#because the person experiencing it clings to the good memories and pretends it makes up for the bad ones

[fluffydice]

TW Abuse

Aren feels guilt over clinging to his abuse, because he’s looked up to his Pops for so long as a role model, as someone who he should aspire to be.

But then he interacts with a toddler, or a little kid, or even people his own age. He can’t help but think about how fragile they are, how easy their skin would give way to bruises and blood, and he wonders how you could have something so precious and vulnerable, one that looks up to you with adoration and unadulterated trust, and tear it to shreds.

And he knows it was wrong, but he still tries to convince his friends otherwise. Because if they agree, that means it’s something he has to let go. He doesn’t have to look it in the eyes and ask questions that he won’t ever get an answer to.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hello! If it's alright with you, I'd just like to request a short blurb with Norton, Alva, and Aesop maybe? (my faves are showing 😞 LMAO) with a kiss currency scene, very silly really, like Alva asking to borrow a book and reader's all like 'Oh no mister that comes for a price, since you're my s/o I'll give you a discount' or "give me something you forgot this morning" and stuff,,,, I'm not really good at constructing my words sorry 😭😭

It got thirsty ngl and i changed norton to FG cuz i think doing a 'kiss tax', aesop i think came out the best lol

Rated: Explicit | Warning: fool's gold part

There is a refreshing quality about you, something that makes him proud of his appearance. The older man is no narcissist; it is simply the joy one has when their partner sees them as beautiful as the day they fell in love—Alva knows this feeling well and has experienced it twice: with Herman, his wife, and now you.

You are like a summer breeze from the shoreline, warm but not too much. You cling to his skin and caress him out of his thoughts when necessary. Yet, you are like a storm at times with your chaotic ways, never with malice, you are different. Different times, different mindsets, different clothing; you are both fascinating and confusing while giving hope about a future.

Apostle likes you, Ann is growing to accept you given the cat likes you, and Luca “matches your vibes” (strange wording you said) meaning you both are friends.

There are details about Alva taking note of, mannerisms, wants, and needs; the way you smile at him with your fingers walking up his leg while you flirt with him.

Private life with you is an adventure, makes him feel young again.

Alva finds himself enjoying the attention you give when alone, you respect he is a private person and he respects you like touching him— Not always sexually! You just like holding his hand, laying on him, or playing with his hair. When you want to be intimate, you make a game of it. It is your way of hinting to him your needs while giving him a chance to either encourage or inform you he cannot give at the moment.

His master encourages the idea of a family with you in Alva's dreams.

Today, you are as mischievous as a cat toying with the strings of a shoe, seeking attention though pretending to be innocent and clueless; while trying not to giggle. A nervous tick of yours is cute, a great way to know when he is going except your playfulness to turn into something more. Alva's hand plays with the ends of your hair as you reach (and he leads down) to kiss him.

First kiss price. A kissing toll for you helping him around his room. You like performing acts of service, it is your love language with him along with calling him handsome and other things.

Second kiss price. You kissed his hand starting from the tips of his fingers to his wrists. You often tell him you like his hands.

Third kiss price. Alva is gripping the edge of his desk as he sits on the edge of it, his free hand gripping your hair as your lips are around his cock. Usually, Alva is not one for you giving him— He much prefers to have his mouth on you, a simple preference and one you do not complain about given he is really good with his mouth. It is a treat to be doing this and Alva is the type to tell you if he wants something or not.

When he pulls your head back, his cum spilling on your chin and chest, you look up to see his blushing cheeks and his mouth slightly open from heavy breathing.

If you have photographic memory you are keeping this in your mental album of Mr. Lorenz looking so fucking hot.

“Let me lick it off at least.” Alva understands why you want to but he knows that your hormones are speaking because the taste of cum is not your favorite thing— You like him though, a lot. “Thanks for the pearl necklace.” Being flirty. “Alva!” Whining as he starts cleaning you up your face.

You never play the game of price paid with a kiss with Norton. Never felt right given what you know the Prospector has done in his past; as he fought to survive, doing anything for a coin. You will kiss him freely, assure him that what he wants can be asked for without a cost.

Fool’s Gold is different, very different.

The living embodiment of Greed, the way it twists and corrupts, he lacks the morals or humanity his survivor self does. He likes to make you gamble between your life and others’ lives, and being the good person you are… You choose the one for the many.

“A kiss is your price.”

You frown then sigh as you go to open his worn worker's pants given he has said that and he did not mean his lips.

“Oh, no, no, not this time, my diamond.”

You are confused as leans down to actually kiss you, his lips in an oddly sweet way. It throws you off, having you step back immediately though not too far as his deformed hand keeps you from escaping. The vibration of his laugh is felt as his body carries the sound, the way he eyes your confused face, quick to capture your lips once more. This time his tongue slips into your mouth and his other hand is holding your face in place with his gloved solidified hand, the pressure on your jaw making sure you don't close your mouth.

Fool’s Gold, Norton, has most of his human qualities yet key parts of him are not human. His body for sure as he can reshape himself at will (his cock included), and his tongue is not pink but black and longer than a human touch. You are going to choke on it as literally is fucking your mouth with it.

The lack of non-mineral smelling air is making your head spin, your hands on his large wrist as he has his fun with your mouth. He only lets go when the echoing bell announces the first few minutes of the match has passed. You cough as he pulls away to stand at his full height with that sly grin on his face.

“Not bad there, canary.” A fucked up nickname given what miners used those birds for. You wipe the corner of your mouth where some drool slips out, your cheeks burn from unintentional arousal and from lack of air.

“Whatever.” Voice cracked a bit before you cleared it.

That defiance of yours reminds him of himself, those unpleasant ways to get what he needed at any cost. Money was not always exchanged for his way to slip into the cave off working hours. He wants to keep pushing until he breaks you, puts you under the weight that broke and rebuilt him.

“Remember our deal.”

“And what if I said the price went up, hmm?” You look terrified then upset, “Oh, don't get too excited!” Sarcasm as he laughs again, “Don't worry, this bought you a tie.”

You won't push your luck or sanity to try to get him to give a four-man win.

Aesop is not too fond of exchanging bodily fluids, especially when it means ingesting it (cum). Kissing is not bad as he can use his mask; lips on lips took time to be comfortable with and only went as far as pressing his lips on yours. A cute kiss, you like it! Then as the relationship progresses, Aesop grows both comfortable and curious, and you get a kiss you were not expecting from him.

A French kiss (somewhere you think Joseph and Mary are judging the name of this kiss).

The copycat match kiss left you flustered for a week and Joseph had let you fall apart in joy in his room (he did not pay attention). Aesop did not repeat the kiss but there was a cockiness you have never seen him have, a sort of pride to knowing he had you so wrapped around his finger— Of course, he knows you love him but the desire is different and you were going to explode with how hot and bothered you were post-match.

“Kiss.” He taps your lips, “For following my instructions well.” You are swooning and willing to do more work for kisses. Aesop’s lips are soft and taste of mint and vanilla, he likely made his lip wax for this occasion. His fingers, the material of his gloves make you aware of your burning face, eyes taking in the sight of you. You look completely enamored, enchanted by him and his actions, it is like you worship him. He only is the caretaker of the dead, yet like the old Gods of death you told him about, you give him your love with judgment or fear.

“Good work.” This time the kiss lingers and you let out a small moan unintentionally, “Keep going.” The encouragement is followed by you listing all the necessary items needed to embalm during this century. You took a Thanatology class once.

Another kiss and this time it is just like the kiss during copycat, better as his hands hold you by your waist and your arms are around him. You are a mess why the time he stops, grey eyes looking then he takes your lips again. It lasted longer this time, a little more heated as hands slid down your waist to be behind you.

You both are out of breath when the need to breathe becomes unbearable, your hands playing with his hair as his hands are on your ass trying to keep you close to his body.

“Aesop.” You smile at him, “We can stop here.”

“We can,” His forehead against yours, “I want to touch you.”

You felt like you might just explode, “Okay.” Aesop chuckled at how you buried your face in his shoulder when his leg slipped between yours. The slightest pressure makes you very aware of how sensitive you are right now.

[hussyknee]

You haven't answered my questions, you didn't respond to the posts I linked and you continue to not back up your arguments.

Abuse is defined by effect, not intent. Making neurodivergent and traumatized people question their reality and being lied to when they ask if it's real, and being out of the loop in the middle of a site-wite illusion that people are trying to manipulate real-world databases for, is in fact abuse and can trigger psychosis. This is explained in the posts Iinked.

You can be socially, systemically and institutionally gaslit. Medical gaslighting, for example, is the leading cause of PTSD in disabled and chronically ill people. Disinformation for the purpose of manipulating narratives is called political gaslighting and media gaslighting (be careful googling this because the right-wing has misappropriated the term).This all comes under epistemic gaslighting, an important sociological phenomenon and social justice term. The idea is not without critics, but here's another article that argues for its use.

And as I have said elsewhere: wider social gaslighting is a key component of interpersonal abuse and victimisation. Partners, children, employees, students, disabled people – people see them being abused or evidence of their abuse and trauma and then minimise it, dismiss it, or pretend like they didn't see anything. It makes you question your memories, experiences and feelings. Worse, most people who do this don't intend to harm you; they're just conditioned into a set of beliefs and worldview that makes abuse invisible to them. It's what makes it so hard to acknowledge abuse to yourself and self-validate your own hurt and fear, because it involves understanding that you are seen as acceptable collateral to your community. As social animals realizing that our tribe won't protect us is extremely traumatic and it's very difficult to ever feel safe again.

It's disingenuous to compare the use of gaslighting to the way the word "triggered" has been mocked, misappropriated and devalued by ableists. Nobody is mocking or devaluing the word here. This kind of humour – pranks, "bits" and anything that involves tricking unconsenting parties (as opposed to say, a magic show where people want to be tricked) and the general manipulating of narratives – necessarily crosses boundaries and toys with people's trust in themselves and others. There is an inherent danger and harm in this kind of lying. That's not to say that this kind of humour is always bad and wrong, just that the line between good-humoured fun and bullying can be subjective and easily crossed over. The ability for people to find the truth, tap out or opt out entirely of our shenanigans is the very real line between annoying and cruel. And even then, there are people who might be too afraid of being mocked or lied to that won't ask, and people whose previous gaslighting trauma is triggered by this version of it.

I would gently ask you why you're so upset and opposed to the idea that you might be engaging in something that has the same consequences, or some version of it, for people that you have yourself experienced. It's very important to understand that gaslighting can be inadvertent. The social gaslighting through conditioning I've mentioned earlier, and also clinging to your personal narrative and insisting only your reality and memories are valid are the most common ways we abuse without meaning to.

But aside from all of that, there are many things people do that may cause inadvertent harm to others. We live such wide and waried realities that it's impossible not to infringe on each other's boundaries when living in the crush of humanity. They are allowed to be angry about it and you are allowed to respect that but keep enjoying the things you do, in as ethical a manner as possible. We are not responsible for how others experience the world, but we do have an obligation to be responsible and minimise harm to the vulnerable by practising informed consent. It's not black and white. It's just that there is a line, and it must be seen and adhered to.

As of this writing, Goncharov has been added and removed from the Martin Scorsese filmography Wikipedia page 7 times.

[obscureamor]

❝𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭❞ 

❥     sakusa kiyoomi x fem! reader

❥     t/w  |  nsfw, noncon, slapping, degradation

»     a/n  |  initially started out as a thirst, then my brain went ‘slapping.’

You’re too disgusting for somebody like Komori… is what he wants to think, but truth be told Sakusa only wanted you for himself.

You always used to be close with the two cousins, but as time went on Sakusa grew colder towards you, while his feelings grew warmer... you took it the wrong way. He admired you in a messed up sense, admired the way you were so carefree and in the moment, but he hated it. He hated that part about you. In a way, Komori is the glue that holds you all together. You’re just a straggler though. You come and go as you please and Sakusa hates it.

And you can tell…

You can see it in the way he looks at you, the way his eyes analyze your every move. Just waiting, hoping you’d mess something up. When you did something wrong, it gave him a reason to talk to you. He didn’t care that it wasn’t in a positive light, that the memories you’d have of your conversations would only be negative. Sakusa hasn't had a normal conversation with you since you were kids.

He didn't expect you to come back from your trip so soon, so when Komori calls him, frantically telling him he can’t pick you up because the roads are starting to become frosted… he has to pretend it’s no big deal. 

He doesn’t live that far from the train station, but having to walk back home with Sakusa in the dark isn’t anyone’s dream. You have to stay over with the way the snow is visibly picking up and from what Komori told you, he should be able to come and get you by tomorrow. 

You’re bundled in a nice scarf and coat over your outfit. The walk is silent, the only sounds being the occasional ‘hurry up’s from Sakusa and you sniffling. Every breath is visible as you two walk towards his house. The way the snow is getting caught in his hair makes you smile, but you can only wonder how you look at this exact moment. You hope snot isn't dripping down your face. You're shivering but it's such a contrast to the way your body feels hot all over.

-

You can feel the tension in the air as you enter his home. It’s been a while since it’s only been you two. He watches as you take off your shoes, silently judging the way your hands shake or how you keep messing with your shirt.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ he wants to say but bites his tongue.

He takes off his mask watching as you walk to the kitchen to wash your hands. He follows shortly after making sure you did everything right.

“Sakusa?” you question, turning to look at him only to find him already staring. “W-Would you like to stay in the living room or—?”

“The living room.”

It’s nerve-wracking as you follow him and suddenly you can’t remember how to breathe. The hotness you were experiencing earlier has turned into icicles. It's festering, weighing you down, and you can feel your eyes watering even though nothing has happened yet. You're hit with a barrage of worry, goosebumps rising on your skin because suddenly the house feels too cold. When did you start being afraid of Sakusa? You're afraid of him. It’s something you never admitted because who could you admit that too? So when did it start? Was it when his eyes became over-analytical of you? When every word that came out of his mouth had a biting edge to them even though he didn't mean it?

You're taking deep breaths as you reluctantly take a seat on the couch, watching as he leaves to check on something before taking a seat beside you. Your eyes are darting all over the room before they settle on the window. It’s dark out and you can’t see anything with the way the snow is hitting the glass. You can feel his stare on you, so you do what you do best… try and fill the silence.

“How was your day?”

You turn to look at him, staring at him with those stupid eyes, a shaky smile on your lips as you await his answer.

“Good. And yours?”

You inhale a sharp breath. His day was only…  ‘good.’ Well, you don’t know what you were expecting with someone as straightforward as Sakusa. You’re just glad he asked you about yours too.

“Today was… well, um—” your voice trembles as you feel his cold stare on you. “—kinda boring… the train ride wasn’t that long, but nothing interesting happened. I’m sad Komori isn't with us though.”

His hands clench into fists and you’re so dense that you take his silence as a signal to keep going.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Komori and I went to go eat at, like… I don’t know— it was really early.” There’s a chuckle that you try to mask before you continue, “Maybe about 3am…  but! That’s not the point. He ended up getting caught between some fence and I really don’t know how.”

You’re too busy caught in your own world, reminiscing memories of your little adventures with Komori, that you don’t realize the way Sakusa is staring at you. The way his lip is curled into a scowl and his eyes are squinting in disbelief. He never knew that you two hung out alone. As far as Sakusa’s knowledge went, if Komori is there then so is he. When did you two start to see each other without him? Did you act differently when you were around Komori? Was there a whole other side to you Sakusa doesn't know about?

You’re still going.

How can one person talk about another this much?

There’s a yelp that leaves you when Sakusa pushes you to the floor, his body on top of yours. Your head feels like it's pounding as his hand slaps over your mouth. He’s relishing in the way your wide eyes are focused on him and him only.

“I’m so tired of you talking about him.”

He can hear your muffled words behind his palm, eyes frazzled and wide. Your hands are laying limp at your sides. The overwhelming feeling of dread washes over you— the icicles break in half and stab you in your gut.

“I’m better than him in every way, so pay attention to me.”

The way his eyes have no emotion behind them other than pure annoyance scares you. It was a look he gave to strangers when they touched or bumped into him, not a look he gave you. It’s silent as the wind picks up and the beating of your heart could be heard loud in your ears. His hand moves to hold your jaw, forcing your lips to pucker out. Your hands scramble to grab his wrist, pulling and tugging to let go so he squeezes harder making you cry out in pain at the way his nails start to dig into your skin. You don’t expect it when Sakusa spits in your mouth, the defining ‘ptuh’ making everything seem worse. He watches with monotonous fervor as you struggle and shake your head trying anything and everything to not swallow. It’s all futile as he watches his spit mingle with yours before finally, it goes down.

You can feel something tug at your pants before you process what he’s trying to do. He’s pulling them off, fingers then looping into the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down messily, albeit swiftly.

“Omi! ‘op!” you cry out.

The sound of his belt being worked off rings in your ears.

If there was one thing you knew about Sakusa, it’s that he liked to work smoothly and efficiently. He can’t do that with the way your legs are trying to kick at him, with the way your nails are digging into his wrist to let go of your jaw. So when his hand leaves your face you’re relieved, almost crying in relief as you go to soothe the ache, but it’s short-lived when you can hear the sound of his hand meeting your skin. The pop against your cheek and the crackle of the sting.

You finally realize that he wasn’t one of the top three aces for nothing.

“You’re just a stupid whore,” he mutters as he lines himself up with your entrance. “You have no idea how lucky you are for me to even think about fucking you.”

“Kiyoomi, please stop.”

There's anguish in your voice, but the thought is fleeting. It dissipates as if it’s snow after a sunny day. He likes the way his given name sounds coming out of your mouth too much for him to think about how you feel.

You can feel him rubbing himself along your lips and every time his cockhead catches on your entrance a whimper leaves you.

“Saku—”

When his hand meets your cheek for the second time, you feel him swiftly push in, hands settling on your hips. You throw your head back in a silent scream, back arching and chest flush against his. Your cunt is squeezing him and the groan Sakusa lets out echoes within the desolate house.

You sob out and you already know your skin is red, probably welting at the force. He hates the way your nose is leaking snot and how your disgusting tears are dirtying his floors.

“P-Please, stop, Saku—!”

There’s a ringing in your ears as he backhands you.

You don’t know what you’re doing wrong. What’s wrong? You can feel your cheek bruising. Your skin is stinging like the bad sunburn you got when Komori forgot to wake you from your nap at the beach. When your vision finally clears up as you blink away the tears… the look in Sakusa’s eyes scares you. He’s always had an apathetic look to him, but this… his eyes seem as black as the winter's night, and it’s only now that you realize— you’re stuck in a house alone with him until tomorrow.

“Kiyoomi…” you gasp. Your eyes scrunch tight and your shoulders raise as you brace yourself for another impact that doesn’t come. “Omi… I-I don’t— what did I do to you?”

You look so pathetic as you try and understand, but your small brain wouldn’t understand anything as complex as a man’s emotions.

“Omi-chan, please tell me what I did,” you sniffle, trembling hands coming up to grip onto his shoulders.

He’s reminded of when you all were younger at that nickname, reminded of when you would cling to him as you do to Komori now. You can’t save yourself no matter how much you plead and beg for him to stop.

He blinks at you once, twice, before rearing his hips back and slamming into you. There’s a choked out cry that leaves you, hands twisting his shirt as you grip onto him tighter.

“It hurts, Kiyoomi! P-Please stop!”

You’re so dry, but it’s not like it matters. Sakusa relishes in the way your pussy starts to tremble around him as it gets slicked up with every thrust. He wonders how much of a slut you really are and at the thought of Komori being the one to fuck you he slaps you again.

“You’re so dirty it makes me sick.”

His hands are pawing at your tits and it’s only seconds before he gets tired of your shirt being in the way. He shoves the piece of clothing up and you can hear Sakusa ‘tsk’ at your choice in bra color. He starts thrusting into you with such ferocity that makes your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Are you gonna cum like the dirty whore you are?”

You’re shaking your head, but you’re such a fucking liar. The way your stupid hole is drooling around him and clamping down tells him everything he needs to know. His hand leaves your hip, coming to rest on your throat.

“I’m going to cum in you. Komori won’t want a tainted whore.”

“Please no Kiyoomi! Please don’t! Please! I-I—” you’re trying to think of anything, but you only cry harder when your mind comes up blank.

He says nothing as he keeps moving, hand growing tighter around your throat. It’s not enough to choke you, just enough to tell you that he’s in control of the situation— he always has been. Sakusa gives no warnings as his breath hitches and he releases his load into you. He’s still going, not stopping until you cum. It’s just to prove his point that you really are a mindless whore.

There’s an earth-shattering sob that leaves you when you feel his seed flood into you. It’s so overwhelming that you cum, gummy walls riveting him in place as your body trembles. It’s moments later that Sakusa is left staring at you in awe for reasons unknown to him. Your pussy looks so pretty when it’s his cum that’s leaking out of it. He knows you’ve never slept with anyone, knows you’re untainted, but none of that matters now.

You can feel his eyes boring into you as you try and muffle your sobs... they’re as black as the winter’s night— void of emotion but full of plight.

[aliteama]

Hello! May i ask for a continuation of the mercenary hc's for Gojo? Like their relationship, how they met, the tension between the two bc they know damn well that should they fight, they're not sure Gojo would win... (I have fallen for this concept, hard 😂.) Have a lovely night / day !

♡Headcanons♡

Gojo being around a Mercenary 

Highschool Gojo

♡ We’ve only been given a glimpse into Gojos childhood so he probably meets you around the same time he met Shoko and Geto and even then it’s not one of those automatic friendships because the both of you know you're strong so it’s more of a competitive friendship to rank everyone strength.

♡ He’s going to be just as obnoxious towards you like he is Shoko and Geto, constantly pestering you to fight him and Shoko hates the both of you for it because she always gets stuck pulling the two of you apart. It’s all in good fun though, the two of you would never go all out mainly because Yaga has to supervise from the window.

♡ When Gojo was fighting Toji he was shocked at how familiar his movements were and when he realized he was basically using the more experienced version of your moves it really got to his head. Because if this guy was taking him down so easily then who's to say you won’t do the same? 

♡ The memories still fresh in his mind even months after it happened and he can’t get past the similarities. I feel Gojo would kind of be like Geto in that time frame where they’re teetering between right and wrong since they don’t really have anyone to talk to.

♡ He’ll start to distance himself but at the sametime he just wants to have an all out battle with you and prove to himself that if it ever comes down to it he could take you in a fight. He can’t decide whether to pretend nothing happened and act natural around you or stay on guard but the damage has already been done.

♡ Everything just changes and everyone starts to break apart, it’s either you and Shoko or her and Gojo but rarely the three of you. If you're lucky enough then maybe Geto will come outside and when that happens everyone just gathers together and in those moments it feels as if nothing changed.

Teacher Gojo

♡ After Geto’s switch it really makes Gojo realize how wrong he’s been handling everything, he wants to cling onto whatever's left of your friendship and hold onto whatever's left of his student days. 

♡ Whether you stayed at the school or not isn’t going to change a thing because he's going to be spent on looking for you. A reconnection would be awkward but it’d probably be one of the times where Gojo has to be serious and actually talk about what's bothering him.

♡ Toji really left an impact on him, he separated him from Geto and did a great deal of damage towards him that forced him to develop faster. There's always going to be that ‘if only I had’ lingering in his mind and since he can’t fix the damage from that day the least he can do is clean up pieces of the aftermath.

♡ It’ll be a lot of time spent catching up with Gojo and Shoko while doing your own thing as well but I guess it all really depends on Gojo and how he wants to see things. 

♡ It could be like how he sees Fushiguro where he’s just going to see you as a totally different person from Toji or he could have that annoyed feeling whenever you talk about your line of work or bring up the mercenary term.

♡ Doesn’t compare you to Toji it’s more the way you fight that causes him to into fight to flight mode because while he got stronger you did too. 

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 31

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 9.4k (._.) ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part six

​​​​​ ​​​​

“Need help with the dishes?” The voice catches off-guard, and you nearly chuck the ceramic plate in your hands across the cramped kitchen in your surprise.

