#because when you think about death you think about the people left behind

[noisyghost]

(I started sketching this design nearly immediately after season 2 ended but just now had some time to clean it up so. Excuse me rambling out loud here)

TLDR; I actually really liked the initial design + direction for Warwick-Vander (I <3 human faced werewolves)! But the show design kinda felt like a transitory state between Vander and Warwick to me, so I wanted to try my hand at blending his Arcane design with his in game design. Like a "what would he look like if the transformation kept going" kinda thing. There's a few things I'm not fully settled on, but Im mostly satisfied :)

(rambling under the readmore, its 3 am as i type this lol)

When season 2 first started, I sort of had it in my head that the narrative would have Vander "die" for Warwick to finish the transformation into his final form, forcing Vi and Jinx to finally say goodbye together. Well! That didn't happen lol. I mean. Vander did "die", but whatever was left behind isn't really Warwick. I'm not quite sure what they were going for, either with him or with how Jinx "dies", its all just a little messy when i feel like there was a more obvious narrative conclusion.

Visually i think the final design in the show is cool removed from context, but it doesn't really make sense to me in regards to the story. Like. Warwicks whole thing is that he curbs his violent impulses by killing "bad guys" in the undercity. League lore is a hot fucking mess and I don't even go there so I get that they (the writers) were playing fast and loose but I can see why so many Warwick fans were less than pleased with where the show leaves him, because it doesn't really feel like the same character outside of his initial experimentation.

In my own idea palace, Jinx fakes her death and leaves Warwick to be Zaun's new mascot. Having this literal monster that eats bad guys and saves innocent people in the process become a new symbol for Zaun feels like a no brainer to me. Imagine the iconography they'd make for this thing! And it brings Vanders whole schtick back around; he still "dies" but the Literal Memory of him lives on in Zaun, still protecting the people he cared about most. You get the bittersweet ending of Vi and Jinx having to move on because hes not really their dad anymore, but their memory is what keeps Warwick "human", still with Zaun even if Vi is doing Piltover shit and Jinx is off exploring the world.

Idk! I know the implication that Jinx faked her death is there, but whatever happens to Warwick seems to be like they didnt really have the time to fully explore the ideas they were going for, so a couple characters just got kinda left floating at the end there. If Ekko and Jinx werent going to run away together, I wanted to see Ekko befriending Warwick so they could fight to make Zaun a better place.

I have more coherent ideas than this but it's 3 am when im typing this so sorry if im not eloquent enough to properly explain what im thinking. Ekko and his weird dog that used to be his uncle. Imagine.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬 || 𝐢𝐧-𝐡𝐨 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟎𝟏 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ short scenes of how in-ho thought he didn’t care about you, but he realized he actually did after seeing you almost overdose for doing drugs with Thanos and Namgyu.

warnings_ AGE GAP! (not specified), lots of restroom scenes lol, protective! in-ho, mild brat!reader, brat tamer!in-ho, reader ingests Thanos’ pills, blood, angst, fluff, slight canon divergence, NOT PROOFREAD

Notes_ I wish I had added more details to this one but I have been busy and I’m slightly drunk rn, sorry

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 lee byung-hun

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ride or die, you heard once.

Even when you think you have it all, there’s still more to get.

Five days ago you were partying hard at some elite club, three days ago some asshole tried to poison you and now you were playing Korean children's games to death.

Player 153, you got. The green tracksuit unintentionally made your eyes highlight, as you had noticed the first time you visited the restrooms.

You knew what and where you were getting into. After all, your father was more than a big sponsor of the games. He wanted you to marry an asshole, and you flew away. He tried to kill you, the only option left was death or death. It was dramatic, but sadly the truth. Nobody was waiting for you outside of the deadly games.

Your gelish nails were surviving the whole thing. The bright burnt orange color matched the dress of the big doll of the first game. The cheeky asshole of Thanos befriended you because of that. Then you met Nam-gyu and there was some odd connection.

It never occurred to you that you would be recognized. Even when you were the only foreigner in the games of that year.

It was on your way back to bed when you met him.

Hwang In-ho melted into the crowds of players, ready to assume the role of player 001. He was alert to every single movement and was trying to hear everything that was said when he heard some annoying voices.

“And did you see how that asshole started screaming? Dude that was crazy!” When In-ho turned, he saw the mediocre rapper with purple hair shouting and moving like a little kid through the maze of pink stairs at his other assholes friends.

“STOP!” Namgyu mocked player 456, making Thanos initiate a horrendous rap verse about the first game.

And then a female laugh joined them.

“Say he’s telling the truth, Wouldn’t that be crazy?” In-ho gently dodged some people to get closer, and he ended up walking literally behind you.

All he could see was the back of a short woman, with nice legs and an attractive silhouette; In-ho almost rolled his eyes at the thought, already feeling stressed because he had lost sight of Gi-hun.

“You’re already on a trip, y/n-su” Thanos took you and Namgyu by the shoulders and the three of you started cackling like idiots.

Player 153, y/n….

In-ho couldn’t remember who exactly was said player. But there was something about your name that resulted oddly familiar to him. You were definitely a foreigner.

In-ho was almost convinced there was no report of a foreign player being recruited.

A bad omen settled in him.

…

The cold lights of the room make your head feel disoriented, but it’s an appealing feeling since you feel like you are lying in a big puffy cloud. Instead, you are actually laying your head in Nam-gyu’s lap while Thanos is seated on the other side of the bed, whispering and gossiping about the players.

“That fucking asshole over there is not going to last,” he said pointing at an old man who looked like he was in shock after the first game. And it’s not like you were insensible but everyone with a number embroidered on their tracksuit was supposed to read the agreement policies before playing. “Just look at him”

“More money for us!” Nam-gyu adds.

You didn’t need the money, you just wanted to make your father angry, to escape, to feel the rush of something that wasn’t running away while living in neglect.

“Nam-nam, don’t be like that!” You say, chuckling and nudging him in the stomach. He joins you and then Thanos and is just the three of you high as fuck. “I need a cig…”

“Me fucking too” Thanos agrees then looks back at the crowds. When he sees Lee Myung-gi, you know it’s over, Thanos will likely go to argue and Nam-gyu would follow and subsequently you.

And indeed, that’s exactly what happened.

You roll your eyes, following the pair to the other side of the room.

“Guys! Leave him alone. He’ll likely die in the next game…” you argue, trying to get their attention. But the males are so invested in their stupid fight and you are so disoriented thanks to the drugs that you don’t see a man coming to separate them.

You only see the number 001 in the green jacket and soon the man ends up punching your friends.

“Hey, stop!” You try to interfere but it’s useless.

That’s when you identify the man, it was the man who outcasted the votes in favor of keeping playing.

“ENOUGH!” You yell, loud enough to stop the fight.

The man turns to look a you and he finally sees your face.

In-ho’s face turned pale. It couldn’t be you, it made no sense.

But he remembered very well the family portrait of your family resting in your father’s office in London.

You miss the way he sees you because you hurry to tend to your friends.

‘Fucking asshole…” In-house hears you whispering as you help Thanos and Nam-gyu to stand up.

In-ho felt himself getting extremely curious and irritated. Now his plans would get more complicated.

…

It’s almost time for lights out when every player is allowed to use the restrooms before bed. In-ho finally made contact with Gi-hun and he felt slightly under control of the situation. But you were still on his to-do list. So he rushed to wait the moment you separated from your assholes companions.

And when you started moving away with a bunch of female players, he made his move.

He grabbed from the forearm and ushered you to walk a few steps away, both of you passed to pink guards and let him yank you inside an empty hallway, near the stairs maze.

He heard you mumbling curses and trying to go back until In-ho lost his patience and pushed you against the wall.

“How did you get here?” He harshly asks, making you gasp at the sudden pressure in your forearm.

“Who the fuck are you?” You ask, trying to get out of the man’s grasp. “Let me go!”

You are pushed inside the restroom and you are about to yell but you finally face your captor.

Player 001, is a handsome old man. Still, you didn’t know who the fuck he was and what he had to do with you.

“How did you get here?” He repeats his initial question, looking extremely serious.

“Who the fuck are you?” His grip softened but the pressure remained, keeping you between him and the wall.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” His English is very good, but it isn’t his pronunciation that makes you almost gasp in surprise.

You can his tired eyes, fine nose, his hair. The vague memory of your father meeting with a man in your home, talking about expenses and finances, gives you enough answers.

“Congratulations, frontman. You just exposed yourself to me…” he seemed surprised, but hid it very quickly.

“You are no threat to me. Now speak…” He wasn’t expecting you to take very long to discover who he was given his approach to you.

“I met your salesman. He was very cute…”

“He must have recognized you. He wouldn’t give you a card…”

Your father was more than a generous sponsor. The island was also to his name. Everyone knew your name and who you were despite never being seen. For your father, it had been a disappointment your arrival. He always wished for an heir. And you resented him for that. You were useless to his eyes, an heir with no regard.

“He wasn’t as smart as you thought he was, dear. One glimpse of my cunt and I had him twirled around my finger…” his eyes lock with yours in a deep gaze, he wasn’t happy. “I miss him. I wish he wasn’t dead…”

“You think this is a game?” You chuckle, looking around the empty restroom.

“I think it is…” your finger points around the room. “I won’t tell a soul anything about you. Promise, Mr. Young-il”

“Listen because I won’t repeat myself. You’ll have no special treatment. If you mess this up, you die like everyone else” he says, leaning closer, intimidating you. But you don’t flinch. “It really is true that money can’t buy happiness, right?”

“Dying in the middle of this horror is better than dying at the hands of my own father” In-ho almost pitted you. He wasn’t a good person but there was still humanity inside him. You were not innocent, but you were so full of life, you were gorgeous. And he couldn’t believe your father despised you so much.

“I don’t care. Just don’t interfere with my task…” he says, looking you up and down before letting you go and urging you to get out of the restroom.

He said you wouldn’t get any special treatment. But he already felt feeling doubtful.

…

You can’t sleep. It’s completely dark and you can hear soft snores. The memory of you playing ddakji and seeing player 001 cheering for you repeated over and over in your head.

He was the leader. He knew your father and yet, it seemed like he was trying to protect you. So many questions popped into your mind, almost making it impossible for you to conceal sleep.

And suddenly, a hand touched your hip bone.

You scream but the hand covers your mouth.

“Come with me…” you know his voice. The frontman disguised as 001 was right there next to you.

Maybe your questions were about to be answered.

Carefully, you take the hand he offered you and follow him outside.

There are only two pink guards, everything else is empty.

It was unclear if it was day or night. The bright hallways changed from purple to bubblegum pink and then, green.

“Where are we going?” You ask, feeling your hand starting to sweat, but he doesn’t leave the embrace.

“To take a breath…” he simply says.

At the end of the green hallway, he opens a door and it’s dark, barely illuminated by warm bulbs. Is a stair and when you reach the end, it leads to the outside.

“I always forget this is under the island,” you say, out of breath, looking at the beautiful fawn and the sun peaking.

You don’t see the way the man beside you is looking in awe at you.

He doesn’t even know how invested he was in you.

“Why are you such a burden for your father?” He went straight to the point.

“He wanted a boy, I was born a girl” you admit, looking at the barely visible sea in the distance. “The only thing I could’ve been useful for him was to marry another wealthy man. But I refused…”

“That’s why you entered the games?” You nod, walking through the dirt and grass.

The sunrise was just starting, with orange, pink, and yellow, it was a beautiful sight that almost made you forget where you were.

“Don’t do anything stupid, other than what you already did. If you do, I won’t be able to protect you…”

“I appreciate your concern for my safety” you admit, locking your eyes with his. “But my life is not a priority for me anymore, Mr. Young-il,” you say and he almost smiled at you mocking him.

“In-ho…” he says.

“What?”

“My real name is In-ho” You couldn’t deny his revelation surprised you. “Young-il is just a facade”

You weren’t expecting him to trust you enough to share that. But once again, you were surprised.

“You really think you can keep 456 in place?” You ask him incredulously. “Prevent the voting to withdraw the games and convince my father to leave me alone?”

“I can negotiate with your father so he can leave you alone” Your eyes snap open at his words.

“No. You must know what he’s capable of” he smirks, eyeing you briefly before returning to look at the sunset.

“Don’t tell me you are growing fond of me” You turn to look at him and it’s your turn to smirk.

He meets your eyes and for some reason, you don’t erase the smile on your face.

“Never, Mr. Young-il” Your mocking is obvious, making him smile as he admires your profile. “I’d love to stay here, but we must go back before the music starts playing…”

When you turn to look at him, you see he had been eyeing you previously, making you unconsciously blush. Thankfully it was still dark enough to cover your embarrassment.

He nods and walks past you.

And there’s an odd feeling lingering in the air. Both of you conclude it’s odd but pleasing.

…

A carrousel, How bad it could go?

You are locking arms with Se-mi, your only female friend. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su are a little far away from you.

“Are you nervous?” She asks.

“Not really. And you?” She shrugs, looking around.

When you turn back, you see In-ho and other players talking around. He spots you and tells you to move away, probably to talk.

“Let me see if I can see some clue around, to give us an advantage” Se-mi nods, walking away.

You move close to the door where many players are still entering the room and soon In-house joins you.

“Run as fast as you can, it doesn’t if you end up alone in a room,” he says whispering in your ear.

“That would be cheating” you whisper back, checking around if Thanos and Namgyu were looking, but they weren’t.

“Then stick around me, especially if pairs are announced…” you know what he means. Thanos and Namgyu had been loyal to you. But they would likely team up and leave you alone at any time. “Okay”

He nods at you and watches you go back with Se-mi and Thanos.

“Pick your pill,” Thanos says smiling at you, handing his pendant and taking a pill for himself.

That’s the last thing you remember. Vague flashes of you running with your friends. And then you saw In-ho grabbing your hand and urging you to get inside a room. You believe he killed a man.

