#because it once again just tainting that side even more in my eyes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morownic · 2 months ago

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you found your house, but where’s your home?

Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home. (Have you ever had one?)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (graphic descriptions of drug use, overdose, and blood; non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns, non-graphic descriptions of a car accident, suicidal ideation

prev. // next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: still written in the big spirit of oh no (tbh i was kinda convinced this song is practically gonna be the theme song for this series lmfao) + big influence of the breach + maps. this took a month to finish because i was in the trenches and my laptop broke lol thats why i didnt proofread and the ending is kinda ehh as well. i hope there are still people reading this though </3

Blues and purples washed over the crowd of college students as the party reached full swing. Music thumped in your chest as if it wanted to replace the beating of your heart, and drunken chatter rang in your ears as if they wanted to replace the voices in your head. Your eyes swept over the room, looking for a familiar face to ground yourself in the midst of your high. Some people greeted you as you made your way through the sea of bodies. Even though you failed to recognize most of them, you practically bounced as you greeted back and asked for their names and majors, complimenting them on their appearance and making small talk before moving on to the other person that had approached you. Mirth ran through your veins, so much so that it caused nausea to bubble in the depths of your stomach, as you kept moving from one conversation to another without so much as taking a breath and moving around with a twitch every now and then and a restlessness that slowly built up your exhaustion. When you finally saw Harley, your roommate, you gave the last person who spoke to you a jovial goodbye and a giddy side-hug before making your way toward her.

If you weren’t coked out of your mind, you would have immediately noticed the look on her face as she realized that you were not sober. Disappointment, concern, horror. You merely offered her the widest smile you could wear as you downed whatever the content of your cup was. The bitterness and burn of alcohol didn’t even make you flinch, and at that moment, you wondered if you should have heeded the sign that you gotta stop yourself now. Harley, on the other hand, looked at you as if you had just grown another head in front of her.

“Are you serious?”

Still, in your state, you couldn’t register her anger just yet. You were just confused as to what she was referring to as your smile slowly morphed into a frown. “What?”

“God, I thought you’ve been clean for–” Harley was momentarily interrupted by someone tapping on her shoulder, to which she responded with a rather aggressive ‘Give me a fucking minute!’ before she turned back to you. “You’re fucked. You’re really fucked.”

You were still puzzled, but your own indignation was starting to surface. “What the fuck’re you saying?”

The person behind Harley was saying something to her again, a sense of urgency evident in their speech and gesture, and you saw her gaze flickering between you and them. You caught her cursing under her breath before she said something you couldn’t hear to them and craned her head in your direction with a scowl on her face.

“I’ll be right back. Do not fucking do anything stupid, you hear me?!”

A glimpse of your roommate’s bleached hair was all you saw before she disappeared into the crowd. You couldn’t even process your interaction, let alone get another word in. The realization that you were alone, again, somehow sobered you up. Your eyes felt heavy as they swept over the room once more, hoping to find someone who could distract you from your approaching crash. Gone was the euphoria that ran through your veins and kept you moving. The bluish lighting lost its color and no longer cast a glow that made you feel at ease; its coolness only made you feel more despondent in the middle of the party. The steady pulse of the music somewhat replaced your slowing heartbeat, yet it was muffled in your ears, blending with the chatter around you that grated on your overstimulated nerves. Each breath and step you took as you aimlessly walked through the crowd were slower than the last. You had never experienced your high crashing down as quickly as this. You thought that maybe, just maybe, talking to someone else about some mundane things or the latest gossip would at least be better than going back to one of those bathrooms for a fix. But there was no one to drag you into their conversation, let alone drag you into some corner just to temporarily reprieve you from the weight of it all; everyone was lost in their own world, while you just wanted to run away from yours, to forget and forget and forget.

So you did what you had been doing for the past year to patch up that hole in your heart ever since your parents died.

The bathroom you slipped into was bathed in deep purple, with flickering fairy lights framing the mirror where you saw your own reflection. You almost broke down when you did, because you hated what you saw. To others, you looked fine, pretty even, what with how the silk dress fitted over your form, how the red of your lips and nails seemed to glow in the dark, how your hair still seemed effortlessly kept even though it was a bit disheveled. To you? You looked fucking horrible. If it weren’t for the dim lighting, everyone would have noticed the dark circles under your eyes that you had tried to hide with layers and layers of concealer and the hollow of your cheeks that you didn’t bother contouring. You were a couple pounds lighter than you had been a month ago. Your veins stood out like dark, winding rivers beneath your skin, and your metacarpals had bulged like tree roots protruding from the ground. You put your purse on the counter, sluggishly rummaging through its contents to find your stash. Pressure wrapped around your head like a rubber band as you fumbled with the items inside your purse, trying to control your breathing so that pressure wouldn’t snap. You pulled out a tiny, crumpled resealable bag filled with that godforsaken white powder.

(Couldn’t you have found another way to numb yourself?)

You carefully opened the bag and poured the amount that you thought could lift the crushing weight from your chest onto the counter. With an old credit card your father once gave you before he returned to Japan to run away from you and your mother again, you arranged a few neat lines that you couldn’t even count on one hand because of how distressed you were. Even if you had at least retained a bit of your rationale, you would only have given yourself a pat on the back for lining them nearly as straight as a ruler. You hastily ripped a piece of paper from the tiny notebook you carried with you, rolled it up, and placed it against your nostril.

One sharp inhale and your world burst back into color, it seemed.

No more of that suffocating burden in your chest. No more of that dull ache devouring your entire body. Only that abrupt, exhilarating thrill returning to your bloodstream. Your body tensed for a split second, with your gasp for air making you sound like you had been strangled by death himself just moments ago. (But even death would have been kinder to you than you did to yourself.) At least, this way, your world felt warmer. Not the cold, barren land that you never bothered to nurture, even more so after your parents had passed. Their faces coming to the forefront of your mind made you snort another line, and you were taken back to your childhood home in the Tokyo suburbs; home where your dad played baseball and watched recordings of the Giants’ games with you, where your mom pulled you in for a side-hug as she plated the tonkatsu she cooked for dinner, where you ran around in your backyard either playing with bubbles bought from the local festival or a kite your dad had made for you. Those memories hurt you enough to make you take another bump.

Peace was not something you could afford—not when the line you took, crossed, only made you remember his face. You held back a sob as you took yet another bump. He was just that doe-eyed boy in high school; the boy who laughed in earnest after you parroted some stupid middle school joke you heard from one of your old classmates, the boy who scored a home run that you cheered for so loudly you could barely speak the next day, the boy who made you feel vulnerable for the first time when you kneeled for someone else as if he was God and he later kissed you as if you were an angel, as if all those Sundays you spent at church with your mother were all in vain because he was the original sin that you could not rid yourself of. One line taken, crossed, for every thought of him. One line taken, crossed, for every image of him in your head. The euphoria and heartache enveloping your chest did little to tear you from your frenzy, and only when they turned into a weight heavier than the one you were trying to cast aside did it finally hit you.

“Oh, fuck.”

The devil was staring back at you in the mirror. Your hands felt clammy as they gripped the counter so hard that your knuckles turned white. Your heart beat violently against your ribcage that you were sure it was about to break. You found that it was getting harder to breathe with each sharp inhale that burned your nostrils. Instead of running away, it was as if you were being chased. As if God had enough of your bullshit and told you ‘Don’t you fucking run away’ as the room closed in around you. Everything blurred, darkened, as you grew numb and heavy. Your grip on the counter loosened before your hands finally fell on your sides. Gone was the euphoria that made your world feel at least a little worthwhile, replaced by the realization that something very wrong was going on with you. You swayed and lost your balance in one movement—damn your high-heeled feet, damn the black hole in your heart, damn all the gods and angels that ever existed that never heard your prayers—then you fell onto your knees, knocking your head on the edge of the counter. The only warmth you felt then was the blood trickling down your forehead as you collapsed sideways onto the floor.

Several minutes passed as you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. During those minutes, you recalled not being able to breathe properly, if at all, as you instinctively yet weakly willed yourself to at least lie down on your side. The noise that escaped the back of your throat was barely audible, and it was something akin to someone being choked to death. You thought that that was what was actually happening, that it was for real this time. Everything was muffled, but you could make out a loud bang against the wall and a figure rushing to your side and shaking your body a little too violently for your liking in your half-conscious state. Warmer light bathed the room once the overhead light was turned on, and you heard what you could only recognize as the voices of people panicking and yelling at each other.

God granted you one last moment of clarity, in which you saw Ken’s face, stricken with horror, before you let yourself fall deeper into oblivion.

Ken Sato got benched for the first time.

Not only did the Giants lose their second match against the Swallows, Ken was also very nearly suspended for the bench-clearing brawl that he had supposedly started. In his first game against the Swallows, the umpire had intervened in the quarrel between Ken and the opposing catcher, and he managed to hit a home run that boosted the team’s morale. But then he just had to meet her during that stupid celebration; their encounter had left him distraught for literal fucking days. Before he knew it, the sun had already risen on his game day. He had to drink two cups of coffee just to kickstart his body into motion. While he could keep that goddamn catcher’s brickbats in the first match, Ken could barely keep himself together when the catcher provoked him in the second match—he tried, really, to hold the lingering effects of the few cans of beer he had the other night, to perform well despite his lack of sleep and barely healed shoulder, to empty his mind from the thoughts of her while he was on the field. He remembered slapping the catcher’s mask off his face and the impact of a clenched fist against his left cheekbone. Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him, other than the fact that Coach Shimura benched and reprimanded him and that he went past the speed limit when he rode his bike back home after the game. That night, the ice bath he had sunk himself into did little to calm his nerves.

The bruises on Ken’s face ceased to swell just two days before his next game. When he found that he could fit his helmet comfortably again without having to deal with how sore the left side of his face was, he cruised across the Rainbow Bridge and relished the rush he felt as he swerved past the traffic in Minato, the hum of his bike engine reverberating through his body. For a moment, the sight of the Tokyo Tower in the distance distracted him from his reality. He thought of Shibuya as the destination of his night ride, but then he recalled his encounter with her at that one nightclub and frustration bubbled up in his chest once again like heartburn. So he simply cruised through the streets of Roppongi, aimlessly taking turns until he arrived at an intersection and narrowly missed a car running a red light from his right.

“Hey–!”

“Ken, are you alright?”

The sound of metal clashing and glass shattering just a few feet ahead of him made Ken instinctively swerve away from the crash. He could barely register what was happening as he brought his bike to a stop near the sidewalk. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears and pounded in his chest. With labored breaths and trembling hands, Ken took off his helmet and turned to look at the scene. His eyes widened in shock as he processed the sight of two cars crumpled against each other at the intersection, smoke billowing up from one of the cars’ hoods and the ring of their alarms echoing through the street.

A loud wail that shrilled through his ears pulled him out of his trance. If the scene hadn’t already distressed him, then the sight of a child that some of the pedestrians pulled out from the passenger seat of the impacted car was downright heartbreaking. She was no more than five years old, her pristine white dress stained with blood—Ken wasn’t sure if it was the child’s or someone else’s. He could only imagine what she had seen in the driver’s seat for her to keep trying to get back into the car and shrieking at the top of her lungs. But when they pulled out the driver from the car, he understood.

Ken felt as if his heart had been ripped out from his chest when he saw a face so familiar being laid down on the sidewalk across from him. He was sure he strained his vocal chords when he called out her name so loud it might have rivaled the child’s earsplitting cries.

He had seen this before. He had felt this before—sometime in college, at some godforsaken frat party that made him absolutely abhor parties. (Even if they were some of the only things that helped him cope with the loneliness he felt after she left.) He remembered seeing her lying on the bathroom floor, motionless; there were trails of white on her nostrils, drool and lipstick smudged on the corners of her mouth, blood trickling down from her forehead to the stained white linoleum. But now, instead of slowly kneeling beside her, he ran as fast as he could to the other side of the road and practically shoved away the people that were between him and her. There was no way she was dying right in front of him again. He refused to believe it, at least until he reached out to hold her and realized that she was as pale as she had been that night. His breath labored and his hands—no, his whole body trembled as he frantically glanced over at her closed eyes, the trickling crimson on her face, the slowly drying red on the white of her shirt. Time didn’t slow down this time; it felt as if everything in the world, his world, had completely stilled when he brushed her hair out of her face. Her. It was her. It was just like that night.

This was real. This wasn’t a fever dream.

This was fucking real.

Ken had met you again in the middle of freshman year in college. The two of you reconnected, albeit with a sense of detachment that often made his skin crawl. The jock he had seen you with was actually your boyfriend of a month—one you had supposedly dumped just two days after Ken had met you again. A few days after your breakup, Ken saw you hunched over on a bench in front of the convenience store near his dorm. Your face was hidden under the hood of your jacket while you ate cup noodles and drank a can of beer; he noticed how the bags under your eyes had become more prominent and how your lips were a little more chapped compared to when you were in high school. He bought a can of beer of his own before awkwardly sitting next to you, asking about your life, and you lit up a cigarette, apologizing for cutting him off after graduation. He didn’t know which he hated more: the fact that he could forgive you in the blink of an eye or how easy it was to fall back into the dynamic you used to have—playful banter, laughter that shook your bodies, and longing stares that neither of you spoke about. His heart fluttered when you held out your little finger, and he hooked it with his own.

“Friends forever, bro.”

You were glad you didn’t fall back into some of your old habits—the ones that involved either him under you or you under him. (He was your old habit.) You reconnected with his mother, too, but you never visited again, because you feared the comfort of his home would remind you too much of the past and how your home could never be as warm as his. For a while, it truly felt like you were just friends without all the skeletons in your closets. You would spend some of your weekday nights studying with Ken at the library before riding your bikes across town to that old diner you used to frequent with your mother before she stopped coming home early and he took her place. Other nights, you would roll up some joints with Harley in your dorm room while talking about whatever was on your mind; yet whenever she asked you about Ken, he almost always arrived in front of your door as if on cue, and you never got to tell her that you could never love anyone the way you loved him. (You had a feeling she knew.) The evenings you cherished the most, however, were the ones you spent hanging out at the park with the two of them, smoking pot while doing your assignments and watching the sunset together.

Freshman year ended with a core memory of you pushing Ken into the lake before he pulled you in with him. Harley laughed until she couldn’t breathe, one hand holding a half-smoked joint and the other recording the two of you with her phone.

Three months into sophomore year, your father came for a month-long visit as he usually did every year, and you didn’t return home on the weekends as you usually did whenever he came. When you were still in high school, you would have to either stay and listen to their screaming matches, both the hostile and obscene, or lie to your parents that you had some group work or extracurricular project so you could go to one of those awful house parties; fuck one of the guys you met at said party—that was, if Ken wasn’t there, because you would definitely pull him to the nearest empty room for a quickie if he was there; and sleep over at one of your friends’ houses, talking about anything and everything except you would stay quiet when they told stories of their fathers showing up at their rehearsals and their mothers baking homemade cakes for their birthdays. You never told anyone what was happening. Not even Ken, let alone his mother. You were just happy to be out of that house. Now that you were in college, your reasons were at least closer to the truth. Assignments. Group projects. Final exams. Student Council stuff. Preparations for career exhibitions and campus festivals. Debate practice for another state championship—you won three titles throughout college, yet your father would only acknowledge with an almost disinterested hum whenever you told him. (You didn’t play softball competitively anymore. Your parents made you drop the sport.)

You hated how you fell back into your old habits whenever your father visited—you hadn’t indulged in them last year since he didn’t visit, and you quietly thanked God because there was no way you were going to spend your most vulnerable moments with that insufferable jock. This time, though, you found yourself smoking at least a pack of cigarettes a day and looking for someone to kneel for.

Of course, you didn’t even let yourself think of pulling Ken down with you. As much as you would rather have him, you cared for him enough to not put him through what you had put him through in high school. But Ken knew you. Perhaps it was his fear of losing you again. Perhaps it was out of his own selfishness to keep you all to himself even if you weren’t his. He was the one who fell back into old habits for you. Whenever you called him to ask where he was on the weekends, he would drop whatever he was doing at that moment and come to you. Sometimes, the two of you would go on a night ride—on his bike because he didn’t trust you to drive, given your state of mind—and he would fuck you in the dark alleyway next to that old diner after eating two large burger meals together. At times like this, you didn’t even need to smoke or drink afterward because you would find yourself drunk merely from the pleasure and adrenaline rush. Other times, when his roommate got the hint and made himself scarce, Ken would take you on his bed, and you wouldn’t have any other choice but to be as quiet as possible. Then, even if you were the one who fell asleep in his room, he would always be the one leaving before you woke up in the morning, and you would never wait until he returned.

One day, while you were watching the sunset with Ken and your roommate, you received a call informing you that your parents had been in a car accident and were killed on impact. This wasn’t the first time you broke down. But it was the first time Ken had ever seen you collapse in on yourself like a planet turning into a black hole.

“They’ll be buried in Japan,” you uttered flatly. “I called my uncle. He said he will be picking them up next week, but he won’t be staying long.”

Ken frowned. “Are you going–”

“No.”

If you had to suffer, you wanted to suffer here, where all the worst memories of your family resided. (Even if it meant staining the happiest days of your life with him.) Japan was home to your childhood and the innocence you had lost a long time ago, and there was no way you would taint it with your deep, irremediable sorrow. You were never going back there. You were never going back home.

(Have you ever had one?)

Ken tried to be there when you mourned. But you had shut him and even Harley out after your uncle picked up your parents’ ashes. You spent three days glued to your bed, only getting up to eat something and brush your teeth when your roommate practically dragged you to. Ken would bring the food his mother made, even bringing her to the dorms at some point, but you would only eat five spoonfuls at most and leave the rest for your roommate. You couldn’t look his mother in the eye, even after she pulled you into her embrace, and you let her leave without so much as saying goodbye. The one time you broke down again, Harley called Ken for help because you told her you just couldn’t even will yourself to get up. When he saw you curled up on your unmade bed, reeking as if you hadn’t showered for more than a couple days, he thought that you were the only person that could break his heart in a million different ways. He remembered carrying you to his mother’s car and making you stay at his place until you feel better. He remembered slowly feeding you the gruel his mother made for you as you limply leaned against his side on his bed. He remembered washing you in the tub when his mother wasn’t home, scrubbing your back as your tears fell into the bathwater and your cries echoed in the bathroom.

His mother only reluctantly let you go back to your dorm a week later. By then, you already felt a little more like yourself, yet Ken still insisted on helping you. He would bring his mother’s food for you and walk you to your classes whenever he could, even if his classes were on the other side of the campus. He would buy some things you offhandedly said you needed to stock in your dorm and wait for you to finish showering, standing idly outside the communal showers area, no matter how much time you took. He would soothe you in ways he only knew how—with hushed praises, hands entangled with yours, kissing away the tears that fell either out of pleasure or grief—and left a glass of water, something to eat, and morning-after pills for when you woke up. To him, this was how he could love you without loving you. To you, this was a reminder that you would never be deserving of his warmth.

Two months passed. Everything seemed to return to normal—as normal as it could be, Ken thought, because there was something off about you after you spent your winter break in Japan. Upon your return, you started coming to those frat parties again, but you would come back more skittish each time. Perhaps you were just drinking, Harley said, but that was enough reason for Ken to start coming to the same parties you were invited to. He noticed how color had slowly faded from your cheeks as they hollowed bit by bit; how the dark circles around your eyes became more noticeable, even with all the makeup you wore; how you grew thinner every month, eating only once a day, becoming frail underneath your rapture. He should have known that the way you casually wiped off your nosebleed while smoking at the park was a dead giveaway; yet, somehow, realization only dawned on him when you rejected his warmth for the first time in the years that you had burned him in yours. Brokenhearted was an understatement. He lost you again—not to the bittersweetness of unspoken love, but to the malignity of worldly subservience.

One of his biggest, if not the biggest, regrets in life was not stopping you right then and there.

Summer break—everyone and their mothers held a party. Ken remembered that night awfully well that it became the stuff of his nightmares. He spent half the night looking for you; he didn’t even need to talk to you, he just needed to know you were there. Some of his friends noticed how distracted he was, and when they brought it up, he waved them off, saying he had just seen a familiar face before joining their conversation. He hoped they didn’t notice how bitter his laugh sounded when they teasingly asked if he was looking for you. Usually, it wouldn’t be this hard to find you. Whenever there was a party, you would be at the center of it. Your enthusiasm whenever you came to one of these frat parties contrasted with your more mellowed out self in those dimly lit house parties in high school. Yet, as the clock neared two in the morning and he still couldn’t find you, he reminded himself of how there had been something off about your high spirits.

“Ken?”

Upon hearing a familiar voice, Ken blinked rapidly and realized that he had been in a stupor. Instead of one of his friends, it was Harley who had called out his name, and he was surprised to see her there. He noticed that she hadn’t been coming to the same parties anymore and remembered you mentioning it was probably because she finally had a girlfriend. He brushed off the thought when he saw concern etched on her face, but before he could even open his mouth to ask, she beat him to it.

“Have you seen her?”

“No…?” Ken frowned. “No, why?”

Harley clicked her tongue. “I swear, she’s–” She took a sharp inhale of breath before continuing. “Can you help me find her?”

“Well, yeah, but–” Ken’s frown deepened when he took notice of how Harley kept looking around the room restlessly. “Is something going on with her?”

“Yes!” She snapped, and judging by the look on her face afterward, she probably didn’t mean to. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips before she continued. “Yes, and you gotta help me find her before she does anything stupid.”

“Okay, okay,” Ken said, raising both hands, gesturing to Harley to calm down. It did little to pacify her, as she continued to look around the room restlessly. He subconsciously followed gaze as he asked, “Where was she the last time you saw her?”

“She was right here, I swear–” Harley cut herself off when she recognized someone in the crowd before repeatedly tapping on their shoulder. “Hey, did you see a girl in a black dress here before?”

She uttered your name afterward, and the person’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh, her?” They turned slightly, extending a forefinger to point in a direction. “Yeah, I think I saw her going into the bathroom over there.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Ken was pretty sure he bolted toward the bathroom at record speed without so much as saying ‘thank you’ to the person who gave him and Harley the heads-up. They must have looked like madmen shoving people aside left and right, and had he not had a literal life-or-death situation at hand, he would have gotten himself into a fight with how hard he shoved some people and how indifferent he was in the face of their indignation. When they finally arrived in front of the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, and the sight of a pool of black on the floor made his breath hitch.