“Shit, you scared — oh.” You don’t mean to sound so shocked but seeing San standing beside you at the sink is the last thing you were expecting. He just offers a weak smile, one that is strained and wavering but present nonetheless, and that gives you a little bit of hope about the ensuing conversation. He has effectively cornered you, and while you could make a daring escape and leave him to do the dishes on his own, that would be both suspicious and unnecessary when San isn’t showing any signs of anger at the moment.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Oh, um, be my guest, yeah. I’d… I’d appreciate the help,” you mutter, pulling your chin forward again to focus on the steady stream of water from the faucet. San settles next to you without missing a beat; he snatches up a dish towel and begins to take the dishes you’ve set out on the drying rack, carefully drying each one with methodical twists of his wrists. You aren’t sure how best to make conversation with him given the tense exchange you had earlier, so you opt to say nothing at all in hopes that San will be the one to initiate the confrontation. It works in your favor (the only thing on your side at the moment it seems) and after a few minutes of awkward silence, San finally speaks up.

“Earlier… when we were on the mission, I – I was unfair to you.”

“You were well within your right, San,” you respond as quickly as possible, not giving yourself a chance to think twice.

“That doesn’t mean it was right.”

“I don’t hold it against you.” You pause to heave a deep sigh. You’re running out of dishes far too quickly which means that you’ll actually have to face San rather than hiding as best you can with the dishes in the sink. “To be frank, I figured you would still be upset with me.”

“I don’t think I realized the weight of the decision on your shoulders,” San explains. Ceramic hits metal before he can speak again, and you both tense from the sharpness of the sound. San inhales with the noise then shifts the plate he just hit on the side of the counter to set it down properly. “We put the responsibility on your shoulders because you’re the only one who knew of the serum and experienced it firsthand. Looking back, it seems foolish of me to say that I should make the decision rather than Mingi. Not because he made the decision I wanted but… because the moral weight of choice is heavier than what’s good and what’s not. At least it should be.”

You set the plate in your hands down to face San, twisting at the waist at the same time he does, and the sudden eye contact causes your mind to go completely blank in the blink of an eye.

“Uh…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you desperately attempt to bring the thought back but it’s already too far gone and you’ve forgotten it completely. San offers a patient and gentle smile, eyes folding into soft crescents as he does, and a quiet laugh slips from his lips.

“Sorry for hitting you with the heavy stuff right after dinner. I just didn’t want to let it sit and stew for too long.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m – well, I’m a bit curious about something.” you shut the water off for the time being so that you can better focus on the conversation at hand, and the remaining dirty dishes lie forgotten in the sink.

“What’s that?” San tilts his head to the side. You find yourself distracted by the way a few strands of black hair slip to frame his forehead and how his dimples slip away as his smile fades a bit, but you���re quick to pull yourself back.

“Yesterday you asked me whether I would be okay with using the serum if you asked for it. But I wanted to know… if our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“You mean if I were the one who had already taken it once before?” San inquires, head falling further to the side. You’re quick to nod in response, and he follows up with a gentle hum. “I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s – though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

Your breath catches a bit in your throat, and San’s kind smile returns in full force. When you next speak, it doesn’t feel as though the words are coming from your mouth at all, but more like someone has taken over your body and decided to say them instead.

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair. It may be in our nature as living, rational beings to seek out the things that bring us the most comfort and to try to create a space around us that provides that comfort. Thus we are by nature selfish and striving towards personal satisfaction. We can’t break free of that selfishness unless we really stop to think about things. Hongjoong told me that once, and it hasn’t left me since.”

“Ah, so he can be reasonable,” you remark through a small smile, breaking a bit of the heaviness lingering in the air around you two. San laughs in response.

“Only when he’s sober and fully rested, but he’s rarely not one of those things.”

“Hey, Y/N, I brought more dishes for you to—oh I didn’t know you were in here too.” Both you and San whip to face the newcomer as he steps into the already cramped kitchen.

“Oh, hell no, Choi Jongho, I am not washing all those dishes for you!” You protest immediately upon seeing the stack of plates and bowls in his hands.

“What do you mean you won’t? It’s not even that hard! Seonghwa’s food doesn’t stick to the plates. All you have to do is give it a quick scrub!”

“Okay, then you do it!”

“Why would I do it?”

“You just said it’s easy! That’s basically signing up to do dishes.” You jab a finger in Jongho’s direction before he can say anything else and effectively shush him.

“She’s got you there,” San chimes in. Jongho rolls his eyes in response but comes closer to the sink to take your place.

“This is just mean. I’m the only one here who hasn’t had a nap today, and yet I’m being forced to stay up later? Disgusting,” Jongho huffs through his teeth. You pat his shoulder with a thin smile before stepping around him to leave the kitchen.

“Don’t pout so much, Jongho. I’ll stick around to dry the dishes for you.” Jongho merely grumbles in response to San’s offer, earning himself a sharp slap to the back of the head. “Ungrateful little shit.”

“Bigger than you th–”

“Oh, so you want to do them alone now?” San scoffs. You laugh over your shoulder before stepping out of the kitchen to return to the mess hall. It’s cleared out considerably already; Wooyoung and Yeosang have disappeared, as has Mingi, and the only two left are Yunho and Seonghwa, who stand at the edge of the room engaged in a conversation that’s loud enough for you to hear even at your distance from them.

“Would you go up to check on Hongjoong? At least make sure he sleeps even for an hour tonight?” Seonghwa asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bridge.

“You’re not going back up tonight?”

“No, contrary to popular belief, I actually need rest too so I’ll be turning in earlier tonight.”

“Hm, unbelievable,” Yunho huffs, but there’s a small smile pressed over his lips as he says the words. His gaze flits away from Seonghwa’s face to find you standing at the edge of the kitchen, and in an instant, his expression shifts to one of surprise then a hurried glance down to the floor the moment you make eye contact. Seonghwa mimics the motion of his eyes, following their path back to you. He passes you a soft smile, and you return it with your own strained one, too focused on Yunho at the moment. The doctor continues to avoid your stare though and drags his attention back to Seonghwa instead. “Um, yeah, I’ll go up and see him. We’re long overdue for a talk anyway.”

“A talk?” You can’t see Seonghwa’s expression but the tone of his voice tells you enough, and Yunho sucks his lower lip between his teeth before tilting his head to the side.

“Is that jealousy I hear, Lieutenant?” He arches a brow as he speaks, arms coming up to cross over his chest in an almost defensive manner.

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Healer?” Seonghwa counters. The lightness in the conversation disappears in an instant, and Yunho’s eyes blaze at the accusation hurled his way. “I’d advise you not to comment on things you don’t understand, Yunho. You might be a doctor, but that doesn’t mean you know everything. It’s no good to be so deceived by those things, no?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re the one trying to start a fight, Seonghwa.”

“Merely reminding you not to cross certain lines. I believe we had discussed that in the past already, and yet… here we find ourselves having to have this conversation again.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson when Hongjoong threatened to put you out the airlock.” Yunho’s tone is far too hot and scathing for your liking, and you shrink further back against the wall in an attempt to hide yourself as best you can. He seems to have forgotten about your presence already in the heat of the argument, which you’re thankful for but you don’t feel any more comfortable being stuck in the room. Especially because of what happens next when Seonghwa’s hand darts out to catch hold of Yunho’s collar. He swivels the taller man as though he weighs nothing and presses him hard against the wall. The impact is enough to draw a grunt out of Yunho but he keeps his head up to glare back at Seonghwa.

“I wasn’t the one who started fucking someone else less than a month later. I guess you both have that in common then. Did you even wait for the ashes to grow cold before you were rolling around in the captain’s bed like some cheap wh—”

Seonghwa doesn’t get to finish the thought, and part of you is grateful that you don’t have to hear the rest of it. The other half is horrified because Yunho’s fist careens into Seonghwa’s jaw, knocking him off the taller man. Yunho swings a kick at Seonghwa’s feet next to push him all the way to the floor, but the other man is too quick and shoves Yunho’s leg away before it can hit him.

“I’m not going to fight you, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses, slipping further back to put more distance between him and the healer.

“Then let me beat you up for having the audacity to act like you know what I was going through!”

“Yet you stand here and act like I’m the bad guy and the one who did the wrong thing  in saying that his obsession was killing him.”

Yunho forces his way back into Seonghwa’s personal space, chest heaving as he brings his hands up to the other man and shoves harshly. Seonghwa manages to maintain his balance and stay on his feet despite the force behind the attack, but that only serves to anger Yunho more because he sneers and repeats the motion once more to knock Seonghwa into a table. Seonghwa grabs onto the edge of the metal to stabilize himself. Yunho takes advantage of the distraction and swings his fist back into Seonghwa’s face, hitting him across the cheekbone this time, and the hit is so hard that blood comes off on Yunho’s knuckles when he pulls his hand back.

The sight of crimson spurs you into action, and you push off the wall to rush over to where Yunho has Seonghwa pinned against the table.

“Yunho, that’s enough!” You cut in, reaching out to snatch Yunho’s arm before he can deliver another hit. He fights against your tight grip to the best of his ability and manages to pull free only to swing his hand back at you. You barely register what happens next but Seonghwa’s reaction is clue enough to help you figure it out, along with the burning sting across your left cheek. Seonghwa shoves Yunho’s weight off him, and the taller man stumbles back in shock. He blinks down at his hand as though he can’t believe what he’s just done, but you have no time to pay attention to that because Seonghwa steps in front of you, hands coming up to cradle your face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need ice?” He rambles as he examines your cheek with a worried gaze. It’s as though the blood on his own cheek doesn’t exist and he just continues to thumb over your face.

“I-I didn’t mean to — I swear, I promise I wasn’t thinki–”

“Fuck off, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses over his shoulder. “Before we both do something we regret.”

Yunho leaves the room in the direction of the bridge in a way you can only compare to a wounded dog scampering off with his tail between his legs, and once he’s completely gone from sight, the adrenaline of the moment begins to wear off. You release a shaky exhale, nearly trembling in Seonghwa’s grasp. He swallows once.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he murmurs a few seconds later.

“And let him beat you to a pulp the day before a mission? I think not.” You reach up to grab onto one of Seonghwa’s hands, pulling it away from your face.

“I would have been fine. You, on the other hand—”

“What?” You interject. You have to bite back the sigh that threatens to leave your lips. “On the other hand what? I’m fragile?”

“That’s not – I didn’t it like that. Please… Y/N, please don’t fight with me on this. That’s not my intention.” Seonghwa clenches his fingers around the ones that still reside against his palm, and you let him cling to you without complaint for the time being. “Had he done anything more to hurt you, I fear what I might have done in response, and I – I truly did not want to fight with him. I let my emotions get the better of me in the heat of the moment.”

“What’s done is done, Seonghwa,” you mutter in response. “Let me at least clean your cheek and get some ice on it. It’ll do you no good to have a swollen face tomorrow.” Seonghwa huffs out a laugh but lets his hands fall away from you and rest limply by his sides.

“If it makes you feel better, then you can do whatever you like.” You can’t keep from smiling at his words, the soft smile he wears easing your anxiety quite a bit, and you shake your head.

“Don’t tell me that. Who knows what unsavory things I could come up with?” You tease through a laugh.

“I’d hope for at least a few ideas.”

“Okay, tiger, maybe you got hit a bit too hard.” You swat weakly at Seonghwa’s arm as he just chuckles and pulls away to move towards the exit. You fall into step with him, gnawing at your lower lip for no other reason than to busy yourself as the two of you walk to the medbay. “You don’t—” you cut yourself short before the thought can finish and bite down hard on the tip of your tongue. Seonghwa blinks down at you with expectation shining clearly in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to but… what exactly was it you two were arguing about?”

Seonghwa hums to himself and glances down at the floor for several moments before lifting his chin again.

“I have never attempted to purposefully hide it from you as that would hardly be fair to you. But I can explain things better once we’re in the medbay.”

You nod quickly, gaze trailing over the side of Seonghwa’s profile in your peripheral. He doesn’t offer further conversation, but it’s clear that that is only because he is deep in thought on the short walk to the medbay. Even as you step into the blindingly white room, he stays quiet and seats himself on the edge of one of the beds while you busy yourself with searching for supplies to clean his bleeding cheek. You come back to him after grabbing some soap and a bottle of water then set a pack of white cleaning pads next to him on the bed. He shifts his chin to expose his cheek further to you. You murmur a quiet thank you, fingers dancing over his face to keep him in place. Whether by instinct or intention, Seonghwa’s hands dart up to secure on your hips. He keeps you firmly set between his knees, and you try your best to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest as he holds you.

“Hongjoong and I…” Seonghwa starts, his tone so quiet that it is nearly drowned out by the hum of the air conditioner. You wet one of the cotton rounds in silence. You don’t dare to look him in the eye, focusing on the task at hand while he continues to speak. “We used to be in a special sort of relationship. We weren’t romantically or sexually involved right off the bat – it took quite some time for that to happen. In fact, it was only after there was a mutiny that we decided to explore those parts of our relationship, and initially, it was just my way of offering him comfort in the aftermath of that mess. Things, of course, got more complicated as feelings arose on my side. I found myself to be quite jealous in certain regards, and that jealousy blinded me to the bigger picture more often than not.”

You drag the damp round over Seonghwa’s cheekbone, and he winces from the impact.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter quickly, pulling your hand back, but Seonghwa reaches up to guide your hand back to his cheek.

“It’s fine. You can continue.” You nod through a rough swallow. As you continue to wipe at his cheek, Seonghwa continues with his story. “The man who led the mutiny was… Hongjoong’s lover to put it simply. I had always loved Hongjoong but it wasn’t anything more than a platonic love until after we started having relations. He wasn’t ready to let go of the past though, and I-I was blindsided by jealousy one night to a point where I threw out some of that man’s belongings one day. When Hongjoong found out, he was furious, of course, and that was the first and only time we had a physical fight. That’s what Yunho was referring to when he mentioned Hongjoong threatening to kick me off the ship and into space. Even after we recovered from that struggle, it never stopped because Hongjoong would tear himself apart over the mutiny. He got more and more obsessed in the next couple of months, and I decided that I couldn’t handle it any longer. So I gave him an ultimatum: stop being sexually involved with each other or stop being involved altogether. It’s clear which option he chose.”

“I sense a ‘however’…” You murmur, leaning back to admire your work on his cheek. Seonghwa huffs out a laugh, and his fingers twitch against your waist.

“Less than a month later Hongjoong was fucking Yunho right under my nose without a care in the world.” You inhale sharply, fingers wavering against Seonghwa’s jawline. “Didn’t even care that I knew, didn’t care to hide it from me, didn’t see any issue with it at all. On one hand, it felt like a jab at me for catching feelings the way I did because he could just… fuck around with Yunho and separate emotions from it whereas I couldn’t. But then I confronted Yunho about it, and he told me that Hongjoong only ever asked for sex when he couldn’t get out of his own head. Needed someone to fuck his thoughts out of him. I was glad that I didn’t have to be that person for him out of a selfish desire to preserve myself but… I was used to being the one who had the duty of protecting him and helping him through whatever issues he was having. It just took a look time to work through that on my own, and I couldn’t very well ask Yunho to talk about it with me because of a misguided arrogance.”

“Do you…” You lose confidence halfway through the question, and your tone falls flat. Seonghwa waits without saying a word for you to continue the thought. “Do you still love him?”

“Not in that way any longer,” Seonghwa whispers. His lips barely move, but you hear the words as clear as day. “I see the parts of him that I loved elsewhere now… but I’m quickly finding new things to love in that same place that I couldn’t see in him.”

Your jaw stutters dumbly as you try to process the words.

“Oh,” you exhale, too overwhelmed to come up with anything else.

“And if she would let me, I would do my best to show her new things to love in me as well.”

“I… is there another w-woman on the crew I don’t know about?”

Seonghwa smiles. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he struggles to hold back a smile, and his hands slip further around you to hold you tighter. You only realize how dumb your question sounds at that moment.

“I, um, I me-meant tha—” The tightness in your chest is too intense for you to finish your sentence, and the weight of his words hit you full force at last. You don’t even realize that tears have begun to fall until Seonghwa’s brows knit together in concern and one of his hands reaches up to brush them off your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, Y/N,” Seonghwa murmurs. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N, what’s going on?”

You need to communicate, to explain to him what’s going on in your head in words and be honest with him, but every word feels like lead on your tongue. Your lips are wobbling as you cradle Seonghwa’s face in your hands, eyes scanning his face in search of answers to all the questions running through your mind. At one point you truly thought that you saw Jisung in Seonghwa and that that was the only reason you felt yourself so drawn to him. Yet standing here the way you are now, you cannot see even an ounce of similarity between him and Jisung. Even the endless care Seonghwa provides for you is far different than the kind Jisung gave you. You cannot reason why Seonghwa pulls your heartstrings in such a way, but it’s only now that you realize that it has nothing to do with Jisung in any way.

“A-As much as I – as much as I don’t w-want to let go of the past, I… I find myself wanting to move forward… to you. I want y-you.”

“Then I’m yours for as long as you want me, and I won’t go anywhere until then.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

“Don’t promise not to leave.” Your words come out in a rush, but Seonghwa understands them nonetheless. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak your next words. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, just… tell me that you’re here. For now. For as long as it lasts.”

Before you know it, Seonghwa’s breath invades yours, and you feel the heat of his lips centimeters away from yours.

“I’m here now, Y/N.” You can hear the unspoken words on his lips, the promises that wish to spill out about how he won’t leave you and how he will stay, but he does exactly as you asked him to do and doesn’t let those empty promises reach the air between you.

“Show me,” you whisper without hesitation. That’s all the incentive Seonghwa needs to slot his lips against yours and suck the breath from your lungs as you exhale into his mouth. And when his hands slip down your back to hook around your thighs, you welcome it, letting him pull you forward until you are seated comfortably on his lap. You can’t even bring yourself to care that you are in the medbay of all places — a place far from the security that a bedroom would provide — but the enticement of Seonghwa’s lips pushes that thought out of your mind.

It’s almost poetic in a way: the way Seonghwa shifts to ease you back against the pillows of the bed and snakes his hands down to the band of your pants, tugging them lower and lower until you’re shed of them completely. It’s just as your first time together and yet the feeling behind it is so vastly different that you can hardly wrap your mind around it. And while he doesn’t take the time to drag his tongue over your folds this time, he does pepper the insides of your thighs with endless kisses and press two fingers to your entrance once he has rid himself of his own pants as well. Once he has pushed himself back up to be eye level with you again, you greet him with a kiss, tongue slipping between his lips in a rush to taste him. He hums into your mouth, and you can feel the corners of his mouth pulling upward as he smiles a bit.

“Hurry up,” you mutter, separating your lips with a wet pop.

“Always in such a rush, princess.” The nickname sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and you can’t keep from huffing out a laugh.

“You only say that because you’re so slow, pretty boy.” Seonghwa presses his lips back to yours as a counterattack, and he slips his fingers out from your core. Next thing you know, he is teasing your folds with the head of his cock, lips leaving yours for a moment as he hesitates there.

“Give me permission,” he murmurs. His eyes search yours for any sign of denial, and you hook a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his forehead collides with yours.

“It’s already yours.” With that, he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one quick thrust, and your lips part to release a silent cry of pleasure. Seonghwa braces his hands on either side of your head, palms sinking into the pillows and causing you to sink further back against the bed. He moves with you, and his weight pins you to the mattress. You give him a breathless command to continue his movements, which he follows like it’s the only thing that matters. And in the moment, it does feel like it’s the only thing that matters because all you can feel is Seonghwa. He rocks his hips against yours, member sliding over your velveteen walls with just the right amount of friction, and each thrust puts stars in your vision.

It’s a blinding pleasure that the two of you chase, a pleasure that is only heightened by the warmth of the emotion in your chest, and Seonghwa lets his eyes flutter shut as he fucks you. Whispered praises fall from his lips, and they’re spoken with such care and gentleness that you almost find yourself getting emotional again.

“So beautiful–” he shifts to kiss the apple of your cheek “–so, ah, perfect. You’re so so perfect, princess.” You moan loud into the shell of his ear, a sound that causes visible goosebumps to rush over his skin and a throaty groan to tear from his lips. The slight growl to his tone has you clenching hard around his cock, and a burst of arousal shoots through you. It nearly brings you to the precipice of pleasure but you force it down so that you can hold it off just a little while longer. Seonghwa sits up, and the warmth of his body leaves yours as he slips his hands down to your hips and kneels over you. He pulls your body up to meet his thrusts, and you can do nothing but cling to the bedsheets and release small whimpers of pleasure as he hits deeper with each drag of his member inside you.

“S-Seonghwa, oh fuck, I – I’m close, I’m close, I’m close,” you babble, back arching off the bed. Seonghwa dips back down to press a kiss to your sweat-slick temple.

“Cum for me, princess. You have permission.”

“Thank you, th-thank you, thank you.” You fall apart under his touch, eating up every breath of praise he showers you with as you reach your high, and your orgasm crashes hard over you. The clenching of your walls around him spurs him to cum himself, and he exhales a shaky groan as he does. The strength leaves his body at the same time. You can only huff out a gasp as his chest hits yours, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and hold him close to you in the aftermath of your orgasms.

It creeps up on you as you’re lying there basking in the glow of pleasure. Whereas before you thought you never wanted to experience the feeling again, this time you welcome it and let yourself be surrounded by the warmth it provides along with Seonghwa’s presence filling your every sense. You tangle your fingers in Seonghwa’s hair just to pull him back so that you can look him in the eye.

“D-Do you feel that?” He looks confused for a moment, unsure of both what you mean and what you are trying to say. Then you reach down to place a hand over Seonghwa’s heart that’s guarded by his shirt still, and he seems to understand what you’re after. A gentle smile overtakes his lips.

“I’ve felt it for a long time, Y/N.”

…

Nothing about the situation feels right in the slightest. The tension in your shoulders has reached impossible levels, and you can’t sit still for the life of you even with Wooyoung’s hand gripping your thigh like a vice. Yunho sits to your right although you can’t even bear to look in his direction at the moment, the heated embers from your argument yesterday still smoldering in your gut to a point where you can’t even hear him breathe without feeling enraged. But Wooyoung hasn’t let you go since the moment you sat down, and you can’t blame him because the scenery is far from pleasant.

You have never been to such a place — the arena looks like something straight out of myth with its climbing walls and seats that line the whole circle in rows. Carnage lies far below you, and you are grateful that Hongjoong didn’t ask you to move any lower than you have: a safe midpoint in the seats with a canopy above your heads to shroud the blinding daylight from your eyes. San and Jongho are somewhere across the way, lost in the mess of the crowd and bodies, and Mingi is safely secured in the bunker Seonghwa mentioned previously, according to Jongho. The older Berserker was also apparently more than happy to stay put there but only after Hongjoong agreed to let him have an earpiece of his own so that he could hear what was going on during the mission. While there was no shortage of doubts about that idea, Mingi had assured Hongjoong that he would be safely locked inside the bunker with Bloodletter crew guards just outside the door, and that was all it took for Hongjoong to relent a bit.

The final trio of Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong reside closer to the upper edge of the circle. Even at a distance, you can clearly see the wide, extended platform that stretches forward into the arena. It bears a tall gilded throne square in the middle of it, and you’re positive that the man with long white hair sitting atop it is none other than Vladimir the Bloody. He looks quite different than the time you saw him last with his face etched messily onto a bounty paper and dropped before you prior to a mission, but no one else would put himself on such a pedestal other than that man.

“You haven’t aged a day in years, Vlad. I see life has been treating you well then,” Hongjoong greets after a few breaths of silence over the comms channel. He receives a loud scoff in response, and that’s the only sound that echoes over the earpiece for quite some time, nearly drowned out by the ruckus bubbling around you.

“Save the niceties, Kim.” Vladimir’s fingers drum against the side of his armrest, long nails tapping along to no particular rhythm. “You wouldn’t come here for anything less than business.”