You don’t know what is happening. Each step you take makes you feel more and more dizzy. Your head feels heavy and the memory of you laughing in the male restrooms only to fade into the image of Thanos lying dead while Nam-gyu looks as shocked and under the effects of the drugs as you. A man accidentally pushing you and blood covering your hand after touching your arm.

You could still hear the mess inside the room. You cursed being the only woman inside there. And you somehow feel pity for Thanos. Making you realize nobody deserved to die inside the damn island.

One of the pink guards opened the door for you but could not recall it. A lot of people started looking at you.

“Young woman, What the hell happened inside the male restroom?” Player 100 asks you impatiently, but you don’t even look at him, you can’t hear him. “I’m talking to you, little brat!”

Gi-hun points at you and the group turns to see the scene. It’s In-ho the first one to step up, slowly walking towards you.

He hears Player 100 yelling at you and he cringes.

“It’s enough!” In-ho yells back in the distance.

Your hair is a mess, there’s blood all over your tracksuit. Your jacket is in your hand, barely grasping it, making an irritating sound with the zipper against the floor.

And your arm is bleeding.

Before In-ho can reach you, you faint.

A lot of people gasp and he runs towards you.

“BRING A DOCTOR!” he ordered to the pair of pink guards standing in a door.

They hesitated a couple of seconds, then quietly left. Nobody would know it was because player 001 was their leader. Everyone thought it was because someone was hurt outside of a game.

“What happened?” Gi-hun asked, kneeling beside In-ho. Both tried tapping in your cheeks but you seemed to be extremely disoriented.

People started gathering around and In-ho was tremendously trying not to look panicked.

“Hypotension and low blood pressure,” Jun-hee says, standing right next to Gi-hun and holding her belly. Gi-hun and In-ho turn to look at her.

“I took two semesters of nursing training,” the young woman says, trying to see the wound in your arm. “She needs stitches and something sugary or an IV”

In-ho takes your jacket and makes an improvised tourniquet in your arm, he breathes carefully, moving your head slowly, hoping to see you regaining consciousness.

The pink guards arrive and take you away, indicating no one else can follow.

Soon a crowd enters the room making a bloody mess.

…

You open your eyes, and every single thing you look at is green. Green like the room leading outside that In-house took you. The bed, the blanket covering your lower body, the little couch. Everything is green.

“Where did you get the drugs?” You almost jump, startled. A hand of yours ends on top of your chest and the heart rate monitor indicates an increase in your beatings.

“You’re safe here” In-ho is there, seated next to you. “But you kept doing stupid things outside…”

You stand your arm and see the stitches and dry blood. Your head throbs but it isn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

“The drugs were from… Thanos” You can’t believe he’s dead. Half of you expected him to leave and get out alive.

“You were so close to overdosing” he failed to not sound worried.

“Don’t tell me you are growing fond of me” You say the same thing he told you two nights ago, but he doesn’t smile. “I’m not playing, y/n”

“I’m sorry” you admit, looking at your hands. Finally feeling the weight of your actions.

“I’m convinced Seong Gi-hun will try to lead a rebellion” the man beside you adds, trying to soothe the tension. “He will try to stop the games”

“And would it be so bad? To end the games?” You ask surprising him. “There’s enough money to disappear from the country”

In-ho had thought about it but never did anything to make it true. However, now that had been growing fond of you, he could see himself running away. Almost…

“I would… but I can’t” You only nod, ignoring the tiny ache in your heart. You start trying to seat and he helps you.

You point at your dirty tracksuit and In-ho hands it, helping you to stand up at the same time.

“Seong Gi-hun will try to disarm the guards. If they are lucky they’ll succeed. Probably will recruit players to advance. You will volunteer and grab a gun” he sounds very serious, saying each word delicately as if he was scared you wouldn’t pay attention. “I know you can shoot and have good aiming. Your family used to take you to hunt deer in Scotland…”

“Damn well, you really know everything about me…” he rolled his eyes, making you realize he was indeed being serious. But his soft touch makes you feel weak. “Help me take off this thing, please”

“I’m not playing, y/n. That’s the only way I will be able to get you out of this if things turn against us. That’s the only way to save you…”

Your heart beats faster, and your hands feel numb. Even worse when you turn around and he untangles the laces in your patient gown. Your naked body flashes him and it takes all his strength to not touch you.

You take his vulnerability to ask what you had been trying to hide from yourself.

“Tell me why…” you say with your eyes lost, knowing he was staring at your soul. “Say those three words I’m desperately thinking and I’ll do anything you ask me to”

In-ho sighs, throwing his head back, he looks at his own feet, wondering what he should say.

You grow disappointed at his silence. And when you’re ready to leave, he stops you.

“I lov-“

You kiss him. You kiss him so deeply that it takes him by surprise.

His hands don’t know where to go but even with your eyes closed, you grab them and place them in your hips.

Soon, he takes control, just like you expected. Of course, he had to have experience. His lips expertly move against yours, and then his tongue perfectly melts with yours, leaving you made a mess.

“You didn’t let me say the three words…” he says, whispering in your lips as you pant for air.

“I thought you weren’t saying anything. It took me by surprise…” you admit, offering him a shy smile that he tries to mimic.

He wasn’t completely evil. He still had some humanity inside of him. He was conscious of his feelings and knew he wanted to protect you, to know you better, and see you alive, outside of the island.

“In-ho…”

“Hmm?” He asks as you lay your head on his chest. “Don’t hurt them…”

“That’s not on me, darling” Your wounded hand caresses his cheek and it makes him close his eyes. “Please, In-ho”

“You are going to go back with me. If Gi-hun succeeds, I won’t be able to protect you from this side of the island” he explains. “You’ll take a gun and stick with me. You don’t move away from me. You heard me?”

You nod, accepting his strong gaze on you.

“Promise me, y/n”

“I swear I’ll stick to you, In-ho,” you say, kissing him again. “I promise”

______________________

Salesman Valentine’s Day fic coming next Friday <3

[itsadmiralactually]

@ellena-asgasg

I see where you’re coming from and I respect it, but I must disagree. And this is why:

There is an age-old saying, one which James himself quoted that night in the brothel: “Old habits die hard.” As much as we want them to, most people can’t change what they’ve known since childhood. They can't walk away from it. In James’ case, he’s been in the Royal Navy since the tender age of 6-years old. His father essentially raised him to be a soldier; to be an incorruptible pillar of strength, honor, leadership, discipline, and justice. And he was. In a sense, I think he became “spoiled,” if you will, by his success. That’s why when Elizabeth rejected him in favor of someone who was nowhere near his equal, he went off the deep end: because he didn’t know how to handle such an insult, a defeat, of that magnitude. Let’s not forget that for the past 8 years (in CotBP), he literally ruled the seas; as we say here in the south, he was “kicking ass and taking names.” He is at his best when he is in charge of something.

Now let’s take a look at what happened in DMC. He crashed and burned (figuratively) and lost his commission… as well as everything else. Where did he go? Tortuga—a place where he could’ve easily started over and became a pirate like most men who were RN washouts. He had a chance to embrace the type of freedom you’re talking about. But what did he do with this chance? He let himself go: unshaven, unkempt, clothed in the tattered remains of his uniform (with more than likely stolen items of clothing; a.k.a the trousers, boots, and waistcoat). He was on a collision course hell-bent on self-destruction. He would’ve drank himself to death were it not for his chance encounter with Jack and Gibbs, just as he would’ve stayed in that pigsty if Elizabeth had not pulled him out of it. When she brought him to the Pearl, he could’ve very easily made a 180 and embraced the life of piracy, and had he not stolen the heart of Davy Jones, he would’ve ended up on the Dutchman , and everybody on the Pearl would be dead. I would argue that would be a fate worse than becoming captain of the Dutchman, as well as point out that he needs that order, routine, and structure. Without it, his life literally goes to shit.

Fast-forward to the events in AWE. We first see him clothed in the EITC Navy uniform. He is an admiral, yes, but he is not free. He is under the control of the most conniving little shrimp to ever sail the Seven Seas. Due to his actions, the most powerful ship in the Caribbean—in the entire world—has come under this tyrannical asshole’s command… and it’s all because of what James did. When he finds Governor Swann’s body aboard the ship (according to the script), I think that’s the moment the foundations of everything he knew and everything he believed in came crumbling down. I think Elizabeth being captured and seeing what she has become was the feather that broke the camel’s back. That night he set her free, what does she ask him? She asks him to come with her. She asked him to step away from everything he knew (or what was left of it). He had that same choice as he did when he was in Tortuga: to start afresh; to start a new life. And he didn’t. He hesitated and you can clearly see he wants to… but he doesn’t. When Psycho Bill (Bootstrap) interrupts, he says, “Go! I will follow!” and Elizabeth knows instantly that he’s lying. That’s when he makes his famous quote: “Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth… but never joined.” Why did he say this? He had the chance to start over and live life to its fullest; to be like Elizabeth, to be like Will. But what did he do? He stayed behind. And he died for it. He died to save her. He could not walk away from what has been drilled into him since childhood.

As much as he wanted to, as much as we wanted him to, James simply cannot change who and what he is. He is a man of duty, honor, and discipline. He is a natural-born leader. I fully believe he intended to take control of the Dutchman that night once he was certain Elizabeth was safe. He knew he was going to die anyway. At the very least, I think he wanted it to mean something; to be worthwhile. Freeing pirates is a blatant act of treason, after all. It would either be a firing squad on his own quarterdeck or (most likely, cuz Beckett is a sadist and all that) he would be hanged. He might even have been tortured beforehand since he’d essentially become Beckett’s “pet," and I can't imagine the lesser of two men would let him off easy without having his final "say-so."

In any case, given the atrocities and all the bloodshed that happened because of what he did, I think James felt like it was his duty to take over the Dutchman to ensure that something like that would never happen again; that the supernatural power of this sort would never fall into the wrong hands. Not only would him becoming captain of the Dutchman ensure his survival, but it would help him become who he once was. I think he would find freedom in being the leader of a vessel with such a noble cause like ferrying those who died at sea to the other side. He would become that pillar of incorruptible virtue once more. That is who he is. It is what he is, and always will be.

Again, I see where you’re coming from and I respect it, but I have to disagree. Fun debate, though! :-)

[fipindustries]

there is no need to be angry any more

so that was it.

that was the ending of jennyffer.

long long ago, back in 2008, i made a deviant art account and i started sharing my works online. i made the very concious and very deliberate choice back then, to fake it until i made it. every time i posted something, every time i updated my journal, every time i left any kind of note for a potential audience, i would talk with the register and confidence of someone speaking to a huge audience of adoring fans. would apologize for delays, i would advertize big ambitious porjects i had in the works (which i never finished or published). i would explain what i was going for with every work as if i had my dms filled with questions and fan theories.

much of that was me mimicking the style with which pretty much everyone posted at the time in deviant art. i did this when i only had like 4 followers there.

i carried this attitude with me when i came to tumblr and started posting my work here, but it wouldnt find much use until i started my webcomic Disregarding Reality back in 2016. in there, much like i did in deviant art, i would post extensive authors notes explaining my thought process behind every strip, id make announcements, id update people on my schedule, i make big celebrations of milestones achieved and would give tearful gratitudes to my audience for sticking with me all those years. again, i did all this for an audience of probably less than ten people.

a part of me was perfectly aware that this was all theatrics, it was me roleplaying as a famous artist and comic creator, because that had always been my dream, to be recognized for my art. it wasnt even necesarily fame what i was looking for. i was perfectly content to be someone on the same tier as, say, tom sidell or zach morrison or scott dewitt. someone with a well liked webcomic who could feed a relatively small but loyal group of fans that would spurn discussion, analisis and fanart. that was the thing i was looking most of all, praise i can do without, i wanted engagement, i wanted analisis, i wanted the kind of fan interaction that is measured in fan content. i wanted reviews, even bad reviews, it meant people were thinking about my work.

one thing i started with disregarding reality was to make small self contained story arcs, that is where we got mama bird, soft boys, hexen snatch and the begginings of max splosive.

and every time i concluded one of this arcs i would post a giganting wall of text as a sort of retrospective, an after game analisis, where i would explain what i was going for, what inspired me to do this, how was the process of creating the thing and to what degree i succeeded or failed. i did the same for my novel there is a crack in the world.

and is time to do the same for Jenniffer. except this time is special, is it not?

this time i do have an actual, proper audience.

this is no longer theatrics, this is no longer me roleplaying, now there are a significant ammount of people listening.

dreams do come true after all.

in many ways that was the second greatest success of this project. the fact that i actually garnered a following of some kind. to be sure, i doubt there are more than a hundred people who have seen jennyffer, but that is irrelevant to me, i got engagement, i got comments and analisis and fanart, that was all i ever wanted and i got it. i am realized, i am fulfilled.

the actual biggest success of this project id say is the fact that people got me. people truly understood what i was going for. i have heard many analisis of what is art in the last few months, wether there is such a thing as objective criticism of art, what is art for, what is the purpose of art, why we make art. and one position i heard over and over again was that art is not for communication. you know, death of the author and all that, what the creator meant has no bearing on the work and the experience of the work itself.

and yet i cannot help but disagree on some level, because if so what else can i call jennyffer other than an absolute triumph of conveyance. people understood it, time and time again i would see comments where people descrive pointedly, incisively, precisely what i was going for. i felt seen. so in that regard, im going to pin the blue ribbon upon my chest, sorry barthes.

there is a lot more that i want to say about this project, loads and loads. do you have any idea how many easter eggs i hid? how many references? do you know whats the story behind the little dinosaur painting in the therapist office? do you want to know?

well all those questions and more will be answered in the ~JENNYFFER COMMENTARIES~

thats right, every week on my patreon, starting today, ill be posting two videos (thats right TWO) with a director's commentary of a jennyffer episode. so if you want to know all the cool super secret details you can go to my patreon and subscribe, these are going to be patreon exclusive so i wont be releasing them to the public for a long long long time, sorry! i gotta eat!

***

Now i want to end this with a talk about the characters themselves in this story. Jennyffer and Peter.