“Oh, no.”

He swung the door open so hard that it hit the wall with a loud bang, stunning the crowd near the bathroom. Harley immediately dropped onto her knees next to you with a loud thud. “Oh, no, no, no, no–hey, hey, wake up!”

Everything that happened afterward was a blur to him. Your roommate yelled and gestured wildly at Ken to turn on the lamp, which he did after barely registering her words. He froze when he saw you lying on the floor, motionless, pale as a ghost that he thought you might as well have turned into one. Time slowed down as more people flooded the scene, yelling and screaming at each other in panic, and everything was just too much. He tuned them out as he slowly kneeled and reached out to brush your hair out of your face, the blood from your forehead staining the tips of his fingers. His disbelief turned into a sickening realization that made the contents of his stomach rise up his throat. It was you. It was really you.

Ken couldn’t think straight as he lifted you in his arms and carried you out of the bathroom before Harley could even get another word in. How could he? The blood on his fingers felt warm, yet you were as cold as a fucking corpse. He could barely feel the rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed. All of his rage and heartache, including the resentment he had for you, fueled him as he yelled at people to get the fuck out of the way! and carelessly shoved anyone who didn’t. When he finally got outside, he realized you didn’t even feel warm against the chill of the midnight wind. Fortunately, the ambulance arrived just as he was about to run and carry you to the nearest hospital himself. The paramedics tried to stop him from getting in the ambulance, only relenting when he almost punched one of them. He didn’t remember getting to the hospital or how he ended up spending the night at your bedside—just the overwhelming fear that he could have lost you for good.

That night, it was his first time smoking a cigarette out of his own will.

“You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“You don’t fucking get it.”

“I don’t need to fucking get it when I can see that you’re fucking up yourself!”

You couldn’t even reply to that.

“Did you even know how scared I was? How scared Ken was? God, I don’t care if you’re a total bitch, just don’t do this shit to yourself!”

“I had it under control–”

“Under control? You fucking overdosed. That’s not under control, that’s out of fucking control!”

This time, you snapped. “Well, yelling at me isn’t going to fucking fix anything!”

Ken stood outside your hospital room, leaning against the wall next to the door. He sighed as soon as the screaming match started. This wasn’t the first time you and Harley fought with raised voices and unrestrained spite since she found out about your addiction, straining both your throats and friendship after each fight. Still, neither of you had ever escalated things, so he simply listened from where he stood, a heavy weight resting on his chest as the two of you exchanged words he knew you would regret down the line. Her last words to you, however, would probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

“You know what? If you don’t want me to stop you from killing yourself, fine. Go kill yourself if you want.”

Even Ken staggered upon hearing the words that left her lips.

“Harley–!” He heard you call for your roommate, whose heels clicked on the floor and echoed closer to the door. As she opened the door, he heard you yell, “Fuck you!”

He gave a sideways glance toward Harley as she got out of the room. She visibly jumped when she noticed his presence but quickly composed herself and closed the door behind her. A deep, exasperated sigh left her lips as she hung her head. “Sorry.”

He waved off her apology in reassurance. “You okay?”

A shake of her head, then silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward either—it was the first time he wordlessly understood Harley when she looked up at him tiredly because ‘Why won’t you let anyone help you?’ and he could only slacken his frown because ‘I want to know why, too.’ She glanced at the floor beneath her heels, pondering for a few moments before finally speaking her mind.

“Can you look after her?”

To that, he offered her a small, sad smile.

“Yeah, I will.”

That was the last time Ken—and you—ever saw Harley. She moved off-campus, blocked your number and all your social media accounts, and never even spared you so much as a glance whenever you passed by. You also didn’t bother to approach her, guilt gnawing at you like maggots eating rotten flesh. By the time you started your senior year, you never saw her on campus. Ken was the only witness to your absolution.

(You wondered if he was God himself, with how forgiving he was.)

Four months into junior year, you finally came back to your house. One of your aunts was kind enough to help organize your mother’s belongings after the funeral and pay for cleaning services throughout the year your house was empty. You found yourself standing in the middle of the living room, hollow. You hadn’t been here for a year. Everything stayed the same. Everything—except your mother’s heels were no longer displayed on the shoe rack in the foyer, her favorite episode of Love Island wasn’t playing on the widescreen TV you could see from upstairs, and her liquor cabinet was void of her favorite bottles of Pinot noir. Everything, except your mother’s nonchalant ‘Welcome back, how was school?’ didn’t greet you when you came in, her dulcet voice no longer spoke of your achievements as she introduced you to your new neighbors, and her drunken laughter wasn’t echoing in the living room as she offered another drink to yet another younger man whose face you didn’t bother to remember. Everything stayed the same. Everything except you.

You would have grabbed a kitchen knife and killed yourself if the doorbell hadn’t rung.

Disoriented from your own thoughts, you willed yourself to stagger toward the door and open it. Ken stood there, one hand running through his unruly hair and the other holding his helmet. His eyes softened as he studied your features, while you offered him a confused look.

“Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “So you won’t be alone.”

There must be some divine punishment for how you had molded him into this—a young man who only wanted the slightest bit of love you could give, but you never did. You wanted to reach out, feel his warmth in your arms, and say ‘Thank you for never leaving me alone.’ You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs and strain your throat and your neck muscles, either saying ‘I can do this myself’ or ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ You wanted to look him in the eye and say ‘I love you,’ with every word echoing throughout the world to let him know that he was your world. But you settled with an apprehensive stare that you didn’t know he could look through.

“I’m fine–”

“No, you’re not,” he said with a firmness you hadn’t expected. He saw how you were taken aback and let his jaw unclench, his gaze soften, his voice lower. “We promised, right?”

Then he held out his little finger and you were sixteen again, breaking each other’s hearts for the first time.

“Friends forever.”

Ken looked at you with your father’s long-lost fondness and your mother’s forgotten tenderness. You wanted to hook your little finger around his and offer him the slightest hint of a smile you could muster, so you did. You wanted to take a deep breath, press your head against his chest, and hear—feel—his heartbeat, so you did. He held you closer, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo in your hair, his free hand soothingly rubbing your back. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his torso as you pressed yourself closer to him, relishing in his warmth while burning him in yours once again.

(You didn’t tell him the way he said it sounded more like a proposal than a promise.)

“You don’t have to stay.” But I want you to.

He let out a contemplative hum that reverberated through both his body and yours. You found the slight vibration comforting.

“But I want to.” You don’t even have to ask me.

That day, you started packing up with his help. You showed him the albums of your childhood, told him the stories behind each photograph, and spoke fondly of your father for the first time in years. The next day, he checked and washed your bike and your mother’s car—which you sold later on in the afternoon, helped you pack all the medals and trophies you had won since middle school, and dragged you outside to mess around with the sprinkler system one last time. On the last day, he carried all the boxes and stacked them downstairs so the movers could easily move them, you cooked your mother’s mac and cheese recipe and he held you as you cried while eating, and the two of you took out your old star projector and turned it on in the living room, where both of you talked yourselves to sleep. Those three days were the first time in years that your touches didn’t lead to anything more.

You moved out to a studio apartment near downtown, sent the rest of your mother’s belongings back to her family in Japan, and rented a storage space for the things you couldn’t fit in your apartment. Ken would come over almost every day and sleep over every weekend, spending your shared free time playing video games, catch ball, or poker. (Strip poker, sometimes.) Two months later, he practically moved in, what with how many of his clothes were in your wardrobe and how his toothbrush was always next to yours in the bathroom. Six months later, the two of you practically became parents to a stray tabby cat named Mochi, whose favorite thing to do was to nap nearly all day and only seemed to stay awake when you and Ken decided to shove your tongues in each other’s mouths and your hands in each other’s pants.

A year later, you gave him your sobriety coin.

The harsh overhead fluorescent lights glared at him as he stared down the empty forms laid down on the reception desk in front of him. Instead of filling them out, his mind wandered to his bloodstained jacket, now sealed in a bag somewhere in the hospital. One of the nurses had said something about preventing contamination, but he could barely register her words with how the faint smell of iron still lingered in his nose even after he washed off the blood from his hands. His eyes then flickered to them; the red of your blood now replaced by the redness of his own skin after he had vigorously scrubbed it off, leaving small scratches on his palms. Then his mind wandered to you. You and the crimson painting your face. You and the white staining your nose. You, smiling whenever you saw his face in the crowd. You, laughing at every one of his stupid jokes. You, lying down on the bathroom floor with dazed eyes looking straight at him and an unspoken apology he could hear over the music before you passed out. You, lying down on the sidewalk with the same look in your eyes and a fear he couldn’t quite place before you went limp and closed your eyes as he tried to stop the blood flowing from your torso.

(His bike wobbled when he caught a glimpse of his bloodstained hands while speeding off to the hospital.)

A dull ache returned to his bruised cheekbone, pulling him out of his train of thought, and he hissed at the slight pricking he felt when he brought up his hand to touch it. The papers in front of him captured his attention once again. He forced his brain to work as he deciphered the rows of kanji written on them. It was easy, at first. Your name. Birthday. Blood type. Medical history. He thought it wasn’t his place to disclose your old habits. (Even if he was one of them.) But then he realized he didn’t even know how to properly spell your smoking and addiction history in Japanese, and his frown deepened when he read the address, emergency contact, and insurance details columns.

“Wait, uh,” he said, flipping through the papers, his eyes darting between the columns before he handed one of the forms to the nurse behind the desk. “I don’t know if I could fill some of these.”

“Oh,” the nurse exclaimed softly, glancing over the paper in her hand. “Do you know anyone we could contact on her behalf? Her relatives, perhaps?”

Ken couldn’t come up with an answer. Your parents and his mother had already passed. He knew nothing about your extended family, and from the way you spoke or avoided speaking about them, he figured that you wouldn’t want him to call them even if you were on your deathbed. He did think of his father and the possibility that you had met him after you came to Japan, but the resentment that simmered in his chest made him tighten his grip around the pen in his hand as he shook off the thought. He wasn’t going to call his father. He would never.

“Uh, no,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re not on good terms,” he continued. “I don’t have their contacts, and I don’t know if they’d even come if you called.”

“I see,” the nurse said, nodding as she handed back the paper in her hand to him. “Then please just fill out these forms as best as you can, sir. If you need any help, please let me know.”

He nodded and muttered a ‘thank you’ before making quick work of filling out the forms, writing down what he knew about you. On the other hand, he left your daughter’s forms mostly, if not completely, empty. Your daughter. A flash of indignation burned for a moment in his chest before disappearing just as quickly as it came. No older than five years old, he recalled. He wondered if you had her after you left Los Angeles. He wondered if you had called him to meet at that old diner to tell him. He wondered if, had he not been drunk and you actually told him, there would at least be a reason for him to be a part of your world—your daughter. His daughter. Ken swore his heart tightened, threatening to shrivel, at the thought of you raising a child alone in a country where you didn’t have anyone else.

(What if you were alone all this time?)

“Would you like to see your daughter? She’s asleep right now, but she should be waking up anytime soon.”

Ken barely registered the nurse’s words, but when he did, they almost gave him whiplash as he snapped his head to look at her. “Huh?”

The nurse herself seemed to have asked him the question without properly looking at him, thus not seeing the bewildered look on his face, preoccupied with whatever was on her desk. “Would you like to see–” She cut herself off when she finally looked up at him, her own expression slowly turning into one of mortification. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I assumed–”

His hand waved off her rushed apology, reassuring her that he didn’t take offense to the question. “Yeah, yeah, no, i-it’s alright,” he stuttered. “She’s–she’s not my daughter, but…” His words trailed off to give way to a momentary silence before he asked, “Can I see her?”

With an understanding nod and another apology, the nurse led Ken to the pediatric ward and into one of the rooms. An older nurse was already there, sitting by the bedside with a clipboard in her hands. She gave him a small smile as she got up from her seat to move to the corner of the room, muttering a ‘Please don’t mind me’ as she sat down. Perhaps she was just taking precautions, considering that he wasn’t listed as an immediate family member. He thanked her, turning his attention to the child sleeping on the bed, breath hitching when he realized something.

She looked so much like you. A carbon copy of you—the you he had seen in a photograph your father took on your fourth birthday, dressed in a pretty pink dress and a blue paper hat as you posed with the candled cake, a Duchenne smile on your face. (You said it was the happiest day of your life because it was the only time you remembered your father’s warmth.) The you he had seen in another picture in your childhood album, where you sat on your mother’s lap, laughing and playing the piano together. (You told him your mother stopped playing when you got into high school.) The you he had seen in a Polaroid shot your mother took when you were fifteen, a rare moment amidst your spiraling home life, where you were curled up on the couch, fast asleep in your party outfit with your old teddy bear in your arms. (You gave him that photograph; he kept it in his wallet to this day.)

Ken’s eyes widened, and he sat up straighter in his seat when her eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of gray orbs strikingly similar to his own. Fear and confusion were etched on her face, but they melted away when her eyes gleamed with recognition upon seeing him—and all he saw was the 6-year-old boy who had just moved to Los Angeles and didn’t speak a word of English.

“Mr. Nana?”

“Huh?”

Her weak, slightly hoarse voice must have alerted the nurse in the corner of the room, because she was right by their side within seconds. The nurse asked her how she was feeling and checked her vitals, her own voice low and gentle so as to not scare her patient. Both the nurse and your daughter kept glancing at him every now and then, and after she fully regained consciousness, her eyes never left Ken’s.

“She keeps calling you ‘Mr. Nana,’” the nurse chuckled softly. “I think she’s referring to your jersey number, Mr. Sato.”

A small smile made its way onto Ken’s face. “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Would you like to talk to him, sweetheart?”

Your daughter nodded bashfully, and the nurse helped her sit on the bed. He took it as a cue to move closer, gently dragging his chair to avoid the shrill sound of its metal legs against the floor. He let his shoulder slump a little so he could look at her at her eye level, though her gaze nervously flickered between him and the nurse standing by the other side of the bed.

“Hi,” Ken asked softly and awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She blinked at him a couple times. “Emi.”

Emi. Emiko. His mother’s name.

“Emi?” He croaked out, and she nodded. A moment of silence passed between them before he took a deep breath and let his smile return to his face. ��That’s a pretty name.”

“...Thank you,” Emi said shyly, glancing up at him before looking back at her fidgeting thumbs. “Mama said I’m named after someone pretty.”

(You really were the only person who could break his heart in a million different ways.)

He let out an amused snort. “Is that so?”

She nodded again; the next time she opened her mouth to speak, her surfacing excitement reminded him of whenever you talked about the topics you learned at debate practice or the things you just couldn’t discuss with anyone else but him.

“Mama also said that you’re the best baseball player in the world. Is that true?”

The greatest living player, you once said. “Yeah,” he chuckled softly. “Yeah, that’s right.”

If he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have thought that Emi had just been in a car crash a few hours ago. The little girl nearly bounced with how giddy she was, eyes widening and lips parting in wonder. His own smile widened at the sight and when he asked, “Do you like baseball too?”

“Yes!” Emi answered enthusiastically. “Mama showed me that- that when you play, you can hit the ball reeeally far!”

Ken let out a chuckle, warmth spreading in his chest when the thought of you singing his praises crossed his mind. “I can show you how to hit the ball really far too,” he said, trailing off to ponder on something before continuing. “When you get better, I’ll show you. How’s that sound?”

The proposition made Emi turn to look at the older nurse, seemingly for reassurance, and she simply nodded in Ken’s direction in response. Emi’s eyes gleamed in delight, a small smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but notice just how much she resembled you when she nodded bashfully.

(Maybe, just maybe, you’re finally home.)

taglist: @mochminnie

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deluxewhump · 5 months ago

Text

The bahkauv

Bite

Stephan is bitten and will not get free by physical strength alone

They’d travelled all day without incident. Francis was confident in the decision to leave their fourth member unmuzzled, unbound except for his ankles, which were constrained only enough that he could not take more than one short stride after the other. Once they chose a camp, Francis slid the saddle from his grazing horse, setting it on its horn at the base of a tree.

Stephan screamed out a curse, and Francis turned in time to see him pulling back his hand from the mouth of the bahkauv— to no avail. The jerk of his arm did nothing to dislodge the teeth in the buried in the heel of his hand, and only made it more apparent that he was bleeding. He struck the boy—the creature— on the side of his head with his left fist. Their bahkauv only yelped deep in his throat, and hung on ferociously, as if for his life.

Francis got the immediate impression he hadn’t meant to hurt. He had reacted in fear, a distrustful instinct triggered by a thoughtless moment on Stephan’s part. Now that he had a mouthful, he was afraid to let go.

Arthur grabbed the bahkauv by the back of the hair in a tight fistful, but the vicious yank he gave it only made Stephan curse at him, too. Francis rushed forward but stopped, suspecting yet another human presence would only send the bahkauv into a deeper panic.

“Let go,” Arthur growled, gripping the boy-creature tightly by the hair like it was the scruff of an animal’s neck. Stephan winced in pain, watching blood drip from his fingers to the ground. He cursed again, loudly. The bahkauv flinched, wide eyes raising to the man he had in his sharptoothed grip.

“Arthur, enough!”

Stephan was the largest and strongest of the three of them, used to felling trees and cutting lumber for carts, barns, or even ships. If his blow to the bahkauv’s head could not pull his hand free, the three of them might not be able to, even together.

“Arthur, you’re not helping,” Francis insisted. “Let go.”

Arthur shot him a doubtful look but couldn’t deny the situation had not improved since his intervention. He let go, shaking a clump of hair from his fingers as if it might be tainted with magic.

Stephan turned his head toward Francis, grudgingly calm despite the pain. “Get your fucking beast off me before it takes my hand off.”

“I’ll only make it worse as well,” Francis said evenly, though his heart was pounding like a drum. This was his fault, after all. Maybe they’d have known what to do with a vampire. If he’d just been satisfied with that, they wouldn’t have this unpredictable creature on their hands. He didn’t even know what a bahkauv bite could do. Their new purchase looked so disconcertingly human from a distance of just a few feet, it was easy to forget he was not.

“He’s scared. He bit you because he was scared and he’s not letting go because he’s scared. We can’t rip him off without making the bite worse. Talk to him.”

Stephan groaned as his hand continued to drip blood. The veins in his forearms were bulging and blue, a new sheen of sweat beading his forehead. “It doesn’t fucking understand us, mate,” he gritted with reproach.

“I think we’re wrong on that too. Just try.”

Stephan took a sharp breath through his nose, jaw working visibly as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

Arthur took several steps back, showing his hands in accordance to the new plan. The bahkauv’s dark eyes followed him before snapping fearfully back to Stephan.

“Let me go, Devil.”

“Well don’t talk to him like the hunters,” Francis said, exasperated. “Honey. Not vinegar.”

Stephan dropped slowly to his knees, his hand still tight in the bear trap of the boy-creature’s sharp teeth. Confused, the bahkauv followed suit, lowering to follow the man closer to the ground. Now kneeling, blood dripped between them like a ritual. Stephan swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them.

When he spoke his voice was low, nothing like his gruff curses before. “You can’t hold on to me forever, you know. You’ll have to let go sometime so we can give you something to eat.” He actually smiled, strained as it was. “Something other than my hand, that is.”

Francis and Arthur exchanged a glance. The little monster was listening, watching Stephan intently. His chest rose and fell with his own frightened breaths, otherwise completely still. The blood around his mouth and the flash of sharp teeth was the only thing that made him look feral, something other than entirely human. And something unnameable in the eyes Francis was eager to study, once he had the university laboratories and libraries within reach.

“I’m very sorry I struck you,” Stephan continued gently, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse, or charm a snake. “You frightened me, is all. When you let me go, I promise not to hurt you. I understand. My friends do too. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Francis marveled at his composure, despite the bloodied hand still being held tight between teeth. Only the bloodless pallor of his friend’s complexion gave away the pain beneath his softened voice.

Stephan, usually gruff and straightforward, tilted his head in a gesture of genuine thoughtfulness. “Do you understand our words, or only our actions? Can you read my thoughts? How can I talk to you, hm?”

Cautiously, he raised his non-injured hand from his side, slowly bringing it to the side of the bahkauv’s head where he’d struck him just minutes before. He hovered in midair for a moment, waiting to see if he got a strong reaction. Francis was afraid Stephan might get his hand free only to have the other one bitten. But when at last the open hand touched him, the bahkauv only whimpered, a stirringly human sound.

“You’re alright,” Stephan said, stroking the dark hair with his calloused woodsman’s hand. It looked huge on the creature’s delicate head. “Just an accident. It’s alright to let go now. I won’t harm you.” He tucked a piece of hair behind a pointed ear. “I need my hand back now, little beast. If it please you.”

Francis thanked the gods when the bahkauv’s jaw moved, unsticking his teeth from the meat of Stephan’s hand. Stephan’s jaw muscles worked with the effort to stay quiet, lest he frighten the bahkauv again. He drew his bitten hand close to his chest, and when he took the other off the bahkauv’s hair, Francis couldn’t help but notice the way their captive tensed, watching if the hand would strike. Stephan doubled over on his injured hand, finally able to staunch the bleeding. He hissed a string of curses under his breath, but made good on his promise of no retribution.

They must make sure that remained true, and that none of them do anything to break it. How else would they ever hope to gain their captive’s trust? And without trust there could be no humane method for control.

The bahkauv dropped the rest of the way to the ground, backpedaling several feet until he was pressed flat to the trunk of a spruce tree, ankles still bound to ensure he could not try to run again. He wiped the blood from his mouth with his wrist, almost as if unsure how it got there.