“I can’t pay an old friend a visit now and again?”

“Not with those two at your side… tell me – where is your prized Berserker?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.” Hongjoong’s voice comes across a bit more guarded this time, and it’s more than clear who Vlad is referring to despite Hongjoong’s question.

“Come now. We both know which one I’m referring to. Look around us, Hongjoong. This arena, these people, my fighters – they were all built on the blood and bones of the Brute of Kebos. Did you by chance bring him along with you? Or is it merely the three of you?” That last question causes your breath to hitch, and you stop yourself from reaching for Wooyoung’s hand at the last second.

“Of what interest is that to you, Vladimir?”

“Curiosity. Merely that and nothing more.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Wooyoung whispers, leaning closer to you to keep the words as hushed as possible. You shake your head in agreement with his statement, but something about the way Vladimir’s head shifts tells you that he’s searching the arena for any sign of a familiar face amongst the crowd. As do the guards lingering near the edges of each row of seats. You can’t possibly feel safe yet – not when he has so many men watching and lurking around you.

“You’ve done surprisingly well for yourself, I must say.”

“Rearing a new generation of arenas?” Vladimir chuckles as he says the words, white hair billowing around his head. It looks almost transparent in the gleam of the sun, and the canopy above his head must have a hole in it because of the way the light trickles through.

“Striking a deal with the military is far more intriguing,” Hongjoong remarks without missing a beat.

“Look at these people, Hongjoong. They all claim to hate fighting, to run away at the sign of conflict, not be able to stomach the sight of blood, and yet they all find themselves here. Why do you think that is?”

“Because they crave it?”

“They crave control. They see me standing in a place of power, with a grip over life and death… and they crave it, Hongjoong. Just like you and me.”

“You think it’s control I seek?” The question is a farce and you know it, but something tells you that Vladimir is aware of it as well.

“Would you be searching for your mutinous crewmate otherwise?”

Mutinous crewmate.

“There was a mutiny,” Hongjoong states as if it’s the most normal thing in the universe. “They thought that I couldn’t lead and wasn’t suited for it. Mingi killing Cass only solidified those feelings. My highest in command after Seonghwa led the mutiny. Before he left the ship with half the crew, he swore that he would get the treasure first along with the Sirens.”

“I need information. I need to know who my information broker really was, why they lied, why I was given a dead lead, and where the hell Jin is right now. Be it luck or fate, Y/N has given us precious time to get the answers to these questions. If anyone is going to have those answers, it’s going to be Vladimir.”

“Ah, so you do know why I’m here.”

“As unhappy as it might make you, you are quite an easy man to read, Kim. And yet despite all your desires for control, you still fail to grasp it. I wonder — is it because you’re a failure? Or because of something else?”

You can’t see what Hongjoong is doing from your vantage point, but he doesn’t offer up a response. Yunho shifts beside you, a creak to the wood legs of his chair and gaze still glued to anything but the arena down below. Then —

“After all this time, you still look at your damn lieutenant the same way.” A breath of hesitation, and you choke on air at his next words. “Like he’s your treasure.”

“I came here for business, Vladimir,” Hongjoong hisses out, but it’s too late to keep anyone from hearing what Vladimir has said.

“I know you did. You want information. Information I cannot provide.” Hongjoong scoffs at that.

“What’s your cost? Name the price and it’s yours.”

A shrill laugh echoes through your headset. The hand clasped over your thigh tightens a little, and you find your own hand sneaking towards it with a sudden churning of anxiety in your gut.

“What I want isn’t money, Kim. What I want is your prized Berserker down in my arena.”

The pit in your stomach deepens to an impossible degree. Wooyoung stretches a hand towards yours, moving off your thigh to clasp your palm tightly.

“No. Not a chance.”

“Then I suppose your information isn’t so valuable after all.” Vladimir leans back in his throne, dipping out of the streams of light to be concealed by the shadows once more.

“Why do you want him so desperately?”

“Because, Hongjoong, I am just like each and every single one of these people. I crave it. To control that beast.”

“He isn’t yours to control.”

“And I suppose he is yours? Hongjoong, you’re a mystery to me. I’d think that after all those years in chains, you would see freedom differently.” Vladimir sighs a clear and defined sound that comes across in an almost condescending way.

“Freedom is a farce.”

“No, freedom is what you make of it. In my eyes, only one thing can truly be freedom, and that is death. We are never free from our chains, Hongjoong. They stay with us until we die. That’s the meaning of freedom and the meaning of death.”

Vladimir moves slowly, but his bright regalia gives away his shifting feet as he stands up and approaches the balcony, red cloak billowing behind him like a bloody shadow. A dark hand rises, glove masking the skin underneath, and he extends it out towards the crowd.

“Would that I could grant everyone that freedom.”

The cacophony of shouts heightens as he draws all fingers into a tight fist and straightens his thumb.

“You expect me to be cruel, Hongjoong, because you believe everyone to be cruel. You hope for them to be cruel so that you can have an excuse for being that way yourself. I’m afraid life doesn’t work that way though. I am not cruel. I am the body and the hand of the people. An instrument of their desires.” He tilts his hand, a blurry and hazy movement given the distance. “Their song in the silence.” The screams halt as though by cue. Bated breaths holding onto nothing except one man’s hand. “Their light in the darkness.” He jerks and points his thumb to the ground. The din resumes in an instant. “I am their voice, Hongjoong. Merely that and nothing more. Whether you consider that to be cruel or not… it is on your shoulders.”

“If it is blood you want, then put me down there.”

Yunho looks up for the first time, eyes staring directly at the seat where Hongjoong sits as still as ever. Wooyoung lurches as well, and his hand squeezes almost painfully around your thigh.

“Hongjoong, no–” Seonghwa’s voice is the one to cut across the feed, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him continue the thought.

“Take me in Mingi’s stead.” The words feel almost heavy on your ears.

“Ah. What an intriguing turn of events. What could you possibly offer me that that Berserker could not, Hongjoong? Do not pretend to be anything more than an ant among giants when it comes to my gladiators.”

“You said it yourself. It’s about control. Not about winning or losing. Control.”

“You would hand your life over that easily? I should’ve tried this years ago.”

“When I come out of there alive, then you will give me every last bit of information I desire,” Hongjoong demands, not wavering in the face of Vladimir’s mockery.

“That confidence hasn’t left you a day in your life, has it? Still… I’ll accept your offer.”

“No,” Yunho exhales, hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight that his knuckles go white. “He can’t be serious. He can’t be doing this. It’s – it’s suicide.”

“Come out alive, Kim Hongjoong, and I will give you all the answers you seek. Should you die, I will grant the rest of your crew safe passage back to your ship, as well as deliver your body to them untouched. Would it be that this is a fitting end for you, Scourge of the Black Sea.”

“We have to go. We have to stop him before he does this!” Yunho exclaims. He pulls himself to his feet, forgoing the people around you in favor of his urgency.

“Yunho… we can’t,” you utter. Defeat radiates through your tone. The odds of Hongjoong coming out of that hellhole are slim to none. Yet the odds of you guys stopping him from going in there are even lower.

“My men will escort you down to prepare for your fight. Do not expect me to be easy on you when I select your opponent.”

“That’s the thing, Vlad. I have your gladiator.”

“What is he saying? Has he gone fucking insane? Is that what this is?” You tug on Yunho’s sleeve gently in an attempt to urge the man to sit back down.

“I will fight for myself down in the arena, and my opponent shall be my own Berserker, Jongho.”

“You've truly lost your mind then, is that it? You would pit yourself – someone as weak and fragile as yourself – against a Berserker? Not only that, but one of the most dangerous Berserkers in the universe?”

“Yes, I would. Because that's the only way you would agree to these terms, isn't it?”

“How very insightful of you, Hongjoong,” Vladimir hums. “You are absolutely correct.”

“My men and I will be heading down now. You can save your escorts for our return.”

“Hm, I would advise you to be wary, Kim. An ego like that makes for an even harsher fall. You would be wise not to gloat too much before your fight. Nonetheless, I look forward to seeing you test your mettle in my arena. An ode to older times, no?”

Hongjoong leaves the man without another response, and Vladimir must not be pressing for one because he lets Hongjoong turn on his heel and leave without a fight. The silence that ensues is so thick and palpable that you nearly choke on it, and it lasts for far too long before Seonghwa’s voice is ringing harshly in your ears.

“You have legitimately lost your mind this time, Hongjoong,” he hisses out, and though the words are spoken in spite, you can clearly hear the wavering tone of worry in them.

“I have a plan.”

“To die?”

“Teams, reconvene at the base tunnel of the arena. Just follow the smell of blood and you’ll be able to find it without any trouble.” That order brings you to your feet in a heartbeat, and Wooyoung’s hand falls away from your leg as you rush to stand up. He stares a bit blankly up at you, body refusing to move from its place on the bench, and you grab for his hand to yank him upward.

“We have to go, Wooyoung,” you urge. Wooyoung nods but still he doesn’t budge, eyes glazed and hazy as he struggles to come back to reality. “Wooyoung, please.”

“I… Y/N, I-I…”

Whatever thoughts are running through his head die on his lips because he can’t manage to finish the sentence. You tug him to his feet with a bit more force, and he finally relents enough to get up and follow you. Yunho has already gotten to his feet and started making his way to the end of the row, and you trail after him with hurried steps. Your heart is thrumming hard against the confines of your chest, beating like a drum in your ears. All you can see is the broad expanse of Yunho’s back as you walk behind him, and you frankly have no idea if he knows where he’s headed but you still follow him blindly. Wooyoung shifts his hand to fit into yours. His fingers slip between yours, and you cling to the warmth just as hard as he does. It’s only when you start descending the stairs to reach the place where you entered earlier that Wooyoung decides to speak again, although part of you wishes he hadn’t said anything simply because of how heartbreaking his words are.

“I c-can’t watch him die, Y/N.” You twist to look him in the eye, regretting it in an instant, but you push through the pain of seeing his trembling lip and watering eyes.

“You won’t have to.”

It could be a lie for all you know but it’s enough for the time being, and Wooyoung falls silent to let you continue to pull him along. San and Jongho are waiting for you at the mouth of the tunnel, eyes wide and unblinking as the three of you step down the last of the stairs to meet up with them. There is no sign of Hongjoong and the others yet, but you know that it’s only a temporary relief for whatever hell is about to come.

Yunho steps in front of Jongho, hands coming to rest on the young Berserker’s shoulders. “Jongho—”

“Don’t,” Jongho interjects. “Don’t even try to say anything.”

“No, it isn’t fair of him to put you in this position. He shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?”

Again Yunho does not get to finish the thought, but this time it isn’t Jongho who interrupts him. You turn to face the source of the voice, knowing full well who it is, but seeing the captain standing at the edge of the stairs with his hand loosely gripping the wall does nothing to ease your worries. Yunho’s gaze softens minimally upon seeing Hongjoong. He doesn’t let it last long before the fire returns to his stare. Hongjoong doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“Shouldn’t force Jongho to fight you like this!”

“You think we haven’t had this conversation before?” Hongjoong asks, arching a brow in Yunho’s direction. He steps closer to the five of you. Seonghwa and Yeosang trail in behind him, and the moment the latter comes into sight, Wooyoung drops your hand to rush to his side. He hits Yeosang hard, nearly toppling him over with the force of his body, but the blond manages to catch his weight with little struggle and latches onto his waist with one arm. Hongjoong motions towards Jongho – a single dismissive wave that lasts less than a second. “We discussed this yesterday after you all left the bridge.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me — the rest of us?”

“As far as I’m concerned, this only truly affects Jongho. The rest of you will remain here and not be able to see what’s going on inside the arena until we both come out — alive. This is a show, Yunho. I’m not asking you to understand or agree with my reasoning, but I am asking you to comply.” Hongjoong steps around Yunho and continues down the tunnel, moving on towards the center of the arena, and he beckons for Jongho to follow him with a single finger.

Yunho darts a hand out to block Jongho’s path before he can follow after the captain.

“Vladimir won’t give you anything if both of you come out alive!”

Hongjoong comes to a halt where he is, and he heaves a deep sigh before turning around to face Yunho once more With several hesitant steps, Hongjoong returns to stand in front of the healer, eyes blazing as he reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a small lidded vial that has a murky white liquid in it. Yunho blinks down at it for a few seconds before he seems to recognize what it is.

“The hyacinth root? When did you…?”

“After you mentioned bringing some back from the market.” You hardly remember that day in the marketplace since it seems to have happened so long ago, but Hongjoong’s words jot your memories of what Yunho had told you that day.

“You can crush them up with peppermint leaves to create a paste that, when consumed, will slow your heart rate but keep you alive. It makes you seem dead when in actuality, you aren’t. It typically lasts between seven and ten minutes. Good for getaways or dupes.”

“Hongjoong, I don’t have the supplies for this. I won’t—”

“Yes, you will. The second we come out of there, Vlad’s guards will hand over Jongho’s body to you. Seonghwa will accompany me back up to see Vlad, but Yeosang must stay down here with Jongho’s body, or else they’ll be more suspicious than they already are. It’s just like what you did on Yuki—”

“I had supplies then! I was prepared for that! Not to mention I almost failed last time, and you nearly died, and that was when I had all the necessary supplies.” Yunho exclaims. “I can’t get the paste out of him without a decoction of violet stems and at least three other seeds and ground spices. I don’t know how you expect me to get it out of him in time without those things, and I especially don’t understand why you failed to mention this last night!”

“You say that like I didn’t try to mention it. You’ll have plenty of time to figure something out while we’re in the arena, but now we have to go before Vlad’s men come get us.” Hongjoong slips the vial back into his pocket, and this time when he turns, Yunho doesn’t try to stop him – either because he’s conceding or he truly doesn’t know what he can say to stop Hongjoong. Jongho steps around Yunho’s outstretched arm and follows after the captain without a word. He doesn’t wait for them to be out of earshot before whipping around to glare Seonghwa down with fire in his eyes.

“And here I thought your duty as lieutenant was to prevent him from doing stupid things.”

“Now is not the time for this,” Yeosang says, pulling a bit away from Wooyoung to step between the two.

“Preach all you want about how much you care about him and how you would sacrifice anything for him, but the reality is that you don’t give a shit about his well-being!” Yunho continues to berate Seonghwa and pays no attention to Yeosang’s interruption. He jabs a finger at the lieutenant’s face, but Seonghwa reaches up to sway the offending hand away in an instant.

“Sacrifice and trust go hand in hand,” Seonghwa says, managing to maintain a surprisingly steady tone in the face of Yunho’s rage. “I would not let him set a single foot in that arena if I did not trust his promise to come out alive. And would he let me, I would be the one going in there.”

“Vladimir expects them to tear each other apart!”

“These risks are no greater than the ones we have experienced in the past. They will both come out of there.” Hongjoong must have said something to Seonghwa on the way down for him to suddenly be so sure of this. Either that or Seonghwa is forcing the words out in a desperate attempt to believe it himself.

“And do you not care that this could kill Jongho? If I can’t figure something out before they drag his body back in here, he will die because of this!”

“Then you ought to stop arguing with me and start thinking of a solution to this issue.  Or perhaps you should have listened to Hongjoong last night when he tried to tell you what the plan was.”

“When he dies, the blame will be on your shoulders for not doing more to stop Hongjoong,” Yunho hisses.

“How so? You’re so quick to push the blame off yourself already, yet the responsibility to save him falls on your shoulders, Yunho. I’m not going to stand here and fight with you over this. You have the ability to save Jongho even without those supplies. The only person doubting you right now is yourself.”

“I don’t doubt my own abilities. Jongho will not fight back in there. Don’t you realize that? In order for this to be believable, Hongjoong will have to beat him down to near death. Jongho’s body will reject whatever treatments I try to give him without the decoction as a method of protection, but that will only end up killing him because I won’t be able to get the hyacinth paste out of him in time.”

“Captain won’t hurt him.”

You don’t need to turn to see who has just stepped in, but you do nonetheless at least for the smallest semblance of confirmation. It doesn’t make it any easier to see who stands at the edge of the tunnel, bright light cascading around his tall form and casting crude shadows across the floor as he walks closer to the group. You swallow around nothing in anticipation although nothing could prepare you for what Mingi says next.

“Because I’m the one going in there, not Jongho.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall idek what even happened to be honest my brain is NUMB also i wrote the smut scene last so if it’s a lil bit weak im sorry T-T also lemme know what you think a whole lot happened again :o

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​ @jeonartemis​ @anothershorthuman​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @haotheheckk​ @noonawriter​ @lostscenarios​ @nlost21​ @mirror-juliet​ @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[simpingforsoftboys]

Y/N and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

ft. OikAka (Oikawa x Akaashi)

!GN Reader!

Thanks so much for the request anon! Ngl I've never considered this ship but it kinda makes a lot of sense? Like damn they'd be so cute together- and with the reader? Woo! Love it! Going to go for hurt/comfort in this one!

Also yes, the title is based on that one kids book.

Today had been a pretty terrible day for you. Your boss was in a bad mood- meaning she had been increasingly rude to you throughout the day, the office's wifi cut out while you were finishing up the report you had worked tirelessly on for the past week, and you had accidentally dropped your phone in a puddle- screen down- effectively cracking the screen and rendering it unusable (since the insides got wet too). Needless to say, it was quite possibly the worst day you've ever experienced. It took absolutely every ounce of strength to prevent yourself from bursting into tears in the street. There was nothing you wanted to do besides break down and eat a tub of ice cream- actually, being comforted by your lovers would be a good alternative. The only good thing that had happened so far was getting to go home early- since your boss was not in a working mindset and instead decided to go get drunk, a little after noon. It's not really a good thing actually, just means you'll have more work to do the day after tomorrow.

Crying sounded really good right now.

Fifteen minutes later you got off the bus and walked into your apartment complex. The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor was devoid of any other residents. Alone in your misery, you allowed your bottom lip to wobble.

The elevator dings- signaling that you've arrived on your floor.

You step out of the lift and into the hall. The walk to your front door is just as long as usual but somehow feels as though it took an eternity. Seems like your bad fortune followed you home- since the house key breaks, leaving the bottom half in the lock itself.

You're locked outside.

Again, it's a struggle to hold back the tears.

Keiji and Toru wouldn't be home at the moment, since the both of them were out on a date. (There's nothing wrong with that- it's just as important to have one on one dates as it is to have dates with the three of you. You also have plenty of dates with just Toru or Keiji by themselves.) Looks like you'll have to call your landlord... oh wait your phone is broken... and you forgot that he's on his yearly vacation in Seoul at the moment.

Maybe one of your neighbors will let you use their phone to call one of your partners! Nodding to yourself, you get up and knock on Rina-san's door. She's not home. Swallowing your mild frustration, you move along the hall to the next door. Kento-san's not home either. This pattern continues for the next few doors- eventually you just give up. The other apartments are vacant after all, still under renovation.

You return back to your apartment's door and slide down to the ground- back to the wood. Lips quivering, frustration evident, you bow your head and let the tears fall. There's no other noise in the hallway aside from your quiet sobs.

Today was just the worst.

Did you accidentally upset the universe somehow? Or maybe you said something disrespectful and some culture's god was angry at you.

Tears still streaming from your tear ducts, you let your head softly slam back against the door. There's so many things you're feeling right now. Sadness- because you really wanted to have a good day and now that you can't have that you want to be comforted, resentment- at the world, at yourself, at everyone. It wasn't fair- and by that you mean everything- every single, little thing was unfair. Anger- because damnit what else could you be feeling right now? The situation was beyond your control- anyone would feel angry in your shoes. It's hard to fathom that somewhere in the world, someone was suffering worse than you were at the moment.

You didn't care about them.

All you were focused on was how you were feeling.

Thinking that way suddenly made you feel very self conscious.

Maybe there was a reason for the day going like this.

A humbling experience perhaps?

That thought had you seriously wondering if you had actually done something unfathomably terrible... but your memory came up blank. 

The lift dinged.

You had to force yourself to look in the direction of the noise.

The overhead lighting seemed almost heavenly- surrounding your saviors in an unearthly way and appearing to give them halos. 

Why did they look so shocked to see you?

Isn’t that what they’re here to do?

Save you from your plight?

“Y/n darling, what are you doing here on the ground?” Keiji asks, beating Toru by a millisecond and running over to your side- pulling you into his comforting embrace. His hold makes you feel safe, likening him to the firm, concrete walls of strongholds. Yes, Keiji feels secure, strong, and upright. You just know that you can collapse against him and he won’t waver.

Looks like your tears aren’t dried out yet, because you let out a choked sob, dripping snot and all- burying your face into his neck. 

“Shh, it’s alright baby- me and Keiji have you.” Toru says softly, finally coming to your side and wrapping his long arms around the two of you. His hug feels different. It’s like lava- but not quite so. He could burn you- but he chooses to use his heat to bring you comfort instead- only burning those he deems a threat to what he calls his. He’s flexible but will give it all up at a moments notice- trading that mobility for statuesque stillness- letting himself cool, despite his better judgement, in order to become a tall, rock wall capable of protecting you and Keiji. 

You’re warm and you’re safe.

They construct walls around you.

So you let your own walls fall, trusting them to protect you when you’re at your most vulnerable.

“I-I had a really bad d-day.” You whimper into the ravenette’s milky skin. He can feel the hot tears against the column of his neck but chooses not to say anything- instead he holds you tighter. “My boss w-was in a s-shitty mood, I couldn’t f-finish my report in time c-cause the wifi cut out. My p-phone broke- and my k-key did too-” Overwhelmed once again, you cut yourself off and fall back into silence, sniffling quietly. 

“I’m sorry Y/n, you shouldn’t have had to go through all of that.” Keiji says- and you can hear the sincerity in his tone. You bask in his company for a long while, trying to pretend that time stopped- just for the three of you. 

“I need to get the key out okay? Then we can go take a nice bath inside, how’s that sound?” Keiji whispers softly, not wanting to upset you but also wanting you to understand the benefit of letting him go. You’re tempted to say no- wanting to just enjoy his touch, but your rational side tells you that you’ll get all the cuddles you want once you’re in the apartment. 

“O-okay... sounds good.” You move to cling to Toru, while Akaashi begins removing some bobby pins he has hidden in his hair and gets to work. 

“Hey babe.” Your brunette lover murmurs, turning your chin up to gaze into his eyes. “You’re wheezing so much, am I really that breathtaking?” The two of you stare at each other- personally you don’t know if you want to laugh at his horrible attempt at humor or if you want to cry. So you settle on slapping the back of his head. 

“Not the time ‘ru.” You scold, but there’s an undeniable smile on your face.

“Ouch... okay okay I’m sorry!” He apologizes, rubbing the back of his head. “I just hate seeing you so sad.”

“I know ‘ru... thank you.” Toru lets out an acknowledging hum and you can feel the way his heart beat increases ever so slightly. He’s so warm- his fiery love practically oozing out of his being. You love him so much.

A few minutes later, Keiji manages to get the broken part of the key out of the lock and the three of you can finally go home. He’s always been so clever- and you’re reminded again, why you love him.

The three of you head inside...

You take a relaxing shower (since all three of you can’t fit in the small bathtub), then cuddle up together on your king sized bed, tubs of ice cream in hand and candles lit to set the mood. Your favorite comfort show is streaming from the television, both the loves of your life sandwiching you between them, and you realize just how fortunate you are. 

You’ll take as many bad days as necessary- so long as you get to come home to this. 

Maybe, the universe was fair to some after all.

Just maybe- you could consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

I hope this was what you were looking for and more! It’s a little on the shorter side but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out!

[oncefutureemrys]

18. "I'm afraid."

hello, my friend! thank you for asking me this!

If you want to know what prompts we’re talking about, it is @night-faye’s incredible list of prompts that you can find here. If you would like for me to write another one, send me an ask and I’ll write it!

Anyway, I was honestly a bit nervous about this because I didn’t think it came out great, butttt there’s a thing called positive thinking which I’m working on so I’m going to say it’s not bad. (This is exactly how to get people to read your work haha) no but seriously, there are many Tumblr posts about writing bad fics are okay if we can learn something from them, and so here is me, writing some bad fics.