They are based on many many different things, things that i have descrived many times in the past. but one thing i want to put emphasis on is that they are very much two sides of myself. the sensitive, morally punctillious and enciclopediacly nerdy Peter, and the assertive, sarcastic and ebullient Jenny. those who have known me for a while would have seen my inner peter poke out whenever in talking about some interest of mine, or when i first met them and want to cause a good first impression, or when im kinda tired or melancholic. and they would have also noticed my inner jenny get out whenever im salty, or stuck in debate mode, or excited or enthusiastic.

They are two lovely kids. they are endearing, they are funny, they are a little messy and sometimes a bit too much to handle. but it was an absolute delight and a priviledge to have them live in my head for four years and im very greatful that i had the time, the energy and the will to bring them to life.

now, as they grow old and mature and have to get ready to leave their mother's house for college i do have to let them go, im going to miss them a lot and im sure they will ocassionally come back to visit. but is time for them to do their own think. all i can do is say goodbye and thenk them for letting me tell their story.

best of luck to both of you

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[abbyssweetheartt]

-ˋˏGf!Jinx headcanonsˎˊ

Warnings: just fluff and craziness ig

a/n: this is my first time writing jinx so idk if it'll be good or not💔 and sorry abt the big hcs, i just like writing ig

⊰⁠⊹ when Jinx had hallucinations, she'd always look for your comfort. but sometimes when you tried to comfort her without Jinx asking for your comfort first she'd just brush you off and tell you she's ok in a rude way, buut if you talk to her about it after she'll sometimes say sorry.

⊰⁠⊹ after Silco's death, her and Sevika are like daughter and mother, except Sevika hates it, but Jinx doesn't care what Sevika thinks.

⊰⁠⊹ if you're feeling bad about something, she's definitely going to get worried. she's not the best at comforting people, but she tries. and if it's someone who left you like that she'll blow up them and say "No need to worry about them anymore" with a smile in her face.

⊰⁠⊹ loves playing with your hair. no discussion.

⊰⁠⊹ when yall met Isha, she was always taking care of the little girl and smiling most of the time

⊰⁠⊹ of course Jinx would always have you around too. she just doesn't attach you to her hip because she can't

⊰⁠⊹ she took a looooooooooong time to tell Silco yall were dating. not because she didn't want to. because she forgot. and to vi was even worse. Jinx didn't actually told Vi, she just assumed because jinx always had you close, even when you guys were kids.

⊰⁠⊹ you could tell jinx didn't know much about romantic relationships once she asked you to be her girlfriend. it was really sudden. yall were just drawing on Silco's office and she looks up at you and asks(and of course you said yes).

⊰⁠⊹ when she's tired we all know she's clingy. she can be even closer to you and you don't even know how.

⊰⁠⊹ sometimes she forgets to eat and when you get home you scold her for not eating and not feeding Isha (poor babies).

⊰⁠⊹ she hates when someone touches her hair, but you and Isha are the only exceptions. Sevika and Silco were only exceptions because they needed to braid her hair.

⊰⁠⊹ when you're at the last drop with her and someone started flirting/staring at you she'd be behind you, glaring at them with a creepy look on her face. only to protect you tho💗

im back after months lol

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - a Ted Nivison x Reader

{{-Y'all ready to find out?-}}

// General Warnings: 18+ fic (MINORS dni), Reader implied to be afab!, under 5'5. She/They pronouns used.

// Chapter Warnings: More angst, a lot of yelling n REAL exposition about the wedding

Word Count: 5.4k

☆▪︎▪︎▪︎Taglist!▪︎▪︎▪︎☆

@k-k0129 , @callsign-scully , @limecorpse & @schlattandcompany

☆Love You To Death!☆

Chapter 20: I Remember That.

I wake up that morning feeling...uneasy. I feel nauseous, like I've only woken up because my body is signaling to me that I'm gonna be sick. I can feel a loose arm draped around my side behind me, I must've woke up before our alarm. I didn't sleep well. I kept tossing and turning, I kept waking up. Ted would whisper sweet nothings to me, he'd hold me close, kiss my cheek and my ear. He doesn't know he's the reason I couldn't relax. I...didn't even want to be in here last night. Not after what I heard. Not after what I know.

He lied to me last night. Lied to my face. Right to my fucking face. It was so casual, too. It was easy for him. A little white lie for him, maybe...but to me?...Man. Fuck. How long has he been able to do that?

Without moving too much, I reach out for my phone to check the date. It's Friday. Joe said he needed to tell me by Monday, but honestly, I...I don't know if I can wait. I don't think I can even trust that Ted will tell me the full truth. I know it now. I know that look in his eyes when he's lying. It's burned into my memory. He lied to me when we were high, too. I can see that now. Got me high just to lie to me. How did I not see it the first time? I could feel it. I could fucking feel that something was different, I...

I feel Ted shift a bit behind me, pressing his body more against mine, burying his face into my back. His breathing is still steady and quiet. He's still asleep. I...I don't think I should confront him first, not when I can't figure out exactly what he lied about. Did he lie about his girlfriend leaving him? Did he lie about how or why he left? Did he say something to someone? Do something? What is he so ashamed of that he had to lie about it? And why wouldn't Joe just tell me the first time? What is this big secret? What kinda shit could one guy pull at a fucking wedding? What makes not one, but two people want to hide it from me?

As I hear Ted's alarm begin to go off, I silently decide that I'll be going to Joe first. I don't think I can trust Ted to give me the entire truth. He's been too keen on hiding it from me, even if he wants to be with me. At least this way, if he does try to tell me on Monday, I can call out any inconsistencies. No, I can call out any more lies.

I set my phone down to pretend that I was also waking up, stretching my limbs out as Ted reaches back to hit snooze on his phone with a grunt. We both have quite an early morning, so there isn't a lot of time to speak or cuddle, outside of a quick 'Good morning' from Ted.

I leave the room to head into my own, letting out a small sigh of relief. That's not a good feeling, feeling relieved to be away from Ted. It used to be the other way around. I used to feel nauseous if I wasn't with him, I used to feel colder, used to imagine myself in his arms, imagine his lips on mine. Now, I can't think about any of that without frowning. None of it feels genuine anymore. I shake my head and let out a deep breath. I can't be getting all up in my feelings right now. I still have a job to do. I have to try and finish this. Not for Ted or Joe, but for Tanner. He has no idea what's going on, I don't want to let him down. Production has been nothing but smooth. I'm not about to ruin that because of some...bullshit. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let him down.

I push all of my uneasy thoughts and feelings down as I get dressed, making sure to wear something easy to move in. The weekend will be spent officially rehearsing the ballroom dance sequence. We've done some basic practicing, got the wardrobe and such, but now the camera's will be involved to figure out which angles work the best with the right lighting. This is the one scene that Tanner's REALLY fixed on looking perfect. We've got the entire weekend to figure out what works before we get into costume and everything. I'll...have to be hand in hand with Ted for it all, but that's fine. I'm doing this for Tanner. I'm doing this for Tanner.

I step out after getting dressed, moving past Ted's room to head downstairs for breakfast. This is the first morning in a while where Ted and I haven't come downstairs together. I get a few looks from the team, but I don't entertain them. I don't really care what the fuckin' team thinks. Nosey fucks.

I meet up with Tanner and Joe in the kitchen, getting one of the bagels to toast as they greet me. Tanner asks where Ted is. I just shrug and make a passing comment about how he'd slept in. Tanner buys it, but I can see that Joe is giving me a look. He'll be connecting the dots quickly, I already know it. I heard you, Joe. I heard both of you.

The morning goes by in a blur. My brain feels like it's on autopilot for most of the day, honestly. We get into position with some members of the wardrobe team who would be acting as background extras and go through the choreography step by step. If Ted makes a comment, I force a laugh but I'm mostly stoic for practice. We're supposed to be focusing, so I can kinda use that as an excuse to be more silent. The choreography isn't that complicated anyways, it's just a lot of spinning and stepping on beat. Ted has more trouble grasping it than I do, so oftentimes I'm just guiding him while he figures it out. A couple days ago, I probably would've thought this was cute. Now, I just wanna get it over with.

Thankfully we get to have a lunch break later in the afternoon. Some members of the crew end up going out to nab something to eat. I expected Ted to try and ask me to go out to dinner with him, but Dan had stepped in first, asking him to go out with him and Tanner to some new sub place. Convenient. Ted asks if I want to join, but since Joe isn't going, I politely decline, claiming I didn't like sandwiches or something. Ted reluctantly buys it, giving me a warm smile and a kiss on my forehead before he sets off.

"Be back soon, princess.."

I hate it, but...that makes me smile. For a brief moment, that warm, funny feeling spreads along my chest and I smile as he heads out the front door, giving me one final wave before shutting it. I can still see his affectionate little smile, those cozy hazel eyes....

And then the feeling fades about as fast as it overcame me. I can't let my feelings cloud my judgement. Not this time. He lied to you. He lied to me. Now, I just gotta find out exactly what he was hiding.

I head over to the living room where Joe is scrolling on his phone, brushing some of his hair out of his face with his other hand. He seems to be in the same funk that I'm in. I stand in front of the couch, anxiously picking at my nails a bit. I'm unsure of how to even...start this. I'm about to face the biggest mystery of my relationship with Ted...without Ted. I don't feel good, that uneasiness returns, but I have to push past it. I need to know what happened.

"Joe?" I clear my throat before speaking, keeping my fidgeting hands in front of me. He looks up from his phone, giving me big, curious eyes.

"Mm? Wassup?" He pipes up, pursing his lips out slightly. I'm nervous, but I know I can trust Joe to tell me the truth. He may have lied to me first, but I just know he won't make that mistake again.

"Can I...talk to you upstairs?" I point one of my thumbs back to the stairs, trying not to appear too nervous. "It's important.."

I see Joe's expression shift. Now he looks worried, but in an almost fraternal way. He's not worried about what I want, he's worried about how I'm feeling. He's a good friend.

"Yeah! Yeah, absolutely." He gives me a reassuring smile, standing up off of the couch to walk with me upstairs. We quietly step into his room and I close his door, taking in another deep breath. I feel like I can't breathe right, and christ, I'm still nauseous...

"...I, uh.." I speak up ever so slightly just to make sure I'm not going to throw up before I can ask this, placing one of my hands over my stomach. Joe looks even more worried now, his eyebrows furrowing at me.

"Yeah?" Joe speaks up in a concerned tone, placing his own hand over his own stomach as well. "Did I do something?"

"No! No--" I take a step forward with my hands out in front of me, trying to reassure him. I don't want him to think he did anything wrong. Yeah, he lied first, but he's not the one I'm mad at. "It's not--I'm not upset with you, I promise.."

"Okay.." Joe let's out a small sigh of relief, resting both of his hands in his lap. "So...what's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

When he asks me that, the anxiety in my stomach only grows. My hands suddenly feel cold, and they're shaking. I go from feeling nauseous to feeling like I hadn't eaten anything in days. I open my mouth to answer, but only a shaky stammer escapes me. It's like I'm being frozen from the inside, but I can't freeze up now. I need to face this. I need to fucking face this.

"I heard you last night."

Joe gets it immediately. His concerned expression fades into an almost...disappointed look. He's not disappointed with me, no....with himself. His eyes fall from mine, looking down at his lap for a moment before a quick sigh leaves him.

"Shit.." He curses quietly to himself, firmly sliding one of his hands up his arm to rub his bicep, turning his head away as he rubs over his shoulder to let out another heavier sigh. He's uncomfortable with confrontation. Honestly, so am I sometimes, but I want answers. "How much did you hear?"

"Pretty much all of it." I admit, making my voice a little lower to hide how shaky I've become. I'm ignoring any panicky signs my body is trying to send to my brain. It feels like my soul is about to jump out of me, but I ignore it. "That you wanted him to tell me what happened, that you gave him until Monday..."

"Fuck, (Y/N)...I'm sorry.." Joe frowns at me, leaning his head down to place it into his hands. I hear him let out a quiet groan as he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the back a little. "I...didn't want you to hear that.."

"You said I should.." I added with a small shrug, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "You said I should hear you two.."

"Okay, but I didn't mean it! I didn't--" Joe raises his head to look at me, letting out a nervous scoff. "I didn't want you to find out that way. I was just...mad at him. I was pissed."

"I know, Joe.." I speak softly to try and calm him down, moving over to sit next to him at the edge of his bed. "I didn't bring you up here to get mad at you.."

I let Joe take his time to collect himself a bit, watching as he ruffled his mullet up with a stressful huff before turning to look at me. "...Then why are we up here?.." He asked, placing his hands back in his lap.

"Because I...I want to know what happened..." I admit with a long pause, glancing at the ground a bit before meeting Joe's nervous gaze with my own. "And...I don't think I can trust Ted to tell me the truth..."

It hurts to admit it aloud. The second I say it, I feel my eyes get a little teary, but no. I'm not going to let myself cry. Not about this. I'm just scared. I'm panicking, because I truly have no idea what he wanted to hide from me. I let out a shaky sigh and turn my head up to the ceiling, blinking my eyes to dry them.

"(Y/N), I...I don't know if I should..." Joe speaks up, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "It's not my story to tell. I wanted Ted to be the one to explain himself..."

"Okay, well it's not a story Ted wants to tell, Joseph..." I admit with a slight scoff, giving him a small shrug. "I don't think he's gonna tell me."

"I gave him until Monday to tell you." Joe replies, straightening his back a bit. "I know you're upset, but..."

"He's had many opportunities to tell me, Joseph."

"I know, I just--"

"and frankly, I don't trust him to tell me the full truth anymore..."

"I think he will, (Y/N). He--"

"He literally lied to my face last night, Joseph." I huff, smacking the back of my hand down in my lap. "I asked if he was okay, I basically gave him a chance to come clean, and he lied to me. I had to lay in his fuckin' bed next to his fuckin' body, KNOWING he's been lying to me.."