Arthur was already headed to the horses, where the muzzle was hanging on a branch alongside their bridles. He approached the base of the tree with it like a man about to lasso a rabid animal. But the bahkauv took it with the stoic compliance of a prisoner.

taglist

@paperprinxe @whumpsday @i-eat-worlds @handsinmotion @stormchaser819

@annablogsposts @clickerflight @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud @scoundrelwithboba, @blood-and-regrets

@morning-star-whump @pumpkin-spice-whump @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @shiningstarofwinter @vampiresprite

@thealchemistal @risk606 @alextries @the-bloody-sadist

Please tell me if you’d like to be on the list and I missed you. Some people asked while I was on a brief hiatus last month. :))

#nonhuman whumpee #blood cw #biting cw #fantasy whump #I’ve been so out of the headspace for fantasy type whump but this little scene helped #there will be dialogue soon between our bahkauv and the humans #he’s just a cautious bb #how did Stephan do?#it as a pronoun #intermittently

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ninmnoi · 11 months ago

Text

— Stop, you’re losing me.

mingyu x reader || angst.

summary ; trying to save an already failing relationship is a lot harder when he forgets your birthday.

(not proof read lol)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Its your birthday, you’ve never made a big deal about it tell you met him. You still remember his shocked face and loud “WHAT” when you told him you dont found your birthday a big deal, its just another day. Ever since then, he always celebrated your birthday in fun surprises and dinners. He made it so important and meaningful for you, and the big part of that is because you know he’ll be there.

So your nothing short of despair when its past 5pm and he hasnt once messaged you. It’d be another thing if he just didnt message happy birthday, you wouldve been okay with goodmoring.

You sigh putting your phone down, bitting your lip as your eyes water. It shouldnt be this serious, you’ve never even cared about your birthday before, so why dose it hurt so bad now?

Mingyu

That god damn Mingyu.

He used to be such a soft spoken soul, aiding to your needs as you do with him, those first few years of your relationship. He confessed to you in your own backward, he put his effort and time into it. You can even smell the flowers that lead to Mingyu, see the lights that brightened his soft smile, that swift hair and tall figure standing nervously fiddling with the bouquet in his hands. And who could forget the blush that tainted his face and ears, tears threatening to jump out after you said “yes.”

Now, your even lucky if he stays with you a whole day. Its always this or that driving him away. When he left your sisters engagement dinner because a friend of his needed help moving in, or when he canceled a date because he forgot a “really super duper important project” as he said. The nights he wouldnt call, the empty king bed. The second toothbrush that hasnt been moved in 2 weeks.

It drove you insane, but you still gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Maybe he’s busy”

“Hes probably sleeping”

“God his phone must’ve died”

Your friends would yell at you over text, spamming you with the reality check you needed, but never could deposit. After pacing around the kitchen trying to ignore the cute cake you bought with a sad candle slowly sinking into it. You pick up your phone and call him.

Ring…

*click!*

Did he just hang up on you..?

No, he would have to be crazy.

You call again.

Same fucking thing, even quicker just 2 rings in.

You open his contact info, trying to see where his location would put him.

“No Location Found.” You curse, what is he hiding? Your mind leads to the one scenario you’ve been dreading, infidelity. The thought of him cheating makes you wanna throw up, but sadly its a most common event. You’re just so done with everything, putting the cake away into the fridge and changing clothes. Its now 6:42pm and with the major headache you have, you simply decided to sleep it off. Hugging the build-a-bear Mingyu bought you a year back, it muffles your sobs, soaking in the tears.

It’s cold and dark when your awaken by an extra weight adjusting it’s self onto the right side of the bed. You recognize it all to well. Mingyu pulls the covers over himself, giving you a small peck on the tip of your ear.

“You’re home” you say, your drowsy and hurt voice clear.

“Yeah- im sorry im so late” he whispers to you

“There's cake in the fridge”

“Cake? For what”

You sigh, “My birthday”

You can hear his breathe hitch.

“Fuck- Baby im so sorry. I didnt mean to forget. I was just so bus-.”

You sit up.

“Busy,? from what? So busy you couldnt even text? Because clearly it wouldnt have taken as much time as hanging up on me and turning off your location did. So if ‘busy’ is some new slang for ignoring then that makes way more sense.”

“I didnt even know you called, i swear. My location should be on babe.. I” He mumbles on

“Then whos hanging up on me? Making sure i dont know where your at? Is she fun?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen

“What are you talking about?”

“Her, you know.. Is she attractive? What is it huh? Skinner than me? Or maybe blonder? Or is because you dont need to be responsible for her?

“Baby no, its none of that.” He grabs your shoulders.

“I love you, calm down”

“How can i?” You exclaim, jumping off the bed.

“You missed my birthday! I waited for you like some stupid dog! I felt so stupid.”

“I dont understand, birthdays were never that big of a deal for you”

“They werent until you made it a problem! Now look at me” you say, the tear stained face and puffy cheeks evident.

Mingyu gets up, walking over to you.

“I know ive been distant, let me make it up to you”

“Where were you tonight?”

He stays quiet for a moment, taking a deep breathe

“My friend he uh… invited me to a club” he quietly says.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay..?”

“Mingyu, get out”

“What?” His heart drops.

“Get out! Did the club music deafen you?? I want you gone” You yell, tears streaming down your face as you push him out. Though you have little to no affect of moving his body, it makes it all the more depressing.

“Okay…Okay..” He quietly says, grabbing his phone off the dresser. Looking down at you with remorseful eyes. His heart aching at the messed up state your in. And its because of him, god.

You slam the door behind him, locking it. You sigh before faintly walking back to your bed.

And theres your build-a-bear, ready to be hugged and to soak all your tears again.

Atleast, that comforts you.

#xreader #mingyu #oneshot #angst #mingyu x reader #seventeen #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut

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scekrex · 6 months ago

Note

So here I'm after telling you that I need to cry over the next part of "A bloody nose and two bleeding hearts" I was thinking about it for a moment and it took me there...

Adam took the reader back to heaven yay. But not everything is so dandy, the Reader has fallen, even if he's back, he's fallen angel. With that comes everything that a fallen angel would feel...cut connection with Father, that strange feeling of being alone, cast aside, not wanted. If the reader had wings there are phantom pains, I'm imagining that the wings would somehow change, maybe colour, or maybe he would lose feathers in a few places, unfortunately it's not two or three feathers... Now the Reader is thinking about what Adam has told him and he can't help but wonder if that was a lie, because how could someone want him after the fall? Adam on the other side doesn't know what to really do with the reader... He sees that the reader is getting more and more depressed with each day, but it has been a long time since he had comforted someone depressed(I imagine it would be Cain after killing Abel, but that's just my little headcanon, that Cain after killing his brother and coming back to his senses would get so depressed). Even so he tries to take care of the reader, by not letting Sera close again or something like that. It does help a bit, but the reader now needs all love Adam could give him, to see and feel that what Adam has told him was real, that he was wanted by someone even if he fell.

So yes, that's all I think...and even if not it doesn't matter, I'll love it anyway

Omg I love this soooo much - depressed reader is something I find so much comfort in

Part 1

For what we have done we will pay our price

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt - with comfort

note: not beta read bc fuck you

Heaven felt different, now that you were back. It felt so cold, so lonely, all the warmth it had once provided was gone, you were no longer able to feel the heavenly connection to it you once had. Its colors had once been bright and welcoming to your eyes but after your fall they simply didn’t look the same to you, they looked grayish, boring and just as cold as they felt. The great and loving connection you used to have to Father was not present anymore, you were not able to feel him guiding you, protecting you anymore and you were only to assume that he wasn’t feeling your bright spirit in return. Because your spirit seemed to be so many things and all of them were ugly, ugly just like your appearance had become once your feet had touched hellish ground.

Your wings simply weren’t the same anymore, just like everything else and while you were somewhat thankful that you weren’t surrounded by sinners, you weren’t quite sure if being surrounded by judgemental angels was any better. They stared at you, at your wings and really, you couldn’t even blame them because if you were in their position you would’ve stared and judged as well. But it really didn’t help with your situation. Your wings, once a beautiful bright white with a light blue touch to the tips of your feathers had turned gray, not only had they changed to look less pure and more tainted, you had also started to lose feathers. That had started once Adam had brought you back to heaven and you only assumed it was their way of punishing you for disobeying the law. In the end it really didn’t matter why it happened, what was more important was that it happened and it made your wings look rotten, which only caused your appearance in general to look even messier.

Because ever since Adam had brought you back to heaven you had been crashing at his place, they had sold your place within a couple of hours and while that had been painful due to the loss of very personal items, it wasn’t the end of the world. Everything else seemed like it though. The energy to leave the bed every day was barely existent and you asked yourself how Adam did it, how he managed to get up every day, how he managed to just go about his day and not give a fuck about heaven’s questionable decisions.

You were lying in the first man’s bed, your body was covered by your own wings and a soft blanket - the blanket was necessary because of the giant bald areas on your wings, without it you would’ve caught a cold, a thing Adam tried to prevent. Your relationship towards Adam had changed in general, there was no more playful teasing, that had been replaced by soft touches and warm cuddles every now and then, but was it enough to keep you sane and intact? You weren’t sure. On the other hand you weren’t truly sure of anything, not when Adam’s soft words felt like lies. Why would the brunette care for you in the ways he claimed to care for you and like you? What reason have you ever given him to think of you as someone to adore and love?

The first man entered the room, something you were only able to hear, your eyes were covered by three feathers that were still left on the edge of your wing, three lonely feathers that reminded you of what you’ve once been and how drastically that had changed. “Are you dead?” the first man asked jokingly, but to you his question wasn’t funny. Because to you death seemed like a less painful and energy draining thing, like a thing more beautiful than the miserable afterlife you were stuck in. And it wasn’t Adam’s fault, yes he had been teasing you, yes he had been pushing your buttons but you had been the one to punch him so really it was your fault for losing control. And yet he not only brought you back to heaven but also let you crash at his place. Probably the nicest thing Adam had done since Eden.

“I wish,” you mumbled against the dry skin of your almost featherless wing, the sensitive body part twitched and you sighed as you removed it from your body and simply cuddled up in the blanket instead. You were able to remember how your wings used to feel, how the connection to Father used to feel and what heaven used to look like and you were quite sure that the blanket was not making up for your once so soft wings - far from it actually. You heard clicking sounds, Adam must have put something down. And just as you were about to turn around to look at what he was doing the mattress dipped next to you and you felt the blanket being lifted up a little. The next thing you recognized were strong arms that wrapped around your body and pulled you flush against Adam’s chest. It was more of a reflex to tug your wings in during cuddles. And then you felt it. Soft feathers were brushing against your bare torso, they slid over your sweaty skin so smoothly.

Adam had wrapped his wings around you.

“Don’t fucking say that,” his voice sounded so unusual soft, so warm and comforting, there was no sarcastic comments, no harsh shoves, he was not trying to push your buttons either. He simply laid there, right next to you and tried his best to bring back the familiar feeling of heaven. You felt his feathers gently stroking your back in slow motions, up, then down, then up, then down. You got lost in the rhythm of it, so lost in fact that you forgot to respond to Adam. But was it important to respond to the brunette in the first place? You had only been honest and you were quite sure that everything else you had to say the first man wouldn’t like at all. And while his words were cheap - they had been and maybe they always will be - his actions weren't. Because instead of thinking of you as something disgusting he held you in his arms like the biggest treasure he had ever been allowed to touch. He looked at you with such loving eyes, touched you with gentle hands and cozy wings, kissed you with soft lips and passion you never expected from a person like him.

And maybe - just maybe - rotting away in heaven wasn’t all that bad. At least not with Adam by your side.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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missmarveledsblog · 28 days ago

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Bet on it ( Bradley Bradshaw x reader) part 5

summary : the daunting reality of everything that has happened leaves bradley taking it out on jake and finally finding out why their feud began in the first time and which leave Bradley knowing he really needs to see her and make it all right but can he ?

warning : angsty bitch up in here , not proof read , grammatical errors ( soz)

previous part

She wanted to wake up , this had to be a sick nightmare that she wanted no needed to wake up from . some from of terror of the fact she was leaving it had to be . Yet the pain that shattered her heart into a million pieces only proved of how real it was . the best time of her life tainted in the childish action of two men she loved dearly. The constant reminders she was to face of her own stupidity to think it was real to think he couldn’t hurt her again .. how fucking wrong she was . her phone was on constant vibrate as everyone tried to ring and text , they all had to witness the worst part of her life . she sat on the sofa reaching for something,anything to wipe her eyes and of course it had to one of his stupid Hawaiian shirts , when she went to the kitchen more stupid reminders of them both . it wasn’t only bradley’s betrayal , jakes stung just as bad. He knew it all , knew their history and still done this all for the sake of the bronco , the fact he done it all for his car was something she couldn’t help but laugh at.

“ kid open the door or i’ll use my spare key” her dad called as she ran to the door looking up at the man before breaking down in his arms .

“ i was so stupid how could i be so stupid dad” she cried.

“ you are not stupid and as pissed as i am at those two there’s gotta be more to this “ he sighed leading her into the room shutting the door.

“ i know you wanna see best in him cause of uncle nick but dad he made me think .. he had me so fooled i honestly thought he love me and it was all some bet to keep his stupid fucking bronco , in front of all my friends and family , my bosses. Thank god i don’t have to work my last week how can i show my face outside that door “ she cried harder. “ i’m leaving tonight i can get air bnb til my place is ready but i can’t stay here not “ she stood wiping her eyes.

“ come on sleep on it please for me “he followed after.

“ dad i need to get out of here i can’t face anyone right now i will let you know i’m ok but i am going whether you like it not i can’t stay here , i’ll send money and details for storage unit for my stuff please don’t try stop me” she rushed around .

“ least let me drive you to the airport” he sighed.

“ ok but i’m not changing my mind i can stay here with reminder of it all “ she nodded.

He barely slept and the hour or two he did he was hoping he was waking from a shitty dream . that he didn’t lose the best thing in his life . that he didn’t break the heart of the woman he loved because of something so stupid . fuck he’d sell the bronco piece by piece if it meant he could make it right . he wished he could go back deny the bet and go for her like he should of like he always deep down known . how she was his forever and now his future look bland it look nothing in comparison . all the dreams he had of what his future would look like it didn’t matter who was going to be there once it meant she was by his side . in the snap of his fingers it was gone , she was gone knowing he shouldn’t of listened to jake , he should crawled on his hands and knee and begged her to forgive him . to know he really loves her , his feelings for her was why he wanted the stupid bet to end , that they never part of it . everytime he closed his eyes the heartbroken expression , her words of venom in his ear and he was the cause of it , he couldn’t just get over his ego and stupid feud from when they were barely adult and just admitted he was in love with her long before he even thought of it . he stood looking at her door trying to think of the words that were to come out his mouth , sorry didn’t seen to even come close to worthy and yet it was all he had . the first knock went unanswered , then he banged louder til he was thumping the wood in desperation . it was only til her neighbor came out still half asleep.

“ she left last night with her dad and suitcase now stop the banging before i call the cops “ the woman snapped .

“ what you mean left?” he felt the bile rise in throat , that dizzy feeling catching up with him big time .

“ new york , thought she was leaving next week but poor girl was upset when she was saying goodbye , such a lovely girl and great neighbor “ she sighed as bradley waved her off. He couldn’t hear whatever she was saying not that he care that sick feeling that sunk to the bottom of his stomach and the realization that it was too late . she was gone before he could make it right.

Walking into the base it was loud enough tension was high nat wouldn’t even look at any of them , she was kicking herself for not finding it out sooner putting stop to it . all guilty in the humiliation in their friend when they meant well none of them could raise their head high , none of them could look Mav in the eyes when he walked in . hangman looked just as rough like he hadn’t slept nor had he really done much of anything , his hair wasn’t styled to perfection , dark circles in under his eye. He felt shit . he looked shit and he wished he never thought of it , the huge gamble was not worth this risk , he wish he thought of anything but this. He wanted his friends to be happy , he knew they both had feelings for each other but he knew they were too stubborn , her guard was too hight up and his stupid ego was in the way .

“ sir .. we are so sorry it wasn’t.. It wasn’t our intention to make y/n sad” fanboy spoke up the guilt hitting him hard knowing if he kept it quiet everything would of been ok , everyone would of been happy.

“ what were you thinking .. a bet really your grown adults acting like stupid kids and because of that stupidity my daughter is heartbroken and other side of the united states because she cant bare to face the humiliation” he didn’t yell , he wanted to but he couldn’t in his heart he couldn’t scream and yell .

“ she left?” nat gasped .

“ she left last night staying in a hotel til she can move into her apartment “ he nodded knowing the female pilot was just in the dark as he was .

“ so much for tomorrow bagman “ rooster spat .

“ i didn’t know she was gonna leave bradshaw” he snapped back .

“ your stupid idea in first place “ bradley stood pushing the chair back .

“ it was to get your stupid ass to make a move” he stood before anyone could react the two charged at each other both angry but yet the feelings being brought out in different ways .. angry at themselves and taking it out on each other as each hit landed til they were finally pulled apart.

“ YOU BOTH NEED TO GROW THE FUCK UP , YOU WANNA BLAME SOMEONE LOOK IN THE MIRROR “ Mav yelled as they both panted .

“ i never meant to hurt her , i thought it could be different then what happened in the past sir “

“ she told you ?” pete asked shock she wouldn’t even tell him what the whole thing was .

“ that she froze me out” bradley scoffed.

“ it wasn’t for nothing she heard you with your buddies , how she was a clingy tag along that barely gave you space to breathe , dopey little girl with her head in the cloud and stick up her ass and why did you say all that ? because you buddy asked why you didn’t sleep with her “ jake scoffed.

“ i said it because they wanted to i didn’t mean it , she was only gone 18 and i brought her to stupid party and they wanted to sleep with her but i said it they wouldn’t that’s why she stop … god why did she even give me a chance “ he groaned.

“ who even are you because i know this isn’t the son of nick and carole “ pete shook his head.

“ i pretty sure my dad would of punched me for it hell i think my mom would of too ,why haven’t you ? ” he sighed holding his head in his hands.

“ rest of you go … you two i want to get to the bottom of this because i know as pissed as i am , there is more to this “ he stood as the others left . “ know you two start fighting , throwing fist i will take disciplinary action “ he stood .

“ i was stupid , i came up with the bet hoping it would give his brain a shake and he would grow a pair finally tell her how he really felt it was never to make her the butt of a joke or to be humiliated “jake started , his voice even crack and he as well as the other two thought he was going to crying.

“ i was dumb then and now i didn’t us my brain and it was real everything i said to you that night and those feeling it was real it was all real and now i fucked it up because i’m a stupid asshole who doesn’t use his head or grow up , she was always there for me even when i didn’t deserve it phoenix let it slip even when we were fighting she would chip in on presents add it to someone else’s so that i didn’t know it was and then when we were together i was so happy like actually happy for first time in such a long time .. back then when she stopped talking to me i hated her for it i’m not going to lie i did because it felt like i was losing yet another person in my life” he gritted his tears spilling down his cheeks angry at himself present and past. “ if i just done the right thing instead of what i thought was the right thing i wouldn’t have lost the woman of my dream , i wouldn’t have lost my best friend and i get if your pissed and angry and i get if you hate me for this Mav i hate me , i hate that i lost her , i hate that i hurt her so many time and now i can’t even make it right” he sobbed hell it brought a tear to jake eyes.

“You’re not an idiot .. you do idiotic things yes but i know you and i know this isn’t you bradley and nothing is too late but you do need to find a way to make it right because you hurt her badly this time but i of all people know it never too late” he sighed patting his shoulder .

“ i have leave right i can put in for leave and go to new york “ he nodded .

“ i do to , you aint only one who need make this right “ jake spoke up .

“ put in the request and i’ll help you out once it cleared but don’t make me regret helping you bradley” Mav nodded.

A month in the big apple she wasn’t crying as much and first week she started was probably the worst first week ever had . though the pain of it all didn’t magically disappear well least she wasn’t an emotional wreck 24/7 although crying session in the shower and watching tv was still a regular. The work element she decided to detach her personal life knowing she was there to learn , gain experience instead of wallowing about the shit show her life really was. It took so many month of her life and it wasn’t taking more, more of the fact she was constantly drained and tired over the emotional turmoil of it all . she’d made a couple of could she call them friend and marcus was on the same programme the only one who knew what she was going through . why she constantly felt so stressed , why her smiles were masks instead genuine reactions . being the rock she needed , phoenix and beth too even though they were still back in san diego they made sure to keep letting her know they missed her and checking on her . nat did tell her how both jake and bradley were rough at first she felt some what glad well not glad but it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one hurting and she wanted to get in contact when she came out on top of her group she wanted to text jake tell him like she used to and yet she couldn’t she was still hurt , he still hurt her as much as bradley did . in all that anger , distrust and sadness she missed them both she miss her best friend she missed her life before she found out about the stupid bet. Those thought needed to stop , she needed to stop feeling the pity finally agreed to go out with marcus celebrate they finally made it as she got ready . it was getting closer to going , she wanted to text and cancel but couldn’t he’d been missing out on going out with new friends to wipe her tears and supply her with ice cream as she cried to sappy movies.

A few hours of sleep and help from people he truly didn’t deserve their help he and jake were standing in some place that he was hoping was the right one . the second the approval was given the two were on a flight to new york , marcus promised he would get her there only because beth told him to . they both stood thinking of what they could say mentally preparing themselves for it all , more of a chance she would ignore them both and they were expecting it but they weren’t going to give up so easily . a part of him was excited to see her and bigger part was scared , he was scared because he knew when he did see her how she would look at him differently it wouldn’t be the looks of pure love the two shared. Watching the door like it was the only thing on the earth he was put on it for waiting to see that face and yet when he did , he seen her smiling again but it wasn’t real it was a show put on it was only til they locked eyes when the mask slipped off and the true emotion on her face four weeks and five days and she still look as hurt as she did that night .

“ you have got to be fucking kidding me “

part 6

taglist : @peachmartini @paisleebubbles @kawaiiskeletondragonbanana @djs8891 @shanimallina87 @emosrkool

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woneuntonzz · 9 months ago

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lover's rock 🎸♫⋆｡♪₊˚♬゚

song eunseok x afab!reader

warning/s: cussing, mentions of alcohol, other substances and smoking! suggestive!!

genre: songfic, hurt/comfort

word count: 5.8k words!!

˗ˏˋ while the others talked, we were listening to lover's rock ˎˊ˗ —because love can burn like a cigarette.ᐟ

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your friends wondered when you'd get tired of the parties, or if that moment would ever come. They were worried it would founder your hopes and dreams of a better life, to reach a point of fulfillment and content.