Hope you enjoy!

(It was also posted on my ao3. The link is here).

Merlin gazes at the darkening sky and the flickering light from the dimming campfire. He feels the breeze brushing his skin gently and hears the way the trees rustle like whispers in his ear.

It’s here, in this peaceful moment, when Merlin closes his eyes and thinks:

I’m not ready to die.

Five simple words, strung together to create one sentence Merlin’s more afraid of than anything else.

He’s not ready to die.

And yet he knows he must, for it is his destiny and his alone to always sacrifice his needs, his wants, his morals, his life for Arthur.

He knows this, he’s been told this since the beginning, and yet suddenly he feels so… unready. Unsure. Nervous, worried, afraid.

It was… odd, to say the least.

Before, when he was staring death straight in the face, when he was envisioning a world without his friends, Gaius, his mother, Arthur – it was easy. Merlin’s never been one to think his life was somehow more meaningful than others, that he was worthy of life more than anyone else.

Which is why he now finds it strange that he’s having second thoughts.

Maybe it’s because there’s more time to think about his inevitable death, more time to fixate on his fears and insecurities that plague his mind, haunting him with lingering thoughts he wishes would disappear.

Maybe because he’s reminded of his destiny, as this overwhelming burden that clings onto his shoulders, that beats down on his skin whenever he tries veering off course. This ever-hanging cloud that keeps him in constant darkness, the shadow that constantly reminds him, over and over again, how foolish he is, how ungrateful he is, how selfish and weak and useless he is.

Maybe because he’s sitting here next to his king, his best friend, the one man he has sacrificed his entire life and more for, unsure how he’ll be able to say goodbye. Not sure how to explain to him that he won’t be dying tomorrow, how Merlin’s planning on taking his place.

As if sensing his thoughts, he looks over at him in that moment, the warm glow of the fire dancing across his face. “Everything alright?” he asks.

Almost out of habit, he nods, not meeting his gaze.

Arthur studies him for a moment and Merlin swallows, afraid he will push. Thankfully, he simply nods and drops the subject, letting the silence sit still.  

Except the silence almost feels unbearable, this guilt clawing at his skin and threatening to suffocate him. Merlin knows that he needs to say goodbye, in a roundabout way if possible, but the words are sticking in his throat and he’s having a hard time finding the right ones.

He’s reminded of an earlier time, years ago, when he was willing to sacrifice his life for his mother and had to say goodbye to Arthur. It had been a bit difficult – his throat had felt try, his hands had been shaking. But it was different back then. While they were far more comfortable with one another than when they had originally started, they weren’t as close back then. Now, they had been through everything together – from evil sorcerers to betrayals, to friends dying and dead knights walking, they had seen and experienced so much. If it was hard for Merlin to say it then, it was even harder saying it now.

And yet, he knows that he must, knows that he doesn’t want to be another person that betrays Arthur. And so, he opens his mouth, about to let the words through – words he hadn’t planned yet – when Arthur sighs loudly, turning to look at him. “So… this is it.”

Merlin’s quite confused – he’s not exactly sure where this conversation is going – but decides to go along with it. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Well,” Arthur says, taking a sip of water. “I’d like to say I made the most of it, but I’m not sure I have.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, stunned by his declaration. How in the hell could he think that? Well, sure, not all of Merlin’s hopes and dreams were panning out the way he had wanted, but to say that Arthur had not tried, had not given his all for his people, was baffling. He says as much when he finally finds the right words to say.

Arthur simply smiles but Merlin notices it’s devoid of any mirth. “I appreciate that.”

“Arthur—“

“Merlin,” Arthur says abruptly, cutting him off. “You’ll make sure to let the others know, right?”

And there it is again, that guilt that twists in his stomach, reminding him of the many lies he has told this night, and every day since he’s met him. He forces himself to take a deep breath before finally choking out, “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

Arthur nods, turning to look at the fire in front of them. Merlin realizes this is his chance to finally tell him of all the secrets, everything that he has bottled up over the years. To finally release all of the remorse he has felt throughout the years.

But he’s selfish and a coward, so he keeps it bottled in, throwing it into the ocean and hoping desperately for the tides to wash it all away.

It’s during Merlin’s slight panic that he’s brought back to the present by a small chuckle. He’s surprised to almost see a smile lingering on Arthur’s face. “What’s funny?” he asks.

“Huh? Nothing.” When Merlin gives him a look he sighs. “I was just thinking… how strange this all is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… seven years ago, so many things were different. We were such different people.” Arthur shrugs, scratching at his neck. “It just feels crazy looking at how far we’ve come.”

Merlin remembers his journey to Camelot, his inexplicable wonder when he first entered and saw bustling crowds and the large castle. Now, years later, he finds no new wonder in the bustling crowds or even the wondrous castle. Merlin smiles to himself, memories of those days coming back to him. We were so innocent back then, he thinks to himself. I wish it had stayed that way.

“Yeah,” Merlin says when he’s managed to return to the conversation. “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.”

“Did you ever expect to end up here?”

“Not a chance,” Merlin responds immediately, chuckling at the thought. “I certainly never thought I would have to deal with a pompous, arrogant, supercilious, prat like yourself.”

“Hm, no I suppose not.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, turning to look at Arthur. “Did you just admit to being a prat?”

Arthur attempts to play it off, but Merlin knows him too well. Huffing, he crosses his arms as if he were a child. “Alright, so maybe I wasn’t the best person back then.”

“Yes!” He says gleefully, clapping his hands together. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Whatever Merlin, at least I changed for the better!”

Merlin grins, recalling memories of Arthur risking his find a flower to save him, memories of Arthur leading his people when they needed him, memories of Arthur smiling and laughing and praying pranks and knighting commoners and marrying a servant and Merlin finds himself softly saying, “Yes.” Then, “Yes, I think you have.”

Silence hangs in the air and he tries to think of a way to rein in his words, add a joke in to rid them both of the tense silence, to erase those truthful words. But Merlin realizes that he won’t ever get to say these words to Arthur ever again and so maybe he shouldn’t. Just this once.

“Yes well,” Arthur says after a few minutes of tense silence, “I never would’ve done it without you.”

Merlin immediately shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

Arthur looks at him incredulously. “I appreciate the lie, but truly Merlin, it’s quite obvious. You don’t have to pretend just to make me feel better.”

“Arthur, have I ever, in the seven years you’ve known me, attempted to sugarcoat anything for you?”

He starts to speak and Merlin raises his eyebrows. “No,” he admits. “I guess not.”

“Good because I mean it.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“…and everyone knows, I’m always right.”

Arthur huffs. “Sure.”

Merlin bites his lip worriedly before finally asking, “You know, I actually mean it right?” He makes sure to look straight into his eyes as he says this. “I know I mess around and call you all sorts of names, but the truth is, I am so proud of you. I know it may not seem like it, but you have done so much for your people and your loved ones. You are an amazing king, Arthur, and you will always be remembered like that.”

Arthur’s eyes hold so much insecurity and unsureness that Merlin wants to reach out and take it from him, take away the pain and the self-doubt that continue to torment his mind. Arthur takes a stuttering breath before asking, “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur swallows. “I’m afraid.” Two words that don’t need explaining, two words that Merlin understands perfectly.

Merlin finds himself nodding slowly, finding himself becoming more honest and open than he’d ever been before. “Yes... I think I am too.”

The silence following them feels freeing as if the words they had been struggling with had finally been released. For the first time that night, Merlin feels as if his last fears, his last bit of hesitation, leaves him. Merlin never thought he could be ready for such a heavy task, for such an enormous burden. But looking at Arthur now – his blue eyes of clear skies, his hair that brightens against the moonlight, the small scars, and cuts from the adventures they had been on – and realizes that he must. Realizes that he would do anything for him, not necessarily because of destiny, but because he was a good man and Arthur deserved much better than this. Arthur deserved everything and Merlin would happily give it to him if he could.

So, as they sit, the darkening sky now fully black, Merlin finds himself taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He feels the comfortable breeze against his skin and hears the familiar rustle of the trees as he thinks to himself:

I am ready.

[lovelinehotline]

                           𝔹𝕝𝕦𝕖

                          𝑆𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

                                  description:

   Unforgivable heartbreaker. Undeniable player. Absolute ass. Sirius Black was anything but an angel, and, with the help of his friends, his reputation emphasized that. His heart has been set on staying locked in the deep depths of his chest, choosing to lay with any and all girls to keep his fear of being abandoned and heartbroken by that of who he loves, a fear developed after he was left discarded on the side by his parent when  they decided he wasn't good enough to bare their last name anymore. The thrill of one night stands and moments of pleasure with strangers, which helped ease his mind for hours at a time was the only thing keeping him sane through all his endeavors. With one final drunken affair, he unintentionally opened his heart up to one girl bearing the blue and bronze colors of her house.

                                    -

 It was 9:45am when Sirius awoke from from his drunk based slumber, head ponding softly. His face kept a completely neutral expression but he was in absolute pain on the inside. 

  His gaze fell on the empty space beside him, slightly smirking to himself as he watched the  imprint of a feminine body slowly disintegrate. He wondered which house he got lucky with the night before. Maybe a Slytherin? They were always feisty to have in bed. Or a Hufflepuff? It’s true when they say the quiet ones were the nastiest when it came to their sexual endeavors, he would know. A Gryffindor? Always a pleasure to sleep with someone in the same house. Maybe a Ravenclaw? They were way more experienced in bed than they led on. Whichever it may be, he was sure he had one hell of a night.

  He sat up from his sunken place on the bed, his eyes doing a once over to the other boys, who were already shifting around their beds trying to get a couple of extra minutes of sleep. He wondered what the night had lead to after he downed one two many shots of whatever substance the other boys had brought in. Last memory he could recall was a pretty [hair color] Ravenclaw  chatting him up as they both waited their turn to grab another round of drinks. He remembers how she stuck to him most of the night, dancing around him, laughing at his obscene jokes, and just overall keeping him company as they drank down cup after cup of any alcoholic drink they could get their hands on. He remembers her soft [skin color] skin glistening in the candle lit room and her gentle laugh as they bantered with each other. He wondered if she was the one who's imprint was fading away, leaving nothing but a sweet memory he was trying to recollect.

 He gave a small stretch before getting out of bed, giving his stomach a little rub.

 “Good morning boys, I assume everyone had a good night.” Sirius spoke into the quiet room, the smirk that graced his lips never once leaving its place.

 The others sat up from their places, glancing at each other briefly before looking over at Sirius.

 “Sirius, are you,” Remus paused before slowly exhaling,”okay?”

 “Yeah, why wouldn't I be? I scored with another lady didn't I?” He let out a little laugh.  The rest of the boys stayed quiet as they gave each other another glance.

 “Are you guys okay? You’re acting strange this morning.” The black haired boy gave a little frown.

 Remus had a pleading look on his face as he stared into James’ eyes. James, on the other hand, had a stern look on his face. Both their expressions told a story that made Sirius think that maybe he didn't want to know what they were saying in their silent exchange.

 “Pads.” James started his voice barely above a whisper.

 “What?” Sirius was starting to grow impatient. Why were they suddenly acting in such a manor? As if they didn't just throw the party of the century last night.

 “When we came into the room,” James averted his gaze towards his hands for a second before maintaining eye contact with his best friend.”You were curled up against that one Ravenclaw girl, what’s her name?” 

“[Name.]” Remus quickly spoke.

 “Yeah, her, um I mean you were more in a fetal position if I’m being honest.”

 Sirius narrowed his eyes in confusion, his gaze never leaving James.

 “And you were,” Remus gave another pause before cautiously continuing his sentence,” sobbing and she was cradling you as you were clinging onto her sweater.”

 There was a moment of silence, one that was deafening for everyone in the dorm.

 “This is a joke right? None of you can be serious right now. Prongs, please tell me you guys are pranking me.”

 James’ eyes became somber as he ran his hands through his hair.

 “You, uh. You wouldn't let her leave. When she thought you were asleep, she got up, or more like she tried to at least,” James gave a low breathless laugh,”you would grip her harder and you would start to sob again until she laid back down.’

 “And you wouldn’t stop sobbing until she ran her finger through your hair. She was barley able to leave thirty-two minutes ago. She wanted to make sure you were calm before she headed out.” Remus continued.

 Sirius sat there, barley able to register the inform that was placed in front of him.

 “Do any of you know why I was crying?” 

 “No, we were trying to figure it out but [name] kept dodging the question. She just said that it was on a personal level and left it at that.” James spoke once more.  “Great, just what I needed, getting all close and personal with a girl I barely know.” Sirius had a deep look on his face trying to distinguish his memories from the past 12 hours. How did he get so emotional with someone in just a matter of hours of knowing them.

 “Maybe,”Remus spoke up breaking Sirius from his thought process,” this is a sign that you should stop sleeping around and start confronting what’s bothering you head on. Face your fears head on.”

 Sirius shook his head, letting out a little snort.”I have no idea what you’re taking about, moony.”

 “Yes you do,” Remus shook his head,” If you want, I can ask [name] to meet up with you so you can find out what you talked about. I have her in potions, I’m sure she’ll agree to it.”

 Sirius felt his face pale.

 He couldn’t be serious. Meet up with the girl who he was so clingy with and let himself show all signs of weakness  near? Remus was crazy to think he would agree to such a thing.

 “No.”Sirius said in a firm voice.

 “Come on it can't be that ba-”

 “I said no. I’ll figure it out myself.” Sirius stated, cutting off James.

 “Fine.” Huffed the boy with glasses

 During the course of his day, Sirius couldn't help but wonder about the female who would occupy his mind in the notion of small flashes. It annoyed him that he didn't remember much. 

 What could he have told her?

It was eating him up alive.

 At some point he wondered if he should take Remus up on his offer, but then decided against it when he realized he wouldn't be able to look her in the eyes, especially if he had shared too much into his past.

 He was sitting in the common room with James and Remus when he saw her, their eyes meeting across the room. In that moment he remembered all the emotions he felt the night before. He didn't understand the new wave of feelings that had overcome him, but it scared him beyond belief.

 She let out a small smile in his direction, making her way towards him.

 “shit.” Sirius quickly pushed passed everyone in his way and rushed out the room, speeding down the hall to his dorm, leaving [name] standing in the middle of the common room, confused over his reaction.

 “What just happened.” Her gaze moved over to James, who was bitting back his laughter, and Remus, who gave her a gentle smile with a gaze to match.

 “Don’t worry about him, he's been out of it all day.”

 “It’s not because of last night, is it? I promise I didn't say a word,” She frowned,”or was it something I did? Is he upset I left this morning?” She bit her lip as she continued.

 “[name], I can promise you that whatever is going on in that head of his, it’s not your fault.” Remus assured her.

 “At least not until he woke up this morning and realized that instead of being inside you,  you were inside his head.” James smirked.

Remus slammed his hand against the back of James head, a loud sound echoing through the common room.

 “ Ow! What the hell was that for?!”James raised his voice, rubbing the numbing pain that was stinging the back of his head.

 “It’s for not being of any help.” Remus glared before turning back around to face [name] who adorned a guilt ridden face.

 “I-I didn’t mean to, we were kissing and then he stopped, I thought he was going to puke so I tried grabbing for something, anything, that he could use to throw up in but he ended up wrapping his arms around my waist and crying into my back. I didn't know what to do so I just laid there trying to comfort him as best as I could and that’s when he started taking about his life. I didn't mean any harm.”

 “I think he's just embarrassed.” Remus said.

 “Embarrassed? Embarrassed about what?” She frowned once more.

 “Letting himself become vulnerable with a girl he barely knows.” James said back.

 She stayed quiet, slowly nodding her head. She wasn't sure what she should do next. Should she Just walk back to her dorm and pretend none of this happened? Should she try to talk to him and ease his worries? Should she give him some space and then try to talk to him when she was sure he was less then embarrassed to be around her? All she knew is that she didn't like her first option. She liked the Sirius Black who confided in her, the Sirius Black who clung to her and wouldn't let her out of his grip. She knew his reputation and as a friend she would happily settle because he was just a boy who needed someone to confide in. Yeah he had his other friends but being so opposed to letting himself become romantically loved was what was keeping him in that bubble of his, and it was slowly tearing him apart without him ever realizing it.

 She saw him in a different light after that night and there was no way she was going to let him go back to hiding in that bad boy with no emotions shell of his.

 She wrapped her arms around her waist and gave a silent sigh.

 “Do you,” she stayed silent for a second before continuing,”do you guys think I should go after him and see how he’s doing?”

 “Not really,” James replied, shrugging his shoulders.

 “Um, give him some space, and maybe sometime to get his head on straight.” Remus replied, leaning into the couch under him.

 [name] leaned her body into the soles of her feet as her features turned into a tiny frown.

 “Okay, would you let me know how he's doing later? I’m concerned about him.”

 “Yeah, we got you.”James gave a small smile,”We’ll let you know as soon as we figure something out.”

 “Alright, thank you,”The [hair color] female nodded her head slightly,”Thank you.”

 She turned herself around and walked towards her friends, who were all waiting for her on the other side of the room.

 “What was his problem?” One friend whispered.

“We told you he was only going to be in it for the night.” Another one stated.

She only nodded her head and changed the subject to something she recollected her friend bragging about earlier that day.

 The rest of the day was spent with Sirius trying to avoid the girl. His thought process was something not even his best of friends could understand. He was on edge with every turn of a corner and every drop of a pin.

 “Sirius, you look like a lunatic,” Remus said as he placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder,”You need to calm down a bit.”

  Sirius pressed his lips together, unsure on how to reply to his dear friend.

 “She isn't going to hurt you, you should try talking to her. I mean at least then you can figure out what the hell was said to her.” James piped in.

 Sirius shook his head, still as hard headed as ever.”No.”

 His friends only nodded and continued on, talking about something he couldn't quit recall.

 Later the next day, Sirius sat with his friends at the lunch table, deciding on the next big bash they were going to throw. Tho his head wasn't a hundred precent locked into the conversation.

 No, it was locked on the girl way ahead of him, laughing with her friend. All that went through his head as he stared at her were three questions; 

‘How much does she know?’

‘What goes through her mind when she looks at him?’

‘Does she see him differently? 

But no matter how much the questions were nagging at the back of his head, he wasn't going to allow himself the chance to figure it out, no, he was just going to pretend that it never happened and hope that it eventually simmers away at some point. Hell, he’ll avoid the problem even if it meant ignoring that pretty little Ravenclaw who probably did some magic spell to cause him to become as vulnerable as he had.

Though [name] was a little more adamant about talking to him about what happened, but she decide to give him some space to get his emotions in order.

For now, at least.

She’ll try again in a couple of weeks, though even then she would assume that everything he had told her two nights prier would take more than a couple of weeks to heal from, but she had hope she could help in that healing process.

 And as per usual another party happened, [name] was in the corner talking to her friends with a drink in her hand when she saw the one boy she had been waiting to arrive. Well she hopes at least. She had more drinks than she had hoped to drink, so when she saw a figure that looked like said boy, she had marched over to him, head high and chess puffed out to show that she meant business.

 Sirius, on the other hand, watched as the [hair color] stumbled around trying to get to some guy he's seen around school.

 An amused smirk was imprinted on his lips as he saw her eyes widen and face pale out, rushing back to her friends as they all laughed at her.

 “You want another drink?” A voice shouted next to him.

 Sirius simply nodded and leaned further into the couch hidden in the opposite side of the room from the girl.

 He found it entertaining to watch her as she searched for him. It made him feel like he was wanted by more than just his friends, and that for some reason made him feel warm inside.

 He grabbed the drink that was shoved in front of him, bringing the cup to his lips as his eyes peered over the rim, eyes still locked on the girl.

 As the night progressed, some of the students had decided it was time to head back, holding onto their friends who lazily hanged off of them, stumbling every once in a while trying to maintain their balance. The music had lowered to a barely audible volume allowing the mixed mumbling of conversations amongst the groups of students to fill the air.

 [name] was sat, spaced out, on the floor with her back against a wall, her eighth drink in hand and hardly any liquid left in it. Her friends were off to the side speaking a mumbled conversation that was barely reaching her ears. Her mind was swirling with thoughts of the dark hard boy she so desperately tried confronting in her drunken state. She wasn’t sure if she was upset or just hurt that he was avoiding her like the plague. Either way, she just wanted to talk to him, to sort it all out, to find out why he wouldn't even look at her direction.

 All she wanted to do was prove to her friends that he wasn't as bad as everyone made him out to be. That he was a sweet, kind hearted person, like the boy she had talk to while he was in a drunken state of mind. But now she feels like maybe there was some truth to what was being thrown around about said boy. With tear glazed eye, she abruptly stood up, no long wanting to be around anyone that wasn't herself. She stumbled her way towards her friends with the plaidtic cup clutched to her hand.

 “Hey, [name] are you okay?” One friend asked.

 The others stared at her, waiting for an answer. The [hair color] girl looked to the floor before her eyes met with her friend’s once more. She wasn't fully sure if that was a question she wanted to answer at that moment. She sucked in her lower lip, chewing on it slightly as she carefully considered every sentence possible that would keep them from suspecting what they already knew.

 “Yeah I have a massive migraine, I think it might have been the drink.” She swayed a little while giving out her response.

 “Oh, did you want me to come with you? You don't look well enough to leave by yourself.” Another friend asked.

 [name] shook her head,”It’s fine,” She gave a small smile,”I think I just need some time to myself.” 

 Sirius watched as the Ravenclaw disappeared behind the door, eyes glued to the slowly closing door 

 He mentally debated wether to follow her, but he kept himself back, worry and anxiety bubbling up in his mind about where the conversation might lead to. Confrontation? Arguments? He couldn't handle that right now. Especially at the risk that he most likely would have to fight his inner demons. He couldn’t do that to himself. Not right now.

 He looked at the empty cup in her hand, watching the few drops of liquid  collect at the angle he was hold it in. 

 “Man you look like you need another drink!” James bellowed, slapping Sirius on the shoulder.

 Sirius gave a small smirk, shaking his head,”I’m good, think I should head back.”

 “Oh come on, we’re just getting started. Let’s have one more round.”

 “Okay, fine. Just one more round then I'm heading back.” Sirius grabbed the drink in James’ hand, throwing his head back and downing most of its contents.

 [name] wondered the halls of the school, her drunken mind racing with thoughts that she shouldn't be thinking with such a fragile state of mind.

 She raised her hand and let it grace against the walls of the school as she continued forward. She had decided on heading outdoors and enjoying the cool air of the night, that should be able to clear her mind a bit, or at least she had hoped so.

 She gently pushed open the doors that led to the back of the school. She tugged her sweater to her frame as the chill of the night caressed her soft skin.

 Never once did she ever think that she would be the one to end up in such a complicated situation, at least not herself out of her group of friends. Her main problem was always trying to see the good in people no matter what reputation life brought them. There’s always a tragic story behind every face no matter how small or how big the situation is to others around them. You truly never realized what someone is going through until it's too late.

 She ran her hands through the back fabric of her skirt as she came to a stop in front of an inviting pond, choosing to sit and contemplate her life in peaceful silence, by herself.

 Or so she hoped.

 As she sat there spaced out in her own world, a body came crashing down beside her, slightly knocking into her side as they adjusted themselves.

 Her slight scare turned into bewilderment and then soon replaced with irritation and sadness. The one person she was hoping to get away from after searching all night for was sitting right next to her in silence, eyes fixated on the body of water before them. She had scooted herself slightly away from the person and hugged her arms around her legs and brought her chin to lay onto her knees. The sound of the wind blowing gently was the only thing that filled her ears during the silence that surrounded the both of them.

 Sirius had no idea how to proceed, if anything his ears were red and his heart was pounding too fast for him to comprehend.He was scared to look her in the eyes, afraid of what she might think of him after everything, afraid that he would say more than he should.