Joe falls silent and gives me a worried frown, glancing away briefly to shake his head with a heavy huff. He knows I'm not leaving until I find out the truth. Neither one of us are leaving.

"I'm just--I'm fucking paranoid, Joe." I continue, my shaky demeanor beginning to reveal itself in my voice. "I don't know what he did, I don't know why he's hiding what he did and it's freaking me out. Did he fuckin' punch someone out? Did he call you a slur or something?"

"Nothing like that.." Joe spoke up with another shake of his head. "He's not like that."

"Okay, but how the fuck am I supposed to know? I don't have anything to go off of, Joseph! I did--I don't--I've got fuckin'--I've got no idea! Nothing! No context, no idea, nothing! I just--I don't even know if I fucking care what it is anymore, I just want to know! I'm so--I'm sick of--"

"Okay! Okay--" Joe places both of his hands down on mine to calm my shaking, taking a deep breath to encourage me to relax. He takes a slow inhale through his nose while keeping his gaze on me, giving me a slow nod of his head as he exhales through his mouth. It feels a little patronizing, but I take a slow, deep breath anyways, following his lead until I stop feeling so shaky.

"I'll tell you..." Joe gives me a slow nod, speaking in a softer, lower tone. "But you have to promise me you're gonna wait until Monday before you say anything, alright?.."

"I--ugh.." I let out a soft scoff, running my fingers along my scalp stressfully. "Yeah, fine.."

"I'm serious." Joe insists, making his tone a little more firm. "I know you're frustrated with him, you'll probably be even more frustrated after I tell you, but I think you should give him a chance to come clean; give him this one last chance. At least then I won't look like a fuckin' dick for telling you after I've warned him.."

That last sentence gets a slight chuckle out of me and I shake my head, turning away to think about it. I can...probably do that. If it's not as bad as him hitting someone or saying a slur or something, I can wait until Monday. Maybe I'll feel a little better just...knowing what they wanted to hide. Maybe it's something stupid.

"...Alright." I turn to look at Joe again, giving him a little nod. "I promise, but if he doesn't tell me by Monday, I'm not holding back."

"That's fine, I could barely hold back myself." Joe admitted with a little shrug, turning his body a bit more to face me. "Now...I know he told you a little bit about the wedding, but what exactly did he tell you?"

I think back to what I already know. It's a little hard to remember details at first. I mean, he did get me high before telling me.

...No, I don't know if it's fair to keep saying that, actually. I didn't exactly fight him on it. I could've easily given a firm no and Ted would've backed off. We're both adults, I chose to take the blunt. It was...fun. That's on me.

"He...told me he came to the wedding with his girlfriend, and he made a comment about what their wedding might look like in the future.." I begin to explain, narrowing my eyes a little, like I had to focus on every detail. "...and that caused and argument and she left him..."

"That's why she left?.." Joe's eyes widen a little. He sounds...surprised. "Oh."

"What do you mean 'oh'?" I furrow my brows at Joe, giving him a confused look.

"I didn't know that." Joe admitted in a 'matter of fact' tone. "That's not what he told me."

"What do you mean you didn't know that?"

"That's not what he told me!"

"He didn't say they had broken up?"

"No!"

"What the fuck did you think when she left??"

"He said she had an emergency, then he said after, like, a week later that they had broken up!"

"Ah great, so he's just fuckin' lying to everyone.."

"Okay well it wasn't really my business, (Y/N). He was probably embarrassed."

"He really didn't tell you that?"

"No! He honestly didn't! I'm just learning this now, from you!"

That's...surprising. Why would he tell me that, but not Joe? Not anyone else? Is he just a habitual liar? Is that who I've been sleeping with the last 2 weeks? Christ. I really know how to pick them.

"Okay, so..." Joe pauses after a moment, an awkward chuckle escaping him. "What did he say happened after?"

"He said...he drank a lot of wine, watched the ceremony, saw me up on the stage as your maid of honor and left." I explain, giving a small shrug. "And that was it."

"He said he stayed for the ceremony?" Joe asked, interjecting rather quickly. "That's what he said?"

"After drinking a lot of wine, yes." I nod my head, keeping my eyes on Joe. I see an immediate shift in his expression. He looks disappointed again and maybe a little annoyed.

"That's not what happened." Joe says it plainly, shaking his head before adjusting himself a bit on the bed, finaly taking his hands off of mine to scratch his head. "Not what fuckin' happened at all.."

"Okay, so what did happen?" I ask again, clasping my hands together. Here it goes. No turning back now.

"Ted...is an entirely different man when he's too drunk.." Joe began to explain, gesturing his hands out to really emphasize that point. "It's actually fucking weird how he gets when he's drunk. It's gotten to a point where he avoids drinking heavily unless he's at a house party now, he's talked to me about it before.."

It's hard to imagine Ted with a drinking problem, but I'm starting to get an idea of why he'd want to hide this...

"So...He did drink a lot of wine, but...he didn't stay in for the ceremony. I kicked him out before then." Joe admits, clasping his own hands together.

"Why?" I ask again, narrowing my eyes at Joe. I'm getting sick of asking this. "Why did you need to kick him out?"

"He...God, honestly, now that you've told me about his ex..." Joe raises his gaze to the ceiling with a small smile, as if he's figured out the world's greatest secrets. "It makes sense. It fuckin' makes sense. Okay! Um...so he got REALLY drunk, and...he started to hit on every single woman that was at the wedding. Every single one of them."

Joe looks at me as he explains what went down, curling his lips inward a bit as we make eye contact. "And he was sayin' some...wild shit. He was making a lot of people uncomfortable. I almost didn't believe it was him when I was told by Tanner that he was acting that way."

"What wild shit? What was he saying?" A slight scoff leaves me, half of me honestly doesn't believe it. It just sounds ridiculous.

"I don't even know, I don't even know that part." Joe admits with a nervous chuckle. "He was just being...kinda inappropriate. I mean, he knew almost all of the girls there except you, but we were getting hella complaints. I didn't want to kick him out, I was just gonna ask him to tone it down, but then..."

Joe pauses as he looks at me, giving me this apologetic smile. Why is he looking at me like that? And...why is this starting to sound...familiar?

"...He tried to approach you." Joe gestures to me, raising his brows at me. "With two glasses of wine in his hand...while you were up on the stage, and he spills it everywhere, and I mean fucking everywhere, all on the front row. I don't even know how that much wine could get on that many chairs, but some got on my husband's mom. It was bad..."

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, I REMEMBER that.

"That was HIM?" I stand up off the bed in complete and utter shock. Jesus fucking christ, I can't even remember what he looked like at that event, but I remember that moment clear as day. Some stupid drunk fuck got wine all over the front row, but that was HIM?

"Yeah! Yeah, that was Ted.." Joe gives me a nod, ruffling up his mullet slightly. "You remember the guy I had to walk out? That was him."

I REMEMBER THAT. That happened basically right in front of me! I remember watching them leave, but it's like...everything about Ted being there was a blur. That was Ted? THAT was TED? How?

"That...that doesn't make any fucking sense." I admit with a nervous chuckle, sitting back down next to Joe. "I remember that."

"Yeah." Joe nods again, giving me a knowing frown.

"No, I remember that, Joseph.."

"I know."

"I don't remember that being HIM."

"It was him. A younger, clean shaven him."

"Why the fuck don't I remember it being him?"

"Because I wouldn't let him anywhere near you." Joe admitted with a shake of his head. "Like I said, I didn't want to kick him out. He sobers up quickly, usually, and he was already going through a lot, not just the girlfriend shit, but...he was being weird about you, I don't know. Kept saying you were the one and shit.."

I feel my cheeks warm up a little at that, but it still sounds a little ridiculous. I scoff, letting out a slight laugh. "What do you mean? He was flirting with every girl there, wasn't he? What made me different?"

"No fuckin' clue, but he was a lot more aggressive about you. Kept saying 'No, she's the one. She's gonna be the one. Look at her, she's the one. Watch. Watch' and then he tried to force his way past me, so I had to kick him out. It was too much."

I remembered Joe and most his husband's family rushing the poor guy out, but I didn't know he had been trying to get to me. Is...that why he remembered me? Is that why he's been so...fixated on me? Am I the one that got away? The one girl he couldn't hit up? Was I just a lot prize he finally got his hands on?...

"And...that's pretty much it." Joe admitted with a single clap, resting his hands in his lap. "He got too drunk, hit on everyone, and then when he tried to get to you I had to kick him out. He reached out the next day and apologized and we all just kinda moved on.."

"Except you lied to me about it." I bring up, giving him an annoyed look. "So, doesn't seem like you moved on.."

"When did I lie?" Joe asked, furrowing his brows. "I genuinely don't remember lying. I told you to ask him."

"When Ted and I got back with Dunkin' Donuts on the first day, you said he never asked about me at the wedding." I explained, pointing at Joe. "You even said he left after the ceremony. He wasn't even there for the ceremony."

"....Alright, you're right. I'm sorry.." Joe nods, closing his eyes for a moment. "But c'mon, I was over it. So was Tanner. I didn't expect you two were ever gonna cross paths again."

"We were gonna be working together on the same fucking set, Joseph." I smack the back of my hand on my palm. "You knew that beforehand."

"Okay, but not as romantic co-stars! He was supposed to stay behind the camera, I didn't expect you two to ever interact! You didn't even recognize him!"

"It was 2 years ago! Of course I wouldn't recognize him, what was there to recognize? He's not even in your wedding photos!"

Joe knows I've made a good point and he looks annoyed by it. I didn't intend to get mad at him when we came up here, but he's starting to make excuses and it's pissing me off. He looks up at the ceiling and turns his head away with a huff.

"You were all worried about Ted makin' moves on me, but you wouldn't even tell me why." I continue, keeping my hands together. "It's like you banked on me not remembering him, and I can't figure out why."

"I thought he was going to tell you a lot sooner.." Joe admits, lightly smacking one of his hands down on his lap. "I didn't expect you two to sleep together before he told you."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I ask, sounding more annoyed. "You knew! You could've let me know! Why count on him? He's been lying to me since the beginning, Joseph."

"Not since the beginning."

"What?"

"Not since the beginning."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he didn't know he did all that until last week."

"You didn't fuckin' tell him he flirted with all of those women when he apologized?"

"I did! I'm not--(Y/N)--" Joe rubs his forehead with a frustrated groan, shaking his head. "You don't understand.."

That makes me a little mad. I stand up off of the bed again, crossing my arms. "What don't I understand?" I ask, sort of glaring down at Joe. "What am I not understanding?"

"(Y/N), he....he likes you." Joe admits in a softer tone, raising his head to look at me again. "He really likes you."

"Yeah, he likes me enough to sleep with me, but not enough to actually tell me the truth..." I mutter somewhat, rolling my eyes. "What's that got to do with this?"

"He told you he remembered you, right?" Joe asks, shrugging his arms out at me. "Right?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he remembered trying to rush me and every other girl there like we're some extinct animal."

"Okay, he doesn't fucking remember it like that." Joe clarifies, waving his hand slightly in a disapproving gesture. "He genuinely doesn't remember any of that."

"What the fuck do you MEAN?"

"He only remembers YOU!"

Joe stands up off the bed as he points to me, holding both of his hands out to me to really emphasize his point. Ted only remembers me...

"You said he apologized." I bring up, furrowing my brows at Joe.

"Yeah, he did, for getting drunk. I thought he knew what he did, but he fuckin' didn't, I guess. I just learned this last week. So did he." Joe admits smacking his hands together again. "The only things he can remember from the wedding is, apparently, getting broken up with and then seeing you. I fuckin' swear to you, he hasn't been lying to you from the beginning."

"Okay, so why are you suddenly defending him? Did you want it to turn out this way?" I nearly cut Joe off to ask, taking a step towards him. "You've sat on this vital piece of information since the beginning of production. You were all up in a fuss about him making moves on me, you've known for a full WEEK that he's been hiding this from me, but now it's all okay because he likes me?"

"I've been trying to convince him to tell you for that full week, (Y/N)! I haven't just been sitting on my ass watching you two!" Joe cuts in, his own hands getting a bit shaky. We haven't fought like this in a long time. "You KNOW I would NEVER want to hide shit from you, (Y/N)! I love you! You're like my fucking sibling, but he REALLY wanted to make this shit work with you and I wanted to give him the chance! I'm not apologizing for that!"

I didn't mean for this exchange to become so...heated. Joe's right. I can't pin this on him. Should he had told me the first time I asked? Maybe, but...I can understand why he didn't. He didn't want to but in, and he trusted Ted to be the one to tell me. He's known Ted longer than I have and he seems just as disappointed in him as I am, maybe even more. At the end of the day, Ted was the one who kept lying to me, kept hiding it from me. That's who I need to face. Not Joseph. Not my brother.

"...You're right..." I speak up with a shameful frown, my voice cracking ever so slightly. "I'm sorry..."

Joe gives me a sad smile, moving in to pull me into a warm, comforting hug. "I know. It's alright..." He speaks quietly, rubbing my back to soothe me. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry.."

"No, don't apologize, please.." I shake my head in the hug, once again having to hold back tears. God, I hate this feeling. This whole thing...what a stupid fucking thing to keep from me. I'm not even anxious about it anymore. I'm angry. I'm angry that Ted lied to me. I'm angry that what's seemingly a white lie turned into this. Maybe it wasn't for the entire trip, but he's been lying to me for a week now. Ever since we slept together, he's been lying to me. That's not okay.

"Are you okay?.." Joe asks after a small moment of silence, pulling back from the hug to look at my face. I blink a few times to fight back any tears, wiping under my eyes just in case with a small sniffle.

"Yeah." I nod a little, blinking up at the ceiling to dry my tears. Thank God the makeup team didn't work on me today. Christ. "Yeah, I will be.."

Just then, I hear the sound of a large door opening and closing downstairs along with Dan, Tanner and Ted's voices laughing and playfully yelling at each other over some joke that was probably told in the truck. They're back. Guess it's time to get back to work.