If you were being honest, you already were content with the sleepless nights whether it be from the workload or from the edibles, the inebriating fog, the alcohol and the raging lights of the frat parties.

You had always assured your friends that your sobriety stands strong whenever you needed it.

And for that you savored the times when you would meet Eunseok, just you and him in a forsaken room in the frat house doing the deed as they'd say.

It all started the first time you had ever gone into one of these parties. It was not only your academics, but it was just life by and large that weighed down on you. It got so heavy that you thought everything would just come crashing down, so you thought, why not just unfetter yourself completely —besides, you were already close to falling off anyways.

You quaffed, and quaffed, but too much was never enough.

“Haven't seen you 'round here before.” your eyes were locked straight ahead, looking off into the distance and overlooking the lustful scenes that were in play before you.

You wouldn't acknowledge his presence until he spoke again. “Where's your boyfriend at?”

A scoff was extruded from your mouth. “Are trying to fuck me?”

He was surprised with your response. Sure, he would've heard it from every other girl in that party, and in many different ways, but he didn't expect it from you. “Not really, but if you want to, who am I to say no, right?”

You emptied your drink and threw the cup to the side. “Where's your girlfriend at?”

He leaned in close and chuckled into your ear, and the sensations it gave you were indescribable at best. It could've been the alcohol, or the intoxicating ambience, but you felt it threatening to pierce through the pith of your very conscience.

“There's an empty room upstairs.” The urgency and the lust in his voice tainted your already wasted state.

In a trice, you were all up in each other's faces. He inhaled your haze, picking up on the excessive amounts of substance that burned your throat. The pleasure he gave you was none like you have ever felt in your life.

Once reaching your highs, you would continue to drown yourself with his touch for a while before getting off of him and hopping back into your clothes.

You were too intoxicated and your cognition was cloudy, you weren't able to catch his lingering and longing eyes.

The only reason you deemed this particular experience profound was for it being your first time, and never because of who you had wasted away with. You had buried yourself in these ravaging walls of reckless vices knowing that no one would ever be worth your regard. They were all the same, some worse than others, but none you would ever be entwined with.

After a few weeks, you would meet him again for the second time, and spend the rest of the night with him for the same purpose. This time he would be a little more vocal unlike before where it had seemed like he was taking in your unruly state.

This time he would speak before you even got to stand up.

“My name's Eunseok, in case you wanted to know.” he just watched you snub him for the second time.

You would go back to these parties every so often, and every night would end with him. There could be a line of jerks wanting to taste a gist of you, but he was always there. You swore he must've fucked a whole roster by now, but he somehow always got to you.

It was unclear whether he's always present in these parties or if he only went after a certain period of time, but you figured it must be the former. With how easily you gave in to his voice that dripped honey, and his musk that overpowered the smoke that filled the air, you thought you were just an easy way for him to satisfy his hunger.

It was for the seventh time that you would stay a little longer. You were exhausted, so much so that the alcohol was not enough to block off the hole bored in your heart.

You breathed heavily and allowed yourself to lie next to him, your bear chest heaving up and down, trying to hold back the tears. It was pathetic. You felt pathetic, pathetic enough to fool around with the same guy every time to run away from your problems.

Eunseok would offer to light you a cigarette. You took the one he had in between his lips that he had already lit, and you huff and cough at your first draw. He chuckled under his breath, fighting the queries he had about you from slipping off of his tongue. He would throw his head back and continue to puff on in the same rhythm as you.

After that night, you kept yourself stable for as long as you could. You came to terms with accepting the endless cruelty of the life you were given, because even if you uttered the same prayer a million times things will always remain the same.

You would resort to smoking off-campus near the convenience store as a means of stress-relief without having to worry about making yourself appear sober for others when your mind is afloat.

It's been almost three months of refraining from going back to that riotous place. You eye the cigarette as you bring it in between your lips, and suddenly you are reminded of the last night you had with him. You can't help but wonder if he'd still be there if you went, or if he'd have his skin against somebody else's as you looked for him in the haphazards.

“It's been a while.” you uttered to your phone that you held with your free hand whilst the other held your waning cigar.

“Yeah? and what? you'll be hung over the whole day after?” you grazed your teeth against your bottom lip from hearing your friend's chiding.

“I'll be fine.” your friends could never stop you anyway.

You all lived separate lives, and most of your problems stray far from each other's concerns. You just happened to have friends with lives as miserable as yours, as a result, you would only have the strength to fend for yourselves and be unable to actively be there for one another.

The night that followed, you were back in that same place where you had let go of your innocence, where it shone red and reeked of ecstasy. This time though, you had no intentions of downing as much as you can to chase that dazed feeling that numbed you from the afflictions.

“You're here.” you turned around to face from whom the voice belonged. From the mere second he spoke, you knew it was him, it was only his voice that would always lead you to a night of intense euphoria.

It wouldn't take long until your lips were locked, drawn to each other like magnets. He would take you to the same room that remained untouched even after the boundless streaks of parties.

You expected him to handle you like he always did, but he was a lot more… gentle. You've gone a while without being touched by anyone other than yourself, and his touch burned your skin with bliss. He whispered sweet nothings into your ears, and he lifted you up to the stars.

“I missed you.” —it fell off of his mouth, though you wouldn't think much of it, thinking it must've been his pleasure speaking.

He would keep you locked in his arms. If you were being honest, you didn't want to leave just yet, but you subtly fought him off of you which would soon prove to be defiable.

“It's true, you know. I really did.” you felt his thumb making circles near your wrist.

You were unsure of what he was referring to, but you assumed. I missed you too —you would reply to him in your mind.

Still, nothing was salvaged by the end of the night. You two would part ways like you always did, only this time, you failed to see his hand desperately reaching for yours as you walked out of the house.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It's been a rich couple of days and very busy ones at that. You had your responsibilities, and you're finally facing them, masking your apprehension.

“You should join the group study, I beg you!” your friend shook you lightly.

“Why should I? I study better just by myself.” —which was true, but also an excuse to not engage in any circumstance of socializing.

“Please? just once? We can't even hang out that much anymore, and now we can't even study together?” your friend's pleas made you sigh.

“What are you saying? We can always study together, just without other people.” you calmly respond, but your friend persisted.

“Please?”

Before you knew it, you were being dragged to the campus lobby.

“Shit, I forgot my laptop. I'm gonna go grab it—”

“Ah-ah! I'll go get it for you, just wait here.” your friend was quick to talk over you with a speck of doubt that you will come back if you had gone away yourself.

Your lips formed a flat line, as you stood there and waited.

Naturally, your eyes wandered around the massive area of the lobby. There weren't many students, and the sounds of faint conversations and running printing and copy machines served as white noise for the students in the area. You noticed two groups of people at the study area, both in their own circles. You knew it would be in one of these groups that you'd be engaging with sooner or later.

Your eyes observed them, momentarily shifting to some other area in the lobby. You would look for too long though, and you would feel a pair of eyes just dawning to stare.

“Eunseok?” you mumbled to yourself.

“Hey.” you jolted from your spot when your friend nudged you, causing her to cackle. “Come on, they're over there.”

You two walked to the other group of people, the one that he wasn't a part of.

Your friend would introduce you to the group, and you would just give them a light smile, with not much care —if not none at all.

Only one side of your figure was visible to Eunseok. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. It wasn't the first time he had seen you around, he wasn't sure if you had seen him around too, but by the way you reacted to seeing him, he figured you might've never even noticed him all this time.

He was forced into that party, he never enjoyed it until you showed up. Although he savored every night with you, he wanted to know why you would drink so relentlessly, why you'd frequent the party, and why you'd stop showing up and suddenly coming back months later.

He didn't approach you by chance. He had always thought, if only he could turn back time, it would be in the campus where he'd greet you and ask for your contacts if he was feeling lucky. He wouldn't be so attached and latch onto his feelings by expressing what he could not with words through his actions. He was well aware that it's one-sided, but he wished you would keep coming back, just enough for him to slowly get you to stare back into his eyes.

He was consistent. During those nights, his eyes eagerly chased after yours, wanting to take a peek into the depths of your soul. You always rejected his yearning, as you thought you shouldn't take anything to heart, or waste any of your thoughts.

His eyes would linger on your profile as he was still trying to reach for your attention. You weren't able to hold back seeing from the corner of your eyes, just how fixated he was with you. You glanced at him, and his gaze would soon be accompanied with a bashful smile, behind it, he would feel hopeful. Maybe this time he'd be able to finally ask.

“Can I have your number?” —the way he had envisioned it in his mind; he would ask you before you got the chance to walk away from him again. He would accomplish catching you before you got away, but he would soon find himself unclothed, laying on your bed as you catched your breath.

His question caused your eyes to slowly flutter open, meeting his the moment your vision cleared up. He was in awe, you had the flair of enchanting him without even actually doing much. Your stare was melting him, and he felt so elated that he was finally able to capture your full heed.

“I thought you'd never ask.” he had never heard your voice in such a mellow tone before.

He was drowning in your essence. As much as you'd like to deny it, your attraction to him started shifting. His smile was bright and wide as he typed to save your number in his contacts. He would smile at you again, so sweetly that your breathing would become unstable.

You had never noticed these things about him, but then suddenly you would find yourself meandering about the very little things about him, even in his absence.

Your meets would be more frequent, and there would be no getting wasted or overbearing party noises.

The two of you would remain oblivious towards the fact that your intents were changing every time you would meet.

Your eyes would light up more and more whenever you stumbled upon him around the campus, and you would get bolder each time to maintain eye contact as you both acted like you weren't all over each other the night before.

“Hi Eunseok!” your sudden pep would shock him and your friend who would always be a witness to your little talks.

“Hi Y/n, long time no see!” he would place his hand on your shoulder and lightly squeeze. “You headed to class?”

“No, just finished actually.” —which was code for: meet me in my room in 20 minutes.

He would only smile and wave goodbye to you and your friend and walk past you.

“You know him?” your friend asked.

“Just recently.” you shrugged.

“You two must have a thing huh. Tell me you like him or you're failing calculus!” you lightly laughed at your friends.

“Alright, alright! maybe I do.” your friend playfully hit you, as she smiled.

“You'd have to tell me all about it! otherwise I would think he's just selling you drugs.” you immediately shush her making her emit a chortle.

“It's nothing like that!” you laughed. “Let's talk about it some other time, I feel tired, I'm gonna get myself some sleep.”

You walked off to the same direction where Eunseok had gone, and the rest was just as you would imagine.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Messaging each other in the middle of lectures was not anything new to the both of you, but it was with this message that he altered something in your brain.

You would walk in your dorm room and he would be sitting at the edge of the bed, looking right into your eyes as you closed the door behind you with your foot.

“How long have you been here?” you ask him.

“A while.” his eyes traveled down to your hoodie —his hoodie. “I forgot I left that here.”

You blinked a couple of times before looking down on the clothing that kept your body warm. “Shit, I thought this was one of mine, sorry.”

The sweet sound of his chuckle just made you want to just dissipate right then and there. As an attempt to hide the heat rising up to your cheeks, you walked over to him and straddled his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and planted kisses all over his face, gradually making your way down. You wouldn't be able to proceed when he buried his face into the crook of your neck. He would lay his head sideways on your shoulder and watch as you continuously blinked, stunned by his behavior.

The way he just comfortably let his weight fall on you, breathing in your scent contradicts the way you have thought of him all this time.

Your hands would make their way to his hair, running your fingers through ever so gently. He closed his eyes and held you even closer. He felt your heart, beating at the same pace as his.

You wanted to ask him what happened, but you kept quiet. You didn't want it to end. His breath warmed your skin as he hummed to the motions of your hands brushing through his hair.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Eunseok made you feel a lot of emotions, and they would only grow within every minute you had spent with him.

After a while, you two got comfortable enough to converse. You two shared the inquisitivity towards each other's lives. He would ask you what led you into that frat party, and you would answer. He would notice the tears threatening to fall from your pretty eyes.

“You can cry.” he would say in the most endearing way he possibly could, guiding your head to lay on his chest as you both lay on the tight space of your bed.

Your watering eyes were unrelenting once you've let it break out of you for the first time in a while. He held you close, not caring for the wet patch that formed on his shirt. He just wanted you to feel safe and at ease in his presence. Though he never said it out loud, the way his thumb skimmed against the top of your hand as he held it tight told you just how much he truly cared for you.

“Your shirt's all wet now.” you weakly utter, frantically wiping the tears that streamed down to your neck.

With his other hand, he lightly pushed away yours that wiped on your swollen eyes and would use his thumb to carefully rid of the tears that subsided.

“You can cry on me all you want, love.” you wanted to tell him that he could do so to you too, but you felt weak in his embrace and you could only let him bury you under the covers with him as he caressed your hair.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

His friends and yours would fail to notice the flourishing fondness that the both of you knew of to be a mutual feeling that none of you ever dared to speak of it —for a while it felt like you didn't have to.

Soon your circle of friends would be associated with his own, one way or another, and the two of you would always be regarded with, “Oh, they've known each other for a while.”. Though, they would never really figure out just how long "for a while" has been.

The usual hang-outs outside of studying would be eating out and drinking a little. Your friends would be immersed in conversation and you would pretend to listen, laughing along when they did, but you were all eyes and ears only for him who would always sit across from you.

You two could only be immersed in each other's eyes that reflected your honeyed smiles. Your friends would think the two of you were just having the same fun as them and while it was true that you were happy, it would only be because of one another.

During your walk to the bus stop, he walked beside you, resisting the urge to just grab your hand and plant a kiss on it. But he couldn't. Your friends and some of his were still babbling on and about, a few in front of you and some following closely behind. You two could only laugh along at whatever it was they chattered about.

You had both agreed to rest the next morning and you would be awakened by a notification that sounded from your phone.

You got up, no second thoughts. You just wanted him to attack you with a hug till you both crash down on your bed.

When you opened the door, he had a guitar with him and a plastic bag that contained food. Your mouth hung open. He had never mentioned anything about playing any instruments during those times that you would snuggle into each other's arms and talk.

You had seated yourself on your desk chair as you watched him take out his guitar from its casing.

“Eat up, love. I'm gonna play you a song.”

You already had the food in your hands, but you couldn't take a bite just yet. You wanted to hear the sweet melody from the strum of his guitar.

He looked up at you and started playing Girl by Men I Trust.

He had secretly been listening to your playlist on a daily basis, and learning to play as many of the songs that he could with his guitar. He was able to pick out the ones you listened to the most.

His voice took your breath away. He sounded even more beautiful when he sang. His eyes stare lovingly into the windows of your psyche, singing every word with the adoration in his heart that he had only for you.

When he finished, you would jokingly tell him to stop so you could eat. He would just chuckle at you and put away his guitar. You'd stand up and sit next to him, feeding him before taking a bite for yourself.

The next time he'd visit, he would bring his guitar again, this time playing Stargazing by The Neighbourhood.

It just so happens that the song described the feelings he had for you perfectly, and so he would sing every word to you like a love letter. He loved the way you would raise your shoulders at a certain point of the song, and how you would shy away from his gaze as he sang.

Every time he would ask if he could come over or when you asked him to, you would pace around your room as you waited for him to appear with his guitar, and the initial cause of this setting you had would be completely disregarded. You two only desired each other's stares, you longed for his enamoring voice and he yearned for your saccharine giggles.

You two would be comfortable enough to move to more spacious areas around the campus. One instance would be in an empty lecture hall. When he wasn't equipped with his guitar, you two would listen to your playlist from the speakers of your phone.

You two would go on for months, indulging in each other's affections. Still, there was no commitment established, and the both of you failed to see it. You thought it would be for the best. You fear that if you'd let yourself tell him how much you love him, you would never be able to detach yourself from him.

And that time would come around. You had both graduated, and you were set to move out of town for work.

When you told him, all he could say was, “I'm gonna miss you like crazy.” The crack in his voice made you want to kiss him, to tell him that you'll always love him, that you'd stay for him.

When you left, you tried to keep in contact with him. He lost count for the many times you had apologized in your messages whenever you got too busy with work. He would always be active to reply to you, and would update you with the things he had been up to recently. When you came home from work, he would send you videos of him playing your favorite songs on his guitar nightly.

You broke down one night, realizing that everything was falling apart. You hated yourself for being too tired to acknowledge his efforts. Even then, none of you ever brought up your unsaid feelings about your relationship.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It's been two years. You found yourself winding back to your old habits of smoking, and drinking every so often. You would lose contact with Eunseok, and not even willingly.

Your old phone got robbed off of you. It took you a while to recover from the robbery, you lost a good amount of money too. Getting a new phone took months. You still had his number in your wallet, but you never bothered to contact him again. You were afraid that your sudden disappearance had caused him to resent you.

Though, you would contact your friend again, explaining to her everything that had happened. That friend of yours was one of the few that stayed back in your hometown. She told you that she never saw Eunseok around after you had gone away.

Your guilt was eating you up, and you wish you could just cry onto his chest again like you used to, but now you would never be able to go back to those tender moments.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Hey, I just called to tell you that I'm having a party and I want you here!” your friend's loud voice bursted through your phone's speakers.

“I don't even know how I'd get there, and I have work.” you tried to chuckle towards the end of your sentence, but somehow you weren't able to.

“Y/n, you've been refusing our help ever since you went out of town. We just want to see you, I want to see you, just to make sure you're still alive and well and not slowly killing yourself.” you gulped as she spoke.

“I'll try to come.” you voiced out, your voice fading out into the distance.

“Uh-uh, you're definitely coming.” Your friend's urges were enough for you to gather the courage to ask your boss for a sick leave the night before the party.

In your train ride, you would have your eyes closed, still wary of the possibility that you might see him there. Your friend told you that he hadn't talked to any of them since you've been gone, and you just couldn't get your mind off of the thought that he might've done something to hurt himself, or to hurt you. But you felt as if you had no right to get hurt if ever he had found someone to take your place, after all, it was you who made the choice to deny your heart's aching for him.

Your friend met you at the train station and led you to her home. You were happy that she was doing well. She was just getting ready for the party and you had offered to help, but she insisted that you just rest from your long trip back to your hometown.

“Who's coming?” you asked, with that tiny bit of anticipation that his name would come out of your friend's mouth, even though you knew just how much it would hurt you to see him again.

“Our friends from college, and some other people —also from college, a bunch of IG mutuals I had that attended the university.” your friend would be focused on fixing everything up for the party as you silently wished in your mind.

I want to see him, just to see him. It doesn't matter if he hates me, I hate myself too, he deserves nothing but all the love in this world. —your head hangs low, tiring your sanity with your melancholic thoughts.

“You okay?” you nod weakly at your friend, unable to utter a reply or even give a little smile.

When people start arriving, you anxiously dipped your hands into the pockets of your coat, hiding the shakiness as you gave everyone the best smile you could pull out.

You tried to answer as straight-foward as possible for your friend's curiosity towards your life after you've moved. You had told them about your unfortunate encounter with an unsuspecting young woman that turned out to be a thief. Despite your friends' consolations, you tried to laugh it out, but it was very faint and they could almost feel how tired you are of everything.

Later in the night, you would stand alone by the snack bar, munching on the sweets, bit by bit. You would eventually get tired of chewing, and you'd go outside the house, pulling out a cigarette from the pack that hid in your coat's left pocket. You held it in between your lips to light it.

“Where's your boyfriend at?”

You dropped your lighter, as a ringing started to go off in your head. Your tears started to fall without notice. You felt yourself getting weak in the knees. It might've been the memories that filled the air of this town that was making you hear things, but you were broken out of your trance when your face was already pressed into the same chest that would let you cry for hours and voice out your problems, the one that encloses the heart that would only beat for you.

You muffled your sobs as you pressed your face against him, uttering an apology over and over again.

“Hey, hey, don't be sorry.” his voice would be as weak as yours as tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

You would look up into his eyes for the first time in years, and from there, his tears would break out of him. You pulled him close to your neck. “You can cry on me for as long as you want, my love.”

A soft sob would escape his lips and fill your ears.

“Please stay. I love you so much, my Y/n.” it was all you've ever wanted to hear.

It was hard for you to believe, but after two years, he was still as in love as when you left him.

He'd take you to his place that night, and you two would make love like it was the first time all over again. You two would listen to the videos of him singing and playing your favorite songs with his guitar, and the very last one he sent was Lover's Rock.

“You know, I wish I could've told you how much I loved you before you left, or the first time I played a song for you…” you felt the tears building up in your eyes once more as you took in his sweet voice, and his faint singing that would be drowned in the background.

“I wanted to say I love you the moment you started singing to me.” you shakily laughed as you failed to hold back your tears.

He chuckled and wiped your tears with his thumb. You sat up and faced him, his eyes were filled with so much love that you struggled to find your next words. You would shake yourself awake after a while and ask him,

“I've been meaning to ask you this, but I was too afraid to know the truth. Out of all the girls in that party, why me?”

Eunseok's eyes landed on your hands. He held them, and pressed his lips against the back of them.

“That time, It had only been a couple of weeks ever since I've had a crush on you. I thought you would recognize me, but as it turns out you didn't even know me from campus.” you would both chuckle softly when he had finished speaking. “How about you? out of all the guys you've fooled around with, why me?”

You tilted your head at him, making him laugh with how dear you looked. “I never fooled around with any other guy. You were my first, and last.”

He gently squeezed your hands. “Really? why not?”

“I mean, I already had you, didn't I?” you asked back. “I never knew it back then, but I would only keep coming back for you.”

He could only stare back, wandering into the image of the night sky in your eyes.

You were back in the same town in which you suffered the most, and where you'd be the happiest. It is where you had lost yourself completely, where you had your firsts, your first hangover, your first smoke, your first intercourse and your first love.

Even though it seemed like he lost you, you never lost him. He had just been waiting, and if you hadn't gone home to him, he would find you and love you like he always did.

Eunseok had thrown away your cigarettes, as he knew that you would only need each other from now on.

Fin.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

praying to God that y'all got the reference for the ending ><

#riize #riize fanfic #riize au #briize #riize x reader #riize angst #riize eunseok #song eunseok #eunseok #Spotify

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screamingmandrakes · 2 months ago

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Due to the interest in my Tomarrymort post yesterday, I’ve decided to dump a Harrymort WIP I’m not sure if I’m going to finish. This is a little over 1k words. Content warning for non-consensual Somnophilia and references to previous sexual assault. So fair warning - dead dove: do not eat.