 He cleared his throat while rubbing his hands together, hoping the friction would create warmth.

 “I’m sorry.” He stated, his voice amplified but the wind.

 [name] simply nodded her head, eyes staring ahead. She was afraid that all she had been building up inside of her would come pouring out of her like an erupting volcano.

 A single moment filled with silence passed as they both observed each others energy. It was like they both had so much to say but nothing to speak of at the same time.

 “I-, um. I’m sorry for treating you the way that I did. Those things I told you about are things that I don't like others to know about. I don't want to feel judged by those who don't know me based on my situation, because no one truly knows the little details, or how it affects me, just the things that lay at the surface. I was scared you would judge me, or worse, use it against me in some way.”

 [name] shook her head slightly and moved to meet his teary eyed gaze. Her heart was thumping just as hard as his was.She gave her lip a small nibble before proceeding to chose her next words carefully.

 “I’m not angry, I'm just upset that you would do anything but talk to me. I promise I’m not a scary person to talk to. I just wanted to get to know you.”

 “Why?”

 “I don't really don't know, I guess I wanted to see what everyone as so interested in. People would whisper about you when you walked down the hall, some absurd things, but I didn't think you could be so bad, so I approached you to see if I can get a feel about who you could be. You were really drunk and so I took you to your room so you wouldn't be left around all those people in your condition. I never once judged you, I never could, but I'm sorry if I ever did make you feel that way, it wasn't my intention.”

 The black haired boy stayed silent, processing the words that had just left her lips.

“You defiantly gave me a thought and a notion.” He gave her a small smile.

 She smiled back at him. Her heart felt filled, She couldn't understand the happiness that cursed through her body as she stared at him.

 “You really played with my heart and emotions,” She stated, laying her her legs out in front of her.

 He gave her a little smirk,”How about I give you love and devotion?”

 She rolled her eyes and laughed.”Please no mr. heartbreaker with me, Ive had enough of that for a whole year.”

 He stared at her, examining her feature slowly, afraid to break his gaze from her soft skin.

He scooted closer to her, they're hands barely touching as he brought his lips to her ear.

 “Would you eventually love me blue?” He whispered, his hot breath hitting the base of her ear, He turned his face to look into her eyes, their noses slightly touching.

 “Eventually.”

Note; I’ve had this in my drafts for a while and decided to finish it up real quick and post it. Please don't come for my neck if anything in the story doesn't line up with the movie, even details I just started watching them and felt like making this. Enjoy!

[adashelbysgirlfriend]

A Taste for Something Younger  - Polly Grey Headcannon

Omg I love the Ada roommate headcanon! Could you do the same for Polly? Maybe with a woman a little older/same age as Ada (because we accept age gaps in this household) and her and Polly actually get together in the end? I'd die for that ( @vikingsxf​ )

this idea gave me a big gay hard on and honestly I'm so glad you had it; Polly doesn't get enough love. Ive gone for a younger (Ada age) reader because we definitely support a healthy age gap relationship and i just want to pretend its me who's with polly so. ALSO THIS IS A BIT SMUTTY JUST A LITTLE BIT BUT JUST A WARNING OKAY BABES 

you and Ada had been friends since she started at the library

you both had a lot in common and she would tell you about her crazy relatives which always kept you entertained

obviously you had no clue that the Ada Throne you knew was actually thee Ada Shelby 

when you finally do meet her brother in one of his unannounced visits to her flat its a massive shock that your besties family are the notorious Shelby's 

she brings you out to meet the other brothers and John and Arthur both take a liking to you

when Finn tells Polly about Adas new friend from the city who is breaking hearts all over Birmingham she doesn't really have much to think 

i mean it wouldn't be the first time the shelby boys lost their heads over a girl (especially dumb and dumber) and it probably won't be the last

but when she gets the pleasure of meeting you she can't help but understand why the lads lost their heads

you're stunning, not just physically 

you're mind is almost too wise for your years

“you've got an old soul” 

“thank you, Mrs Gray”

“its Miss, and call me Pol”

you're around a lot

you help in the office with the other women and come for drinks when Tommys in a good mood and feels like having the gang out

Polly’s sass making an impression

you're really intimidated by her because she's just this all knowing mature lady who is also really stunning 

she invites you and ada over to have a girly evening 

you literally don't want to go

anxious as hell

i feel like Polly is one of those people that gives off this no bullshit vibe, so you're scared to even chat to her just incase you say the wrong thing

dressing to impress by buying a new outfit and feeling like a fool for it

its the first thing Polly notices when she sees you 

“you look ravishing don't you”

literally blushing all over

stumbling on your words

Ada has no clue whats going on and is so confused

maybe even a little jealous? why are you swooning over her auntie so much 

Ada gets a surprise phone call and has to leave and you are wanting to leave with her but Polly all nah stay 

this is the (best) WORST CASE SCENARIO PEOPLE 

ALONE WITH POLLY 

in her HoUSE

getting drunk to hide the fear but then also getting loose lipped

chatting absolute beans with her and she can't stop laughing at you 

Because she loves that you're a bit scared of her but seeing a more bold side of you kinda turns her on

the drinking night becomes a weekly thing

you start to relax into Polly presence 

seeking comfort in your time in her home 

Ada doesn't even get an invite anymore

getting drunk together and her listening while you babble on about literally the most random topics ever

you get two whiskies in and start telling her all the facts you know about giraffes or the fall of the Berlin wall

and she just loves to sit and watch you 

insane tension 

a lot of staring 

touching but nothing that would cross the friendship line, flirting with it though 

her doing you makeup and telling you about the wild things she's done 

that almost so close you could kiss but without the kiss tension when she's in your face putting your lipstick on

she says you look good in red, which you don't believe but at this point she could tell you you looked good in a teletubbie costume and a bitch would be dressed head to toe as Lala

she sees you start to push your comfort zones and she loves it 

the new found confidence makes her horny as hell

Jealous Ada is more jealous when she sees you walking round in Polly’s shade of lipstick 

“she must really like you to let you borrow that” - but its LACED IN GAY ANGST BECAUSE WTF HOW DID HER AUNT STEAL YOU 

i feel like you make the first move 

which isn't something you or Polly expected

like you've both been drinking all night and for some reason you start doing vodka shots

and this is the good shit vodka were stalking russian standard pissed off your tits shit love

and you watch her neck those shots like she's getting paid by the hour

and you just 

walk stumble right on over there and fall into her lap 

grab that sexy face in both hands and give her the softest kiss she's ever had in her life

it feels like her first kiss ever

which is saying something because you betcha that womans had a lot of kisses

polly doesnt know how to respond she's SHOOK 

she doesn't even close her eyes she's like 

literally frozen in shock 

pulling straight back

whoops

suddenly all that drunk confidence is gone and you're hit with that crippling anxiety you get when you've done something wrong and been caught for it 

Polly grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling you back down 

now she's KISSING YOU AND OH LORD 

passion 

she's not even clumsy when she's drunk like you are this woman is EXPERIENCED

lip biting oh my christ 

not that pussyass nibbling but actual biting 

and tongue 

and i mean after that loves theres no going back really is there

finding your confidence again or maybe just horniness and drifting your hand under her skirt

your newfound confidence surprises her but she refuses to let you know that because hello she's Polly fucking Gray 

“dont start something you can't finish, little dove”

“do you want me to stop?”

“i didn't say that”

this is the START OF SOMETHING NEW

leaving her panting and sweating, lipstick smudged and clinging to the arms of the chair

i mean once it happens once its a common occurrence loves

not that either of you are complaining 

not just sex but dates in her living room by the fire

walks together arm and arm 

nobody really thinks to much of seeing her and you together, either assuming you're just one of the boys girlfriends or that you're her niece or something 

and they couldn't be more wrong but their ignorance is bliss

she loves how young you make her feel

and you love how much she takes care of you

i feel like maybe she's a little nervous of baring all to you; physically and mentally

her body is slightly more mature than yours, things aren't as new and shiny as yours may be; i feel like she’d take some reassurance maybe before she knew that you wouldn't just leave her for someone your own age

not that Polly is one to doubt her self worth but she feels like maybe she's just a phase for you 

you wouldn't want her any other way though; you love her body and lets be real we all do too 

she takes even longer to be open about her memories and past

i feel like she slowly but surely reveals more and more about her private life until she can finally trust you with the complete story 

the rest of the shelbys know better than to question Polly on her personal choices; but they are happy to see the carefree woman they remember from when they were young 

even salty Ada can see the happiness you bring out in her, although she doesn't want to admit it to herself

Polly buys lingerie for you all the time 

being bratty and flashing your bra strap to her in public places 

or grabbing her hand and running it under your dress until she can feel the lace of your underwear when you're both out in the Garrison 

she has this “wait until i get you home” look that you'll do anything to provoke 

she teases you until you beg for her to let you finish as punishment 

“you see what you get for being naughty, y/n?”

she likes it when you ride her face, because although Polly is still in control she likes to put you in a position of power

and she likes to be able to see all of you when you're close to the edge

angry sex, because lets be real Polly can be a snappy little bitch and when you both get angry what better way is there to solve the issue than rough lesbian sex 

she loves your smile 

and your giggle

it makes her feel like a teenager all over again 

nobody really understands how you put up with such a intimidating, dominating woman everyday but they don't see cuddly Polly who likes to be little spoon 

she does her very best to keep you out of the family business and always will because you're one of the only people on earth Polly couldn't live without 

you often joke about how Polly would just move in after you but she knows that after you there would be nobody else for her

“without you my little doll, i couldn't be me” 

lots of lap sitting 

hair stroking  

the sweetest kisses; she tastes of cherry and whisky

she says you're like pink gin, sweet tasting and extremely intoxicating 

Polly had given up on love until she found you, and now she's got you best believe she will spend the rest of time she has on earth making sure she keeps you 

[purple-possibilities]

Like Father, Like Son

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of prostitution, like slightly dark? Gritty maybe is a better descriptor, Naruto world taken seriously.

Length: 1888 words

Pairing: MinaKushi, Minato’s Canonical Dad x Minato’s Canonical Mom

Genre: romance, drama, slight angst (we know how these two ended up), crack taken seriously

Summary: the story of Minato’s parents, and how that influenced Minato’s decisions, and his courtship of Kushina. Inspired by this post about Minato being extra.

Like many children in ninja villages—and truly, just children in general, since the Warring States Era and the formation of the Ninja Villages—Namikaze Minato is an orphan. His father was a self-taught ninja from a small village on the boarder of Kaze no Kuni, while his mother was a kunoichi from Tsuchi.

Though Minato's parents had died when he was young, he was old enough to remember them. He was old enough to understand why his parents were forced to hide away from their home countries, old enough to know when and why he had to hide and lie.

He was old enough to understand why tousan had to escape in the night while he and kaachan had to flee in the cover of tousan's sacrifice distraction.

He was old enough to understand why he and kaachan had to lie about their ninja training when they immigrated into Konoha with forged papers so realistic that not even Konoha's infamous T&I, or their renowned Yamanaka clan could tell the difference.

He was old enough to understand why kaachan was forced to work in the way she did, why strange people would spend an hour or two, or sometimes even the whole night behind the door to his mother's room, why she made him leave when some specific visitors stopped by, why he eventually came home to find her laying in bed, blooms of red and shocks of shiny white against her cold, still skin.

He was old enough to remember it all—to want to change it all, one day—but his mind would always take him back to one specific memory.

His most precious memory of all.

The love in his parents' eyes.

Minato could recite the story word for word, with how much his kaachan told it—how much more she would cling to the words after tousan was gone.

Kaachan was from Iwagakure, having sworn her life to the Tsuchikage and the Tsuchi no Kuni daimyou as a kunoichi of the Rock. Touchan truly had no allegiance—his skills had come from a talent with chakra and a necessity for self-defense.

So when touchan had seen a group of Suna-nin abducting a woman, he did what any good man would do.

He saved her.

Touchan had followed after the Suna-nin in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Touchan was not sure he could defeat the two Suna-nin on his own, but he knew that with the help of the right environment and a few tricks, he could come out victorious.

With his wind chakra aiding him in both speed and his strikes, touchan caught the first nin completely off guard. As the second nin—the one holding kaachan—noticed his partner listing to the right—before the dead body could hit the ground—touchan had just as swiftly eliminated the other, catching kaachan in his arms.

Unwilling to linger at the scene, touchan carried kaachan away, until it was safe for them to stop. When touchan untied kaachan's binds, she couldn't help herself.

Kaachan pulled touchan into a kiss.

It was in that moment that kaachan fell in love with touchan. Both were alone in this cruel ninja world. The shinobi nations were in the midst of the second Great Ninja War. People were dying left and right, hundreds every day.

Who would miss one kunoichi? Who would recognise one self-taught man from the edges of Kaze no Kuni?

Who would give up on the chance of happiness, love, and family, when the world had taken so much from them?

He remembers asking his parents how they knew they were in love after just one meeting.

His mother always answered, “A selfless act of kindness in a cruel world is a rare thing to be treasured. When you find that, especially when you're alone and hopeless, it's easier to leave behind the entirety of your harsh, unfriendly life for even just a single moment with such a person."

When Minato asked his touchan, his father always answered, "There is not much kindness in this world, not much any single person alone can do to fix that. We work hard, we may try to help others, but that's not going to get any one man very far. Kaachan has a fire in her, a toughness, a resilliance which cannot be crushed. She is fierce in her mind, body, and soul. As a man forced to grow and survive on his own, I know just how valuable, and how rare those traits are. I had desperately craved for companionship, for a family, and your mother has the strength and resilliance to ensure our story will be longer than most."

At the time, Minato didn't truly understand what either of his parents meant. But as an orphan, as a boy all alone, who had witnessed the worst of the world and wanted to make it better, who had his world stripped from him in a place that should have been safe, with the weight of his parents sacrifices on his mind and the desperate urge for a family once more...

Minato fell in love.

All he knew about love was what he'd seen from his parents. With no advice, no one to turn to, Minato did the only thing he could:

He emulated the fond, much told memory of how his parents fell in love with the percotions, strong-willed, resilliant Uzumaki Kushina.

And like a blessing from beyond, like a gift from his absent parents, Uzumaki Kushina—who had only ever glared and grumbled at Minato before then—had fallen in love with him.

It hadn't been hard to use the shadow-clone jutsu and then henge them into Kumo-nin. It wasn't hard to find Kushina all alone, after tricking the ANBU who followed her with a genjutsu laid out by Uchiha Fugaku's sharingan.

It wasn't hard for Minato to gently disable (but not disperse!) his own clones, to catch Kushina in his arms, to take her to "safety" (as if she were in any danger at all).

It wasn't hard to attract her heart and capture it—not with his boyish good looks, his patience, and most damning of all—

Kushina's lonliness and desire for connection.

With her home village destroyed and Mito-sama recently deceased, there wasn't a better time for him to put his ploy in motion. Maybe to a civilian that might seem callous, but to a ninja, that was just smart planning.

What did it matter if he was using her grief and loneliness to his advantage? His company would heal that for her anyways.

(Besides, it was his grief and lonliness which drove him to do it).

Minato would grow up to be a lot of things: a hero and a curse, a soldier and a leader, a husband and—just briefly—a father.

Minato would not go on to share the story of how he got Kushina to love him with his son. Minato would instead go on to emulate his father, sacrificing himself in the hopes of giving his child a shot at a better life.

But that was for later. In this moment, in the shoddy comfort of the bachelor apartment allotted to orphaned ninja-in-training, Minato put the pieces of his plan together.

Minato was old enough to retain memories of his life before Konoha, before his parents were taken from him, but only one memory stood out.

And so he remembered.

And so he took the past and made it his present with dreams of the future on his mind.

Fun Facts!

I imagine Minato's mom to be blonde like he, Naruto, and Deidara are, while his dad has red hair similar to Kushina and Gaara. His mother's hair was smooth and straight while his father's was spikes like Minato and Naruto.

The ninja who killed Minato's father were sent after his mother for desertion. Another Iwa-nin had caught sight of her and reported back to the Tsuchikage. The nin were sent to kill Minato's parents but were instructed to bring Minato back alive in case he was useful. I kind of puts Minato's massacre of those thousand Iwa-nin during the Third War into a new light...

Fugaku only agreed to help Minato because when he initially refused, Minato accused Fugaku of not being able to do it. Fugaku, like a certain other Uchiha we know, was desperate to prove himself. Minato didn't tell Fugaku about his plan, he just dared Fugaku to trick the ANBU.

Minato had to practice with his clones for weeks to be able to fight them without them "popping." He ended up having to use a seal on them to make them more resilliant. It was his first time working with fuinjutsu, and what sparked his love for it. Kushina's interest only heightened his own.

Yes, Minato's dad only went along with kaachan's feelings because he was lonely and she was strong. Relationships have been built on less. He was a very pragmatic man. He did genuinely fall in love with her though.

When Minato and his mom immigrated to Konoha, she had to pretend to be a civilian with no ninja training to avoid suspicion, and be offered asylum as a Hi no Kuni refugee. As a foreigner (even one posing as a Fire Country citizen) and with the growing number of refugees, it was hard for her to find a job, so she became a prostitute. She was killed by a nin who was triggered and experienced a panic attack/flashback. He fled the scene after, and ended up letting himself get killed during his next mission. The case of her murder remains unsolved—not that the police did much investigating. There were more pressing issues to deal with at the time.

The harsh life Minato lived—as a fugitive and then a refugee and orphan—is what led him to want to be Hokage. He wanted to save people from the pain he and his parents suffered.

Kushina's spirit (and declaration to be Hokage) is what attracted Minato to her. His father's words of finding someone strong and stubborn enough to survive in this cruel ninja world is what made him decide she was the one for him.

Kushina is dumb. So dumb. Didn't catch on even once. Fell for the plot hook, line, and sinker. Even when, years later, Minato shared the story of how his parents met with her, Kushina did not piece his plan together.

Due to Minato using "Kumo"-nin to carry out the abduction, he made their already poor reputation in Konoha worse. This was further exasterbated when real Kumo-nin actually tried to kidnap Hinata.

Minato sacrafied himself that night when Kurama was unleashed on the village, because all he could think of in that moment was the way his father sacrificed himself to save Minato and his mom. It clouded his judgement from more logical options, like, I don't know, not casting a suicide jutsu to trap half a tailed beast in his minutes old son and his soon to be dead body.

Kushina was delirious from pain meds, having an tailed beast extracted from her, and her own hotheadedness. It was a bad mix.

In the end, Naruto learnt that rescuing a girl is the way to her heart, following the Namikaze family tradition of courtship.

AN: So, uh... This got darker than I thought. The post that inspired this was so cute too. I wrote this a few weeks ago on a night I was too busy for this bs and yet it would not let me rest until it was released. I wrote this after being challenged prompted by @books-n-guns, as crack is my apparent specialty (we been knew, I know. After the LeeKaguya fic I think I solidified my place in this fandom). I hope you enjoyed it!

[honeytama]

Emergency Contact

Spinner (Shuichi Iguchi) X Fem!Reader

A/N: This was so fun to write! I’m loving the idea of phone sex right now, but also the idea of subby Spinner. So why not both? Here’s another fic about my favorite! Tagged: @knifeewifee​

Summary: Spinner phone calls his sweet girlfriend late one night to update her on his trip. The next morning, he gets a surprise visit.

Warnings: Smut (18+), established romantic relationship and pet names, cussing, praise kink, JOI (jerk off instructions), masturbation, oral (giving), riding

Word Count: 4.3k

Spinner lays against a plush comforter on the bed of a private hotel room with a throw blanket wrapped around his sore legs soothing him to relax after a long day of fighting. Although, the bed still feels less warm without his most favorite person in the world there with him. His favorite person even compared to the man that inspired him to fight for a greater cause; the entire reason he was away from you right now.

He sticks his neck out every day for his comrades and the people around him so that they’ll eventually have a life better than the one dealt to them. And you’re on his mind the entire way through. He slings his arm over his face, resisting the urge to call you and risk distracting him from the League’s current mission.

Spinner lays thinking about how your body would feel against him, how you would probably be eating room service dessert with him right now, and then seducing him with whipped cream upon your lips enough to get him fucking your supple body into the memory foam mattress. He could even imagine you ordering a breakfast spread the morning after; knowing you so well.

These thoughts that flood his head and warm his face convince him to dig out his cell phone from his sweatpants’ pocket. He taps to your contact and calls, hoping you would pick up soon. There isn't any time difference, right?

—

You sit at your desk working on an assignment for your job, your face leaning in your palm as you click through tens of slides. Honestly, you didn't have to be working that late into the night, but it felt better to have a task to distract yourself from your best friend and lover is away. Within the time you’ve been an item, this incident has only come up a couple times, so it's been difficult to understand the empty feeling you experience in bed each night passing.

Suddenly, your phone starts to buzz against the hardwood of the desk. Picking your hand up from your computer mouse, you flip the phone over to check the contact. Your eyes widen and your shoulders perk up to the name written across the screen. You immediately hit the answer button and lift it to your ear.

“Hi, love,” a smile beaming across your face. “Are you alright?” your excited expression slightly falters when you realize he might be calling as an emergency. Maybe he’s hurt?

“Yeah, yes, I’m just fine, sweetie, hey,” he responds quickly to ease your nerves. “I just wanted to call and catch up while I can. I miss you so much, Y/N.” His voice dancing through the speaker directly into your ear makes him feel closer than he actually is. It’s lower than usual, so probably a mix of the microphone filtering and exhaustion from a long day. Either way, the vibrations of his gruff tone send waves of satisfaction down your spine.

“It feels so good to hear your voice, babe.” you lower your voice to a comforting whisper. “So, what’s up, how’s everything going?’ You move from your desk chair and shut off your computer, deciding to move all of your attention to him.

“It‘s been a lot of work, but everyone here is putting in their best effort,” you hear him say as you climb into your shared bed to rest against the mountain of throw pillows stacked across the headboard. Spinner feels his throat tighten recognizing the sound of the rustling sheets beneath your body. His attention being interrupted by the thought of watching you crawl across the mattress in those mini pajama shorts you usually wear to bed. The cups of your ass showing proudly to him as you sway your hips to tease him before you lay close together. “Actually, speaking of them,” he continues. “We were put up in a hotel for the night and I actually got a suite to myself. Could you believe it, baby?” he laughs softly.

You position yourself snugly into your usual side of the bed. It feels more comfortable to leave his space open, especially when you can still smell his scent on the pillows and favorite blanket beside you. “Oh my god, the League of Villains gets to spend a night in a swanky hotel! That’s so nice, love. I hope you’re enjoying it, I wish I could be there with you,” you gush.

“I know, it would be so amazing if you could come along with me. But, I don't want you to get hurt over my job. That would kill me,” as always, you hear the compassion in his voice that comes whenever he talks about protecting you from his actions.

“I understand, cutie, it’s okay,” you smile. “But, you know I am strong enough to take on some of the people you fight, even without huge muscles like yours,” you tease, your subconscious pushing you to change the subject to something more erotic. You silently hope you could ease his tensions about his dangerous lifestyle. Being alone gives you way more time to wonder about what will happen once he returns, but sometimes it’s even more fun to be impatient.

“C'mon,” he groans. “Don’t say it like that, sweetheart,” laughing as his hand runs through his loose hair. “I still have a few more days out here without you. And, uh, tonight’s the only night I have privacy… It’ll be the only time I’ll get to, ya know…”

“What, I totally wasn’t coming onto you? I wasn’t trying anything, I swear. I was just complimenting the talent of my hard-working boyfriend,” you tease, waiting to pull your favorite reaction from him.

“I definitely wouldn't mind having you come onto me right now,” your touch starved boyfriend says in a low voice, slightly embarrassed by his forwardness. Since being experienced before you, an ounce of attention towards his hormonal brain sends him wanting loads more.

Jackpot.

“You would love it if I came onto your face, huh, love?” you breathe out, a wide grin holding residence on your face.

“Holy shit, yes baby,” he chokes out. His empty hand is already roaming down his abdomen in anticipation.