"You gonna be okay?" Joe asks again, raising both of his brows at me with a concerned expression. I know what he's really asking. He's still making sure I'm gonna wait until Monday to bring this up. As angry as I am, yeah. I can wait. I can wait until Monday. Ted has 3 days to tell me the truth. I can play the part until then. I'm already an actress.

"Yeah." I nod, looking at Joe with an almost stoic expression. "Yeah. I'm fine."

I....might be lying.

__________________________________

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 (smut) || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 (smut) || Chapter 19 || Chapter 20 (here) || Chapter 21 || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || Chapter 24 || Chapter 25 (final) ||

[mikalilys]

Okay weird thing but I kinda had a crisis about death at like 11pm last night when I was supposed to be sleeping

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[pacofprunes]

wishful thinking

thanos/su-bong x pregnant! reader (fluff, comfort)

warnings — thanos and reader have matching tattoos, crying, mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of pissing on a door, pregnant reader, switching of referring to thanos and subong so hope you don’t get too confused, use of bitch (not towards reader), lowercase, typical squid game shit so mentions of blood and death,

you joined these games because although you thought it was too good to be true, it was all you could do. your shitty ex su-bong making you invest all your money into some dumbass crypto scam and blowing all of your guys money on drugs, childish bets, and gambling. after he blew both your guys money out, you left him, blocked him on everything, ignored your doorbell when he’d attempt to see you in person, everything. but two months after you broke up, it all came crashing down. you found out you were pregnant. and he was the only one you let see that part of you, it was his. but you were sure he moved on and even if he hadn’t, you couldn’t take him back. if he was this much of an incompetent person, he’d definitely be a terrible father. you didn’t want him in your life or your child’s.

besides some guy you assumed to have dementia or be on drugs, the game was going pretty smooth. until it wasn’t and it turns out the guy wasn’t crazy and people all around you were dying. blood splatting on your face left and right. you finally find a method and stay behind other people and everything was going smoothly again besides the intense stress and pressure. your heart and stomach feeling heavy. but the next time that doll turns around you hear a bunch of screams and you look to the right and see that su-bong was here too, and he had just pushed all of those people. he looked crazed. you just ignore it and try not to think about it, finally passing that finish line and being done with the first game, waiting for a full explanation.

you all move back into the main rooms that contained all your beds and people start screaming and yelling for answers. crying to go home, begging for their lives. you too wanted to go home, but you had so much on your mind. so much that you don’t notice your ex is nearing right behind you.

“señorita! oh my god baby is that you?”

he grabs your shoulder and turns you around to face him and you look up at him, frowning your eyebrows. he starts grabbing your face in his hands, touching all over you, not being able to comprehend it was you.

“oh god, it is you, babe, are you okay? where have you been i’ve missed you—”

“subong, stop. we’re not together, and we never will be ever again.”

you push his hands off your face and step back to put some distance between you two, still giving him a major glare. he reaches his arms out towards you again as if he was slowly trying to pick up a scared puppy.

“cmon— you can’t still be mad. baby, i’ll make it up to you, especially now.”

you look behind him and see a few people waiting on him, clearly eavesdropping. he turns around and looks at you again, a puppy dog look on his face but you shake it off.

“it’s not going to work subong. the debt im in now is insane because of you!”

he holds his right hand out before grabbing your right hand.

“baby please — we got these tattoos together,”

you look down at your hands and see the matching line placements decorating both of your hands. it was a stupid idea. you’d been dating for a little over a year, you shouldn’t had done it, you knew that. but you could barely pay for your bills, you definitely couldn’t pay to remove a tattoo. but deep in your heart you wished he was different, wished you could forgive him because deep down you still loved him. that tattoo was a sick reminder of that everyday. you realize you’d been staring at the two of your hands for a while before pulling away quickly. he looks at you with a smile and hope in his eyes. he places both of his hands on your shoulders again.

“see, we’re meant to be. it was a mistake, i know, i did it out of the goodness of my heart! for us, for you, you know that.”

you scoff at him.

“no. no i don’t know that. we’re not getting back together choi su-bong, that’s final.”

his hands go limp on your shoulders before you speak up, saying your next few choice of words slightly quieter as his fans or friends or whoever was still behind you two, stop eavesdropping.

“and just so you know, i’m pregnant. it’s yours. i’m keeping it. i don’t need you to help me. i’ll find a way to make money and i’ll raise my child.”

he stares at you stunned before you push away and move through the crowd. you hear him yell for you, yelling that cringy señorita pet name your way, but you ignore him, trying to hide in the crowd, listening to what the guards say as he drowns in the sea of people.

the guard mentions voting and how you guys were gonna vote whether to stay or leave. part of you wanted to stay still, but if you died, so did your baby. and you were scared out of your mind, nothing able to comfort you. so you knew you were going to choose to leave. you weren’t in insane debts but you still had a lot. the money they were offering after the first game was nowhere near close enough to pay it all off. you would have to play one more game, maybe even two to pay it off, but you couldn’t take any risks. they start calling from highest to lowest numbers and once they call ‘player 230’, your shitty ex makes his way down the line, skipping to smack that blue button, choosing to stay. it only made you wanna choose the other side even more. your turn comes and you choose to leave, sticking the red ‘x’ on your chest. you could see him staring at you through the corner of your eye, but you just chose to ignore it. creepy bastard.

after arguments and close physical alterations, the voting was over. you had lost, you’d be staying for another game. you wanted to go but at least you’d have an opportunity to make a little more money, you guess…

“excuse me, young lady, would you like to join us?”

you look over to a short older woman holding onto your arm, pointing over to a small group of people who were sitting on their beds. you give her a small smile and nod, letting her take you over there. she signals where you can sit and you move slowly while holding your stomach, letting out a deep breath once you finally get down all the way. you look around and there’s an older man, a younger girl, and another woman with some very strong features. the older woman speaks.

“i mean, i can’t believe they chose to stay! no offense hyun-ju, but come on!”

the older woman smacks her hand down on the bed and you give her a sympathetic and understanding look. she looks up at you before she gets a surprised look on her face and quickly flails herself around to get her composure.

“right! ma’am, this is my son yong-sik, this is young-mi, and this is hyun-ju.”

she pauses looking at you and sits up quickly again.

“oh, and you can call me mrs jang.”

she gives you a teethy smile. realizing she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself you let out an oh and tell her who you are and she grabs your hands into hers and rubs circles into them.

“oh that name is so pretty. a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

her son yong-sik slaps her shoulder and then they start arguing. you just sit there happy to have the company before you look to your right and see subong on the other side staring at you. you quickly look away and look down at your legs, biting your lip.

“yo, who’s that girl? you were arguing with her earlier. she’s smoking.”

he keeps staring before snapping his head back at nam-gyu.

“you are right, she is smoking hot.”

he pauses.

“well you see nam-su—”

“nam-gyu…”

“right right, nam-gyu, anyways, that’s my girl over there, okay? she just playin’ hard to get right now is all’,”

nam-gyu raises his eyebrows, getting an idea.

“soo, you gonna let me have a turn with that, right?”

thanos slaps his arm.

“nah bro, i normally share but that, ive had dibs on her for at least two years.”

he slaps nam-gyus arm again and then grabs it, causing nam-gyu to let out an ‘ow bro’,

“don’t worry bro! i’m sure we can find ya a bitch in here though! keep your mind busy and dick wet and we’re sure to win this whole thing.”

he slaps his arm one last time before nam-gyu slaps him back, thanos just laughing before slowly going back to watching you. trying to figure out how he should go about this. deciding that he’d just wait until everyone was asleep to talk to you again.

night time comes around and you had to piss. this fucking sucked. you had none of your pain killers, and you were about to crawl into a ball and start ripping your skin off from the pain you were in. but right now just focus on pissing. just focus on pissing you thought. you get up slowly, clutching your stomach before walking up to the door to the bathroom, knocking on it, waiting for someone to answer. finally the window slides open and you’re met with a triangle looking at you, or at least you think he, it? is looking at you.

“uhm, excuse me, i need to use the washroom.”

“players may not leave this room past your given curfew.”

the window to the door shuts. you take a deep breath, not willing to cause a scene and just about walk away before a guy walks up behind you and starts making a scene for you. that guy being su-bong.

“hey, me and my girl are tryna fuck, if you want we can do it right in the middle of this fucking room!”

it doesn’t work and the door doesn’t open.

“im not a girl! i have a penis and i know how to fucking aim. the next time you open this door it’s gonna be fucking yellow instead of pink i promise you that! i gotta heavy ass piss stream i been holdin’ and i can let out all over this door!”

you slap him, asking him what he was doing and that he was being crazy. but if you were being honest you were trying to stiffle a laugh. he always was funny, and in your relationship he always knew how to make you laugh. you’re pulled out of your thoughts when somehow what he said actually worked and they opened the door for you both. you make your way to the bathrooms and it’s silent the whole time. he was thinking of what to say to you. a million things running through his mind. you make it to the two bathrooms and you go and open the women’s bathroom door before it feels ten time lighter and you see subong holding the door open for you. giving you a cheeky grin. you just look at him before making your way into the bathroom and the door closing behind you. you hadn’t even noticed that you were holding your breath before you breathe out and realized your lungs were burning.

“i really have missed you, you know?”

you snap your head around and see that he had followed you into the bathroom and you call him a perv, yelling at him to get out.

“hey! i’m not here to fuck alright. i mean, unless you’re down then babe, let’s get it fucking going.”

he claps his hands together and you give him a disgusted look before going into one of the bathroom stalls and slamming the door shut so you could finally piss. but when you were done actually doing your business, you just sat there with your face in your hands. he was stressing you out, this baby was stressing you out, and this place was stressing you out and you were on the verge of a breakdown.

“i’m not coming out until you’re gone.”

you see his feet right under the bathroom stall door you were in and groan. hearing the door creak a little, assuming he was leaning against it, which he was.

“baby, please. i just want us again. i’ve missed you so much, you’ve been the only thing on my mind since you left.”

you started to tune him out and started rubbing your face in your hands even more, feeling your eyes start to water, your breath getting caught in your throat, your sniffing starting to become louder before one of your sobs slips and he hears it. asking if you were okay and you just ignore him, covering your mouth with your hand, continuing to cry.

“please let me in.”

you take a deep breath and slightly get up to unlock the door before sitting back down on the toilet seat, face still in your hands. he crouches down to you and cups your face in his hands before he pulls you in for a hug and starts rubbing circles into your back. your sobs getting louder as you burry your face into his bloody jacket, but you really weren’t thinking about that. god thinking of when you two were like this made you start to regret the past, yearn for a future with you two, and hate the present situation you were in. still crying into his jacket as he continues to try to soothe you with his touch. he pulls away after awhile and pushes your tears away with his thumb. his heart crumbling as he sees your teary orbs looking him in the eyes. you’d cried to him before when you were together, and he had comforted you many times before, but never had he seen you this distraught. he hooks his arm under your shoulder and lifts you to standing and he moves you out of the bathroom stall. you wipe your tears away, mumbling a sorry, avoiding all eye contact with him, looking at the ground.

“baby, look at me.”

your eyes look around at the ground before you slowly move your head up to look at him, a small pout on your lips. biting them from the nerves. it was a bad habit you’d never gotten rid of, you’ve had it since he’s met you. he looks at you, almost looking through your eyes. he places one hand on your arm, and grabs your right hand in his right hand, the matching tattoos clashing together.

“please, give me another chance. we’ll figure out the money, work, all of it.”

he pauses and looks down at your stomach. moving the hand that was on your arm to hold your stomach. looking up at you for confirmation that he could and you give him a small nod before he rubs the side of your tummy.

“i just can’t believe it. you should’ve told me!”

he raises his voice and you look away. still about to completely knaw off your lip.

“i didn’t think you’d want to stay. can you blame me?”

he pauses his rubs on your stomach, other hand still in yours and moves the hand that was on your stomach to your face, making you look at him. putting his thumb on your lips, getting you to stop biting them.

“i promise i want to be there for you and for our baby.”

you take a deep breath and he rubs his thumb on your tattoos.

“i won’t leave you, i’ll be better for us, i promise baby.”

you whisper under your breath. can’t believing you were about to say what was about to come out of your mouth.

“you promise…?”

his eyes light up.

“i promise baby.”

he pulls you into a tight hug and he hears you groan, forgetting that he might’ve been putting too much pressure on your belly. he gives you an awkward smile and he takes your hand into his and holds both your guys hands up to your face, as if showing you that he was never gonna let go of you again, and you two couldn’t be separated. you give him a light smile before letting go of his hand and he gives you a look of confusion.

“what? you never gave me the chance to wash my hands.”

[lightseoul]

CASUAL CASUALTIES (10.6k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. what was meant to be an innocent trip down to the bridge becomes a national sensation when you get outed as #15 pro-hero dynamight's soulmate on live tv. inconvenient, yes, very much so—but it's not like you have to do something about it. but then the bakugou katsuki himself seeks you out, and you find yourself getting into a whole lot of trouble. inspired by @/andypantsx3's fingerprints. (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-timeskip/ch 431, soulmate!au, lots of cursing, reader is ill, depictions of mental illness (mentions of depressive themes and suicidality), mentions of death, nsfw/mature themes, minor manga spoilers

a/n. here it is, y'all! while i know the word count and tags are quite daunting, i really hope you give this fic a chance because i'm extremely proud of this one, which i haven't felt about my writing in a while. if you do end up reading it, thank you and i sincerely hope you enjoy it <3

to be fair, you were just…weighing your options.

taking a short trip down to shizuoka’s famous ayumi bridge wasn’t part of your itinerary for the day, not that you’ve been having exceptionally busy itineraries for who knows how long. it was a spur-of-the-moment decision that you periodically second-guessed on the way there, the vivid picture of your unmade but comfortable bed weighing heavily in your mind.

still, and despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the need for fresh air, nor the relief that filled your renewed albeit fatigued lungs as you finally arrived at your destination.

from where you are now standing with your arms folded on top of the relatively short railings, you look past the barricade and down onto the cloudy river below you.

it was an innocent gesture—one borne out of curiosity minus most of the morbidity—but it apparently wasn’t innocent enough, because one moment you were studying the ripples in the distant water, and the next, you’re violently yanked from behind.

you let out an unintentional ‘oof’ as you stumble backward, your body helplessly tugged alongside the blouse that you vaguely register as the thing that’s being pulled back. you probably stagger a few feet away from the edge of the bridge, before unceremoniously falling on your butt.

and as if out of nowhere, pro-hero dynamight emerges right in front of you.