Thank you to @xenomorphology-ao3 for some lovely touches on this fic.

Given as this is not finished, this is not edited. Some things in it might be worded poorly because I hadn’t refined it yet. Basically, don’t hold this to too high of a standard lmao.

This was intended to be a sequel to all is fair (in love and war) It’s Voldemort having a inner crisis about the fact Harry will die some day lol.

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!”

- Chapter Thirty-six, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Little does Lord Voldemort value.

Few things are preeminent: power, for starters, second only to the blood of his mother coursing through his veins. Third, his body: spindling with skin stretched tightly over sharp, protruding bones, the vessel that brought him to victory. Nagini, a weapon forged for battle, with jagged fangs and the speed of a whip, follows suit.

Before all these things comes something immeasurable. His Soul. His Boy. His Harry. But as little as Lord Voldemort values, so too does he fear. He is an unstoppable force, unmovable by will. Unbreakable, even when abandoned in the forests of Albania. His Death Eaters paid the price for their insolence, yes, but he is a forgiving Lord. After all, he had forgiven Harry many times, drowning out the angry screams and curses until they finally faded away.

There is only one thing Voldemort fears, and that is death.

Not for himself, not anymore. Lord Voldemort will never die. Power rests heavily in his hands, soldiered into the minimal soul he has left. Time and victory have built him into an indestructible being, but His Boy does not exist as the same. He is not as fragile as Voldemort often deems; even as a young boy, he had withstood the force of his master, protected by the blood of his mother. But he is mortal — whole. Harry spends most of his days locked in their chamber, sitting in the middle of their inordinate bed while glaring bitterly wherever Voldemort stands. When he does not, he is kept close to his master’s side, bound to him by magic. Lord Voldemort takes care of what is his, and His Boy is no exception, but as mighty as he is, Harry does not exist without vulnerability.

It is now, as His Boy sleeps once more, dosed under yet another sedative potion brewed by his Lord’s dutiful servant. In the morning, Harry will rise to a goblet tainted with Amortentia. Harry has only a few precious moments to feel the full spectrum of his fury-led resistance before he’s subdued again, lulled into the fantasy fate crafted for them upon the death of his mother. This is a cycle driven solely by Harry’s refusal to submit – to accept the reality that has always been meant for him. It is not one Lord Voldemort prefers, but a necessary step he must take.

Food comes aplenty for His Boy, served on silver platters by trembling house elves. With a loud crack, they apparate out of the room as swiftly as they arrived, leaving Voldemort alone to attend to Harry. A product of his parents, Harry is just as willful as his foolish mother had been, refusing to accept mercy at the expense of his autonomy. Under the effects of the Amortentia, he is a willing participant, eagerly lapping the juices of freshly ripe pomegranates from Voldemort’s skeletal fingers. When he wakes, barely coherent, he fights with a fury Voldemort yearns to consume.

His Boy’s rage is a delicacy. Who is he to deny himself such a feast?

But for now, he is compliant, stretching across their bed with a dazed look on his face. His eyes rest at half-mast, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he comes in and out of consciousness. With each sunset, Harry’s body grows thinner. His pallid skin stretches over his bones, bleached from months without the sun. Voldemort’s long, bony fingers graze the tender skin of Harry’s inner thigh, his shirt bunched above his belly button, and he is reminded once again of Harry’s mortality. Each breath Harry takes is a breath closer to death.

He further trails the curve of Harry’s thighs, his sharp nail snagging on the expensive fabric of his pants. They’re tailored perfectly to his size, crafted from the highest quality material he could acquire. The Malfoy’s were not pleased to offer their funds for such a service, but Lord Voldemort’s word comes as law and no request by him shall be overlooked. Moving upward, he traces the button securing the clothing around Harry’s waist, his nail momentarily slipping under his waistband. Harry stirs, blinking hazily but otherwise does not object. Voldemort’s power does not come without resources; he is accompanied by the most skilled of potion makers. Snape brews as he’s asked, holding no questions for the purpose. A dash of valerian root does nicely for a modified sedative — not quite awake, yet not asleep.

“My Soul…” Voldemort hisses to nobody in particular. Harry’s chest rises and falls with a gentle motion. He seems truly at peace like this, far from the sobered version of him. Voldemort craves such a reality, but the taste of Harry’s stormy temper isn’t entirely opposed. It’s strength, something Voldemort has always valued. A narrow, shallow scratch lingers in the wake of his claw as he graces the hair lining Harry’s torso. Though still thin, Harry is far different from the scrawny boy Voldemort had faced while existing as nothing more than a part of Quirrell. Yes, he should have known then, known when Quirrell’s skin bubbled under Harry’s fingers, that His Boy was part of something much bigger than a prophecy.

Voldemort’s nail travels further, combing through the dark, coarse hair until he dips into the divet of Harry’s navel. Harry shudders sleepily, his stomach twitching under his touch. The bed groans as Voldemort leans closer, his other hand reaching to brush the hair from Harry’s face. He is just eighteen now, only a few years older than Voldemort was when he murdered his father. Yet Harry is different. When he isn’t bellowing at Voldemort or existing in a drugged up stupor, Harry is kind. He speaks to the house elves with compassion that makes them scatter, fearful of the unfamiliar sweetness. He tells them please and thank you and offers a smile, even when it’s exceptionally weak.

His Boy is nothing like him, yet they are one of the same.

Perhaps, one day he’ll allow Harry to have a wand again. Not yet, as His Boy is still rather combative. Their duel in the graveyard had been a fluke, a stroke of luck, but Harry is not entirely inept at battle. Not enough to give him freedom. But now, as His Boy remains plaint under his fingertips, it is Lord Voldemort that harnesses all of the power. The hand not on Harry’s stomach grazes over the scar on his forehead, feeling the thrum of their connection in his fingertips. Voldemort does not feel whole—cannot feel whole—but there is a snap like two puzzle pieces fitting together whenever he touches Harry.

His hand falls from Harry’s forehead, passing over his collarbones and down his chest until he stops where the boy’s shirt scrunches up. For a moment, both hands rest there, white claws stark against his skin. It’s the perfect image — Harry, long limbed and thinly built, muscles undefined from months of inactivity, at his Lord’s disposal. He is frighteningly fragile like this, and the thought makes something acidic churn in Voldemort’s gut. It’s an abnormal feeling, one that doesn’t belong to a being like him. Lord Voldemort does not care for others, but Harry Potter’s life rests in the palm of his hand, his to twist and mend. His to protect.

His Soul will yearn for nothing — feel pain only from the hand of his Master. He has made sure to take vengeance where it is due; the remaining heirs of His Boy suffered terrible, merciless deaths. Voldemort feasted on the pain, savored the wailing of the detestable mother and the terrified yet defiant bellowing of the red-faced father as their brat of a son thrashed on the floor. Exterminating vermin comes with ease.

But love — no, love is not something that comes naturally to Lord Voldemort. It is an act met with repulsion, perceived as weakness. There is no good and evil, yet the notion of love remains inexplicably good. Voldemort does not feel love— no, love is a vulnerability, love is foolish. Love is what killed Lily Potter, yet kept His Boy alive. He does not — cannot — love Harry, but he holds the urge to tear the world apart and offer him the pieces. Power has little place within Harry Potter, and Lord Voldemort owns no desire to share such a thing. But Harry has no place among the Mudbloods of the world, and what can Voldemort offer if not rightful respect?

Slowly, Voldemort moves upward again, his hand gliding along Harry’s torso until his fingers slip under his shirt. Harry shifts once more, his eyelids fluttering open to show glassy, unfocused eyes as he attempts to find purchase in reality. Voldemort merely smiles, lip pulling back menacingly to expose the two serrated teeth protruding from his mouth. He knows Harry will not remember this come morning.

His skin is hot to the touch as Voldemort’s fingers, cold and clinical, explore his body. It is not much different than he had been fifty some years ago, but the curves and contours of Harry feel much more delicate. Despite his inactivity, in actuality, Harry is still rather strong, clawing at his Master with ferocity whenever Voldemort comes to take what is his. His fingers slip through the splattering of hair on Harry’s chest.

#meg.txt #tom riddle #voldemort #tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #lord voldemort #dead dove do not eat

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lily-evans-stan · 5 months ago

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“help me” @pandalilymicrofics prompt for june 22!! it’s my second microfic and my first w a prompt so any insights would be so helpful:)))

TW- Eating disorders and mentions of suicide please take care of your self and read with caution

lily had eaten too much.

that much she knew.

pandora had been passing her drink after drink and as lily lost her inhibitions she lost her control.

and she wasn’t allowed to lose control.

control was the only thing keeping her from madness, from destroying herself inside out.

and it wasn’t doing a very good job.

so lily was eating.

so far she had eaten half a cookie, thirteen potato chips and four and a half beers. it was just too much, she was going to cry.

instead she reached out for her fourteenth chip. according to the bag serving sizes were twenty eight chips, lily, in her mind, was getting dangerously close.

as she realized what she was doing she pulled her hand back suddenly.

pandora appeared at her side, “ what are you doing my love?” she hummed. lily flinched and hoped that the blonde girl hadn’t seen the momentary weakness.

“nothing dear,” lily murmured, leaning into pandora’s touch, suddenly imagining what her lover would think had she know how much lily had eaten.

the redhead stiffened ever so slightly, “im going to go to the bathroom.”

lily stumbled towards the bathroom, her mind going over the rules.

one

never eat anything you can’t throw up

two

never let anyone know

three repeat my mantras :

“if she knows then she will never love me again”

“she only loves me because of how i look”

“if i eat so much, i’m going to be fat and then no one will love me ever again”

“i’m miserable now but one day i’ll be happy”

i’m the bathroom lily flung open the stall and kneeled at the toilet bowl if anyone walked in they would think she just had too much to drink. gryffindor parties often got rowdy, especially when all the houses had been invited like they were tonight.

but that was far from what was happening in lily’s mind.

as she stuck her hand down her throat she gagged. and gagged again. and once more but nothing came up. she started sobbing. she was hiccuping and gagging against the hand in her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

what if she couldn’t throw up? what if she has to digest the food?

what if… what if the next time she stepped on the scale she saw the number go up instead of down.

that truly was lilys greatest fear.

she started hyperventilating. she was gagging and blood was coming up and stomach acid was coming up but nothing solid or even that had once been remotely solid. tears and snot were all over her and she could feel the spit sliding down her arm.

that’s when pandora walked in. her eyes took in the scene, the pitiful girl so deep in her mind that she couldn’t even think straight. so tainted with the monster inside that everything she did was traced back to it.

pandora looked at lily and lily looked back. lily was disgusting, she was covered in bodily fluids and was hyperventilating, shaking and still gagging.

“help me.”

with one step pandora was beside her girlfriend, arms around lily. and lily was sobbing into her shoulder.

things would be sorted out, pandora would get the whole story, and everything would be fixed.

eventually.

but for now lily was in pandoras arms and that was enough.

#pandora rosier #lily evans #marauders #marauders era #pandalily #pandora x lily #eating disoder trigger warning #pandalily microfic

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lovelynim · 2 years ago

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Kaveh’s key

Genshin Impact - Alhaitham x Kaveh (feat. Mehrak)

A/N: I got a little too obsessed with Kaveh being able to use telekinesis. That’s the plot behind this one.

Summary: Kaveh decides to use Mehrak’s help to teach Alhaitham a lesson for stealing his keys.

Word count: 1305 words.

Alhaitham and Kaveh walked inside the house, but in two completely different moods. While the scribe had a rather calm expression, and even a little drained from his work day, his roommate was clearly upset, making the sound of his heavy footsteps echo through the house as he went to the kitchen to search for something to drink.

Because Alhaitham ended up taking both keys (for the third time that week), Kaveh had to wait outside their house for at least an hour, waiting for the other man to get back from work and allow them both to go in.

Kaveh wasn’t sure what was making him more angry: the wait, the fact that it was becoming a common occurrence or how unbothered Alhaitham looked, not showing the slight concern for his roommate.

“Could you at least pretend you care?” Kaveh whined out loud, staring at Alhaitham’s direction. The scribe was comfortably sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and with a book on his hands. Kaveh clenched his teeth. “I’m talking to you, you idiot.”

But there was no response. Alhaitham simply turned the page, barely taking his eyes out of the book as Kaveh only got even more upset.

“Alhaitham!”

“Yes, Kaveh? I’m listening,” the scribe snapped back, clearly uninterested. Kaveh placed his cup down and he crossed his arms, pouting.

“You can be such a pain to deal with sometimes. Don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm…” Alhaitham muttered, placing the book down on his lap and slightly lifting his chin, as if thinking about his next words. “Yes. Be more careful and don’t forget your keys next time,” he said, tilting his head to the side to look at Kaveh with a sly smirk.

“I didn’t forget them!” Kaveh roared, slamming his hands over the kitchen’s table. “You took both keys with you! Again!”

“Then be more careful and place them somewhere else, it’s not my fault they got entangled,” Alhaitham muttered, turning another page and continuing to read.

He was really getting on Kaveh’s nerves.

“Why can’t you pay more attention when you leave the house?! And it took you an eternity to get back home! Do you know how much time I spent outside for you?!”

Alhaitham sighed. Kaveh was being loud enough to disturb his reading and, now, he was getting annoyed as well. He had no energy to argue with his roommate and just wanted to finish his reading… Maybe it would be better to just agree with Kaveh, he thought.

“Alright, Kaveh, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful tomorrow,” the scribe sighed, noticing how his words made his roommate go silent.

Taking it as a good sign, Alhaitham picked up his book again and resumed reading. However, in Kaveh’s end, those words didn’t land so well. The blonde clenched his hands, thinking about throwing the cup in front of him right at Alhaitham’s head. But once he looked at his own hands, he was struck by a different idea.

Giving Mehrak a subtle look, Kaveh nodded at his suitcase and it already knew that the architect had something in mind.

He walked around the living room, as if going to his bedroom, but stopped behind the couch. “You asked for this,” he warned Alhaitham, who simply lifted his eyes from the book and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What do you me-” before he could finish, he felt something around his wrists. Two yellow rings made out of energy. Mehrak’s energy. The scribe got even more confused and was about to turn back to look at Kaveh when his roommate spoke again.

“Up,” the blonde spoke, placing one hand over his waist while he swiped his finger up, waiting for Mehrak to follow his command. With that simple move, the rings went up, holding Alhaitham’s hand above his head.

The scribe felt blood rush to his cheeks, tainting them with a faint shade of pink. He tried to pull his arms down, but Mehrak’s energy kept holding them firmly. No matter how much he twisted his hands, it wouldn’t move a single inch.

“It’s not going to work like that, you know, especially since keeping you in place doesn’t demand a lot of energy from Mehrak.”

“What?” Alhaitham gasped, sitting back on the couch as he had no option but to accept that his arms were restrained. “Then tell it to let me go,” he hissed, managing to look over his shoulder and glare at Kaveh with the corner of his eyes.

“Not until you apologize.”

“I already did it.”

“Sure,” Kaveh chuckled, walking towards the scribe and making him shiver in anticipation, “do as you please.” He muttered and Alhaitham could hear the grin in his voice.

Kaveh placed his hands over each of his roommate’s bare triceps, lazily tracing up and down over them. Just from that simple touch, Alhaitham could already feel his heartbeat increase. He greeted his teeth, stiffening his body as he tried to hold back his laugh while an awkward smile took place in his lips. “K-Kaveheh- St-hng… s-stohop it.”

The change in his voice tone didn’t go unnoticed. The blonde grinned, lightly moving the tip of his fingers in circles right above the middle of Alhaitham’s underarms. “Not so tough now, eh? You almost sound like a nice guy speaking like this,” he teased, amusing himself with his friend’s squirming.

“T-Thihihs childihish! S-stop it, Kahahaveh!” Alhaitham protested, twisting his torso side to side as much as the energy rings allowed him to.

“And so is your stubbornness.” The architect snapped back, lowering his hands a little just to drag the tip of his nails up the scribe’s outstretched armpits.

Alhaitham choked with his laughter, banging his heels against the floor beneath him, finally giving in to ticklish sensations. “AHAhaha, K-KavehehEHeh!! QuihiHIHihit it, pleheHEhease!” He cackled, trying to bury his blushing face into his arms with no avail. The scribe pressed his hands into fists as Kaveh’s nails moved freely over his skin, tickling each muscle with a precision that was sending Alhaitham up the walls.

“Begging won’t take you anywhere, you insufferable idiot,” Kaveh taunted, adding just enough pressure to his touch to send Alhaitham into another wave of hysterical laughter. “Are you sorry?!” He yelled, trying to make his roommate hear his words over the loud pleads and chortles.

“YEHEHES- AhahAHaha, j-juhuhust stahAHA- W-wahahait!!” Alhaitham giggled, letting out an embarrassing squeal when Kaveh decided to pinch the skin right above his underarm. His other hand, however, explored each inch of sensitive skin on the other side, wiggling his fingers mercilessly into the middle of his hollow.

“Nuh-uh, not so fast. What are you sorry for?” Kaveh knew he was being petty, but he also believed Alhaitham deserved that. Regardless, he wasn’t stopping the tickling.

“F-for tahAHAhaking yo- ahAHAHAhah,” he pressed his eyes close as hard as he could, feeling like he was melting into a puddle of laughter over the couch when Kaveh’s hands went a little lower, tickling all the way up from his ribs to his arms. “For tahAHahaking y-yohou kehEHEHeys!!”

“See? It wasn’t this hard to put some sincerity into your words, was it?” Kaveh grinned, pleased with what he just heard. Taking his hands away, he snapped his fingers, releasing the scribe from Mehrak’s hold. “I’ll take a shower and go to bed, I had a really rough day, you know?”

“Ah-ahah.. f-fuck you, Kaveh,” Alhaitham muttered, laying his head back into the cushions as he tried to catch his breath, feeling the electric aftershocks running all the way across his torso.

“Good night for you too, Haitham,” he giggled, deciding to spare the scribe from another tease. He probably learnt his lesson and, if he didn’t, Kaveh could always count with Mehrak to give him a little reminder.

#genshin impact #genshin impact tickling #kaveh #alhaitham #kavetham #lee!alhaitham #ticklish!alhaitham #ler!kaveh #tickle fic

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demigodickrider · 11 months ago

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indefinitely, forever ☆ okkotsu yuuta! [2/3]

okkotsu yuuta (post shibuya) x fem!reader click here for: part one | part two | part three - no spoilers from the manga, dwdw ;) - alternative universe where yuuta is an SCP? - [18+] three-part series, 10k+ words in total

(note: not proofread, expect grammar mistakes) warning: contains descriptions of blood, yuuta is a bit OOC/has that gojo satoru influence, romance, happy ending but contains slight angst and comfort, 2nd person pov, reader swears like a sailor

Nanami and Maki were nowhere to be seen, probably being told to retreat back into their offices for further discussion.

All eyes were on you however, being flailed around like a ragdoll in Rika's hand as she continues her slaughter. You could tell just how much the pair were enjoying this; the bloodshed had the walls painted in complete red. A stark contrast to the bland whiteness of the facility. You couldn't bear to watch as screams erupted all around you, silenced once Rika descends her attack on them, which had somehow grown more destructive over time.

"Where now?"

You point weakly at the hall to the left. Fuck the Foundation for designing their buildings akin to mazes. It left you bedridden and sick the first night you had to memorize their layout. But it felt worth it now, the three of you trudging forward and towards the exit with no difficulty.

"Elevator. Push the down button."

"Not up?"

"That's a secret alert button," Secrets spew out of your mouth like a waterfall. Nothing really mattered now that you're siding with evil. "Don't press that or we're fucked."

Yuta does as you told him to.

Now's a matter of defending yourselves before it arrives.

Rika sets you down on the ground, a low rumble emitting from her throat. Your knees felt weak like jelly, but you manage. Rika disappears back into Yuta's body without a trace, leaving the two of you alone. Now you both look human more than ever, but the blood tainting your clothing had a lot of convincing to do if you were to try and prove so.

Your ears pick up on the hurried footsteps approaching near, and Yuta readies his katana. The figures come closer, light behind them casting a familiar silhouette over two individuals holstering weapons-

"Wait! Those are my friends."

Yuta lowers the weapon slightly.

They slow down, coming to a stop.

Maki's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets, seeing that you were in the hands of Rika. Nanami looked beyond frustrated. "Let her go, or we'll have no choice but to neutralize you."

"Wait, you guys. This isn't-"

Yuta cuts you, "I don't want to."

"Can't you at least let me talk to them?"

"What's going on?" Maki's gaze drifts between the two of you, suspicion lingering in the air. "Are you two working together? Seriously, get your head out of the gutter! If you're working with him just because you almost saw him naked-"

"Huh-"

"That has nothing to do with this!" You protest, your ears burning from the sudden accusation. "Listen to me, alright?"

"I'm listening." Nanami's spectacles glint under the light menacingly, weapon in hand. You've worked with him long enough to know that he'd most likely believe in reason than what's shown up front. Yet you were at a loss for words to even explain the absurdity of your situation: how would you tell them that you were coerced into this? The blood on their hands was as much the same as on yours; you lead them out all the way here. Despite wanting to do what's right, you chose to be selfish and instead helped the pair of anomalies.

You were the one who chose to betray the Foundation.

You're just as guilty as Yuta is. No less, no more.

"I... He broke out of his cell and..." Before you could finish, the elevator has reached your level. The metal doors open. "Nanami, Maki, I-"

Yuta pats your shoulder, "We need to go. Now."

"But-"

"Now." And there's that same dead-eyed look again, replacing any friendliness you had shared. You swallowed thickly, nodding at his command, knowing very well that the only two people you cared for are now no longer trusting of you.

Your nails dig deep into the palm of your hands when you had to turn your back on them. Yuta waits for you to enter then presses it close, noting how your friends stood aghast without firing their weapons.

It seems that they, too, have chosen to be just as guilty as you are.

...

"Are you okay?" Yuta's soft voice brought you back to reality. You were no longer back at the facility but rather in the comfort of your own home. Yuta had no clue about the city, finding himself displaced from the hometown he had been used to. You were lucky enough that you had just moved into a new residential area no one knew, an hour away from the underground base.

