It’s not really a surprise though, considering healer!reader tends to be pretty “neutral” with almost all the Batfam members.

To be honest, I don’t think healer!reader could actually treat people in Gotham.

She does have pretty good and experienced medical knowledge, but she depends completely on her healing powers, which not only allow her to heal someone instantly but also make her feel “alive.”

Without her powers, even though she can try to help in conventional ways, healer!reader always feels like she might fail, that something could go wrong, and that fills her with anxiety.

Healer!reader is completely dependent on her power and validates herself through it, and since she’s currently unable to use it in Gotham… well…

Besides that, healer!reader would need Bruce’s permission—or a doctor’s—just to even think about using her experienced, non-basic medical knowledge.

A better example is when I mentioned Tim in the post: like I said there, healer!reader only did small things to help him deal with his discomfort.

She doesn’t consider that she used anything that required “master-level” knowledge… she just took care of Tim the way a (family) doctor should.

BUT if somehow she were to get permission and trust to use her healing powers on the patients in a Gotham hospital…

They wouldn’t even have the chance to decide whether they could trust her or not, because healer!reader’s abilities are extremely fast for a normal being.

In an earlier reply, I explained how I imagine healer!reader’s powers work: think of it as her using threads to “fix” her patients like they were broken dolls.

That said, the pain that comes after the instant healing is horrible (though it heavily depends on how bad the patient’s condition was before healer!reader treated them).

Earning the trust of the wounded in Gotham wouldn’t even be something healer!reader consciously seeks—it would just happen.

Maybe it’s because of the calmness she radiates, or because, unlike most people, she never shows disgust, fear, or resignation when facing an injury.

However, seeing such an indifferent expression on a child’s face in such a gruesome, chaotic scene full of injured people is unsettling.

Though it’s even worse to endure the pain after being healed, isn’t it?

That’s why I think, even if Damian wanted to learn from her, I’m not sure healer!reader could really teach him how to treat people, or even how to be a good doctor.

She herself never allowed her mind to approach healing in a traditional way, because her powers and skills are her refuge, her absolute security: she never fails at healing.

But that very gift also isolates her, because in Gotham, a place full of distrust and disdain toward most metahumans, revealing her ability would be a huge risk to her life.

I also think the same about how Damian would feel toward healer!reader because of her medical skills.

He might feel a mix of admiration, frustration, and envy, especially because, without knowing she’s a meta, he would desperately try to find a logical explanation for why she can do what others find almost impossible.

Why his seemingly weak and gentle sister has absurdly good medical knowledge…

That’s NOT right, she’s supposed to be normal… so why?

She’s supposed to be safe… why?

In short, the relationship between Damian and healer!reader would be complicated if we explored that aspect.

(Who knows? Maybe in a what if? if I get enough creativity!)

Awww! Thank you so much for your sweet words at the end, dear!

I’m really happy to know you like my writing, and I’m also sorry if this response was way too long!