“are you crazy?” he spits out, frenzied. “do you have a fucking death wish?”

you blink. “i—”

he throws his arms up in what you think is defeat, cutting you off, although he’s looking more pissed than resigned. “fucking menaces,” he mumbles loudly under his breath.

a surge of indignation instantly shoots through you, and you open your mouth to spit something back at him, but you don’t get the chance to, because he holds out his hand.

robbed of all words, and quite frankly, barely registering what’s happening, the best you can do is blink at him. again.

his eyebrows furrow, irritation surely bubbling in his veins. his hand stays put, though. “what are you waiting for? get up.”

you hesitate, eyes drifting from his face and down to his hand. unlike his gloved left, his right is bare, and riddled with a plethora of scars. you didn’t know about that, at least from his pictures on tv and social media, unlike the one on his face that is constantly broadcasted for everyone else to see.

you don’t dwell on it further, though, deciding then and there that you want to go home right the fuck now.

you quickly take his hand and help him by pulling yourself up. once you’re upright, you’re just as quick to let go, opting to brush off the dirt stuck to your clothes.

“thanks,” you start, forcing yourself to meet his piercing gaze that’s indubitably boring holes into your face. “…i guess.”

“you guess?” he spews, incredulous, before shaking his head. “never fucking mind.”

“dynamight!”

startled, you whip to look at the source of the voice, and your eyes comically widen when they land on a group of people who look suspiciously like the media. and right behind them are a few police cars dotted with several police officers.

you turn to face bakugou, about to clarify with him if he knows what they’re doing here, but he’s already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched on his face.

“what?” you can’t help but ask.

he sighs, cocking his head toward the closely approaching herd. “get ready.”

“dynamight!” the woman decked out in a blazer and pencil skirt exclaims, completely oblivious to the concept of personal space as she thrusts her microphone into bakugou’s face. you feel yourself shrink from where you stand slightly to his right, unsure as to whether or not you’re being filmed right now.

you hope you aren’t.

“two negotiations in a row,” she breathes out, disbelieving. “how did you do it?”

negotiations?

“what kind of stupid question is that?” he barks out. “i simply was in the right place at the right time with the first one.”

“oh, you’re too humble!” she quips, signaling the cameraman to steady his shot of the pro-hero’s face. “we came as soon as we could when we heard about what was going down here.”

“yeah, and you could’ve caused the situation to escalate even further than it already did,” he retorts without missing a beat. the reporter’s face falls. bakugou takes that as a sign to go on.

“you’re lucky i arrived and intervened when i did. and how did none of you dipshits think to call the fucking police?”

“i—”

“you’re all too preoccupied with getting your next scoop that you lost your fucking grip on reality and failed to help,” the pro-hero chastises.

he pauses for a second, and you’re about to think he’s finally done with his spiel for the woman’s sake when he glances at you, looking like he’s got something more to say.

and as you find out in the next, excruciating seconds, he definitely has.

the man shoots his arm up, his thumb sticking out, pointing conveniently at you.

“case in point,” he states. “we could’ve had a casualty.”

you gawk at him.

a what?

“i’m sorry,” you start, turning to face the ash-blonde, acutely aware of the inquisitive eyes peering at you, “i think you’re misunderstanding. i wasn’t going to jum—”

“oh my god.”

miffed, you turn again to look at the woman, but now her countenance has gone all pale, looking like she just saw a poltergeist. seemingly speechless, she doesn’t try to get a word out, but what she does is point at bakugou’s wrist.

the man beside you shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “the fuck are you—”

whatever bite the pro-hero was about to unleash on the reporter gets stuck in his throat when he flips his hand and freezes.

and when you see the familiar-looking timer written on his wrist that reads 00:02:57, you stiffen.

it can’t be.

still, you’ve got to make sure.

and so with bated breath, you slowly lift your right hand, turning it with the palm facing up.

and sure enough, your timer—the one that’s been at zero your entire life—reads just a few seconds after bakugou’s.

he thinks he’s fucking spiderman.

you mentally roll your eyes as you replay the clip of bakugou that went viral a few days ago.

you were able to put two and two together on the way home from the bridge, your conjecture proven correct when you got home and checked your social media accounts, which were crawling with articles and posts about the jumper who the #15th pro-hero dynamight was able to talk down.

he was a middle-aged man who apparently lost custody of his only son in light of his divorce, and couldn’t find a way out of the agony apart from death.

you couldn’t get a good view of his face, since the shots were all focused on bakugou taking his glove off to reach out to the guy, but you figure that’s a good thing. the man’s already fucking suicidal—the last thing he needs is for his privacy to be breached.

you can only laugh at the irony as you parse through your notifications, because lo and behold—they’ve already found you out.

because of course! what story sells better than a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper?

a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper who also happens to be his fucking soulmate.

nevermind the fact that you weren’t actually planning to jump that day.

“excuse me?”

you look up from your phone to find a teenage girl peering at you timidly from across the counter.

you tuck the device in your pocket and put on your most cordial smile. “hi! how can i help you?”

she puts what seems to be a fantasy duology on top of the surface between the two of you, before shooting you a shy smile back. “just these two, please.”

you peek at the titles and immediately light up. “great choice! my friend loves these.”

she lets out a delighted sound as you ring up her purchase, and you make small talk as you take her card and pack her books in a brown paper bag.

“have fun reading!” you say as she accepts the package from you, mouthing a quick thanks.

you watch the girl exit the bookstore with a grin you didn’t know you had on your face, which you only catch wind of when you shift your attention back to the next person in line.

because one sight of them has it wiped off your mouth in an instant.

even if they’re decked out in the most unhelpful disguise of a baseball cap, hoodie, and face mask.

still, two can play at this game. and quite frankly, you’re up for roleplaying rather than having a confrontation anyway, with this ridiculous get-up he has on.

and so with the most friendly tone you can muster, you ask: “how can i help you?”

even behind his whole guise, you can see the darkening of his gaze when you put forth the question. “are you serious?”

you tilt your head to the side in fake innocence. “what do you mean, sir? you’re at the counter at a bookstore…”

apparently, that’s enough to rile up the great explosion murder god dynamight, because he angrily tugs his mask down before bobbing his head as if saying ‘seriously’?

you pretend you’re just figuring it out, going the extra mile by letting your mouth form the shape of a small ‘o’, but you can tell he’s not buying it. he glares at you, and you’re smart enough to know it’s a warning, so you cut it out despite yourself.

“the question’s still the same, by the way,” you offer when he doesn’t say anything. “how can i help you?”

his eyebrows furrow. “are you always this fucking nonchalant?”

no, you answer in your head, but he doesn’t need to know that it’s less nonchalance and more apathy. you shrug, “it's either that or panic about the whole situation.”

this time, his eyebrows shoot up. “so you’re not frazzled? like, at all?”

you stop yourself from rolling your eyes just in time. “of course, i am. kind of—at least. the last thing i need is to be scrutinized by the public.”

“that one’s on you, showing up at the same bridge as that jumper.”

you bristle. “i told you, i wasn’t going to jump!”

only belatedly do you realize that you just said that last bit quite loudly, and you hurriedly scan the room to see a few curious faces have glanced your way. you bow slightly in apology, before turning back to regard the pro-hero.

he huffs. “let’s say you weren’t. it doesn’t matter, because we still made contact and now the news is out.”

“so? i don’t see how we have to do anything about it.”

“believe me, i agree.”

you laugh. “wow, who knew the dynamight doesn’t want a soulmate, let alone meet and be tethered to one?”

“laugh all you want, dumbass,” comes bakugou’s reply. “but what i’m about to say is not a laughing matter.”

“do pray tell.”

“fucking—” he starts, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. once he’s expelled that air, he fixes his gaze on you. you subconsciously straighten up.

“i need you to put up appearances with me.”

you squint at him. “huh?”

he presses his lips in a tight line. “i’m dropping in the rankings, and i’ll drop even further if i don’t—”

“i don’t see how any of this is my business.”

“—if i don’t do anything palatable about the situation,” he presses on. “it’s costing me and my agency, as much as i fucking hate to admit it.”

you only stare at him, letting the gears in your head turn in light of the newfound information. and when you don’t say anything, bakugou finishes.

“it’ll only be for a while.”

pft.

a while?

you hesitate. of course, you would. there’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with the pro-hero, especially not now nor in the near, foreseeable future. in fact, you don’t even want to think about how he found out this is where you worked part-time. and you know there’s more where that came from.

you shake your head, “i’m sorry, but there’s no way i can—”

“i’ll pay you.”

you whip to look at him, shocked. “what?”

“you need the money, right?” he asks, and you hate how he’s right. “pr is offering an amount.”

you gulp, hating even more how you’re actually considering this. “how much are we talking about?”

he tells you. you barely catch your jaw from dropping to the floor.

with that amount, you’ll have the luxury of quitting this minimum wage job that you’ve barely been able to keep doing and then some. you’ll be set on your monthly expenses for a couple of months, and maybe even have enough to splurge on the few things that you’ve been wanting to get for yourself but haven’t had the means to.

and all that just by pretending for one to two months, tops?

your name and face are already common knowledge, anyway. there shouldn’t even be a debate.

you stick your right hand out, the one with the ticking timer on your wrist, for him to shake. he extends his, and the sight of the matching numbers sends an unidentifiable sensation down your spine. you try to ignore it.

and just like that, you shake on it, and the deal is on.

besides, you’ve got nothing to lose, anyway.

you push the glass door open, mindful of not adding any more handprints on the already marked surface. the wind chimes you didn’t know were hanging above it from the inside resonate as you enter, and you find yourself suddenly grateful that you at least managed to put on a bit of makeup for today. a few people seated near the entrance glance to look at you, which is probably a good thing for once.

right before bakugou left the bookstore a few days ago, he suggested you exchange numbers, which you agreed to gingerly. you expected radio silence for at least a week and hoped for forever, but a text eventually came later that night, asking for your availability so he could schedule a meet-up in public.

you told him you couldn’t meet until today, probably giving off the impression that you were busy with something, when in reality you were just tired and needed the time to process what was about to happen.

which brings you to now, standing at the doorway of a hip café in the heart of musutafu, scanning the faces for vermillion daggers he has for eyes.

it takes you a second, what with the afternoon crowd slowly encroaching on the establishment and filling up the tables, but you eventually locate him, with the help of the scarred hand he raises to get your attention.

“hey,” you greet when you reach his spot near the back, and he nods at you in acknowledgment. taking a seat across from him, you make it a point to study your position. “are you sure you want to sit here?”

he raises an eyebrow, which you can now see clearly without the shadow of the cap from before. “what, this table not up to your standard?”

exasperation shoots through you, as it always does, but you shake it off. instead, you toss him a tight-lipped smile. “no, it’s just that people might not see us back here. which, you know, kind of defeats the purpose?”

he doesn’t say anything for a beat, gaze fixated on you, before he breaks eye contact and shakes his head. “don’t worry,” he offers. “calculated move. we’re still gonna be spotted, trust me.”

you nod…slowly. you guess that makes sense. if you seat yourselves smack dab at the center, it may come off as the both of you seeking attention, consequently undermining the authenticity of your whole charade. a real high-profile couple would want to keep it low-key.

you snort at what you just called the two of you.

“what?” bakugou asks, defensiveness bleeding into his tone. you look up at him, and you take a second to study his appearance. he ditched the cap and hoodie, only sporting a black shirt and what you think are loose joggers and sneakers.

and with his infamously unruly hair trimmed?

well. you hate to admit it, but he actually looks…nice.

you smile at him, genuinely this time. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes at you, like he thinks you’re lying out of your ass, but he lets it go. luckily enough, and as if on cue, the waiter arrives to give you the menu and complementary water, and bakugou orders iced tea while you request your go-to drink. you thank the guy before he dashes off to tend to other customers.

“so,” you start when silence falls upon the two of you. “how exactly are we going to do this?”

he picks up his glass. “do what?”

“you know, pretend?” you gesture vaguely with your hands. “do we have to do pda or something?”

you didn’t plan to cause it, but regardless, bakugou chokes on the ice-cold water he was just in the middle of drinking. you reach out to—what, rub his back?—but he holds his hand up to stop you as he coughs his lungs out. you sit back down, and you watch him as he gathers his bearings, wiping the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes.

“sorry,” you supply, “great job, though. you just announced our presence to everybody.”

at that, bakugou snorts, and you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of you. he shakes his head, “dumbass.”

“but no,” he continues, back to being serious, “well, at least for now. as far as pr is concerned, we just have to be seen together until the whole thing dies out and the volatility of my ranking dissipates.”

“okay. that clicks, i guess.”

“you’re still up for it, then?”

now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at him. “we shook on it, didn’t we? i’m a woman of my word, bakugou.”

“well—”

“and for the last time, i wasn’t going to jump.”

that makes him bark out a laugh so loud that it startles you. grinning, he waves you off. “yeah, yeah. don’t need to get all worked up, princess.”

blazing right past that cursed nickname—you’d first go through hell and high water before you let yourself be flustered in front of this man—you shoot him an expectant look. “well?”

“well, what?”

“are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other for two, three hours? we’ll have to do something, smartass.”

if bakugou is anywhere near bothered by your nickname for him, he doesn’t let it show. instead, he takes the bait. “whaddya have in mind?”

“we can play a conversation game. the one that has prompts?” you fish out your phone from your bag, and you quickly thumb through your apps until you find the one. you click on the button that says ‘play’ and place the gadget at the center of the table.