You had no energy to fight with the criminal sitting in front of you. He sat with both legs crossed, watching the snow trickle outside. He's wearing an oversized sweater of yours that had somehow fit perfectly on him. Droplets of water cascade down the side of his cheeks from his damp hair, no longer retaining its slicked down shape.

"Obviously not." You reply snarkily.

Yuta shifts away from the magical sight and onto your tired face. Your cheeks flush red and your pants were loose. Somehow you've lost even more weight prior to getting the job. You put your head in your hands, wanting to cry, yet finding the energy to do so was futile.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at your sorrow.

"I'm sorry."

Hearing him apologize drove you mad.

"Say sorry one more time and I'm kicking you out."

He zips his lips shut, choosing to avert his focus on the falling snow again. It's December this time around, mid-winter. He'd lost count of the days he spent in the military looking up at high ceilings made of concrete at night, with little to no light. They had always treated him so unkindly; so inhumanely; leaving him to sleep on the floor like an animal and locking him up until it was time to leave for a mission. At least he had a bed during his time in the facility.

He hears a sniffle from you and scoots closer. There's this instinct he has that tells him to hold you close- maybe even give you a reassuring hug- but he's not so sure. He knows, clearly, that he's the cause of your demise and that he had just screwed your life over completely; but the Foundation would keep things discreet about the damage and betrayal you've caused. There's a benefit to working in secrecy, he supposes. So he does the next best thing he could think of:

"Are you hungry?"

His words made your stomach complain. All day you were merely surviving off coffee and stale breadsticks from the staff kitchen; some days you even forgot to eat from how tired you were.

You glare at him between the cracks of your fingers.

"Okay." Yuta gets up and walks over to the kitchen. Despite his isolation from the outside world, he had gotten pretty skilled in cooking. Having Rika around was tenacious as she always preferred eating meat raw; but tendencies are simply tendencies and when Rika isn't around, Yuta preferred cooking for himself.

You wiped your tears off with the paws of your sweater. It's December, just a little over two weeks left before Christmas. Just yesterday you were planning with Maki to go on a trip, but now...

Now you can't even use your phone in case you were tracked.

Hot tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you broke down once again, this time in a fit. Whatever exhaustion that had piled up pushed you to the very edge. For weeks you've been dreading going to work, only staying for the paycheck and for your friends. Hell, you had to convince yourself that you had a crush on one of the guys in the lounge just so you could continue going.

Maybe this was a sign that you should've quitted earlier.

Your logic battles with your conscience.

It's clearly Yuta's fault, so why are you beating yourself up?

Grief turns to anger as you stood from your seat and stomp angrily towards the man poking around in your fridge. There's an array of wilted vegetables across the counter. The thought of grocery shopping crossed your mind for a brief while; then it was overpowered by the sheer emotion of wanting to strangle the source of your troubles: fucking Yuta Okkotsu and his damned pet monster.

"Dinner's not ready yet- urhmp!"

You take him by the collar and slam him onto the counter. You earn a high-pitched yelp from the man once you punch him, this time not missing; right in his fucking face. Yuta groans in pain, a purple bruise forming on his cheek. The imprints of your knuckles fade slowly from his pale skin, and he winces as you pulled him back up by the collar. Your left hand takes the win yet again as you slap him hard across his face- so hard that stars burst within his vision. You were surprised to find that Rika hadn't come out and attacked you yet for what you did to him.

"Aren't you sorry for what you did to me?"

His eyebrows knit together, arms limp on his sides. "I'm sorry."

"You think that's fucking enough?" Your words come out harsh through gritted teeth. Yuta exhales, both hands coming up to grip your wrists firmly and forcing them off his collar.

"No, it isn't. I know that."

"I'll fucking kill you one day."

"No, you can't. You know that."

You try to budge your hands away from his grip to no avail. His hands are just as cold as you remember them. His eyes fail to mask his worry when he saw your bruised knuckles and the cuts on your arm. He had forgotten just how fragile you were compared to him, a supernatural human with a stupidly OP alien slash monster slash creature by his side to almost always heal him without actively seeking for it. You were human; as dainty as a dandelion; a single blow by his hand and you'd be crushed in an instant.

Despite being roughed up, Yuta made sure to be extra gentle handling you. To make sure you wouldn't break at his touch.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Fuck off. Don't pretend like you give a shit about me."

He says nothing, hands moving up to cover over yours in spite of what you said. While you may not be physically strong, you've formulated your vocabulary enough to hurt like shards of broken glass. The room falls into temporary solace as he heals you.

"Listen. I'm really sorry."

The purple on your knuckles slowly started to fade, and the stinging subsided. "I don't give a shit, Yuta. You ruined my life and I'm not forgiving you for as long as you live."

"Then can I show you just how sorry I am?"

"And how would you do that? You think you're gonna win my heart over by some cooking?" You grit your teeth in pain when he massages over the sore knuckles that were just healed.

"I'll earn it however you want me to."

"Huh?"

Yuta's fingers glide over the cuts and bruises on your arm, counting them. "Whatever it takes for you to forgive me, I'll do it. I don't want to become estranged to you."

There's this weird feeling in your chest that's telling you to slap him again. But you hold back, mulling his words over and over. Whatever it takes, he says? You could practically use him however you wanted to for your own personal gain. With those looks of his, you could turn him into a runaway model and have all the money for yourself. The gears of business turned into your head. You could have him clean your house everyday, tell him to get a job, and live burden-free for the rest of your life. Having Rika would be an extra plus for security.

But wait a damn minute; estranged? You've just met him today and you're both acting like lovers living underneath the same roof.

He must've caught this realization of yours with the odd way he looks down at your hand, then at his, then back to your face. Yuta feels a little self-conscious, "Um, what? Is there something on my face?"

Hey hey, wait. Doesn't he look a little cute?

You raise a hand and slap yourself.

"Huh- are you okay?!"

"If I don't kill you, then I'll kill myself."

"Oh heavens, no. Please don't do that." Yuta slips his fingers in yours without much thought, pulling you closer to him. "Just breathe. Breathe in slowly, then out. This... this isn't worth that much to die for, alright? I'll help you find another job. I won't be much of a burden to you anymore since I'll move out soon, so please don't-"

He smells so much like the vanilla shampoo you love.

"Yuta." You cut his rambling off.

The poor boy is shaking with anxiety. Whatever deadly facade he had on just a few hours ago had evaporated along with your sadness, "Y-Yeah?"

"Do you realize just how absurd we are right now?"

"What do you mean?" He blinks innocently.

"This... whatever you're doing to me."

He rakes his eyes on you- head to toe, then back up to you. "The healing? It's Rika's powers and not mine."

"No. I mean, the situation that we're in right now."

"...That I killed people and that we're on the run?"

"No. It's how close we are together."

Yuta's face turns pink at the realization, "Oh, uh. Sorry, I..." Your hands and his untangle. It's hard to believe that this was the same man that hunted you down akin a predator to its prey; his eyes that once held no regard for human life are now shaking from your intense query. He deftly looks away from you to the side instead, putting his arms behind his back. He wants to curl into a ball and melt into a puddle; his very own innocence had chipped away the walls he had once built to keep emotions at an arm's length away.

Yuta's heart stutters, like a teenage boy with a crush.

"You know... if you like touching me so much all you gotta do is ask." Something else swells within you seeing him vulnerable like that. A deadly man with a deadly SCP no doubt; but worked up just because you reminded him of his proximity? It was your turn to tease him.

"I... Why do you say it like that?"

"Then why do you keep touching me?"

His eyes meet yours, "Because I need to heal you?"

"I don't believe you."

"Would you rather I touch you in a different way, then?" Yuta asks, dipping his head closer to you. The air changes in a split second, and you feel hotter than you should be in early December.

"...Huh?"

He mimics your words with a befitting smile, "If you want me to touch you so much, all you gotta do is ask..."

You felt like you were going to explode.

From tension or embarrassment, you don't know.

"Fuck you, Yuta."

You mock him.

Yuta chuckles,

"Sure."

Your eyes widen when he puts a hand behind your head, leaning closer to kiss you softly on the lips.

Time had somehow stopped for the two of you, the snow outside halting in their descent. His usually cold fingers had turned warm, resting nicely on the crook of your neck. His lips were plush soft against yours. His other hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek slowly with the kind of affection you've never felt before.

This was personal.

This was intimate.

This has got to be some kind of fucked up love.

He pulls back abruptly, guilt pooling in his eyes. "I'm sorry-"

Yeah, it has to be.

It must be with the way you responded back to him just as hungrily when he tore apart from you. Your hands grasp desperately at the clothing you lent to him, smelling so sweetly of your strawberry scented fabric softener, as if he was going to crumble to dust in your arms. It must be in the way your eyes flutter to a close, devoting all trust in a man you barely knew. It must be in the way his touches kindle a fire in you, raising the hair on your arms and back, how your body eases into the warmth his body emits. It must be how you yearn for his touch despite knowing him so briefly; as if you had known each other forever. It must be in the way his lips fit so perfectly on yours, cherry red on Merlot wine, drunken in each other.

It must be, it must be, it must be.

It must be some kind of fucked up destiny.

His hands travel down to your waist, holding you in place. Yuta loved touching; but especially touching you now, after having just realized how devoid of love he truly was. Regarded as viler than human all his years, pent-up frustration had him abandoning his emotions; his only saving grace of ever being considered human.

But in your arms, he felt human.

Each kiss lasted longer than the last. Outside, the world had turned a shade of dark only the moon can light up. You both finally break apart, catching your breaths. You notice the pinkish hue dusting his bruised cheeks and he notices the shy smile on your lips.

"Yuta... my legs."

"I got you," Yuta mumbles softly, carefully switching your positions and placing you on top of the counter. Now he's the one looking up at you, his lips a shade redder than before and the most lovesick gaze in his eyes you've ever seen. "You look so pretty when you smile."

You blush, "See, that's my first kiss you took."

"I thought the floor took your first?"

You smack him lightly, "Don't bring that up!"

He chuckles at the memory.

"I'm sorry that I punched you. Does it still hurt?" In the back of your mind you shot yourself for casting your pride aside, but you had to. He had kissed all the hatred you had for him away.

"Don't be." He rubs his cheeks, "I can heal myself, I deserved it."

"Yeah you know what, you're right. You do."

--------------------------------------------------------------> part 3 (smut)

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader smut #jjk yuuta #yuuta okkotsu #yuuta x you #okkotsu yuta #okkotsu yuuta #yuta okkotsu #how many fucking tags does yuta have #i had to redo tags imma kms #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #x reader #fanfiction #jjk fanfic

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missholloween · 23 days ago

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SORRY I JUST REALISED U RBD THE TRICK OR TREAT POST OML TRICK OR TREAT!!!

Hi!!!! I wanted to share one of the spooky ones (because you know, spooky season), so I was between vampires and werewolves. At the end, vampires win (I see you as more of a vampire person too? Tell me if I’m wrong)

The title of this fic is “come to me”, as me and @samuelandthesun were in a really big interview with the vampire mood. I hope the translation isn’t too funny because it was Really Hard to do (once again saying that if you all knew spanish you’d have the best fics ever).

TW for suicide attempt, blood <- nothing too heavy, picture iwtv

The cold night of December 31 wrapped around the only man who walked the empty streets of London. Crestfallen, he heard the laughs coming from the houses he walked by. He looked at the thousands of lights from the buildings that surrounded him, he heard the happy murmurs growing louder as the tower clock was closer to midnight.

It was new year, and Owen Carvour had gone through the worst year of his life. Finishing it alone was just the cherry on top of the shitty cake those last few days had been. His last days alive, he wished.

Owen was in walking through a bridge, and stopped halfway through. He looked at the horizon, a landscape tainted by human intervention. He looked at the stars, barely visible due to light pollution, yet existent: an invisible hope that would never abandon the night sky… But Owen didn’t have a star in his life. He only had a bunch of degenerates that weren’t able to see or understand his vision, his dreams. He could do so much more, but his legacy would end there. He climbed up the guardrail.

“It’s a bit ironic, trying to leave it all behind in new year’s eve, don’t you think?” said suddenly a voice at his right. “It’s all about new beginnings, but at the end of the day, we’re all the same.” The figure smiled.

As if he was a ghost, the man who had driven Owen to leave everything behind looked at him from the heights. Owen avoided his gaze, grabbing his chest and with his eyes on his objective: a quiet river that would finally let him rest.

“Look who’s talking. Did you know immortality stops your brain from growing? At least, yours has- I can’t believe you’re so old and so tactless.”

A gust of wind moved Owen, now with someone by his side. He felt a hand in his arm that made him shiver, a cold breeze that went through his hole body. How could he once have found warmth in it?

Even if his voice didn’t show it, Curt was worried. He tried to catch his partner’s attention. “Ouch, sick burn. What about the season’s joy and all of that?”

“What about minding your own business?”

“I’m sorry, Owe, but I think your suicide concerns me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, is my crumbling mental state affecting the wellbeing of the all-powerful Curtis Mega? Father of all egos, breeder of fools and brutes? Your highness, forgive this mere mortal for thinking that, after everything that has happened, he could at least finish his story alone.”

Owen looked at Curt with a painful fury that the vampire had only seen in men way older than him, men who had suffered many more years than him. Owen kept moving erratically on the guardrail. At no time Curt let go of his arm.

“Your story can’t stop here, Owen. I’m really sorry that your colleagues won’t believe your theories, but their approval shouldn’t be your priority, not when-“

“You still don’t get it, do you, Curt?!” Owen shouted, getting out of the foolish immortal’s grab. “You’ve been living your eternal existence with blood-tainted glasses for too long. You’ve forgotten how does it feel to be human! My life depends on their approval, Curt! I need it to survive, to keep going, to leave even the slightest mark on history!”

Silent rained between them, with only the sound of Owen’s heavy breathing. Curt opened his mouth to talk, but was quickly interrupted. “Not everyone has the time to be remembered…”

Finally, Owen collapsed, sitting on the bridge’s guardrail. He kept looking at the river, his defeated expression reflected in the calm water.

“Now I won’t be more than another idiot who thought he could do something more in this rotten world.”

“… What if you had it?”

Wind roared in that lonely bridge where the only rule their relationship had ever had had vanished.

Curt saw disbelief in Owen’s eyes, eyes more reddened that they should have ever been. However, there was also a hunger. An insatiable hunger that Curt knew all too well. A hunger that had leaded Owen to him.

Neither of them wanted to break the silence. Curt knew it wasn’t his place, and, for the first time, Owen was afraid of what the vampire Curt Mega could do.

“… You can’t be serious.”

One after the other, Owen’s defense were falling. Curt only had to tore them apart as he had learned to do.

“Do you think I’d joke about this?” Curt didn’t let the other answer, as he didn’t want to hear his answer. He just sat next to him. “I know… I know this is a really difficult choice. There’s too much to leave behind, and you might take all the time you need to finish all your-“

“Finish what, Curt? I don’t have a life, I’ve never had one! There’s no place for men like me in this shithole; there’s just boots to lick and orders to follow. My mere existence is a cruel design from some… Tired demiurge that wanted to laugh for a bit. Believe me, I’ve been dead for years.”

Curt couldn’t help but laugh, something that made Owen jump. Curt saw him open his mouth to insult him once more, but he cut him.

“It’s not you, Owen, it’s just… You remind me of someone I knew long ago. I think I’ve heard those words before.”

“What, some of your Belle Époque boys?”

“No. It was a young boy from the west of Texas. He was a little boorish for his age… And really stubborn. I should introduce you two some time.”

Owen, despite of himself, laughed. Their eyes speak for themselves.

“This isn’t going to be like other times… It is really going to hurt. You’ll have to stay conscious while bearing the pain and-“

“Curt,” Owen took his hands. “Don’t worry. I trust you.”

A kiss, then another. The lips of the vampire slowly went down until he reached a thin neck, one Curt had learned to navigate. He didn’t take long to find his vein and start sucking his blood.

The next kiss was the most intense Owen had ever felt: an explosion of flavor filled him, a nourishment he had never tasted. Then, Curt guided his mouth to the source of the ambrosia, and Owen sucked until he dried him.

When Owen Carvour opened his eyes again, he was dead to the world. And, for the first time in his life, he felt like a free man

#thanks for the ask!!! hope you like it :]#hyl answers #hyl writes #curtwen #saf vampire au #saf #fun fact the companion piece to this (that I started myself) was a lestat/owen fic #those two would fix each other #whatever that means #but they’d be good for each other

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fiddlepot · 1 year ago

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miner dee en eye (kinda nsfw) go do your homework losers /neu same thing for ageless blogs. Cease.

Me when brain suddenly "kokudoma"

Like. It's honestly such a crackship but they're fuck buddies only bc kokushibo is an edgy ass bitch

But doma is like actually fond of him and won't leave him tf alone so koku goes "fuck it" and edges him with like small doses of attention only to fuck him senseless later, and y'all know they can both go for literally forever bc stamina is not an issue for demons at all

Anywhoooo 🤣

Drabble under the cut. Once again, nsfw = get the FUCK out if you're a minor plz thx ❤🌹🙏

Tags; nsfw (duh doy) kokudou, doma being a bottom bitch, degredation, little to no aftercare tbh koku don't got time for that, impact play, blood play, biting, belt bondage, humiliation, one sided affection, koku being sassy, demons being freaks lmao!

oh yeah, and before I forget to mention uh. my bad if there are like, issues in the writing. I don't rlly write smut like that so it may be like, finnicky or whatever.

His Affection

As the second-in-command, the moments bestowed upon Upper Moon 1 were of the utmost significance—a privilege beyond measure to partake in even the slightest morsel of his precious time, perhaps more so than the demon king himself.

And it seemed Muzan thought so too.

Doma's relationship with the highest Kizuki was, put simply, a distraction for them both. His lordship already didn't like him—and it was evident that the progenitor fancied the prospect of hearing his cries of pleasure bounce about the sprawling walls of the Infinity Castle even less. Or having the ability to see him unfurl anywhere, for that matter.

Yet he tolerated it all, much as he tolerated the myriad eccentricities that defined Doma's existence—solely because Kokushibo didn't bear any particular fondness of the man. If there was any semblance of favor beneath his veneer, it was a masterful deception, concealed with an artistry that left no room for doubt.

“How exceedingly unbecoming of you... Upper Moon Two,” Kokushibo taunted, his tone laced with derision as he continued to torment Doma. A single thrust of his knee into Doma's perineum reduced him to a huffing, mewling, wanton mess that could do nothing but writhe beneath the relentless assault. “Pathetic.”

“For you, I...” Doma began to croon in response, but his sentiment was summarily disregarded by his superior.

Indeed, the kanji branded into Doma's very being served as a constant reminder of the wrongness that tainted their actions. Yet he grappled with the notion of whether it truly constituted wrongdoing, when he was held captive by someone of superior strength. It could have been worse, but the act itself, while undeniably indulgent, left him yearning for more.

Three pairs of amber eyes encased in bloodshot sclerae bore down upon Doma's kaleidoscope orbs, middle eyelids lifting with a sadistic mirth as the latter struggled to gather his bearings. Yes, if nothing else, he was a rather fine instrument—a myriad outlet of wanton and eager reactions to every strum, stroke, and tug of Kokushibo's own.

Another forceful thrust, and Doma's fists, ensnared by the constricting uwa-obi, trembled with impatience. His hitherto unrewarding quest for gratification danced in macabre synchrony with Kokushibo's unyielding onslaught of ruthless stringency. Stringency he trusted Doma could handle, just as he had many times before.

Indeed, he bore an unparalleled capacity to endure the most precarious of circumstances. Stripped bare and vulnerable, entangled within Kokushibo's grip that paradoxically bore both pain and pleasure to his bruised wrists, all within the sanctum of his private chambers where the prying eyes of servants loomed over him as a threat to his image—his affection for the elder demon had endowed him with a remarkable adaptability. That which Kokushibo quite appreciated, even while he didn't do so typically.

“Please,” Doma keened, not entirely sure of what he was begging for. His legs flailed above Kokushibo's hips, the capriciousness of his knee now replaced with a rhythmic cadence. In response, Doma's own hips danced to accommodate, all under Kokushibo's unwavering gaze.

“Please?” The elder demon withdrew his knee just as he noticed Doma's thrusts growing more frantic, bringing about a plaintive whine of protest. One that he ignored. “Please what?”

Cruel, Doma surmised, his furrowed brows betraying a sensation akin to frustration—though it was more related to a profound sense of bereftness. The feeling soon gave way to astonishment though, as his superior's calloused, unfettered hand ventured toward his most intimate regions. In a tantalizing journey that brushed past a multitude of erogenous zones, Kokushibo commenced a painstakingly leisurely rhythm of strokes upon the taut, erect shaft. “Lord Kokushibo,” Doma moaned, the words escaping his lips in yet another impassioned plea. He couldn't bite back his grin at the pleasure as the ministrations increasingly focused on his tip.

“Hmm?” He pressed.

“I...”

“Out with it, now.” With a low, knowing hum, Kokushibo continued his torturous ministrations, the shadow of a wry smile playing upon his lips. He reveled in the unfolding tableau, and were it not for the undeniable evidence concealed beneath his hakama, Doma might have failed to discern Kokushibo's own mounting desire. His digit, now shifting its focus to Doma's taint and then his quivering slit, brought about a gasp and a shuddering buck of his hips from his suboordinate.

“Oh, you intoxicate me,” was what Doma wanted nothing more than to convey at that moment—but he was thinking with the brain in between his legs now, and just choking out the phrase “I want you to fuck me” was a hassle on its own. So in lieu of those words, his body needily leaned into Kokushibo's tantalizing caress, eliciting a flinch, a fervent yelp, and the shadow of a chuckle as he was duly rewarded with the electrifying sting of a strike to his thigh.

“Out with it,” repeated Upper Moon One, eyes lazily trailing downwards towards Doma's slit. The hand on his thigh never quite ceased its position there, but it did gingerly slide upwards, halting just shy of his hip. “I much prefer hearing you mewl and beg...” Kokushibo leaned back, moving to take the awaiting bottle of oil beside them in his hand with a mumur, “...than I do seeing you throw your hips about without any abandon or shame... like a cheap harlot.”