“Or, my slick easily running down my thighs onto you after both of your cocks stretch me to my limit…” you tantalize, testing the waters for how far he wanted to go.

A low, long groan sounds into your ear. Spinner slowly rocks his hips upward in frustration, his palm finally reaching the top of his prominent bulge.

“If you’re wearing it, pull your tank off, Shuichi,” you gently command.

“Shi-,” he attempts to pull his top off with one hand, but the action taunts him when he realizes to pull it off with both. Removing his hand from his pants, he pulls the tank over his head and shucks it to the corner of the room. The second his attention is back on you, he turns his phone to the speaker to set it on his pillow. Both hands are fully free now. “Love, what are you wearing right now?”

“One of your extra tanks and some soft teeny shorts. Why?” acting oblivious to the actual meaning of his question.

“God, those shorts, I might have been thinking you- in them,” he breathes out. “Could I see? Send a pic, or we could video call. Fuck, anything,” he groans impatiently.

You smile to yourself as he admits to being needy, and it only encourages you to brave up and push into the mood more. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll send you whatever you’d like. Right now you’re just going to listen to my voice and follow exactly what I say for you to do. Deal?” You drop your voice into a sultry tone.

“Deal. I’d do anything,” Shuichi whines.

“Ok,” you pull away from the phone to take deep breaths before continuing. “Relax and lay back.

Are you comfortable?”

“Mhm.”

“With one hand, massage your hard-on over your pants. And with your other… pretend it’s mine as you trail over your stomach,” you instruct sensually.

Spinner follows your words carefully as he grinds his palm into his groin. His fingers wrap roughly around the circumference of the prominent outline in his pants trying to add friction to his prick that rests underneath layers. His other palm slides against his abdomen to lightly caress the muscle beneath it.

Imagining him in such a position, you pull your hand to one of your breasts and roll a nipple between your fingers. The thin material of the tank top is the only thing stopping you from feeling the soft skin of your chest. You set the phone down on the bed on the speaker, and continue your ministrations. “My hand is running against each of your abs, my fingers tracing the intricate grooves made by your scales. You have the hottest body, Shuichi,” you moan into the phone as you begin to pull your shorts down your legs.

“Mmm,” he moans involuntarily. “Ah- tell me, are you- touching yourself, too?”

“You’ll find out eventually,” your tease happily. “Tonight’s about you, and I'm sure you're following my instructions to the letter. Right? Because if not, remember, you won’t be getting any proof of how wet my pussy is tonight.”

“Shit, when you talk like that, I- I can’t- I can’t handle it, Y/N,” he whimpers.

“Well, I really want to see how long you can last, Spinner,” you say pulling your top over your head. “So, you can take your cocks out, now.” He groans as he quickly tugs his sweatpants down his thighs. Both weeping pricks springing free from against the right waistband. Precum clings to his pants creating thin, sticky ropes of a clear liquid that make a mess of his lower stomach. “I'm sure they kinda hurt from throbbing against your pants, aching for some relief. Would you like some relief, sweetie?

“Yea-yes, Y/N,” he stutters.“Please, let me touch myself.”

“Hmm, you may, but just one. Don’t dare try to wrap your fist around both of them.” your voice is low. You lay in bed in only your underwear and quietly pull them to the side to give your clit some relief of its own.

“Ahh, Y/N,” Shuichi moans while stroking his thick cock languidly, tossing glances at his other cock leaking precum against his pubis. “You would give me head if you were here right? You know I can’t stand the teasing when we’re face to face. This feels so- so different. God, you’re so- ah- hot.”

Both of you, especially Spinner, are usually shy about sexual advances in person, so trying this new way of sending sexy messages felt so good. “Mmm, Shuichi,” you breathe out. Your fingers lacing through your slicked folds while you listen to the clicking of each of his jerks through the phone. “Just for that, go ahead and start stroking both together.” You hear him spit into his palm as he attempts to push both throbbing pricks together into one steady hand.

The late-night and the emptiness of both of your rooms are only filled with each other’s moans and pining words calling for each other’s bodies. Your hands move together as your eyes shut to deepen the illusion of his presence.

“I’m- close, I’m gonna,” Spinner grunts out.

Your eyes shoot open. “Wait! I have something for you,” snapping out of your sultry voice as if in an emergency. “Give me one sec.” You pick up your phone from the bed and angle the camera towards your body before sending it off as a text.

Spinner fumbles around with his phone, lacking to be grossed out by his own saliva covered hand as he opens your message. “Ohh,” he grunts. The photo showed the position you’d been pleasuring yourself in; legs spread wide showing off your dripping cunt and fingers resting on your clit. “Fuck! You- you look so gorgeous. God, please let me cum!”

“Go ahead, baby. I wish my fingers were you right now,“ you offer.

“Fuuu- uhh. I'm coming, I'm-” his voice catches before he let out a stream of muffled moans. Both of his cocks shoot ropes of his load onto his abdomen, emptying him until he’s completely spent. Spinner takes deep guttural breaths before letting out a sigh of relief.

“How was that?” you ask nervously, you decide not to go for your own orgasm.

“That was great, I had no clue you could do that! Did you learn that from that one otome game?” he says, genuinely curious.

You laugh and cover your hand with your face in exhaustion. “I’m glad you liked it, but now I’m getting sleepy. I’m gonna get some rest, Shuichi.”

“No problem, you're the best, ya know,” he smiles, exhausted. ”Goodnight, sleep well,” he says lovingly.

“Goodnight,” you smile.

Ending the call, your next action would either be the best decision or one you’d regret. You scroll through your contacts before calling your mutual friend, who also was away on the same mission. The phone rings against your ear as you wait, but it picks up only a few seconds later.

“Hey, sorry if I woke you up, I need the hotel information of where you all are staying. I need Spinner’s room number, too,” you request.

“Aw, do you want to come and visit him? So cute! Fuck off, don’t call me this late again, Y/N.”

—

You walked down the sidewalk of a city a few hours away from your home in one of your boyfriend’s tee’s, leggings, and a tote clutched to your side. It’s early in the morning, you’d caught the train around 7am and prepared a plan while sitting alone in the carriage. You finally made it to the entrance of the hotel with your cell phone in your hand to double-check the room number you’d easily convinced Twice to send you. Walking through the lobby, your shoes echo off the marble floor. You softly say “good morning” to the concierge before walking to the elevators at the back of the room and tapping the up button.

Your stomach turns while you walk down the hallway of his floor. What if he's bothered by you being there? What if the plan doesn’t work out? Either way, he responds, you had at least planned for a sweet day date with him away from his team. With a hopeful expression, you knock on his suite door and shift your feet on the hallway carpet waiting for him to respond.

The clicking of locks opening behind the door elevates your mood before the door is swung open. Your boyfriend in pajamas grins wildly as he pounces on you for a hug. “Y/N!” he exclaims, pressing his snout down into your shoulder. You squeeze him close to your body with both arms thrown around his back, surprised at his forwardness. “What are you doing here! Oh, uh, haha, come inside.” You follow him into the living area part of the suite, closing the door behind you.

“Honestly, I wanted to see you in person after our call from last night,” you admit. “So, I got Twice to share the information with me, I hope that’s ok. I know you don’t want Tomura to find out, but I couldn’t help myself,” you explain.

“No, no, I- I like that you came to me, that’s the nicest thing ever, babe,” Spinner says, pulling your hand into the sleeping area. “But, check this room out! I had a whole queen bed to myself, flat-screen TV…, and a desk!”

You watch him swing his arms around the room to show you as much as he could before he had to check out later that afternoon. His excitement for things he’s passionate about always made you love him more. You lean into his side and place a kiss to the side of his snout. He halts his show-and-tell before turning to look into your eyes, a smile growing on his face. His cheeks are blushing.

“You stole a kiss from me?” He questions. “You know what happens when you do that,” Spinner turns on his fake villainous voice before taking your chin in his hand. And then, starts to tickle your neck.

“Shuichi! Ah, no!” You walk backward into the edge of the bed trying to escape his grasp. You fall over onto the soft mattress when his hands roam to your sides and your thighs, continuing his attack. Always being careful with his sharp nails. “Haha ah! C’mon, Mr. Villain! I promise- I won’t steal another!”

Now, his body is hovering above yours, his long, strong arms holding your body like a vice. He stops to stare at your pretty face that's laughing and smiling because of him.

You stare back while locking eyes with his. Wanting to make the move you’d traveled there for, you rush to the front of his snout and lock your lips with his. Tracing the precise shape of his jaw with your fingers. Your bodies come together, noses nuzzled against the others’.

His strength helps pull you both up toward the middle of the bed. Once reaching a more comfortable spot, you use your own strength to push him onto his back. You straddle your legs over his hips and lean down to kiss his neck. Pressing your hot lips against his skin, you let your tongue slip out before sucking the spot he usually hides under a scarf. You whisper sweetly, “I told you I was stronger than you thought, handsome. How would you feel for me to use you like a toy?” Lifting your head, you watch his blown out eyes in anticipation.

Sunlight pours into the room in rays from the large windows at the side of the room while thin curtains give some amount of privacy. Luckily, you were on a high floor. His brown eyes show amber flecks as the sun hits them. He searches your expression for any sign of a lie or joke. “You want to have sex?” he asks, oblivious.

“I want you to fuck me, love… if you’d like that of course" you whisper.

He can’t believe the love of his life just traveled several hours to do something so sinful with his body. His eyes darken a shade in arousal, hoping you’ll dominate his every move, just as you’d done the night before. “Shit, yes. I need you-”

You raise your shirt over your head to throw it over your shoulder before reaching for the edge of his own. Spinner raises his arms above his head and lets you pull it off of his torso. You kiss his nose before sliding down his body eagerly, taking the waistband of his pants with you. Kissing the lines leading down from his Apollo’s belt, you close your eyes in comfort. When you finally open them again, a flutter of your fingers moves his cocks until they’re hard and straining against your hand.

“Please, suck me. I need your tongue, you’re so good,” he stammers. His index finger is pinched between his teeth as you lick up the full length of his sleek shaft. Once you bring your mouth to his tip, the swirl of your tongue against his hole makes him squirm against the sheets. “Ah, so sensitive,” he whimpers.

You lift your mouth from his dripping prick and smile upwards at his blushing face. “So, you don’t want me to blow you, babe?,” you tease as you stroke him slowly in one hand.

“No, no, no keep going!” Spinner yelps trying to sway his hips in your moving hand for friction.

Your head dips back down to the cock in your hand and you wet your lips before taking an amount of his thick length in your mouth. The taste of his bittersweet precum grazing your palate. He groans as you continue in a bobbing motion reminding you of the night before. Your inner thighs rub together to give friction to your hidden cunt.

You continue to bob your head up and down, pressing your tongue against his shaft. His moans motivate you to take both of his cock tips between your lips; you’re still learning how to completely pleasure both of his members equally. You drag your tongue back and forth along his weeping tips in a swiping motion and watch his reaction from underneath your lashes. The size of his eyes and raised brow make you giggle against him; it gives you even more encouragement to keep going. Giving a kiss on the inner part of his muscular thigh, you sit up and pull your leggings off.

Your boyfriend does a double-take when he realizes you're not wearing anything underneath. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he throws his head back against the pillow. You giggle and climb back up his body while Shuichi’s hands pull your hips into his lap to straddle him again. He rocks your body back and forth easily making your slit slide along the length of his shaft. The ridge before his cock tip hitting your clit with every turn.

“Ooh,” you repeat with every time his hard tip skims your engorged pearl. “I wanna ride your cock, babe,” you moan above him. Spinner’s face flushes as he nods and picks your hips up from his body. He ogles your arousal covering the entirety of his cock before allowing you to take it in your small hand to line it up with your entrance. His focused gaze switches from watching you prod your hole to the lewd expression on your face. Your lip being held between your teeth, you lower yourself onto his cockhead. “Ahh,” you gasp. Your chest quickly rises at the sudden development. The built-up arousal causes your body to fall onto his dick in full. You both groan at the abrupt stretch and tightness of your drenched sleeve wrapped around him.

“Y/N, you’re so beautiful. How am I so lucky?” he gushes. You smile down at him and start your back and forth movements, holding onto his broad shoulders for guidance.

Shuichi caresses your thighs as you ride him sensually. You reach down and run your fingers through his hair as you moan. You continue to roll your hips as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours, "Enjoy yourself. Take me all you want.” Spinner groans at your slow movements; the nails of his forefingers sinking into your ass like lead as he tries to thrust up into you impatiently. You put your entire weight into him as you press his chest down into the mattress; you forbid him from moving without your permission. “You make me feel- ah- So. Fucking. Good,” he grunts with every smack of your ass against his thighs as you bounce on his dick. His other cock lies beneath your spread thigh; it gains pleasure from the fiction caused by you bouncing and grinding.

You breathe heavily above him. The stretch you feel from his textured cock is heavenly, but once he reaches to poke into your cervix it’s difficult to control your rhythm. “Oh fuck! Right there!” The feeling makes you fall from your posture above him to his level. Your arms circle his neck as your chests are pressed together to continue. The curved tip of his cock slides repeatedly into the soft, ridged spot inside of you as he thrusts upwards into your body now. Forgetting about your assertion about taking control, he pistons his hips forward from the mattress into your sopping cunt over and over again; he’s only trying to get you to your climax now. The feeling of your pretty little hole tightening tells him your close to coming undone.

“Fuck, yes, just like that! Please, a little more,” you groan into his shoulder. You whine after each of his thrusts into his neck. Your words of praise becoming mush as he plows through your body.

“Fuck, I can feel you-. You’re all mine, ugh, you’re pussy is all mine, huh?,” he grunts into your ear. “Cum on my cock. I want it, baby, please- Give it to me!” he says in rhythm to each one of his thrusts as he holds your hips down into his groin.

A large knot in your stomach tightens abruptly and your throat catches before you feel the snap coming. His words encourage your body to let go as your face the orgasm you had denied yourself the night before. You let out a flow of whines and “yes’s” riding your high on his pulsating prick. The next moment, you watch as Spinner’s snout turns upwards and his eyes roll back into his head as he unloads thick strings of warm cum into your cunt. Your exhausted walls unable to give him more before his slippery cock slides out; it lands on his abdomen with a smack in a pool of cum from his other cock.

Shuichi holds your hips above him as you both come down from your highs. His fingertips gently sliding over the indentations from his nails on your ass cheeks and thighs. You place a long kiss on his snout and cheek before throwing yourself to his side on the bed. You both let out deep sighs in pleasure as you both turn to look at one another in awe.

“So,” you laugh. “I planned a cute breakfast date out on the town, but this feels so nice,” you say, smiling.

“A date, with me?” You giggle and nod. His face is flushed, but he responds to you in the same amount of contentment, “I still want to experience the room service, so let’s clean up and I’ll order whatever you want.”

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 19/?

Part 18

CWs for this chapter: -Depression -Parental neglect -Past implied suicidal ideation (These are present in the very first POV, and are related to Martin's past. Please feel free to skip it if the topics make you uncomfortable) -Canon character death

----

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

It has loomed over him ever since he was a child, alone and confused and fearing and craving his mother's hugs in equal measure. Back when he first started learning about the fears he did wonder why it never struck, why it never pulled him in to devour him whole. It was only later that he understood what made him so resistant to this particular fear.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

XIX

Martin is seven years old the first time he realizes how utterly and completely alone he is. Back then he still goes by a name that isn't his, and he doesn't yet have the words to describe why it feels wrong.

He looks around at all the children in his classroom; their clothes look clean and smell good, and their mothers not only pick them up from school, but they look happy when doing so. He asks mum once why she never smiles, does something hurt? Maybe the doctor can give her more pills?

Mum doesn't respond. She merely gives Martin that long, serious look that always makes Martin think he said something dumb, and goes to her room, leaving Martin alone with his cold supper and a slow gathering fog that he can't see.

Martin is fourteen years old when he first understands he's unwanted. He's begun to figure out who he is, and his clothes are ill-fitting, just like he himself is, bouncing around between groups of people that aren't really his peers, and merely accept his presence like one would any other part of the scenery.

Mum is no longer subtle, and the look isn't serious as much as it is distasteful, no matter how hard Martin tries. He would like to tell someone about this, but when he thinks of reaching out he remembers the only messages in his old school notebooks are those of well-meaning teachers, wishing him luck and praising a potential that Martin knows isn't there.

He's sixteen years old, when Martin comes to the conclusion that he's perhaps meant to be alone forever. Mum's illness has gotten so bad that Martin has to drop off school to work and care for her. She doesn't look at him anymore, not even when Martin finally shows up looking like he's always wanted to. He doesn't know exactly how to feel about this, because as much as he didn't want a fight, it's yet another proof that his existence is irrelevant in her life.

He tries to tell himself this is just his poor self esteem. Of course his mother loves him, she's his mother. She kept him alive, she cared for him, she's just... ill. And she's always been strong-willed. To a child it might've looked like irritation, but Martin is an adult now and he's learned life is not at all like in Hallmark movies, and if he sat down to cry every time mum didn't say 'I love you' back, he'd seldom have time to do anything else.

Martin is twenty two when he accepts he's exhausted. Of this life, of his mother, of himself. He wants to do something about it, but the pill bottles behind the bathroom mirror scare him just as much as the University pamphlets he hides under his pillow.

He strides up to the imposing looking building by the river with his forged CV in hand because he doesn't know what else to do. He gets the job, but as the Head of the Institute shakes his hand to dismiss him, Martin looks at Elias Bouchard's bright green eyes, and knows that he knows. That somehow this man has realized he's an impostor, that he's gotten this far only by convincing people he's far more capable than he actually is.

But he needs the money, and this job is far less demanding than anything else he could've gotten with his lack of credentials. He signs the contract, and he doesn't notice the jealous cling of the fog around him, as the Eye turns its gaze on him.

------------------------------------------

"What is this place?" Tim asks when they come into the cavernous chamber.

Basira looks around, nailed in place by the unsettling feeling of relief she's experiencing. The cells are empty behind their rusted bars, but Basira can See the outlines of the prisoners where they died when they were Known by a power they couldn't even begin to understand.

"It's- it's a place of Beholding," she mutters. She hates it here, hates how comfortable she feels in this place that's so permeated with death. It's another reminder of what she is, of all the shit she let pass; it's a bit of a bad joke, that after looking the other way for so long she's now become something that can't look away. "Jon's up there. And Martin too."

"What about Gerry?" Tim asks.

"I dropped him there. Not sure where he went after." They whip around at the new voice, and sure enough the entrance to the passageway they came through is now a very large version of Helen's door, with the Distortion herself swinging too-long legs as she sits on an enlarged doorknob. "He was in quite a fit about Martin, though."

"Well, better late than never, I guess." Tim grunts.

Basira rolls her eyes, because of course Tim has been so lost on his personal drama of whether or not he wants to forgive Jon that he hasn't noticed anything else. Still, her mouth twitches; it's a good distraction from the constant wondering about Daisy. She cups her hands around her mouth, taking a tentative step forward.

"Jon? Did you find them?" she calls out. No one responds, and Basira gets a muted pang of surprise at the way her stomach drops with worry. Maybe she did care after all. "Get ready. Elias was here. And Lukas too."

"That's comforting," she hears Tim grumble behind her as he follows her lead. It feels... it's different.

It's not Daisy. It will probably never be Daisy again, but it feels good to have a team at her back.

------------------------------------------

The Lonely smells like tears.

It's a deceptively simple smell, building up like bad memories and a knot at the back of your throat.

Much like in the Dark, there's no colors here. Unlike the Dark, there is nothing here, not even fear, or the certainty that there is something waiting for you to give up and consume you.

The Lonely doesn't care about you.

No one does, or you wouldn't have ended here. Do you care about this? You have always cared so much. It was exhausting, and it did nothing but cause trouble to you and the ones you thought you loved.

Isn't this a lot easier? You don't have to feel anything, here. You can't hurt anyone here.

"-on? Can you hear me?"

The scent of lavender hits softly like a memory, and Jon blinks until he can distinguish between the cold inside him and the cold around him.

"Gerry?" he asks, but his hand closes around nothing.

"-m here." Gerry's voice reaches him from far away, even though Jon is sure they were holding on to each other when they entered.

"I- I can't see you."

"-ou feel me?"

He can, Jon finds. A thread of white-hot steel pulling at the left side of his chest, the ghastly feeling of lips on his own.

"Yes. Yes, I can." A love that is felt but not seen, just like-

"-ind Martin," Gerry says from his corner of the Lonely, which could be an inch or a mile away. "-ocus on that."

That- that makes sense. Martin is still human, he's the most at risk here. Once they find him, they can get out, and the other will follow. Should follow.

"Okay, I- be careful." Jon tries to add something else, but the words that Gerry uttered so easily on the kitchen floor that night feel impossible to push out.

"-ove you," Gerry whispers, before his presence fades away.

'Me too,' Jon thinks fiercely, desperately and futilely. 'Me too, and I will find the two of you if I have to Know every inch of the Lonely, until it can't keep you from me.'

The Beholding purrs in delight at the declaration. It doesn't care why the Archivist uses it as long as he does. Jon should probably care about that a little more than he does, but the only thing in his mind now is Martin, and the need to get him out of here before he can't distinguish between it and himself.

------------------------------------------

"Can you see the entry?" Tim asks, stepping away from the dry corpse in the center of the room.

"Not really," Basira shrugs. "I can see where their trails end, but- we can't go in, Tim."

And that's that, he supposes. She says it with such finality, with such certainty, that Tim has no choice but to accept it as fact.

Martin is gone.

Martin, the last of them, the only one untouched by all this shit. Martin who brewed them tea and pretended he wasn't making cow eyes at Jon even though he behaved like an absolute ass. Martin who found Tim at his living room with fire in his veins and offered him the same unconditional friendship they'd shared before everything began to go south.

He warned them about this. He warned both of them and the worst part is he can't even be angry at Jon about it, because Jon is gone too, and because he himself wasn't able to keep Martin here, he wasn't enough.

This is- he's the only one left. They're all gone, and they slipped through his fingers even after he got a second chance, one after the other, Danny, Sasha, J-

"I wouldn't touch him right now if I were you," Helen says somewhere in the room, and it's only when he opens them that Tim realizes he's shut his eyes; he looks in time to see Basira's hand retreating from his shoulder, as Helen speaks again. "Should I go get Melanie?"

"No," Basira says immediately. "She's out. We don't- we don't go to Melanie unless there's no other choice. We have to-"

"We have to what?" Tim snaps. He's so tired of this, of losing people- he liked it much better when he'd just woken up and all he could feel was rage. "Let's just pop your eyes out too, so I can blow the fucking place up." And himself too, if he's lucky.

"Could you stop moping around already?!" Basira whips around to face him. Her eyes are burning with intensity, and her fists are clenched and shaking by her sides. "You've seen him walk from worse, you've walked from worse. Now- now we have to- I don't know what happened here, but if Elias walked out of jail exactly today, then it's got to have something to do with Martin, or-"

"Or Jon's marks." The answer hits Tim like a slap to the face.

'You're just missing one, aren't you?'

'The Lonely, yes.'

'How convenient isn't it? Martin's sudden promotion.'

'I'm well aware it's my fault, Tim, thank you.'

What else could it be? Whatever Elias is planning-

He turns to her, and in her eyes he finds the same understanding, the same clicking of pieces he just went through. The fourteen marks were deliberate, orchestrated; Annabelle Cane's statement was nothing short of a confession.

It doesn't change anything, not really, everything that happened, everything Jon did is still there, a wound that scarred badly and that still aches when pulled at, but-

"We have to get them away," Basira says.

But at least for now, Tim has a purpose again.

------------------------------------------

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

It has loomed over him ever since he was a child, alone and confused and fearing and craving his mother's hugs in equal measure. Back when he first started learning about the fears he did wonder why it never struck, why it never pulled him in to devour him whole. It was only later that he understood what made him so resistant to this particular fear.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

Whether or not it's been paid in kind is another matter entirely, but he loved his mother, and he loved Gertrude, and he loved every soul he helped save from a fate worse than death. It has to be enough now, and if it isn't... well, Gerry's always been good at making round pegs fit into square holes, and this won't be the exception. He won't let Martin be the exception.