“there,” you point. “i ask a question and you answer. then we switch and so on and so forth.”

he examines the screen. “sounds lame.”

you scoff. “lamer than sitting and waiting?”

he doesn’t answer for a few seconds, until he finally sighs and nods at you, shifting in his seat as if bracing himself for what’s to come.

“i can go first,” you volunteer, straining to look at the words on display. you cringe when you read them. “do you think i was popular in high school?”

“seriously?” he snickers, and you shrug.

he doesn’t even take a moment to think about it. “well, you work in a bookstore, so no.”

“fair enough. your turn,” you swipe on the screen and turn it 180 degrees so he can see it.

you laugh when his face contorts as he finishes scanning the question. his eyes dart up to glare at you. “who came up with this stupid ass game?”

“just read the question, bakugou.”

he splutters for a beat, ultimately relenting, seething the words through his teeth. “when it comes to relationships, do you think i’m looking for something casual?”

you’re pretty sure you know what the answer is, but you still squint at the man to mess with him.

“are you fucking with me?” he grits out, bug-eyed. “does it fucking look like i’m capable of being casual about anything at all?”

you can’t help it—you throw your head back and laugh.

“stop laughing at me, dumbass.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to quell your mirth, but you burst out laughing again when you catch a glimpse of his reddening face.

“hey—”

“sorry, sorry—it was just—your face—”

“i get it, now quit it.”

eventually, but not immediately, you do. to your relief, bakugou doesn’t forfeit like a sore loser after that round, instead choosing to press on and find an equally incriminating question for you. you bounce off of each other, mainly talking about your respective pasts, like your education, families, and upbringing, although staying considerate enough not to overstep and pry on confidential information.

there were quite a few questions directed towards the present—what you’re currently doing, any nearing plans, current events—and you were okay enough to answer them with minimal detail. the future-oriented ones, though, you barely manage to skirt around and not respond to. you noticed bakugou looking at you a little too closely during those instances, but you feigned indifference.

that’s all you could do, really.

even then, and without you noticing, the hours pass by, and by the time you actually look past the prompts and up to your phone’s clock, it’s already 5:05 pm, a good four hours past your agreed-upon meeting time.

when you glance back up at bakugou, his face reads the same—mild shock at the fact that you were too engrossed in your conversation to notice the sky getting dark and the streetlights illuminating the walkways beyond the coffee shop’s glass walls turning on one by one.

“sorry,” you say as you swiftly take your phone and lock the screen. “i didn’t mean to keep you.”

“no,” he counters, pocketing his own. “i didn’t notice, either.”

you smile at him as you put on your bag. “still think it’s lame?”

“yes,” he promptly replies, a smirk now decorating his sharp features. “but i had fun, or whatever the fuck.”

and for the nth time that afternoon, you laugh.

he texts you first that night, to your surprise.

(8:38 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. for coming out today.

from where you were sprawled lazily on your mattress, hair still wet from that shower you almost didn’t take, you thumb out a response.

(8:39 pm) you: no problem, boss 🫡

you press send before you can overthink things. instead, you let the warm feeling of someone else’s gratitude bloom in your chest and bask in it. that doesn’t get to happen for too long, though, because another message arrives.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: don’t call me that. by the way, did you see the news?

you feel your brows crease.

(8:40 pm) you: what news?

ping.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: bakugou katsuki sent you a link

you immediately click on the string of words, and you’re redirected to an article. it takes a while to load—the internet is sometimes spotty at your modest condominium unit—but when it does, your jaw drops.

because right at the center of which is an image of you and bakugou at the café.

“holy shit.”

before anything else, you zoom in on your face, because priorities, right? you stare at the bunch of pixels for a good few minutes, before ultimately deciding there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. besides, it’s not like this was the first glimpse the public has had of your appearance. despite yourself, you check bakugou’s, and of course, the man looks like he just came straight out of a magazine shoot.

you then read the title, which must’ve been written in haste in an attempt to get ahead of a random netizen going viral. soulmates spotted: pro-hero dynamight seen with the girl from the bridge.

well.

at least they’re not calling you a jumper.

still.

(8:44 pm) you: seriously? girl from the bridge?

another ping.

(8:44 pm) bakugou katsuki: still at the fucking headline? hurry to the end, dumbass.

you roll your eyes, mainly because you can—perks of living alone and all. skimming through the sentences, you mouth the words to yourself—a rehash about who you are, the contact from a few days ago, eyewitnesses and accounts from today—until you land on the thing you think bakugou’s been trying to highlight.

in light of recent events, bakugou katsuki, who recently dropped several spots due to unfavorable encounters with citizens, has risen in the charts to #13.

you beam.

you and bakugou hang out a couple more times over the course of the next few weeks.

your get-togethers mainly depend on his schedule—which you gawked at how hectic it was when he first described it to you—even more now that you’re officially unemployed. your contractual obligation at the bookstore ended just in time as your first paycheck from the dynamight agency arrived, and you took the impeccable timing as the universe’s way of telling you to quit so you could instead spend your time freely on hobbies that you haven’t had the energy for.

on the days that you do meet, though, you end up dedicating a huge chunk of your waking hours to the endeavor. it’s like that meme of a google calendar, with the get ready for meeting, meeting, and recover from meeting blocks taking up the entire 9 to 5.

this was definitely the case for your fourth rendezvous, which you spent at a park near the bridge where you first met. he didn’t give you any details, so you walked into it blindly with a full face of makeup, hair done, and a tote bag full of finger food and some beverages in tow. needless to say, you were surprised when you arrived to the bakugou katsuki on a plaid orange picnic blanket, with what looked like handmade sandwiches displayed for hungry onlookers to see.

“don’t start,” he preempts when he sees you eyeing the snacks as you sit down.

you blink at him innocently, a smile tugging at your lips. “i wasn’t going to.”

he frowns. “quit grinning, would you? i just thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air.”

nodding solemnly, you bring out your share of rations. “sure.”

you brace yourself for any snide remark about your pitiful food—at least, as compared to his handcrafted ones—but they don’t come. instead, what you get is a side eye, before: “why’d you look like you’re going to an event, or some shit?”

you whip to face him. “huh?”

he gestures to your face.

“oh, this? i just don’t want to look ugly in the photos, is all.”

“ugly?” he spews, as if the word in itself was as hideous as it meant.

“yeah,” you retort defensively, placing the cans of juice on the ground before shifting to look at him. “not that you have to worry about that.”

a pause.

“what’s that supposed to mea—”

“do you have anything you want to do?” you cut him off, changing the topic.

“i—uh—” bakugou stammers, caught off guard. “we can just talk, or something.”

you light up at that, and he scoffs when he sees. “same game?”

“why the hell not.”

he texts you again after the picnic, right as you step out of the train and onto the platform of your stop. you smile when you catch a glimpse of it.

(6:05 pm) bakugou katsuki: at #9 now. thanks.

as you walk up the stairs and onto the streets, you find yourself wondering why this whole ruse has been working like a charm, and the answer is quick to arrive.

humans love narratives, after all.

and what better way to forward the age-old, comforting, and redeeming tale of soulmates than through the prickly, explosive pro-hero they know so well?

you don’t hear from each other after that. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous just the tiniest bit—he was right, after all. you needed the money, especially after having quit your job. but you tell yourself it’s only been a couple of days, to trust that he’ll text when it’s time to make another public appearance, and that he’s way above ghosting you like you’re easily dispensible, regardless of whether or not you do feel that you are.

so, in an attempt to stop obsessing over this thing you’ve got going on with bakugou, you drag your ass out of bed and head to the nearest mall to run a few errands. you realize when you get to the supermarket that you forgot to catalog the things you actually needed to buy, cursing yourself when you do. still, you try your best to get on with it, relying instead on your hazy memory of what needs replenishing.

a good thirty minutes later, and with your grocery–filled tote bags hanging from your shoulders, you trek towards the pharmacy and fall in line. as always, there’s a long queue, but you eventually reach your turn, promptly buying your necessary meds and hightailing it out of there.

you consider booking a taxi instead of commuting home when you eventually feel the strain of the weight on your shoulders, but decide against it. the temperature is pretty decent anyway, you think to yourself as you walk and relish in the cloudy yet slightly windy weather. you study the buildings that you pass by, partly to distract yourself from how your bags are getting heavier and heavier by the minute, when your eyes land on a particular complex and you stop.

it’s either you’re going crazy, or you’ve been passing by the dynamight agency a million times and you never noticed.

you stand there for what feels like an eternity, peering at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and letting the internal tug-of-war play out inside your head, until you ultimately let the curiosity win. slowly and with caution, you take a few steps towards the entrance. you honest-to-god weren’t planning on stepping foot inside the establishment, but apparently, the equally glass doors are automatic.

you falter for a moment, eyes wide as saucers like a deer caught in the headlights as the “gates” slide open for you, before making the split-second decision to enter. it was either that or look stupid in front of everyone in the lobby who’s now staring at you, anyway.

luckily, you don’t get to stand there—awkward as shit—for a second longer because one of the receptionists hurries over to where you’re positioned.

the lady beams at you. “good afternoon—”

“hi,” you supply, “i was just—”

“y/n, right?”

crap. “uh, yes.”

her grin widens. “you’re just in time! bakugou-san just clocked out.”

“oh, i wasn’t—”

“y/n?”

the two of you whip to look at the back of the large room, and sure enough, the owner of the increasingly familiar gruff voice is looking right at you, just as shocked at you being here as you are.

you can only watch him—in all his regularly clothed, duffel bag-carrying glory—as he briskly walks towards where you are.

a waft of his heady perfume hits you just as he arrives at your side. “what are you doing here?”

what the fuck are you supposed to say? “i, uh—”

“she must’ve come to visit you, sir,” the receptionist pipes up chirpily.

at that, bakugou regards her with a look—one that says, do you mind? and you guess he must use that a lot around here, because she snaps her mouth closed in an instant, and bows before retreating to her spot behind the counter.

you keep your eyes trained on the woman as she scurries, wishing the ground would swallow you up before you’re forced to look at the pro-hero. but then he says your name again, and your head creaks to face him as if it’s got a mind of its own, its automaticity akin to that of vines winding to get the smallest peek at the sun.

“well?” he demands, brow raised in waiting.

“i was just going home and noticed your building was on the way,” you answer truthfully, a tad bit embarrassed. you shouldn’t have stopped and let your curiosity get the better of you.

he studies you for a second longer before his gaze drops to the things you’re carrying. “you were walking home? with those?”

“yeah…” you respond, voice small. “don’t worry, they’re not that heavy,” you lie.

and before he can call you out on your deceit, you throw the question back at him. “how ‘bout you?”

the second it tumbles off your lips, you knew it was fucking stupid.

“…i work here?”

there it is. in a last-ditch effort to save face, you let out a laugh, although it comes out a bit stilted. he narrows his eyes at you, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was amused.

“let me drive you home,” he offers out of the blue, you almost choke.

“what? no, i’m okay.”

“your shoulders are about to give out,” he says pointedly. “don’t be fucking stubborn.”

“seriously, i’m alright,” you insist, and he sighs. you turn it right back at him, “don’t you have somewhere to be? you’re actually leaving early for once.”

and strangely enough, he is. from the few weeks of knowing knowing him, you’ve learned that the man puts in overtime almost every single day, which has been one of the reasons why your hangouts were always scheduled on the weekends.

“‘m visiting my parents,” comes his curt reply.

you beam at him. it’s funny how picturing this hulking brute of a man as his parents’ son makes you feel warm. “that’s so nice of you.”

“‘s nothing,” he dismisses, before: “they’ve been asking about you, you know.”

“me?” you repeat lamely. “what about me?”

he shrugs. “just basic information about you, how we’re doing, and all that crap…”

and when you don’t say anything, he just goes straight for it. “they want you to visit.”

you gape at him.

“but don’t be pressured, and shit,” he backtracks. “i know that’s a tall order.”

huh.

“…i’ll think about it,” you eventually offer with a nod. and you will—later. when you’ve got your wits about you. but for now, you hastily go through your bags and pick out the thing.

“here,” you say, just as you thrust the small bouquet of orange tulips toward him. “give these to your mom. or dad. or both, really.”

his eyes dart between you and the flowers and then back at you again. great, you think to yourself. you’ve successfully rendered the man speechless.

“take it,” you assert after a moment. “they’re better off in you guys’ hands, anyway.”

he examines them for another while, before he finally takes them off your hands.

“thanks.”

you only smile at him. to your pleasant surprise, he flashes a small one back.

(9:06 pm) bakugou katsuki: i’d tell you to check the news but i know it’ll take you a century. i’m at 6th now.

the drowsiness that was just clouding your brain wards off like smoke that’s being fanned away. you sit up on your couch, rubbing your eyes with one hand while you type out a response with the other.

(9:07 pm) you: ha. and congrats!!! that’s great to hear 🥳

you barely get to adjust your butt’s position when a notification pops in.

(9:07 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. and my parents loved it, just so you know. the old hag especially.

you smile. another message.

(9:08 pm) bakugou katsuki: she wants you to come over for dinner this weekend.

your face falls. shit. you didn’t see this coming.

(9:09 pm) you: so soon?

your default ringtone resounds across your one-bedroom unit.

(9:09 pm) bakugou katsuki: she’s in a rush. say no if you don’t want to.

you pause, suddenly acutely aware of the guilt that’s stewing in the pit of your stomach. is deceiving his parents necessary, when all you need is to put on an act for the general public? still, bakugou did say his mother was in a rush. maybe he just got sick of her insistent nagging.

you take a sharp inhale.

(9:12 pm) you: i’m down 🫡

and just because there’s nothing more fun than pulling at his leg:

(9:12 pm) you: …granted i’ll get paid for it 😊

ping.

(9:13 pm) bakugou katsuki: you and your greedy ass. fine.