Or perhaps he preferred a combination of both.

His movements were deft and fluid, and soon enough, Doma found his thighs tensing in ecstasy as his superior slid a slicked finger inside with ease. With a single thrust, followed by the benevolent curl of Kokushibo's digit, he effortlessly conducted a symphony of squirming, whimpering, and shuddering glee from the younger demon.

“Oh, god, yes— more of that,” he finally cried out, his moans now reaching crescendos of reckless abandon, “Please, I need— I nee-he-oh...!”

Something between a laugh and a keen leaves his mouth mid plea, and Kokushibo lavishes a hot tongue on his nipple. Simultaneously, the hand that had lingered on his upper thigh ventured upward to cup his pectoral—soft and sumptuous enough to rival a woman's bosom, and apparently just as sensitive as one, too.

“Go on,” Kokushibo rasped, following his words with a bite that sent his suboordinate gasping for air that he hardly needed to begin with. Doma seemed so caught up in the feeling of wet hotness lapping his erected nipple that he hardly had any reaction to the second and soon, third finger of Kokushibo's adding to the mess of oily slick that was his entrance. A wicked spectacle it was, to witness the unraveling of Doma's customary demeanor. Kokushibo, savoring every moment of it, traced a peppery path of kisses along both pectorals, infusing his actions with a deceptively sweet tenderness before descending upon the other nipple. “What do you need?”

“I need... I need your cock— inside me,” His own cock jumped as the pinching sensation returned at a sharper intensity, one that drew forth his blood. Blood that erupted upon his superior's taste buds—blood that was lapped up hungrily until the wound inevitably fizzled away.

To this, Upper Moon One withdrew his fingers, either deeming Doma loose enough or in an effort to keep him on the edge of release.

“Just inside you?” probed the demon, withdrawing his mouth and cupping hand to do away with his garments.

“Mnhh” with a hitch of his breath, Doma lowered his eyelids, and then his gaze. Seemed the man had a sword in between his legs too, he joked to himself. “I wan—... I need you to fuck me, Lord Kokushibo.” The latter cupped the back of Doma's left knee in response. “Please,” he added. There was a period of silence between the two after that.

“Turn around,” Kokushibo finally commanded, to which Doma obliged. A small part of him contemplated praising the man silently, for although he relished the act of instructing him to get on his knees, this time, the younger demon had done so without being expressly told—a noteworthy first.

Doma's body quivered in anticipation as the sizable tip of Kokushibo's arousal prodded at his entrance. It greedily swallowed up the intrusion alongside the thick shaft that followed, and he could've sworn he saw stars once their hips converged with a wet slap. Another exploratory snap of his superior's hips, and he wails with delight—All things considered, it quite pleased Kokushibo to know this wanton little orfice remembered him so very well.

Kokushibo maintained an unwavering grasp on Doma's hips, savoring every subtle contour of the younger demon's form and the symphony of beguiling sounds that flowed from his parted lips. There was no respite, no pause in the relentless storm that were his ceaseless thrusts, each one propelling his length to greater depths within Doma's quivering core. The younger demon, overwhelmed by the overstimulation, sought solace by burying his head into the silken sheets, his eyes cast upwards, and his mouth a veritable cascade of desire, saliva pooling in his abandon. His muffled ries and moans, somehow still unbridled and unrestrained, reverberated through the room and likely the halls beyond it. And it was always at that point that Kokushibo knew his conscience had been wholly eclipsed by the arduous affair.

In all sincerity, Doma was at his most endearing in this state. A harsh sentiment, perhaps, but in such moments, there existed no space for artifice or his foolish banter. In such moments, he was malleable, receptive to reminders of his place.. Just as he should be.

As Kokushibo's hand traversed the expanse of Doma's nape and traced an affectionate path along his back—perhaps the sole form of praise Doma would garner from his superior this night—he basked in the tender sensation, finding solace in the fleeting respite his dampened pillow couldn't hope to provide on its own.

However, that interlude of affection was destined to be brief. His hand, which had previously caressed Doma's back, now ventured to entwine itself in the younger demon's tousled locks. With a firm tug, akin to that of a leash, Kokushibo elicited a high-pitched squeal from Doma—a sound that he found utterly delicious, a brief indulgence before he shifted his focus.

At the crook of Doma's neck, Kokushibo bared his fangs, and with a savage bite, he drew forth yet another long bead of blood to be lapped up with grace. Kokushibo's lips closed around the wound, savoring the metallic tang of Doma's essence. From there, the rolling of his hips only grew more intense, and Doma's moans only grew louder.

“Such a piteous mess,” drawled Upper Moon One, muffled by his own painful ministrations. Doma threw his head back with whatever room he was allowed. “Merely a handful of thrusts, and you're wailing and contorting... like a desperate animal in the throes of heat.”

A well-placed blow to his rear incurred a yowl of pleasure from Doma—a response not born of wrongdoing but a delicious opportunity to chastise him in such a manner.

“M'sorry,” He babbled mindlessly, “M' a mess for you, Lord Kokushibo, I—mhn~!—feels so good, I'm...”

Kokushibo tore his fangs from the yielding flesh, savoring the yelp that ensued, along with the metallic tang of blood that tantalized his lips. He took a moment to relish the essence, licking it away with a deliberateness that bespoke his hedonistic enjoyment at that moment. As anticipated, the wound healed swiftly. He leaned back, drinking in the sight of Upper Moon Two, stripped of his dignity and forced to his knees within the confines of his own domain—a place where his image held paramount importance.

“You don't appear to be contrite in the slightest.” Kokushibo crooned, his voice oscillating between panting breaths and lascivious groans as he skillfully coaxed another cascade of mewls from Doma. His free hand deftly moved to stimulate the other's arousal, further heightening his pleasure. “I wonder,” he continued, his tone dripping with malice, “what might occur... if one of your devoted followers were to stumble upon this debauched scene... while you're ensnared in such a stupefying state?”

With another resolute thrust, Kokushibo's hand deftly manipulated Doma's frenulum, unleashing a searing tidal wave of pleasure that sent the younger demon reeling, stars dancing before his vision. In that moment of rapturous intensity, his brain grappled to process the words uttered, and when comprehension finally dawned, the thought alone made his cock twitch with fervor.

“How crassly forthright.” Kokushibo remarked, his grip on Doma's arousal tightening briefly, only to unleash a punitive slap upon the hypersensitive tip. The sharp sting gave rise to an immediate yelp of pleasure-pain, Doma's breath quickening with a sharp hitch as he teetered on the precipice of rapture and torment.

It was a sound judgement to have him face the door then, Kokushibo supposed, basking in the sounds he choked out of his suboordinate. Doma's vocalizations ran the gamut, ranging from rasped vulgarities to squeaky cries, and if there was one facet that Kokushibo genuinely admired about him, it was his voice—a mellifluous tenor that he might not have deserved but undeniably possessed. In the throes of passion, Doma made the most delectable sounds, each note growing more exquisite, more impassioned, as his inevitable climax approached.

And Kokushibo, true to his intent, was resolute in granting him that release, if not the preservation of his dignity. After all, he was exceptionally well-behaved tonight—and he had put the man through more than enough.

In that chamber, a tumultuous tempest of blurred ecstasy unfurled its rapturous banner. Devoid of ardor's solemn vows, bereft of any whispered oaths, release finally came. As Doma, his frame a symphony of ecstasy, ascended towards the zenith of his sensual reverie, Kokushibo, without much delay, joined him. With one last fervent thrust, Upper moon one stilled his hips, and the demons' release converged in sinewy strings of white amidst their frenzied sounds of pleasure, until there was nothing left to give.

Doma was the first to succumb to a semblance of exhaustion, his body yielding as Kokushibo's length slid out of him, leaving him in a languid sprawl as he finally had a moment to revel in the intoxicating fluids that now clung to him—an unapologetic mess of his superior's warm spent and his own perspiration that existed despite his naturally low body temperature. Kokushibo, his gaze fixated on the visage of Doma in his post-coital haze, contemplated the notion of a potential round two, had he the luxury of time.

With a sigh, he carefully removed the obi that had previously bound Doma's wrists, freeing the younger demon from his constraints. He proceeded to dress himself upon sliding off the bed as if nothing happened—although his apparent discomfort at his own perspired state was palpable.

“It would be prudent for you to summon your servants to attend to this... aftermath,” he remarked in a hushed tone, his words laced with an air of formality. “If there is anything you require me to procure for you... now would be the time to inquire. If not.. I'm taking my leave.”

“A kiss would be-”

“No.”

Doma grumbled, shuffling up to the edge where Kokushibo stood. Like clockwork, his perpetual smile returned, and of course, so did his cheekiness. Kokushibo, who had been facing the door, turned to look at him, utterly unamused.

“Would it kill you to give me just one...?” he pouted. “You said I could ask for anything I wanted just now... You're always so mean to me.”

“No,” Kokushibo repeated, adjusting the sash of his kimono. “...I said I'd give you whatever you needed. You don't need what you're asking for.”

Kokushibo reached for his sheathed katana and slid it into his obi with practiced precision. He was preparing for his departure, to which Doma deflated onto his bed in silent resignation.

“...Nor does it seem like you need anything from me at all,” he remarked stoically, turning his gaze forward. “So I will take my leave now.”

And with that, he was gone. Doma rolled over unto his back with a dramatic sigh. Maybe it was a need. His affection.

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊

Wowzer, that was a long one. Sorry for the long wait. I've been meaning to get this out for a whole week, but my perfectionist ass kept editing before the damn piece was actually finished. Anyway.... yeah, I'll probably post more of these two lol. Their banter was fun to write for sure.

#hypothetical #fanfic #kny #kny fanfic #doma kny #kokushibo #doma x kokushibo #eev rambles #kny michikatsu #michikatsu tsugikuni #doma smut #kokushibo smut #his affection #kokudouma

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instexcamera · 7 months ago

Text

Mayoi Milk

Mayoi Ayase x GN!reader

Warnings: You literally drink milk from Mayois tits and theres nipple play

Authors note: wowzers, I resurrected from my brunt out death to write lactating Mayoi! Can't wait to disappear again until May (hopefully not) or something. Also this is so shitty because I wrote it hella tired and wanting to finish it because I've been working on it for 2 weeks so the endings rushed. I was in a funk and the request I was writing I just wasn't fucking with so I started this and then, the studying hit so I had to rush it to finish. Anyways I still have requests, they have not been forgotten I'm just hella tired and busy rn with no motivation they will be done. Eventually.

Word count: 2k

18+ after this point

"Are you sure it'll work? Even if it does, why would you want to? My milk isn't even good! It'll taste all disgusting and you'll hate it! I know you will, you'll end up spitting it out and thinking I'm such a tainted being that it's affecting the flavor!" Mayoi frantically says all this as you slide yourself onto his lap. You hated hearing him talk about himself like this, especially since this had been your idea. He took your silence as an agreement to his words and he hurriedly covered his face with his hands as his body started to shake a little. You sigh as you watch him, he always lets his anxieties win over the more rational part of him but you loved him all the same. Enveloping him in your arms, holding his trembling frame close. The position was a little uncomfortable with your knees digging harshly into the soft mattress below you but calming Mayoi was a priority.

Resting your chin on his head as you close your eyes, the faint scent of the grape shampoo he uses invading your senses. Bringing one hand up to card through his silky purple hair. Your other hand rubs his back in soothing circles trying your best to calm him. It seems to work as you can feel him relax in your hold his shaking slowly coming to a stop. Another moment like that with him and you speak. "It's fine if it doesn't work, your body's not meant to do this. And I don't care about the taste, all that matters is that it's from you, something you made specifically for me right? I'll enjoy it either way." Mayoi doesn't respond right away but eventually you can feel him pushing against your chest wanting free of your embrace.

His face is flushed a light red which spreads down his neck and to his chest however his shirt prevents your eyes from roaming too far. Mayois' face still looks a tad embarrassed but he has a relieved glint in his sky blue eyes. "Maybe you're right. You won't get upset when you learn it has a disgusting flavor? Something from an impure being like myself isn't going to taste good." You sigh before once again responding with nos and you won't get upset if it tastes horrible. The uncomfortable sensation of your legs going numb from your position makes itself known when you shift. Along with it you could feel something poking into your inner thigh. Moving ever so slightly to position yourself right above it, grinding down and studying Mayois reaction.

His face turns a darker shade of red as his eyes close, a high pitched whine leaving him. Stopping as soon as you had started, feeling Mayoi unconsciously buck his hips up to chase the friction. Unfortunately for him you were already shifting into a different position. Using his shoulders as leverage you maneuver your legs from the cramped position they were in to outstretched, almost hanging off the side of the bed. This new position had you lower than before, level right where you wanted, directly in front of Mayois chest. A high pitched eek comes from above you as Mayois body jolts under you. When you look up he had his signature anxious expression on but it was quickly turning into one of anticipation.

He looked so beautiful to you, the dim light of the room illuminating his face perfectly. When you make no move to look away Mayoi nervously fidgets with his fingers, twisting them until it seems they might break. "Sor-Sorry. Why are you just staring at me like th-that? Did I do something? Did you realize how disgusting I am!" Realizing your mistake you take his hands in yours wanting to stop his movements before he accidentally hurts himself. "No, I was just admiring how pretty you are. Can I not do that? I can't wait to see how much more beautiful you look when you're in my mouth." He doesn't say anything. Eyes darting away to look somewhere in the distance, his body relaxing under you. When you're sure he won't go back to fidgeting with his fingers you let them go, watching as they fall onto the bed sheets with a muted thud.

When you can tell he's completely relaxed you slide your hands to the second button on his shirt. He always kept the first one, which was directly under his chin, unbuttoned. It was always a tease whenever you saw him. You could always catch a glimpse of the pale, smooth skin but nothing more. Always wanting to bite and kiss into it, leaving marks for anyone to see and know Mayoi was claimed. However today wasn't for that, reluctantly watching as more of his flushed skin is revealed when the button pops open. Moving down to the one under it, fumbling with it a bit as your excitement to finally taste Mayoi grows. The button keeps slipping in your grasp, not wanting to go through the small hole keeping it connected to the other side of his shirt. The more you fumble with it the higher your annoyance gets and in a second Mayois pushed your hand away, undoing it himself. He opens it easily and when you chance a glance up at him his eyes are concentrated on his shirt. He doesn't stop with just that one, he goes ahead and undoes all of them for you.

When all of the buttons had successfully been undone his shirt fell open, the white fabric framing his chest perfectly. Whenever he bared himself like this you always took a moment to admire him hoping it would help with his self-esteem but also so you could just freely appreciate how pretty he is. Finally able to see just how far the red flush traveled down his torso, stopping just before his stomach. His ribs are slightly visible as his chest rises and falls rapidly as he breathes. His nipples are small and pink looking the same as they always do, neither of them swollen or dripping milk like you wanted. That would soon be changed though as you place a hand on his stomach, giggling at the way he twitches under your touch. When you press down you could feel the hard tone of his muscles, he may not show it but being an idol he's developed some which always surprised you when you felt them. Small whines leave him at the sensation, Mayoi was always sensitive just like today, maybe even more so due to the hormones he had taken.

His body warms as you slowly slide your hands up the sensitive skin. When your fingers catch on his nipples Mayoi yelps. His hands hurriedly covering his mouth, face a dark red. "Oh? Does this feel better than normal? Usually your reactions aren't this intense?" He nods and doesn't chance a verbal response, too afraid he'd make an embarrassing noise like he hasn't already in the past. Stopping your hands completely, resting them right above his nipples and he looks down at you with glistening eyes. "Why-why'd you stop? I-" He had lowered his hands so he could get the words out and you grab onto them, pulling them back down to rest behind him on the bed. Mayoi lets out a high pitched squeal but doesn't attempt to put his hands back.

"Good boy." The praise escapes unconsciously. He groans and his hard-on once again makes itself known as it twitches in its confines under you. Your hands move back to his nipples, squeezing and massaging the small nubs, attempting to make them swell. "You liked that? Being told you're a good boy? The way your pathetic body is acting I think you did. So why don't you continue being a good boy for me and let out all your delicious milk?" Mayois' only response is a nod of his head as his eyes fall close, relishing in your praises and the sensation of your hands on his chest.

Fingers massaging and pulling on his nipples. This goes on a for a while until they're puffed up and bright red. Frustration and annoyance starts to worm itself into your head, nothing was happening, his chest was staying the same and milk wasn't starting to slowly come out. Mayoi hadn't even made a remark the whole time you've been toying with him, only groaning and sometimes watching you with lidded eyes. Your annoyance was starting to get the better of you as you pinch a little bit too hard on his already swollen nub, feeling him jolt and let out a relatively loud whine.

"I'm sorry love. Did that hurt? Just a little more and I know it'll start coming out." Truthfully you didn't actually know but you didn't want to give up on him. You thought his flush chest looked a little bit bigger but that could just be from your ministrations. Cupping your hands to the best of your ability, rubbing onto both of his nipples and gently applying pressure is when Mayoi finally says something. "May-maybe we should just stop, I-I don't think I'll produce an-anything. I'm too hrk-" He cuts off, eyes squeezing shut at another harsh squeeze to his swollen nipples. This time however, is different. Something warm and milky white dribbles onto your fingers, the liquid dripping down slowly.

Pinching the small nub again, watching as more flows out silently. Mayoi had even stopped squirming under you. In a second you latched your lips onto him letting the fluid freely flow into your mouth. The taste wasn't what you expected. It was a creamy sort of texture, thick on your tongue. The flavor is a sweet vanilla, of course a pretty boy like Mayoi would have a taste befitting of him. When you don't pull off Mayois body seems to release all the unknown tension he had seemed to hold. Eyes closing as one of your hands sneaks up to his back, rubbing small circles on it as you continue sucking at his chest. Rolling it between your lips in an attempt to have more squirt out. Other hand pulling at his other nipple still, feeling the liquid roll down your hand and arm. You wanted to get all you could out of this one before moving on to the other.

The more you continue licking and sucking on him the more he starts to squirm. When your teeth accidentally graze against the sensitive nub his back arches, successfully forcing his chest farther into your face. He was making small whimpers and moans every few seconds. The longer you go on the louder he gets, eventually settling on wrapping his hands around your body, pressing you further into him. Whenever the milk comes to a stop you open your eyes just the smallest bit. The view of Mayoi above you is absolutely beautiful, purple hair tickling your face as his eyes are scrunched shut, body bent over in an attempt to press himself closer to you.

The milk had come to a stop, you had managed to drink all he had to offer. From the excessive amount of liquid running down your lower hand, and how the liquid was slowly stopping you figured he his body had given all it could. Dropping your hand away, slowly pulling yourself from out of his hold as you sit up. When he feels what's happening he sits up, face still that deep red at what had occurred as he watches you lift up your milk covered hand and lick off all the dripping excess. You could only guess how you looked to him, milk coating your lips and running down your chin, licking it off your hand.

"Wa-was it good." Mayoi nervously starts to fiddle with his braid, avoiding your eyes. Even after all that he was still anxious about the taste. "It was lovely. Thank you for the excellent meal Mayoi."

#enstars smut #ensemble stars smut #mayoi ayase smut #mayoi ayase x reader smut #mayoi ayase x reader

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100jewels-between-teeth · 2 days ago

Text

18+ Oneshot

Word count: 3562

AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi ¤ Masterlist

Summary: With the end of the war, life returns to normal. The choices that some have made begin to weigh on the mind, and some are there to set what needs to be set straight. For the sake of love

Characters: Illario Dellamorte, f!Rook de Riva, Lucanis Dellamorte, Viago de Riva

Cw: graphic depictions of a kind of violence, read at your own discretion

An: What can I say but, fuck Illario Dellamorte. Enjoy! Make sure to follow or look at my other works, big things on the way!

Of course, after everything, places like the cafe did not feel the same anymore. The aroma that hung in the air of roasted beans and spices that once carried feelings of nostalgia and comfort now filled the man’s heart with dread and regret. The sound of the water, the chiming bells of incoming gondolas and merchant calls, all of it was tainted now. An undeserved peace and comfort that brought him nothing but shame for what he had almost caused, and what had been so graciously given back to him.

Maybe that was the cruelty of it all. That Illario had to continue existing in a world that he had tried to bring down. He couldn't even hide.

Truly, Illario did not want to be here.

This was the first time he had come back to Cafe Pietra since his coup. Really, other than the battle in Minrathous, this was the first time Illario had shown himself outside at all. Of course, there was that looming paranoia of the other Crows. Just because Lucanis had ‘forgiven’ his transgressions, did not mean the rest of the Crows followed suit. Even now, sitting at the usual table he and his cousin would frequent, he could hear the whispers, the veiled insults. Glares that wished their looks could, indeed, kill.

Ilarrio did know, however, he was not in such a place to reject invitations. So when he had gotten the missive from his cousin’s new paramour, who was still reeling from the heights of their world saving antics, he was not about to say no. Disregarding his cousin’s love was not exactly a way to get back into his good graces.

Besides, he never really disliked Rook. Maybe this could be the start of some sort of redemption arc for himself.

As Rook made her own entrance into the cafe, Illario could not help but pity her. A Fifth Talon to one of the greatest heros Thedas had seen, it couldn't be anything but overwhelming to the woman. Coming from a life where discretion and secrecy were your greatest allies, now to having every person know your name. Illario felt that envy bloom again in his chest, that anger of being denied what he felt deserved. But he could dwell on that later.

For now he could play the role of the atoner.

The woman knew how to stand out. That wild curly hair framing eyes that looked like burning embers. A warm smile that he knew was masking the months of hardship and pain she had endured. To his surprise, the patrons of the cafe seemed to not pay much mind. Yes, there were a few who gave gasps, others with respectful nods. But he could assume that people were so used to her wearing the Crow uniform that the shimmering dark purple saree she now doned was enough of a disguise for her. To see the woman dressed so casual, even if the garbage was anything but, must have been some kind of relief to her. Illario was not too sure - he had always loved the attention, personally.

Illario made sure to stand as Avantika approached, bowing his head to the woman. “Things must be finally calming for you after everything.”