He wanders across the Lonely for what feels like hours, when he spies a figure hunched on the floor. There's no heart to race in his chest, but Gerry hurries his steps when he recognizes the muted black of Martin's hair, the tired curve to his shoulders.

"Martin? Martin!" Gerry exclaims, falling to his knees across from him, and swatting away at the thick fog that lays around the man like a cloak. "Fuck, I- it's so good to see you. What the hell were you thinking?!"

Martin doesn't look at him, doesn't even look up, and when Gerry lays his hands on his shoulders there's a thin layer of cool dampness that he wipes away hurriedly.

"Huh. I didn't expect you'd be here," Martin's voice echoes oddly, like it's carrying across water. "I thought they'd stop if I let them put me here. Did they send you here too?"

"I- n- no, Martin." Gerry tries to crouch lower to enter his field of vision, before he carefully lays a hand on Martin's round cheek to softly pull his face up. "No, we- Jon brought me in. We came here for you.

"Jon." Martin's grey eyed focus on him, and Gerry feels like he's been punched in the gut. He can't taste the emotion in Martin's voice like he can with Jon's, but he doesn't need to. He's heard the kind of sorrow poured in those three letters.

"Yes, he- he's here too. Now that I got you, we just need to-"

"You should go to him."

"I mean, yes, we both need to-"

"I think it's better if I stay here, Gerry."

"...What?" Gerry scowls, then feels his eyes widening in terror when his hand starts going through Martin's cheek. "Shit- Martin no! We need-"

"I really loved him, you know?" Martin's silhouette is growing harder to see, like a mirror fogging up.

"Of course I know, you- Martin you pretty much only tolerated me because of him, I know you love him."

Martin lets out a chuckle; it's a low, sad sound that makes Gerry's stomach churn.

"At first, I suppose." He shrugs, and his contour grows a bit fainter. The only thing Gerry can see clearly is his sad little smile, like some twisted version of the Cheshire cat. "I was sad at first that you- but you turned out to be so amazing, in the end. I was happy he found you."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck- Gerry tries to grab at him again, but his hand just goes clean through.

"Martin, it's- it's not over. We're not done, he wants you, he still-"

"I think it's time to go now-"

"Martin Blackwood you're not going anywhere," Gerry snaps. This can't- this is not going to end like this. He won't let it. They were supposed to sit down and talk about the future, there was going to be a future to talk about, for fuck's sake! "I will follow you to the end of the Lonely if I have to, you're not going to shake me off this easily."

"I really liked that about you too. You made me feel wanted."

"That's because I do, you idiot!"

------------------------------------------

"They're safe, see? At least for now." The voice is insidious, frustrating. It gives off the feeling of practiced politeness, empty pleasantries that mean even less than cold, uncaring silence. "It's very heartwarming, if ultimately futile, of course."

"I take it you're the reason I can't reach them?" Jon asks coldly. He can feel the Forsaken rearranging itself as they speak, the space between his and the two silhouettes hunched over in the distance growing wider and wider, so that every step he takes towards then moves him ten steps back.

"Does it really matter?" Peter asks. "They don't need you there, and it's only a matter of time before they give up."

"I will find them first," Jon says simply; there is no other choice, no scenario where they don't come out of this together. He'll make sure of it.

Peter laughs, and the sound echoes oddly around Jon, like only the ghost of it was reaching his ears.

"I doubt so. But you're welcome to keep trying."

"Why don't you come speak face to face, Lukas?" The fog around him takes on a sickly green hue where the glow of his eyes illuminate it, and the Lonely curls more thickly around him, hiding Peter from his Sight, from his reach. "Afraid of being seen?"

"I've dealt with your kind before, Archivist."

"So that's a yes, then."

"Fooling around with that toy of yours really have you some undeserved bravado, didn't it?" He sounds a bit disgruntled now, Jon notices with a muted, dark amusement. "Since he's not human, I'm not sure if he can even be consumed here, you know? I wonder if he'll just walk around forever until he shuts down."

"I'm not his only anchor," Jon scowls. That much is true, isn't it? Melanie-

"Please. Do you really believe he'll walk away without you? Both of you? Anchors are very effective, Archivist, as long as you aren't tied to a sinking one." Peter's smirk is palpable in his voice, and Jon grits his teeth. That's- it's not entirely wrong. Gerry's far too selfless, far too dedicated to putting others before himself.

"He'll do it for Martin," Jon says with far more vigour than he feels. That was the plan, and Gerry's not stupid in the least. Out of the three of them, Jon's the one that has a highest chance of survival here. If he has a chance to at least pull Martin out-

"Oh, but Martin doesn't want to go." Peter chuckles. "You let him fly too close, Archivist. This is his place now."

Silence stretches over them for a moment, the echo of Jon's breathing the only sound for miles.

"...You brought him in here, though." That's what Gerry said, what the Eye confirmed. Martin chose to come willingly, but it was Peter who opened the door. "You can kick him out. Both of them."

Peter doesn't respond immediately, and Jon focuses on the two silhouettes that he can see, but will never reach, not as long as the Lonely keeps pushing them apart.

"I could. For a price."

------------------------------------------

It feels like his words resonate around them for an eternity, before the odd dissonance of the Lonely takes it away completely.

Martin is still there, barely visible and barely tangible under his bruising grip, the only sound between them is Gerry's agitated breathing.

"Martin?" Gerry asks carefully. While Martin has stopped fading away into the fog, he doesn't seem to be getting better either. But if his words kept him here, then- then maybe there's still a chance. "I'm- I know I'm not Jon, but- but I came here for you, alright? I wanted to come for you."

But it doesn't work that way, does it? You can be the most desired, the most loved person in the world and still be alone.

"Why?" Martin asks. His eyes fix on Gerry's, grey and empty of any and all emotion, but it has to mean something, that he hasn't left, that he still wants to know.

"We need you," Gerry answers truthfully. He doesn't know too well what it means, but it's been a while since this was just about Jon.

"You know that's a lie, Gerry." The corner of Martin's lips twitches into a humorless smile.

"It's not, it's-"

"I think I want to stay. Nothing hurts in here. It feels... quiet. We can all be happy, like this." There's a longing in his voice when he says it, a soft wistfulness that Gerry doesn't trust right now.

"Martin, I'm- listen to me," Gerry asks, nearly begs. He shouldn't have been the one to find him, he realizes with a start. It has to be someone he loves, he remembers telling Melanie so long ago. And still the fact remains that Gerry's the only one here, and if he's not enough, then he'll have to remind him of the one who might just be. "Think of why you did this, think-

"...What?"

"Martin, who is your reason?"

------------------------------------------

"You want me to stay in their place." Jon says quietly, clenching a fist in the fabric of his jumper as the realization dawns on him. "Why?"

Peter stalks around him, watching him under the cover provided by his patron. He can feel the Eye searching for him, but its intensity is growing fainter by the second, as the Archivist begins to bend under the weight of his own doubt.

"Trust me, Jon, the Eye has given me plenty of reasons. But I must admit I'm simply not too happy with Elias at the moment and I'm very curious to see what he'll do if you don't make it out of here." Bit of an understatement, honestly.

"I-"

"That's the offer," Peter interrupts. "What do you say, Archivist?"

The desolate questioning in Jon's face is an absolute delight to behold.

"Take your time. Though I feel like the choice should be easy. Or are you hesitating because your pet undead will die without you anyways? You can't have everything, Jon." Peter tuts consolingly. "Either he dies out there, or the three of you stay in here."

"You said- you know Elias is planning something. He-"

"Oh, he'll try to get you back of course." Too much invested in this one, years of orchestrating his marks and survival. Elias won't just start over, Peter isn't even sure he could start over, without the Mother's webs that drape over this one's shoulder as a blessing. "Granted, I'm not sure how much of you there'll be left by the time he works his way back into my good graces.But that's not necessarily a bad thing in your books, is it?"

"...It isn't." The thrum of the Eye in the air fades a little more, when Jon lets his head drop.

Peter isn't terribly surprised. He might not be Martin, whose entire core calls to the Forsaken like they are one and the same, bit Jonathan Sims is still am incredibly lonely man.

It's about regret, in his case. Peter can feel all the mistimed connections that haunt him, when he reached out only to find it was far too late and he'd pushed way too far. The memory of waking up alone in a hospital room, and knowing he was neither expected nor wanted back.

"I thought so. Your friends will be much safer without you, Jon. You know that." He's not sure how much more convincing Jon actually needs, but it can't hurt to double down, he decides as he stops his pacing by his side and leans in to whisper in his ear. "You can't hurt anyone here."

"I... I suppose so."

"You know so." And Peter does too. Won't it be poetic, to keep Elias' pet in here as revenge for his own sabotaged ritual? Not much he can do, if there's no one to wear the crown. "It's all up to you, Jon. What do you want?"

Peter has dealt with beholders before, far more than he should, actually. He knows how they work, how for all they preach omniscience, they home in on a purpose, and become blind to everything else. Gertrude wanted war, Elias wants power, and this sad, broken man wishes uselessly for redemption, and if he can't have it, he'll have immolation.

"So? What will it be?" he asks.

Jon's head tilts up slowly, and Peter freezes at the intense neon green of his eyes, and the downward curve of his tightly pressed lips.

"A statement, I think," he says, and all around him the Watcher's eyes burn holes through the fog, pinning Peter in place like stakes, their focus so heavy it stings.

He tries to remain calm, to keep his fear from the Eye. This is his domain, and he can't be harmed here, not even by Elias' trained dog-

"Peter Lukas, you will give me your story."

------------------------------------------

His reason.

Did he have one?

Was it saving the world, or did he just want to look good while killing himself? Was it revenge against these things that took all the ones he loved, or spite at not being taken himself?

This place makes it hard to think. All you can do is sit and feel the emptiness inside you, smell the tears and listen to the silence. Was that his reason, finding a place to escape to? Maybe he just wanted to rest, for once, forever.

He's so tired.

There's a man before him. His hands are heavy on Martin's shoulder and face, but so careful, like he's made of glass or secrets. The man's eyes are beautiful, desperate mix of greens and blues, and his lips curl around words that barely reach him, words Martin doesn't know if he wants to hear.

He did have a reason, didn't he? It had a name and a face, a lopsided smile and eyes swimming with sadness.

Didn't he hate Martin? That's what they had in common, isn't it? Before the worms, before the fear.

Where is he now?

Martin remembers him, dead in all but name, laid on a hospital bed like a broken doll. His hand is limp in Martin's own, l and every time he presses it to his lips Martin swears it's grown colder.

Was that his reason? What was he more afraid back then, the thought that he wouldn't wake up, or that he might?

The man before him speaks again, and his hands on him feel heavier, warmer.

He doesn't like him, Martin remembers. How easily he stepped into the Archives, how well they fit together. Martin looks at him, and he doesn't know if he wants to tell him to go away or ask him what took him so long, why couldn't he have come before Martin gave up on his future for a chance at saving Jon's?

Martin tries to recall the man's name; maybe it'll help him figure out why he's here. It's a good name, he's sure, because he's a good man. A simple name, the kind you say with a smile. An incredibly, absolutely, undeniably mulish and irritating name, what on Earth is he doing here?!

Martin came here to keep him safe, because even knowing this was a trap for Jon, it was the only way to get Elias to stop hurting him, why would this idiot follow him in?!

Now all the work he did will be for nothing, because Martin knows as sure as the sky is blue that Gerry won't go away, won't let him fade into the grey. He'll find Martin again and again and again, until he answers his question, or the Lonely consumes them both.

This was a gamble he took to try and protect him, and now both of them are here and Jon is lost in here too, and Martin wants to scream at the absurdity of it all.

------------------------------------------

"Did you pack-"

"I packed the first things I saw, Basira, if they don't like it they're going to have to suck it up."

"That's fair."

"Where are they going?"

"North. Daisy had- she has a place. A cottage on the countryside."

"Oh, Martin will eat that stuff right up."

------------------------------------------

"-tin come on." Gerry tries again. Martin is still there, still tangible under his hands, but he still won't talk, won't look at him, the only sign of life to him is the slight furrowing of his brow. "Think- think of him, he's coming for you, we both did. Tim would've come too if he'd been there I'm sure, he's a prick but he loves you. So many people care, Martin, but we need you to care too, we-"

It's alright, he tells himself with just the slightest edge of panic. He's got time, and he'll keep going until the Lonely steals his last breath from his lungs, they are not going to lose Martin.

"Just- you have to- Martin I know you have what you need to break it, but you need to remember it yourself. You need-"

"I need you-" Martin's voice rings out clear and firm, without the ringing of the Lonely, and Gerry freezes. Martin's eyes are bright and green and burning with righteous indignation as he scowls down at him. "-to stop being so incredibly infuriating!"

And then Martin is collapsing against him, and it's all Gerry can do to hold him steady as a wave of relief washes over him.

"I'm- sorry?" He asks, his voice tinged with confusion.

"No you're not," comes Martin's sullen voice, muffled against his shoulder.

Gerry lets out a bark of somewhat hysterical laughter, tightening his grip around Martin's frame. He feels solid, and growing warmer by the second, and Gerry feels a little like he did when Jon opened his eyes after so much begging.

"No, I'm not."

------------------------------------------

The man gasps in exhaustion and pain, as the last of his tale tumbles out of his lips.

The Archivist watches, adds the story to his archive with the same delight with which one would enjoy a feast.

It's a pathetic, hilarious joke that Peter Lukas ultimately dies protecting the Pupil's secrets, when the Archivist demands the truth.

The Eye hums in delight, and the Forsaken shies away from its unblinking gaze, from the power of its chosen, from the future this promises.

It knows with glorious certainty that when the Archive speaks next, the world will listen.

------------------------------------------

Martin feels the Lonely break around them like something being ripped from his chest.

He misses it immediately, the pungent smell of salt and humidity, and the emptiness inside him. The arms around his shoulders, the scent of lavender and ink under his nose, the warmth of another body pressed tightly against his is overwhelming.

"-'re back!" He hears Basira scream somewhere, and the sound of echoing steps coming closer.

"Hey there," Gerry whispers somewhere close to his ear. "I have someone for you."

And Martin's heart drops, because he knows who that is, and he knows what he said the last time he saw him. How could he forgive him for that? For turning him away when he came to him with a promise of freedom, of a future together? Of-

"Martin?" Jon says his name like a prayer, like he doesn't know if he's more afraid of his silence or his response, and when Martin lifts his face from Gerry's shoulder, he finds that he looks much the same, his teeth worrying nervously at his bottom lip as his dark eyes search Martin's face for... for what?

"Jon." Martin's own voice is a pitiful, exhausted thing, but the name sounds just right in his lips, like a memory, like an answer to a question he can't bear to think right now.

It's like Jon's strings have been cut, and he goes down on his knees by their side, slotting himself right under the arm Gerry lifts for him. Martin has a spare second to think of how well they fit together, before Jon buries his face in his chest and it hits Martin that he's here too, held between them like he belongs, like they were waiting for him.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you," Jon whispers into his chest. He feels nothing like Martin imagined, and is somehow much more real for that. "I'm sorry I let it get this far."

What could he possibly say to that? That it's not Jon's fault that Martin wanted to die? That he's sorry too, because now Jon has all the marks and nobody knows what that means, but it can't be good?

Objectively speaking, Martin knows it would've been much better for them -maybe even for the whole world, who knows what Elias is thinking?- if they'd let him in the Lonely.

It's tough to voice that aloud however, with Gerry's arms around him and Jon tucked so perfectly under his chin. Their presence hurts, but Martin hasn't felt this much like himself ever since Tim first came, and he knows he needs them here precisely for this reason. Without the Lonely's overbearing, suffocating presence all around him, it's all too easy to see just how close he came to losing himself.

"...I've missed you," Martin says in the end, probably long past the time they've stopped waiting for an answer. Still, it's the truth, and Martin's spent so long denying it that it feels almost like another lie. He tightens his arms around Jon, partly to check if he's allowed, but mostly to confirm he's actually real and there.

Gerry clears his throat a little. "Would you like me to leave you two alone?" he asks quietly.

'You found me,' Martin wants to say. 'You found me, and you didn't let go, why would I want you to leave?'

Words are still difficult though, especially with the fog still trying to pull at him, yelling at him from all sides that he doesn't matter, that they saved him out of some misguided sense of heroism, and not any particular interest for him. That it is he who is intruding, that they could've lost each other, and it would've been his fault.

Martin shakes his head and shifts to lean a bit more comfortably on his shoulder. His neck is already starting to smart from bending down, but even the pain is a blessing, a reminder that he's alive, that he's human and can feel things, good and bad.

The faint scent of lavender drifting up from Gerry's hair and Jon's comforting weight in his arms are grounding. Soothing.

"Martin?!" Tim's arrival is heralded by the room growing warmer, as if to chase away the remnants of the fog that clings to Martin's tired bones. "Fuck. You're- are you alright?"

"Right as rain," Martin rasps out, cracking an eye open -when did he close them?- to look up at him. Even splashed in blood and dirt, Tim's a sight for sore eyes, the concern in his gaze so simple and sincere not even the Lonely can twist it into loathing. "What are the bags for?"

"Management said you had too many vacation days saved up," Tim croaks with a laugh just this side of hysterical. "We booked you a holiday."

And Martin would like to respond to the joke, he really would, but his eyelids are growing heavy with exhaustion, and it's all he can do to aim a smile -who knew he could still do that?- his way, before he lets go.

"You have to get away before he comes back-" is the last he hears Basira say.

It's not over, he remembers, they're not done. But for the time being, they're all together and they're safe, and Martin is here because they want him to; it still feels like a lie, but nothing else makes sense and he has to allow the tentative, absurd hope that it might be true.

Martin decides that, maybe for once, the rest can wait.

[birthdaysentiment]

The music in wtFOCK season 3 - Bonus Song #3

Zaterdag 10.32 // "Unfair" - 6LACK & Love Renaissance

It's crazy to think about how your life can change in a matter of seconds, how the change can happen so fast, that you don't even realized it happened until it did. A life changing experience is filled with so many emotions, both good and bad, but in this situation, that Robbe finds himself in, it's only filled with pain and hurt. It's a consuming and overwhelming feeling, whether it's physically or mentally, but we all know what it's like to have those feelings run through our body, how it clings to every single fiber with such an intensity, that it becomes too much to bear, something Robbe is feeling in this very moment.

Sometimes it can be difficult to see the pain, to know that another person is hurting, but with Robbe we only had to look at the bruises on his body and the look on his face, to know how he was feeling. The night before was supposed to be one of the best in Robbe's life, as he had his first date with Sander, a boy who changed his life with a look into his eyes, but as we all know, the night didn't turn out the way everyone thought it would. 

As we left Robbe and Sander alone on the cold and hard ground, we had no idea of what happened afterwards, how they were feeing, what kind of pain and ache they were in, but we got our answer the morning after. Robbe is in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, leaning over the sink as he tries to control the pain that overwhelms his body and mind. He keeps his eyes close, as to shut out the world around him, because he knows that when he opens his eyes, the memories from last night will come flashing by. Because the deep purple bruises on his body reminds him of the harsh reality he lives in, a reality we all live in.

The music fills the silence around Robbe as soon as the clip begins, where the switch of focus, from the purple marks on Robbe's waist to the heartbreaking expression on his face, makes last night's events seem even more real, as we get comforted with them from the very first second. The song's high pitch notes are difficult and uncomfortable to listen to, as they pierce through you, almost as if they're a symbol of the pain that goes through Robbe's body. And they stand in sharp contrast to the silent and mellow tones in the underlying melody, which brings another set of emotions to the clip, making it even more difficult to watch - something we see Robbe struggling with too, as he can't look at his own body. There's so much sadness in the intro of the song, that really emphasizes the emotions in the beginning of the scene, making everything even more intense.

But the image I can't seem to get out of my head, is the moment Robbe opens his eyes, looking more defeated and crushed than ever. Because as he stands alone in the cold, raw and almost clinical-like bathroom, it becomes too much, his emotions start to overwhelm him, since the simple action of moving a single body part seems to make the pain even more overpowering and consuming. Robbe lets his head fall down, trying his best not to break down in that same moment, and everything just seems so unfair. And maybe that's part of the season why wtFOCK chose this song, because the title almost seems like a comment to the whole situation, how unfair it is that Robbe is feeling the way that he is, that he's experiencing this.

The melody in the song changes, as the intro comes to an end, where it's getting replaced by a more consistent sound with a slow tempo beat that blends with a darker and deeper voice, which has a melancholic vibe to it, something that seems to run through the whole clip. Robbe gently touches the wound on his stomach, but the simple touch of his fingertips is too much, as he gets reminded of the physical pain from the kicks. But it's also the mental pain that makes the situation even more unbearable, how Robbe can't seem to escape the millions of thoughts running through his mind. How helpless he and Sander was in the situation, the vulnerable stage they were in as they were lying on the ground, but maybe there's a part of Robbe that feels embarrassed, even ashamed about what happened.

It's so heartbreaking to see Robbe like this, so see the look on his face as his eyes wander over his body, looking at all his wounds and scares. He's hoping it's just a bad dream he hasn't woken up from yet, but the physical and mental pain that goes through him, is far worse than any dream can make it feel. But the interesting thing is how we never see Robbe's full body in the first minute or so, we only get close-up glimpse of the marks, like their all part of a puzzle we can't see yet. And the use of the little mirror makes the scene even more intense and emotional, because it somehow represents a change, that Robbe might see himself differently, as well as the whole situation, that he might understand or see things in a different light.

To Robbe's surprise, Zoë suddenly walks into the bathroom, and after a few seconds the confused look on her face changes to a more shocking expression, as she sees the wounds on Robbe's body. In that same moment, as she enters the room, the music stops, where it seems like the disappearance of the song is there to represent how Robbe gets thrown back to reality, and for the first time we get a chance to see the damage on his body in full sight. The silence fills the air between them, where there's nothing Robbe can do to cover his body, even though he tries to hide some of the wounds with his arms. There's no way for him to pretend or hide that last night didn't happen, as Zoë presence in front of him is making that impossible.

Robbe looks even smaller as he stands in front of Zoë, and that might symbolize how he feels: vulnerable and exposed. In that moment Robbe just wanted to flee to his room, to the safety and the quietness of it, where he didn't have to talk about what happened, because what would he even say? But Zoë doesn't let him go that easily, even though he tries to get past her as soon as she stepped into the room. You can see how sincerely concern she looks at him, how protective she seems and how surprised she is to hear about what happened, even though it was far from the truth. But Robbe just wants to be left alone, to get a chance to process everything himself, because the longer he stays with Zoë the more heartbreaking everything seems to become.

Throughout this whole clip, the only thing I wanted to do was to give Robbe a big hug, because he really seemed like he needed one. Just to let him know that he wasn't alone, that everything was going to work out, and that's why it broke my heart to see Robbe step out of the bathroom, walking slowly but determined to his room, as to avoid any contact, because in that moment he just wanted to be by himself, needed to be by himself. But I can't help but wonder if there wasn't just one person that Robbe wished would hold him in his arms, that would kiss him softly while telling him that everything was going to be okay.

[pseudofaux]

so poorly hidden {Dazai/MC}

I didn’t intend to write anything for Dazai’s birthday, but there is SO MUCH good art flying around on twitter celebrating him! Cute stuff, sad stuff, steamy stuff! He is one of my favorite IkeVamp guys and... he hurts. I hurt for him. I know MC would hurt for him. So here is this. IT HURTS. Also hurts: how HOT he is. My life: suffering.