Illario was not sure exactly how to break the ice. He knew that, with Rook, he was treading a very thin line. Even Though she herself was the one that pushed for Lucanis to forgive, rather than imprison him, she still loathed him. Siding with the Evanuris, betraying his own cousin, being the reason for his possession. It was unforgivable, that much he knew. But whether it was Lucanis pushing her to be more understanding, or her own volition, his comment elicited a warm smile.

“I would not go that far, but I can finally leave without being stopped every ten steps with an invitation to some kind of banquet or delegation.” Avantika rolled her eyes, her smile still gracing her features as she took her seat across from Illario.

For a moment, he felt like he could pretend that nothing happened. That they were just two colleagues, dare he say friends, meeting for a much needed coffee to chat about the world. Honestly, some kind of normalcy would do them both good. Illario was smart enough to know, however, that would never be the case for either of them now, for complete opposite reasons.

“I already took the liberty of ordering our coffee. I hope it was alright to order you from what you had last time.” Illario could then see Avantika tense slightly.

To most untrained eyes they would have missed it. To a Crow, however, even the slightest movement could be noticed. She did her best to cover it with another smile, leaning back in her chair into a more relaxed position.

“Thanks. Honestly, after everything, the amount of caffeine in our systems has lessened immensely.” So it was going to be Rook to bring Lucanis into this.

That relieved Illario in a way, it meant he wouldn't have to navigate the minefield of the topic of his cousin. Better for her to do so. Of course the comment made Illario break into a smirk.

“So you are a miracle worker then. Not only have you saved the world, you have saved my cousin’s coffee addiction.” He could not help but joke, deciding to take a more relaxed position himself. “Now if you can get him to maybe sweeten his tastes a little-”

“Trust me, I can't work that miracle.” Avantika jumped in on the beat, a deep laugh resonating that reassured Illario. “Besides, if he enjoyed the sweeter things, I'd have to worry about sugar keeping him up too. I can only fight so many battles.”

For a moment, Rook looked out into the canal beside them, giving Illario a slight moment of reprieve to finally relax himself. This whole wait, he was not sure what side of Rook he would see, how tense this meeting would be. But she, shockingly, was exuding nothing but warmth. Maybe Lucanis had talked to her, maybe she was more forgiving and lenient than he thought. It reassured him, knowing it was something he could work with.

If he had Rook’s trust and good graces, there would be no better person to vouch for him to be trusted by the others. She could get him back in, keep him safe in a way. It wasn’t manipulation, more so taking advantage of a good situation.

As their coffees were placed before the pair, Illario decided to take the chance and broach the elephant in the room.

“Rook, Ava, I want to thank you. For… this. I know what I did to everyone was unforgivable. For Lucanis to forgive… for you to be the one to push it. I am in your debt. Please know that I do sorely regret what I've done. My reputation, the family, Lucanis…” Illario cleared his throat, feeling it tighten as his emotions started to show through the mask of charm. “I want to make amends.”

Rook’s eyes tore away from the water, burning amber staring into Illario. Her face was unmoving, an emotionless stare just looking at him. No, into him. Like she was able to analyse his very mind and soul. It was unnerving, Illario doing his best to not show his nervousness. But as if sensing the tension, Avantika broke it with another warm smile as she grabbed her cup delicately by the handle, raising it towards Illario in a toast.

“To making amends.”

Reflecting her own smile, he raised his own cup to her, the porcelain chiming together. “To making amends.”

They both retreated to their cups, Illario thankful that the coffee can finally relax them more. Setting the cup down, the corner of his lips turned to a frown.

“Honestly, I don't see what my cousin loves so much about this cafe. Maybe it is just me. They always seem to burn the coffee. Too bitter for my tastes.” Picking up the small silver pitcher, he added more cream to the brew, the taste slightly better as he took another sip.

Avantika could only chuckle as she sipped her own. “Trust me, I know. I’ve had to get used to it. When I told Lucanis about how I would take my coffee before, he had to sit down. Said it was a crime. I’ll give it to him though, he converted me.”

Rook smiled at the memory, taking another sip with a sigh.

“How is he? We… have not spoken much since Minrathous.” Illario felt that small wave of shame overcome him again.

He did miss Lucanis, ironically, for putting the man in a prison for a year. With Lucanis being back, those brief moments with him before Illario’s plan was shown, had been nothing short of amazing. He had truly missed the Crow.

Avantika thought for a moment, lips pursed as she traced her finger across the rim of her cup.

“It is an adjustment, being back. After coming from the Ossuary straight into a war, there hasn't been a whole lot of time to… settle.” Her face regained that warm smile, eyes back to Illario. “But, he is good. Very much in that ‘I don't want you away from my sight.’ phase, which I can't blame him. I’m in that phase, too.”

Illario joined her chuckle, his own face reflecting her smile. “Honestly seeing my cousin like this, actually happy and having someone to love in his life, he deserves it… you deserve it. Overbearing adoration at all.”

His emotions swelled up, the last words getting choked up in his throat once more.

“Thank you, Illario. It means so much to hear you say that.” Avantika beamed as she sat herself up a little, taking a sip of her coffee. “Truly though, he has taught me a lot. Not just about myself, but the world, family, coffee.” Avantika giggled as she motioned to his cup. “It still amazes me just how complex the flavours can be. The things you can do with just a cup of coffee. What did he say about Andoral’s Breath? Bitter and sweet… like a kiss goodbye…”

Her voice drifted off wistfully, as if getting lost in a memory.

Her head tilted as her eyes found him again. “Would you say that is how yours tastes?”

“I wouldn't know Rook I–” Illario cleared his throat again, trying to rid the tickle in the back of his throat. “I did not order that...”

Illario cleared his throat again, feeling as if he had a small itch that seemed to dry the passage. But looking down at the cup in his hand, swirling the contents around in the cup, its scent wafted into his nose, a fear beginning to bloom in his gut.

“Like I said, coffee like that is so hard to replicate the taste of. How it lingers on the palette, the scent, even its thickness.”Avantika’s warm smile remained, yet it did not reach her eyes this time. Eyes that were now cold, a wildfire behind that carried every drop of anger she had hidden. “I couldn't tell you how many times I tried to replicate it, make it near exact. But I think what I have now would make Viago, even Lucanis proud! Andoral’s Breath…”

As if it were clockwork that slight itch in his throat morphed into what he could feel was a near blister, his body beginning to tingle as he could feel his cardiovascular system start to get heavy, inflamed, pained. A pressure building behind his eyes as he gripped his chair to shoot upwards in panic.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Her tone was quiet and sharp, but Avantika did not flinch.

No weapon drawn, no magic crackling between her fingers. Rook remained still, the smile not leaving.

“If I were you,” Avantika took a long sip of her coffee. “I would do my best to relax, take in the scenery and listen to me. Your heart is already pumping alarmingly fast. Veins beginning the slow process of coagulation, or rupturing, I can't remember. Causing your heart to race, raising your body temperature by panicking will only speed the process. Sitting here, talking to me, I'd say you have a few minutes. If you decide to act rash and panic…. You won't make it to the door.”

He cursed himself. Of course he should have expected this - especially from a de Riva. To so blindly trust the one who had fooled his own coup, his fight or flight urge screamed in his brain, a brain he could only assume was swelling more and more.

Was this woman fool enough to kill a Dellamorte in the open? He could only assume yes.

“I would be wise and listen to what I have to say. That is what is going to keep you alive, so don't be stupid.”

As if nothing were happening, she waved over the batista, another cup of coffee procured as Avantika sat back again, relaxed as ever. Illario could jot be sitting straighter, as still as a corpse, trying his best to breathe through the viscous liquid erupting from the boils and blisters in his throat.

“I'm sure Viago did not talk about me much before. If he did I'm sure it was nothing but complaints and whinging. ‘Idiot’ he would call me.” Avantika snickered to herself, her tone and posture so casual it was almost as if Illario’s body was not melting on itself literally.

He could almost feel his blood thickening and coagulating beneath his skin, trying so hard to keep his breathing controlled.

“Well, if he has mentioned it or not, obviously we aren't really related.” Avantika gestured to her pointed ears poking from her wild hair. “Funny thing about that, I don't think he has ever really mentioned how we met.”

Her finger twirled around the top of her cup, the contents swirling magically beneath as she stared at the canal once more.

Illario wanted nothing more than to run, but for the sake of life preservation, he prayed to the Maker that somehow, someway, listening to her ramblings would save him.

Rook's brow arched as she stared at Illario.

“I was Dalish, you see. Small clan, close to… Ayesleigh. Would travel in that little in between bit you see on the map between us and Rivain. Either way, I don't mean to offend but I assume you're not particularly well versed in Dalish customs?”

He was stunned for a moment, the pain though his body almost causing distraction, but he did manage a shake in the head.

*No, I thought not.” Avantika took a long sip, sighing at the warmth of her coffee before continuing. “The Dalish have a funny custom, you see, when it comes to mages. Unlike most, we don't shun magic, but that comes with a little caveat. The clan depends on how many mages you find amongst them. Some… tones! Others, well they like to be safe.” Another long, drawn out pause as Avantika watched a gondola pass by. Illario could feel a vessel pop in his nose, the red essence of life slowly dragging down his face, seemingly unnoticed by the woman.

“I was born into one of those paranoid clans. To my luck, my magic came early. Now, they don't exactly Want a child to potentially get possessed, nearly impossible to stop that. Also, the potential of attracting humans, no we don't want that either.” Avantika shook her head, that wild hair falling in front of her eyes.

“So… of course this is a tradition you don't exactly tell the children. Maker forbid you instil fear into their little hearts. So, around my fifth year of living, they gave me a pack, some extra clothes, and asked me to go forage.” For the first time, Illario could hear Avantika's voice get caught in her throat, eyes becoming misty.

“I never saw them again… and let me tell you… a five year old elf does not fare well in the wilds on her own. I didn't know where I was, where I was going. I could barely keep myself alive. I was terrified, terrified that the family I knew just gave up on me. Left me behind due to something I couldn't control. That's when Viago found me, nearly starved and shaking. Funny enough, he had been travelling to one of his contracts when his horse became lame. Said if I could help him with some of the plant life around the woods, he would put me out of my misery. I helped him make new poisons, and he brought me here.”

Illario heard that catch in her throat again as she gave a sad smile. Without even looking at the man before her, she whipped out a handkerchief, dabbing his nose.

Illario could see now his skin began to discolour, bruises botching the skin exposed. Yet as his eyes begged silently for anyone around them to notice, nobody seemed to care. So Rook went on.

“Viago gave me a family I never had. Embraced who I was, even if I was an Idiot. So… imagine how I felt when I found out Lucanis, a man who had no control over what he was born into, was shunned by his own.” For the first time in this entire meeting, Avantika’s expression fully matched, her voice once lighthearted now laced with venom as her eyes stared what he could only describe as death incarnate into his soul.

“A man who trusted you, thought of you as a brother. Family, and you tossed him aside. Sold him out and, because of you, had him endure those tortures of the Ossuary. Because of you, he has to live with knowing a man he loved, saw him as nothing but an obstacle. But guess what? In a way I got to do exactly what Viago did for me. I found him, and I gave him a family.”

That look of disgust morphed once more, just the mention of Lucanis softening Avantika’s features.

“Just like Viago I did not shun him for what he was, what he couldn't control. With time, I let him know he did not need to heal alone. That he didn't have to face a world that abandoned him alone. The funniest part, too.” Rook let out a near breathless laugh. “Solas, he trapped me in that prison in the Fade. It was like all of what I had experienced as a child came back. Alone, terrified, afraid. Ripped apart from the world. And in all of that shit… Lucanis pulled me back.”

Illario could see a single tear run down Avantika’s cheek, her smile still remaining as she watched a bloodied tear run down Illario’s now purplish face.

“I saved him… and he saved me. We both showed each other a world that we don't have to endure alone. I will never be able to pay back that debt. The only way I can, is to give him the love and security he had ripped away by you.

“So, with that. I'll end my ramble. Sorry, thanks for listening so well. But I do have one more thing to say, before I go. I don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us.” Her tone was kind as she leaned across the table, that dame tone becoming low and threatening. A voice Illario would hear in his nightmares to come.

“If you ever think about hurting Lucanis, betraying Lucanis, or any of the other Crows, I will kill you. It will jot be quick. It will be slow… painful… and you will be alone. You will be alone and as your broken voice screams out for help as you choke on your own blood and bile, you will realise as you die the love you tossed away. That which saved me and Lucanis, will never be given to you. Do I make myself clear?”

Illario could barely move any of his body, the pain excruciating as if he was melting from the inside. But he did not, trying to manage a gurgled yes as blood and black viscous liquid sputtered past his lips.

Then, he was gifted one of Avantika's trademarked smiles, the woman reaching out to pat his cheek.

“I'm really glad we could come to this understanding, Illario. I don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us.” Reaching to the jewellery circling her neck, she seemed to unclipped one of the baubles, tipping it into her coffee and passing him the cup before standing.

“I hope we can see each other soon. I'm sorry I can't stay longer, like I mentioned, that can't stay away phase. I'll see you soon! You don't mind footing the bill?”

Illario willed whatever energy he had to endure the pain and drink from the cup. The bitter liquid running down his blistered throat. For a moment he felt that death was breathing down his neck, but soon he felt his very veins become cold, as if thinning and repairing the damages. He could feel his throat open as he gasped for that sacred air.

Blinking away what blood was left in his eyes, he noticed Rook already gone, leaving him to collect his sanity at the table alone.

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #dragon age: the veilguard #da4 spoilers #veilguard spoilers #illario dellamorte #rook de riva #rook #dragon age lucanis #dragon age illario #dragon age rook #lucanis #illario #lucanis x rook #dav #datv #dragon age fic #lucanis dellamorte

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tanjamikaelson · 7 days ago

Text

STRANGE LOVE - CHAPTER 26

MASTERLIST CHAPTER 26: | I DID THIS FOR US |

In the days that followed Allison's overdose, the weight of everything that had transpired pressed down on her like a heavy fog. She moved through each day in a daze, barely able to process the events that had led her to the sterile white walls of a hospital room, to the realization that she was losing herself. Her mother, who had rushed from New York the moment she got the call, stayed by her side, their strained relationship easing into something softer, more forgiving.

Allison knew deep down that something had to change, that she couldn’t keep numbing herself with drugs and avoiding the pain that seemed to claw at her from every direction. After long, tearful conversations with her mother, they made the difficult decision together—Allison would go to rehab, a private and structured environment where she could begin the slow process of healing.

・ • ・ • ・

One evening, as Allison stood in her new room, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the faint smell of chlorine from the pool outside, she felt the weight of the past few months pressing down on her chest. Her mother had rented a beautiful one-story house, trying to provide a safe haven for Allison’s recovery, a place where she could feel supported and loved as she worked through the darkness that had consumed her.

The room was light and airy, with double doors that opened directly into a yard. As she packed her suitcase with the clothes she wanted to take with her to rehab, each piece she folded seemed to carry the weight of a memory. Some memories brought a small smile to her face—nights spent laughing with friends, moments of simple joy. But others were tainted with regret and pain, reminders of the choices that had led her here.

As she reached for a T-shirt that had somehow ended up in her suitcase, she realized with a start that it wasn’t hers—it was Rafe’s. She must have accidentally taken it when she was hurriedly packing her things at Tannyhill. The fabric was soft, worn in from countless washes, and it still smelled faintly of him. Allison held it close for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness and longing for the boy she had thought she loved, the boy who had spiraled so far out of control.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door broke her reverie, and her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Rafe’s silhouette standing just outside the glass. She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat before she opened the door. Rafe stepped inside, his eyes wide and desperate, searching hers for something—anything—that might reassure him.

“I heard you’re leaving tomorrow,” he began, his voice tight with the effort to keep his emotions in check.

Allison nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I have to, Rafe. I need to get my life together.”

Rafe’s eyes filled with sadness, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. “I’m sorry, Allison,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know you overdosed because of me.”

Allison didn’t know what to say, her heart aching at the sight of him. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it wasn’t entirely his fault, that she had made her own choices, too. But the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was nod.

A heavy silence hung between them, the kind of silence that only comes when two people know that something irrevocable has changed. Finally, Rafe spoke again, his voice quiet but filled with a desperate need to be honest. “I tried to kill Sarah.”

Allison’s eyes widened in shock, her breath catching in her throat. “What? Why would you tell me that?”

“Because you asked for honesty,” Rafe replied, his voice trembling. “I’m not keeping anything from you anymore.”

Allison nodded slowly, understanding what he was trying to do, but the knowledge that he had tried to kill his own sister was almost too much to bear. She felt a deep sadness for the boy she had once known, the boy who had been consumed by darkness and anger.

Rafe took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “And I got the gold cross, Allison. We can leave together. We don’t need anyone else.”

Allison felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she looked at him, her heart breaking for both of them. “I can’t leave with you Rafe,” she said, her voice shaking. “I almost died.”

Rafe’s expression twisted with a mix of anger and despair, his fists clenching at his sides. “We can figure things out together, Allison. I just need you to come with me.”

“No, Rafe,” she said firmly, even though her voice trembled with the effort. “Don’t you understand? I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep going around in circles.”

Rafe looked at her, his eyes desperate, as if he was searching for something to hold onto. “Just tell me you don’t hate me, that you’re not scared of me. We can figure out the rest.”

Allison’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, but she knew she had to be honest with him. “I don’t hate you,” she said softly. “But things aren’t as easy to forget as you think.”

“You don’t need to forget, just forgive me,” Rafe pleaded, his voice breaking.

“I can’t. Not yet,” she whispered, her words cutting through the tension between them like a knife.

Rafe’s face crumpled with despair. “But I did this for us, Allison! I found the cross so we could leave and not depend on anyone.”

“I know, Rafe,” she replied, her voice gentle but firm. “But I can’t leave… not right now.”

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed to echo in the very air around them. “I love you, Allison,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Allison’s heart broke at his words. “You don’t know what love is, Rafe. If you did, you wouldn’t have pushed me away.”

“What are you saying?” Rafe asked, his voice trembling with confusion and hurt.

Allison shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Just go…”

Rafe stared at her for a moment, his face a mixture of pain and anger. “You know what? I get it,” he said, backing towards the door. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Before Allison could respond, he turned and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet house. She sank to her knees, her body shaking with sobs. The weight of her decisions pressed heavily on her, but deep down, she knew she had made the right choice.

As the house settled into silence, Allison’s mother appeared in the doorway of her room. Without a word, she crossed the room and knelt beside her daughter, pulling her into a comforting embrace.

“You did the right thing,” she whispered, stroking Allison’s hair.

Allison nodded, clinging to her mother like a lifeline. “I hope so.”

“You’ll get through this,” her mother assured her, holding her tightly. “One step at a time.”

As they sat together, the past hurts and misunderstandings between them seemed to fade into the background. They were united in their hope for a better future, one where Allison could find her way back to herself, where she could learn to live and love without fear, and where the wounds of the past could finally begin to heal.

After Allison’s overdose, something fundamental shifted inside Rafe. In that moment, he’d realized just how close he came to losing her forever, not just to circumstance but to his own reckless choices. And now she had refused to run away with him after everything that happened, refused to be part of the chaos that had spiraled out of control.

The high he’d once craved, the cocaine that had fueled his anger and impulsive decisions, now felt like a poison—a poison that had tainted every part of his life. But the wake-up call had come too late, and now all he had was the bitter taste of regret and the faint hope that he could somehow get her back one day.

・ • ・ • ・

RAFE’S P.OV:

Rafe had always wanted to be in control, to prove himself to his father. When Ward had been injured during the fight on a ship, Rafe had sworn to him that he would take over, that he would handle everything while his father recovered. But it wasn’t just about that promise anymore. As they arrived in Guadeloupe with the cross finally secured, Rafe made a decision—one that felt more vital than any he’d made before. He would get clean. He would fight the demons that had plagued him for so long. Not for himself, not even for his father, but for Allison. For the future he hoped he could still have with her.

The withdrawal was brutal. His body craved the familiar escape, the numbing high that cocaine offered. There were nights when the temptation felt unbearable, when his hands trembled with the need to feel the powder rush through his system. But every time he reached the brink, he would see Allison’s face—pale, lifeless, so close to slipping away. The fear of losing her had gripped him tighter than any addiction ever could.

In Guadeloupe, far from the chaos of the Outer Banks, Rafe threw himself into the role his father had entrusted to him. He oversaw the security around the cross, handled the shady deals that needed attention, and kept a watchful eye on every operation Ward had left behind. But beneath the surface of his business dealings, Rafe was fighting a war within himself. Every day without cocaine was a battle—a battle to stay clearheaded, to not let his impulses dictate his actions.

For once, Rafe wasn’t just the reckless son chasing his approval; he was the one holding things together. He was the one Ward had to depend on. And though the weight of that responsibility was heavy, it was also grounding. It gave him something to focus on besides his own internal struggles.

But the truth was, as much as Rafe wanted to prove himself to his father, the real driving force behind his change was Allison. He couldn’t shake the thought of her, couldn’t forget the way she had looked at him with disappointment and fear, the way she had refused to follow him. She had walked away from him for a reason, and if he wanted any chance of getting her back, he knew he had to change—really change.

It wasn’t just about getting clean; it was about becoming the kind of person who could stand by her, who could offer her something more than chaos and destruction. He couldn’t be the reckless, drug-fueled version of himself anymore. He had to become someone better, someone worthy of her.

As the weeks passed in Guadeloupe, Rafe found a strange sense of clarity. The noise in his head, the constant drive for more—more power, more approval, more drugs—began to fade. He started seeing the world differently, the haze of addiction lifting. He still had his anger, his unresolved pain, but it didn’t control him the way it once had. He could think clearer, and make decisions without the haze of cocaine clouding his judgment.

But the thought of Allison never left him. Every night, as he lay awake in the quiet of their secluded estate, he wondered where she was, what she was doing, and if she was okay. If she missed him. He had no idea if she would ever forgive him, if she would ever want him back, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t go back to who he had been. Not if there was even the smallest chance that she would come back into his life.

For the first time in his life, Rafe was trying to be better—not just for his father, not just for the power and control he had craved for so long, but for love. For the girl who had seen the real him, the one buried beneath all the rage and ambition. The girl who had nearly died because of his recklessness.

TAGS: @tiaamberxx

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron obx #obx #drew starkey #rafe x allison #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x allison #rafe cameron fanfiction

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