I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be exposed. -- Dazai Osamu, No Longer Human

You know yourself to be gentle, but you are not a shrinking violet. You had lovers in your own time, including one who really, really meant something to you, who nearly meant forever. When you think about that love and that loving, they are bitter and sweet in your heart, memories heavy even as they fade in the presence of what you know will be the great love of your life. Even if they are deeply bitter, deeply sweet, more deep than anything has ever been for your body, Dazai has put roots in your heart that reach beyond your feet and into the earth. He’s beyond, simply beyond, in every way. You feel like you have your grandmother’s wisdom when you look at him and know.

His sadness is a soft, omnipresent thing, also beyond anything you have experienced-- it is like he lives always in the feeling others endure in the first days after a breakup, or the first months after someone dies. He keeps the melancholy soft when he lets it brush against you, you can tell he does this. But it haunts him like a vindictive spirit that always, always wants to know he is bleeding inside, and will cut him afresh with ghastly claws if there is not sufficient suffering on display in his smiles.

And you cannot abide it.

You have tried so hard to war against it. You know better than to try to fix a man, this is wisdom you have earned on your own. But the heart in your chest cannot stand the way he hurts even when he is happy, even when you kiss one other in soft, sweet ways. Even when you kiss one another in louder passion, legs tangling, fingers tangling, moving so fast your clothes hold you back and you don’t stop to adjust because your need for each other is greater than your need for comfort.

That’s what it is, you realize. There is such a great need to give him comfort, but that is as beyond you as he is beyond everyone that came before him in your life.

It’s a gray morning in Paris, rain heavy and unwarm, and Dazai is not in bed with you the way he was when you fell asleep. The scent he has left behind is faint, but it is stronger than whatever warmth his body left in your sheets. There’s none of that to be found. You do catch the flimsiest hint of the elegant cologne he wears, the scent of pines beside water laying on the second pillow like a window to a forest far away. You wonder how long he’s been gone and tell yourself to stop wondering.

You don’t have duties in the mansion this morning, and apparently your time is your own. You sit beside the window in your dressing gown for a long time, watching the rain and giving in to the sadness of certainty.

He comes back with damp hair and rain-drenched flowers, and all of him makes you smile. He sees the way it’s different and you can tell it is a poison in his belly.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “I know there’s no changing it, now.”

When he raises his hand to touch your cheek, you can see there’s a vivid new inkstain on his thumb. Your heart seizes with love for him all over again and you let your cheek fill his palm. He says your name-- yours-- and you shake your head to deny him again.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” you tell him. Your voice warbles and the rawness in it makes you want to cry more than the sadness of the sentiment being your expectation and being so true. He doesn’t have to take care of you anymore. You can release him from that.

“What if I want to, this morning?” he asks. So soft and kind. It’s not dismissive even though there is finality in it. He’s willing to do this.

So are you. You nod, and the tears flow. He thumbs them away and you hope the salt of your sorrow wets the ink and leaves a mark on you. You’re terribly sad about the end, but you want the meat of what was before the end to be a memory that lasts. You remember the love that came before him, after all. And all love is meaningful, but it was nothing compared to how you feel about him. It doesn’t feel unfair or selfish to want to remember him, too. Maybe one day it can be with pure fondness instead of the ache of not-sobbing in your throat.

This time, it is slow. You remove each other’s clothes with a kind of reverence that isn’t wholly joyless but is far from joyful. It makes you feel skittish and needy, on the edge of tears for the way it hurts to love someone... beyond. People aren’t supposed to be beyond one another, before you fell in love with Dazai and his ghosts began to haunt you, too, you would have fought for the idea of equality in one of le Comte’s salon gatherings.

You’re not a person who makes that kind of declaration any more. You are the kind of person who has loved and fallen out of love with a mortal, and then fallen deeply in love with someone beyond-- you hate the word, now-- mortality, and beyond you. Your heart rages at the unfairness that it isn’t even Dazai’s long life that keeps you from reaching him, really. It’s the long shadows of his past, and that fact that your candles are so feeble. You’re reminded that not all gods were kind to humans, and the first time you sob in your bed is when you remind yourself that it’s not that he’s unkind at all.

He murmurs your name--yours-- as a question. His palms are warm on your hips, that perfect touch of his secure grip, never harsh, never even a squeeze, really.

“Squeeze me,” you say. “Please, it’s alright. I’m alright.”

He squeezes you, and he kisses you again and whispers that he’s so very sorry, that you’re lovely, that it is alright not to be alright. You can’t stand the thought that your sorrow is weighing on him atop his own, so you kiss him to shut him up, and you let your fingers stroke the backs of his shoulders, warm and bare and smelling like pines by water in a faraway forest. You can glimpse this man through a window or the trees, but there are no paths for you to walk that are parallel to his own and you cannot stand to walk behind him forever.

When your fingers find his hair, you are gentle, too. No tugging, this time, just a sweet farewell weaving-wave. You are not beckoning him. You are letting him go. You let his beautiful hair slip between your fingers and tickle the backs of your hands, and you keep kissing him, you keep his hips safe between your thighs just one more time.

It’s miserable, but it’s still warm and it still feels good where your bodies touch one another. This has never been the problem. A tiny voice in your head tells you that you could keep having sex with him-- you could be lovers without being in love. That’s been an option with the people you loved before. It isn’t, with Dazai. That’s what makes this goodbye as meaningful as it is, and you won’t kid yourself or cheapen the experience by pretending otherwise. It hurts. You are going to let it hurt.

He’s passionate but never aggressive, the most forceful he’s ever been was in a haze of bloodlust months ago. This morning he’s tender but doesn’t patronize you. You can tell he wants to make you feel better but that he respects your willingness to feel that this is awful. He doesn’t kiss you with his teeth pressing into your lower lip like he would have only a day or two ago. This is different for both of you.

But you do have it. You tell him that you love him so much and rush to clarify that your voice broke only because you wish it could be different, not because you feel unloved. And you don’t! That’s why it’s taken so long to become willing to let him go. You know he loves you. But just as he may be beyond you, Dazai’s wounds are beyond his own care. They’ll follow him, they can do what you cannot.

You hiccup and tell him that you wish with all your heart that he could be happy, and then he cries, too. The mourning in him is so obvious it should shock you, but your own sorrow is so heavy and still it is pulled to his own like a magnet. You cling to one another as your sensitized bodies chase your final embrace.

In the quiet after, he nuzzles the hair at the crown of your head with his cheek.

“I want you to be happy more than I want myself to be happy,” he confesses, as though it weren’t already clear. He’s quiet like he always is when he’s telling the truth without obfuscation.

“I want you to be truly happy,” you tell him. You are able to summon a small smile that is true, because you’re speaking the truth right back.

“Do you want me to leave now?” he asks gently. Your head is shaking before you really have a chance to think, but it’s the answer you’d give with more thought, too. He asks if you’ll be alright when he does leave and you tell him you will.

It will hurt. It will hurt forever, it will be your own ghost, that you weren’t capable of exorcising his. The ache might fade enough someday for you to appreciate the accompanying sweetness of your memories of loving him. But for now it hurts and you need to cry more.

You’ll live. You’ll ache. You are doing both already. He holds you in your bed until you fall back to sleep, and when you wake up god only knows how long later, the flowers he brought you are in an elegant milk glass vase on your chest of drawers.

He’s outside your room, just outside the door. You know it.

“I’m alright,” you croak. You swallow and repeat yourself.

You can hear his footsteps in the hall because your ear is pressed against your door until you can’t hear them anymore.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Good Tidings We Bring || Morgan & Nell

TIMING: The day after the solstice

PARTIES: @nelllraiser & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Are we out of the woods yet?

CONTAINS: soft witches, mention of sibling death

Morgan poured her energy into walking steady and holding her package without crinkling the paper or dropping it. She hadn’t been to this house in so long, all she remembered was that first time, coming to dinner and being so petrified that she would be accepted by the Vurals. That they would believe she had something to offer, that she was more than the awful things destined to follow her. Rejection, she was old friends with. The way it cut her was almost soothing. So she never would have dreamed walking up to the house unannounced, asking to be let back in. But Yule was the time of light in the dark, and the miracle of the world turning back to light. There was never going to be a ‘good’ time to try, so it might as well be now.

Morgan knocked, swallowing what little was left of her pride. When the door opened, the speech she prepared dissolved into one clumsy outburst, “I want us to be good again, can we please be friends?” She stuck out the present with both hands. “These are for you. A-and a few extra for your sisters, but mostly you. I mean, you’ll be able to tell, uhh…” It was all very undignified, but after everything Morgan had done, she didn’t figure dignity was something she was going to come by soon anyway.

Hard choices such as the attempted exorcism in lieu of torturing Constance were something of a familiarity to Nell at the time she’d made the decision to go against Morgan’s wishes. By then she’d learned well enough that sometimes the greater good came at the cost of your personal good, but that didn’t mean it had been easy to knowingly destroy the bond of her and the witch turned zombie. She’d been the villain in someone’s story before— willing to take on the burden of severed ties and judgmental words if it meant that there’d be less pain for others in the end. It never got easier, especially when the severance in question was someone like Morgan. So as she opened the door to a familiar face that had been long absent from the daily rotation of her life, she did her best to squish down the flare of hope that bubbled up, quickly replaced with worrisome apprehension. Thankfully that too was fleeting, and her initial faith was restored, eyes cautiously bright with the renewal of her initial reaction “You want to be...friends?” she asked tentatively, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Morgan’s jumbled words, feeling as if there was another shoe about to drop. Without thinking she reached out to accept the box that Morgan had brought, staring at it a touch too long. Was she meant to open it now? Or wait? Her momentary silence was less than intentional. Apparently where Morgan was struck with an inability to stop her words, Nell didn’t know where to begin her own. “I don’t understand- aren’t you upset?”

Morgan had replayed this conversation a lot in her head, most of them involving Nell interrogating her, or saying I told you so or asking for proof about her being really, really sorry and really understanding all the ways she might have been mistaken. She hadn’t thought that Nell’s question was about how she felt. Morgan looked at her, stunned and grasping at air now that she no longer had the present to cling to. “U-uh, well...I was. And, okay, I don’t think it was fair to lie to me. Doing what you think is right is one thing, but pretending to help is something different, but that’s just...not important right now. Or it’s not more important than you. And…” Morgan shrugged haplessly. “What I wanted didn’t even work out anyway. It was bad. I got all this stuff and I hated almost every part of it and yes, in retrospect, only having informed support from my evil friends should have been a tip off, but I just couldn’t. And Constance poltered anyway and people died because of that, which is also because of me and so, no, I don’t know exactly how I’m going to trust you like I did before knowing you can just casually do that, but I don’t want be so stuck in my pain that I destroy everything that’s important to me. So if you can...I don’t know,” Morgan shrugged. “If you feel like it’s not destroyed yet, I’d like to be the kind of friend that does more than just send you sad birthday presents. I’d like to try. And I’d…” For some reason this was the most difficult part of all. Morgan tried. I’d like to be a witch again. A witch without magic. A mundane witch, who burns too much incense and works her will with glorified mind tricks and normal people stuff. The kind I used to smirk at and feel sorry for. In the end, she couldn’t. “The rest doesn’t matter right now,” she said. Holding herself up with all the strength she had, she looked at Nell with hope. “But what do you say, Nell?”

Quick on the heels of Nell’s hopeful question was the memory of the sourness the conversation between herself and Morgan that had followed the failed exorcism held, the bitterness of it still lingering in her mouth despite the sweetness that was trying to cut through the ugly sensation. Following behind that was the anger that had filled her when the news of the Common had broken— the knowledge that Constance had killed again and that this time it had been seven lives taken, and that Blanche had been caught in the crossfire as well. How could Morgan have let it come to that? You don’t know me at all, do you, Nell? It had been written to the younger witch after their initial fallout, and for a moment Nell wondered whether the words were truer than she’d thought at the time. How could she be surprised about the deaths and injury that had come to pass and still claim to know the woman that stood before her? Stars, Nell, you are the closest thing I have to family right now besides Deirdre. Family didn’t always know every inch of one another, and that was a lesson she’d learned well when Bea had died, a lesson all her sisters had learned. And then Nell had learned it again when she’d been kicked from the coven, her family ripped out from beneath her feet. But Morgan had been there. Morgan Beck, the woman who was saved from the choice of whether or not she’d follow the coven’s decree by the grace of literal death and her subsequent separation from the witches. She was family that Nell couldn’t afford to lose after having the rest of it already taken. Morgan Beck who Nell was certain wouldn’t have followed the demands of the coven and their banishment of the Vural daughters even if she hadn’t been the victim of a family curse. The same curse that had brought them to this exact moment in time that had Nell fiddling with the paper of Morgan’s gift that was still held between Nell’s uncertain hands.

“I don’t think it’s destroyed,” Nell answered in a tone that was surprisingly quiet in lieu of the jumble of emotions that were avalanching through her chest. She swallowed hard a single time, trying to make sense of the words floating in her head, all of them demanding to be spoken at once, but struggling to pluck them from the churning sea of what she wanted to say, what she should have said, and what she was going to say now. “I just- I’m not a fixer, Morgan. Not when it comes to people,” she finally managed to settle on, voice trembling with the effort to try and contain the dull tones of her sadness, the heat of her former anger, and frustration of being unable to find the medium between them. “I’m really fucking shitty at it. I never know what to say, or how to talk about things without getting upset again.” Even now she could feel the beginnings of her temper being dampened by the knowledge that whatever she was feeling about the situation, Morgan was most likely experiencing it ten-fold— the love she still held for the zombie making the witch unwilling and unwilling to dole out any more pain onto her. “I...I want to try, though.”

“...You...you dont?” Morgan repeated Nell’s words slowly in case she’d misheard. The young witch was so uncharacteristically quiet, she couldn’t be sure. She stayed clenched, feeling her impending disappointment hanging over her like a pendulum in a horror show. She’d done shitty things, and the earth didn’t judge or get angry, but people did and had every right to. Nell especially. But then she spoke again.

“You can be upset with me,” Morgan said softly. “I uh...I did a lot to be upset about. And you don’t have to... I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a ‘fixer’, you know? It’s not a box you get sorted into or not. You just learn and you try and maybe it happens faster for some people than others and--” She reached out her hand, fingers contracting and flexing as she tried to gauge whether she could, should, touch her. “We can just take it a little bit at a time and uh…” She sniffled and smiled bravely. “Can I hug you? Real question. N-no is super understandable. But--” It would be great if she could. It would feel like forgiveness even if she wasn’t yet. “Can I? Is that weird?”

“No...no, I don’t,” Nell affirmed, thinking of all the times she’d lost friends and counted them long gone, not at all accustomed to getting a second chance, but willing to take it and hold it tight nonetheless. “And you can be upset with me,” she quickly echoed, knowing things wouldn’t instantly be right. The witch’s shoulders relaxed, sagging in the slightest as Morgan did what she always did— somehow always having the perfect and right words for the situation and Nell’s self-consciousness. “Well then...I guess we can try, right?” She watched as Morgan’s hand opened and closed like a door in front of her, offering Nell a way in should she want to take it. Uncertainly she reached for the offered touch, using it as a way to pull Morgan into the hug she’d asked for. Her arms were softer around the zombie’s shoulders as she embraced her, still tired and sore from her less than comforting ventures at Neveah’s demon mansion the night before but holding on despite it. “I don’t think it’s weird,” she mumbled. Perhaps it was a little stiffer than their hugs had been in the past, but if this was the form the peace offering was taking, Nell wouldn’t be the one to shove it away. “Did you wanna come in? I actually have a present for you, too.”

Morgan clung to Nell as tight as she dared. They fit so easily against each other, head to head and hand to hand. The movement wasn’t fluid or effortless, but Morgan could almost feel the energy that still existed between them, flowing in and around, back and forth until it could reach some kind of equilibrium. Nell still wanted her in her family. She might be the only Vural to think so, but she was the only one that mattered.

“Come in?” She repeated, lifting her head from Nell’s shoulder. “Are you sure? I mean, that it would be okay--?” She tried to peer into the house, waiting for Bea or Luce or some spectre of guilt to pop out and declare that she wasn’t allowed to come inside at all, ever, and furthermore, she had no business asking forgiveness from Nell or anyone else. But no one came out to spoil the moment, and Morgan didn’t have enough fear or sense to turn away from Nell’s offer. “But I do. Want to. You didn’t have to get me anything though.” She pulled away, sniffling as she smiled. “But thank you, Nell. Really, really. Thank you.”

Nell bit down her lip as Morgan squeezed, trying to swallow the pang of pain that surfaced as Morgan’s arms unintentionally found the bruises and cuts she hadn’t healed from her and Adam’s continued infiltration of Ma’al’s demon cult. Those in visible places were always safely healed away, but the ones beneath her clothes and long sleeves were kept in secret. After all, Nell had to save every ounce of strength she had for what happened within the mansion’s hellish walls. But she also needed to keep unwanted questions at bay, unwilling to have her friends tangled in the mess she’d thrown herself into. Brushing away the darker thoughts of her current affairs, she pulled back to focus on Morgan, letting the brightness of the zombie’s face and their renewed friendship brush those shadows away. “Of course I’m sure,” she insisted, confidence re-entering her voice. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered. And I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” Nell gave Morgan’s hand a last squeeze before moving to tug the other woman over the threshold of the home, leading her to the living room where she’d kept the gifts she was planning on giving. “It’s this one,” she began as she handed Morgan a carefully wrapped package, her nerves returned for this moment as she hoped she’d gotten this right.

Morgan took a moment to look at the gift. If it wasn’t so wildly inappropriate, she would get out her phone and take a picture of it, so she could always remember the care that her friend had shown her, the love she didn’t deserve made visible in a carefully tied ribbon and a full package. She wanted to remember that care like this still existed. That even after doing some of the worst things she’d ever attempted, someone like Nell still wanted to give to her. But she would have to settle for her memory and hope that a hundred years or more down the line, she would be able to see Nell and this gift just like this. “Should we open them at the same time?” She asked, taking the package from Nell. “That’s how we did it at home when I was a kid. I’ll be careful with the ribbon. at least. It’s all so pretty…” She smiled sheepishly, moved and almost embarrassed by how much this meant to her. She nodded to Nell to indicate go and tore into the wrappings.

The first thing she saw were the Yule smudge sticks, so potent that she caught a whiff of cinnamon and pine. It was like the Yules from her childhood all over again, when they hung freshly cut firs and holly from every door and entryway. When the tapers ran down the sides in gothic, runny clumps, and the candlelights flickered and their shadows leapt along the wall like pixies in flight. It was everything. Underneath: vials of bath salts, colored in cleansing tones and filled with herbs that symbolized renewal, a fresh start to wash away the hurt that still stuck to her. And beneath that-- “Oh, Nell,” Morgan gasped. “How did you know? About any of this? I haven’t told anybody…” Her eyes filled up again. “After everything happened I went to Strawford Cemetery and tried to do a chord removal. I know it’s all like, jedi mind tricks, but I swear I felt lighter and I felt...something. Not a live energy something, but a connection to something. And I know you’ve been trying to tell me this all along, but I actually feel it now…” She clutched the package to her chest, gripping with all her might. “I want to be as much of a witch as I can be. I want to belong here, and put out things that...help, even a little. And that’s vague and dopey and I haven’t figured out anything more specific yet, but I just want you to know why this means so much. Thank you.”

Nell unwrapped her own gift with much less delicacy than Morgan opened her’s, the still present nervous energy making her a little overeager as she tore into the pretty packaging. She almost forgot to look at her own gift as she heard Morgan’s reaction to the present she’d been gifted, but her attention was easily re-captured by the crafting tools inside the box, instantly recognizing them for what they were. The hoops, twine, and other assorted supplies tugged at some place between her heart and gut, nostalgia gripping her as she counted a set of three. One for her and each of her sisters. “For wreaths and Yule!” Morgan had to have known this would be the girls first season without their family and coven, and given them something to do together in response, no doubt truly understanding the gravity of the girls’ situation and the way it seemed to stifle the usual traditions of the holiday. The cocoa supplies and taki bags beneath it all were obviously meant solely for the youngest witch, and Nell touched the gifts with a thoughtful hand, still in slight disbelief that Morgan was even here in the first place. “Thank you, Morgan. I- well, I love all this.” But what she loved most of all was that Morgan had wanted to give her a gift in the first place.

“I didn’t necessarily know,” Nell continued, still unable to shake the last of the nerves that had settled around her and Morgan. That would be normal though, right? They’d said they wouldn’t turn back into place at the drop of a hat. “I know it’s not anything remotely the same as you, but after the stuff that I went through well- I could only begin to imagine what you might have felt, and even though I didn’t lose my magic, I know that I would have still wanted my family after it. And everything I grew up with and stuff. Even if I...hated it at first.” That’s why Nell had grouped the witchy books under the bath salts and Yule sticks wanting to return them to Morgan long after the witch had lied and said she’d handed them over to Nisa and the coven. “It’s not vague and dopey,” Nell instantly rebutted. “We- we need it too, you know. Need another witch here.” Their mother’s coven was long gone out of their lives, but perhaps they could make a little one of their own. Looking down at her present, Nell waited a moment before making another offer. “You know- you could always make them with us. I could call Bea and Luce and see if they can come right now.”

“Yeah! I figured, something all of you can do together might, you know…Nothing’s going to make things like they were before, but they can still be good. And maybe this new turn of the wheel will be better too.” Morgan said, gushing with relief now that her gesture had been accepted. “But I didn’t want you to have to share your whole gift, that’s lame, right? So hopefully you can use them to enjoy the rest of your day, or any other traditions you get to do, or just, you know, cozy time to yourself. You do still get time like that, right? Anyway, I’m glad you like it…” She trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

At Nell’s insistence that she consider herself another witch around, that she should stay with them for the day, Morgan’s eyes watered again. “O-oh, I don’t… I meant these for you and your sisters, and you should have your special time together, and I don't want to be the reason anyone…” Doesn’t come. Leaves you alone during yuletide. Morgan shrank back, out of the doorway, her bright smile only a little weighted by sadness. “But I do, want to be around. Maybe after the regular new year? I’m just gonna be traveling, for my birthday, as it turns out. But still-- I’d like to. Just, you know, not at the risk of making things weirder or harder after everything I’ve done…” Her resolve gave way for a second and she dove back to Nell for another swift press of a hug before ducking out the doorway again. Maybe for Imbolc we’ll have a big cleaning party together, huh?”

Nell nodded with a half-sad smile, unable to pretend as if the loss of her coven didn’t sting at the mere mention or thought of it. Still— Morgan’s comforting words were more than welcome, and brought back a trickle of warmth to drive out some of the cold and drafty winds of the hole left where her family had been. “Thank you, Morgan. I know you’re right.” Unfortunately, the knowledge that new and good things would come didn’t always help to lessen the wounds of the past. That would take time if such wounds could ever be truly healed. “And yeah- of course I’ve always got time for hot chocolate.” The brief answer was an easy enough way to brush away the real answer of her having been far too busy with the twisted rituals and gatherings of the cult amongst the other day to day problems of White Crest that claimed her attention.  

Morgan’s reluctance to join in the festivities wasn’t all that surprising, and Nell didn’t feel the need to push it at a moment like this. It was probably for the best if they wanted room to breath and return to normal or create whatever their new ‘normal’ would look like. “Oh shit, well- I hope you have a good trip. You’ll have to tell me about it when you get back, obviously.” There was a flare of jealousy in Nell as she offered Morgan the well wishes, remembering her own travels around the world before she’d returned to White Crest. She doubted she’d ever experience something like that again, not when there were so many things and people tying her to White Crest now. “We’ll figure it out, though. With all of us. And then we can do that big cleaning party with some midnight margaritas, and maybe even make some Brigid crosses.” As she headed with Morgan back towards the front door of the home, Nell held the zombie’s present to her chest, the anger that had gripped her earlier finding a temporary solace that let her enjoy the bond that had been restored on this day. No doubt it’d return when they had to speak of things less pleasant than travel and parties and gifts. But for now, she could simply enjoy the hopefulness buzzing within as she leaned against the doorframe, giving her farewell. Finally, she would relax in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be their final one. “I’ll see you later, Morgan.”