“and so that’s how i got masaru here to say yes to a date!”

you laugh as mitsuki loops an arm around the shoulder of the brunette sitting beside her, who only chuckles to himself, a faint pink sitting high on his cheeks. you chance a glance at bakugou, and sure enough, he’s rolling his eyes at his mother’s finishing line.

“what?” he quips defensively when you toss him a pointed look. “i’ve heard this story a million times.”

“and you’re gonna hear it again, tsuki,” mitsuki replies unapologetically.

bakugou only groans as you smile at the couple from across the table. “i think that was an excellent story, mitsuki-san.”

“thank you, y/n. but enough about us!” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and you feel your stomach drop. “how ‘bout you two, huh? what’s the deal?”

“the deal is you’re being nosy as fuck,” comes bakugou’s snappy retort.

“come on, katsuki,” masaru implores, a playful lilt in his tone. “we’d love to hear about how things are going between the two of you.”

“is the press being all up in your ass?” mitsuki demands, “because i can tell them to fuck off if you need me to.”

“sure, if you want to fucking embarrass me.”

“you know what, i’d actually love to do that.”

“fucking hag—”

you worriedly watch the two ash blondes as they go at each other’s throats, before you look at masaru for help. he only shoots you a meek albeit unalarmed expression, which is enough to tell you this isn’t an uncommon occurrence in the bakugou household. thankfully, though, they calm down after a beat, opting to glare daggers at each other instead.

“to answer your question, mitsuki-san,” you take the gamble and interject, and everybody whips to look at you, “they’re being quite harmless. you know, minus all the circulating information about my life.”

at that, mitsuki’s joyful countenance morphs into one of sorriness. “i’m afraid that’s part of having a soulmate with a high profile, dear. it doesn’t help that you were being filmed when you both found out.”

“yeah, well, there’s not much we can do about it,” you offer with a genuine smile.

“is that why you’re just leaning into it?” asks masaru. “hanging out in public and all?”

“uh—”

“obviously,” bakugou cuts you off. you turn to look at him, stunned, before shifting back to face the couple.

“uh, yes,” you continue, “we figured there wasn’t any point in hiding anymore.”

that seems to perk mitsuki up. “hide what, tsuki?”

and when neither of you says anything: “are you trying to tell us something?”

you sneak a glance at bakugou, only to find him already looking at you. you stare at each other for what feels like a minute short of forever, before he breaks eye contact and cooly says the next thing.

says the next thing while simultaneously pulling the rug from under your feet.

“we’re dating,” he declares, and you sit there, witnessing his parents’ eyes bug out in surprise, hoping yours aren’t betraying the very same emotion you’re feeling right now.

“really?”

“oh my god! since when?”

bakugou huffs, practically exuding annoyance. “yes, and just recently. end of discussion.”

masaru laughs in delight while mitsuki pouts, although you can tell she’s fighting off a grin.

“and here we thought you were gonna die alone, tsuki,” masaru jokes.

“shitty fucking—”

“no, but seriously,” interrupts mitsuki, “i was getting nervous, katsuki. what with my diagnosis, i thought i’d never get to see you be happy with someone.”

you pause, looking at the man beside you. “diagnosis?”

“oh! he didn’t tell you?” mitsuki queries, tone laced with worry. “i don’t mean to be a party pooper, but i just got diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer a few months ago.”

shit. “i’m so sorry, mitsuki-san—”

the woman waves you off, a beautiful smile adorning her familiar features. “don’t be, dear. the doctor says the outlook is good as long as i strictly adhere to treatment.”

despite that, you can’t help but frown. “how are you feeling these days?”

“i’m good!” she supplies cheerfully. “masaru and i have been spending more quality time together, and katsuki’s been visiting more often. and of course, you being here is an added bonus.”

you toss the woman a grateful look, which she returns generously. mitsuki talks some more about it before shifting the conversation back to less depressing territories, like what bakugou was like growing up and her and masaru’s plans for retirement. eventually, minutes turned into a few hours, and came the time to go home. you profusely thank the couple as you begin to head outside, while bakugou steps out to his porsche to get the engine started.

“i’ll be hoping for your speedy recovery, mitsuki-san,” you say as you step out onto their front porch.

“thanks, dear. and i’ll be hoping that things go well between you and katsuki, okay?”

you force a smile on your face and the words out of your mouth. “i hope so, too.”

the air is tense between you and bakugou as you step out of his car at your complex’s parking lot, then through the doors at the guarded entrance, and even during the elevator ride up to your floor.

neither of you says a word the entire time, sharing only a few nods and glances with you leading the way. you were fully expecting him to just drive off the second you got out of his pristine vehicle, but he ended up exiting with you and following your trail like a shadow.

thankfully, not many people are still around to see you in the lobby or on your floor, even if it’s still 9-ish on a saturday. you both were all for being spotted together, but maybe being seen at either of your residences will cause more trouble than help. you are about to say this to break the ice when you arrive at the end of the hallway and in front of your unit, but bakugou beats you to it.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

you freeze, blinking at him. “didn’t tell me what?”

he sighs, and suddenly the lines that you were convinced weren’t on his face a second ago are now evident—along with the exhaustion that’s carved right into it. “that my mom has cancer.”

you frown. “there’s nothing to apologize for, bakugou. you’re not obligated to tell me.”

“still,” he insists, seemingly growing more tired by the moment. “it blindsided you, hearing it from her. i should’ve just told you earlier.”

“maybe,” you admit, “but i understand your apprehension.”

he grumbles, but doesn’t reply. you decide to just go for it.

“can i ask you something?”

he looks up from where he was staring at the off-white tiled floor, expectant. “what?”

“is she part of the reason?” you begin, treading carefully. “why you wanted to put up appearances?”

he stares at you for a beat, perhaps a beat too long because you find yourself slowly regretting bringing up the query in the first place. you are about to backtrack and apologize for asking when, to your surprise, he nods.

ever so slightly that it’s almost imperceptible, but enough of a motion for you to see it.

“i just wanted to seem like i’m putting myself out there,” he mutters, “just in case something happens.”

you nod, ignoring the way your heart is stinging at his sincerity just now.

“she’s always been on my ass about finding someone, but then things happened and you showed up, and i figured why not just hit two birds with one stone, or some shit.”

a pause.

“personally i wouldn’t want to be the stone hitting not just one but two poor birds, but i get it.”

that must’ve caught him off guard, because bakugou snorts. you grin at him when he snickers and calls you stupid under his breath, the atmosphere taking a vastly lighter turn.

now, you didn’t notice it before—much like how you didn’t notice his agency’s building being part of your regular route to the mall—but bakugou has a dimple. a tiny one. and similar to his nod from a short while ago, it’s a subtle little thing, but it’s there—especially now that he’s smiling.

and right next to his dimple are his lips.

which are looking ungodly moisturized compared to your undoubtedly chapped ones.

wait.

your eyes shoot up from his lips to his eyes, a tidal wave of equal parts shame and humiliation ready to crash over your entire, pathetic body. but just as it is about to metaphorically collide with your frame, it freezes—just as you do.

because you catch him—and no matter how much he might try to deny it, you saw it with your own two eyes.

he was staring at your lips.

but apparently denying it isn’t part of his agenda for the night, because he does the exact fucking opposite.

he dives in and presses his lips onto yours.

and you were right—they are sinfully soft, even if you haven’t seen him apply lip balm in the handful of instances you hung out.

and as far as you can remember, this is the last coherent thought that crosses your mind, because the next few minutes go by like a blur. you vaguely recall him pulling away and looking straight at you, as if waiting for a reaction, before leaning right back in when you pull him closer by his shirt. what you don’t remember is who opens the door or how you manage to use your keys without breaking the momentum, but you magically do, just as magically as how fast clothes are shed on the way to your bed.

you recall him eagerly towering over you as your back hit the soft sheets of your mattress, as well as the honest admission of his inexperience yet willingness to learn against your neck. you remember guiding him, telling him how to touch you and the right places to do so—where to rub and lick and thrust not just his fingers to drive you over the edge.

and he does—drive you over the edge. over and over and over that you lost count. and you equally returned the favor, shocked at your own desperation and unusual determination to make him feel good. you recall his being vocal—which you loved, if the incessant wetness between your thighs that lasted the entire night was any indication. you don’t remember when you finished for the last time—when you both crashed out from sheer exhaustion.

but it eventually happened—otherwise, you wouldn’t be laying here, naked under the covers, with a sleeping bakugou illuminated by the sunlight peeking through your black-out curtains.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

the whole pretending to be amicable soulmates plan, sure. but perhaps more importantly, your short-term plan that consists of…well, today and tomorrow.

the last thing you need is to actually be tethered to a person this late in the game.

still, and despite the palpable regret that sits heavy on your chest—the one that’s very bare at the moment albeit concealed under your freshly-washed blanket—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it. besides, you don’t have anything else to blame for your behavior last night other than your own free will.

but why do you still feel so empty?

“you okay?”

ripped out of your stupor, you whip to look to your left, and you don’t know who else you were expecting, but your eyes still widen in surprise when you see a naked bakugou, slightly propped up by his two elbows that strain under his hefty weight. unable to sustain his gaze, you keep your line of vision trained on this one vein that runs along the length of his arm as you merely nod in response.

unsurprisingly, he doesn’t take that for an answer.

“i’m not asking again,” he warns, and your eyes shoot up to meet his in disbelief.

the words are out before you can rein them in. “are you always this mouthy even in the morning?”

“i’m not a morning person,” he simply spits back, as if that’s enough of an explanation in itself.

you furrow your brows at him, having half a mind to lock in on this staredown until the fluid in your eyes dries out and you finally, finally die (or go blind, whichever comes first), but then just as quickly as it possessed you with his challenge, the fight within you dies out, leaving your body limp with numbness and fatigue. you break eye contact when it happens, shaking your head in resignation.

you settle with: “it’s nothing,” and blindly hope he leaves it at that.

“‘s not nothing if it’s clearly bothering you,” he retorts to your chagrin.

“i don’t want to be embarrassingly vulnerable if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

at that, he scoffs. “we fucked. multiple times last night. it can’t get any more vulnerable than that.”

you flush at his brazenness. “yeah, well, that’s the thing. we…you know,” you lower your voice for the next bit, “had sex, and now the lines are getting blurry and it’s all confusing.”

and when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you tie your spiel with a mangled bow. “i told you it was gonna be embarrassing for me.”

that seems to rub him off the wrong way, because his nose flares in irritation. “why’re you talking like i’m some cold ass fuckboy? i told you, didn’t i? there’s nothing fucking casual about me.”

“i didn’t mean it like—”

“let me talk first,” he commands, and you shut up.

he sighs when you do, letting his head droop between his shoulders. “i don’t regret it, but if you do, then i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have made a move.”

you sit up from where you were lying down, the motion causing him to look up and at you as you shake your head, “don’t apologize, bakugou. it’s just…”

you trail off, weighing on what you can and cannot say.

“it’s just what?” he prods.

you let out a long exhale. “it’s just things are a bit…complicated, to say the least.”

that makes the pro-hero frown, but he doesn’t get to push you to expound on it because a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier quiet. you startle, then ease up when you realize it’s all might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. bakugou scrambles out of bed to fetch his phone, and you manage to look away just in time to avoid catching a glimpse of his massive dick.

which, after last night, is really just for courtesy purposes at this point.

thankfully, you don’t have to stare at the ceiling for too long because he retrieves it in record time, before hurriedly crawling back and flinging the covers on top of his lower half.

he eyes you as he brings the device up to his ear and speaks into it. “what is it, nerd?”

you strain to listen in on the voice at the other end, but you barely manage to pick up on a few words. you resort to observing bakugou’s facial expressions instead.

“cut to the chase,” he spews, and you find yourself feeling bad for the other person. “i’m busy right now.”

you watch as bakugou listens to the “nerd’s” reply, stiffening when the pro-hero curses under his breath.

“it’s next weekend? why’d you have to book it this early, then?”

was he planning to meet this person somewhere?

“shit. fine, i’ll ask her.”

you don’t even get to wonder who her is before bakugou swiftly brings his other hand up to cover the microphone, regarding you straight-up.

“shitty deku and round cheeks want to hang out next weekend,” he explains, slightly hesitant, before: “you up for that?”

you make a quick survey of bakugou’s face. can you even say no, at this point? technically, you can, but an inkling deep inside you points at your needing a distraction, because otherwise…

otherwise…

no, now’s not the time for that.

instead, you nod, forcing a smile on your lips. “i’ll go.”

bakugou stares at you for a beat, gaze borderline scrutinizing it makes you uneasy. but then he nods, and you find yourself taking a sharp breath as he goes back to his phone call.

“we’re in.”

“once again, serving time will be 15 to 20 minutes, and i’m haruhi, your server for this evening.”

you collectively thank the waitress as she beams at the four of you while serving your glasses of water, before turning around to return to the kitchen.

“this restaurant’s really hard to get into, you know,” shares midoriya when the girl is out of earshot, catching your attention. “but i heard their katsudon is really, really good, so i worked hard to get us a reservation.”

“worked hard, my ass,” sneers bakugou without missing a beat. “you pulled some strings. i recognize the owner, he’s the father of one of your top students.”

“kacchan—”

“don’t tease him, bakugou,” the brunette interjects, an adorable pout etched on her pretty face. “i was with him, he was on the phone for thirty minutes with the receptionist begging for a slot.”

“and you two are begging to be teased,” comes bakugou’s snarky quip. “quit it with the whole defending him, would ya?”

you fail to stop the smile that invades your lips as the new couple blush at bakugou’s remark, an unmistakable tinge of pink flooding both of their cheeks.

“if it’s okay to ask,” you start, tamping down the shyness that looms in when the two across you regard you pleasantly, “how long have you been dating?”

“uh, about three months, right, izuku?” uraraka replies quietly, the pink from earlier now blossoming into a more apparent red as she looks at the man.

“y-yes, three months,” confirms the greenhead.

from where he’s seated to your left, bakugou snorts. “it’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.”

“you make it sound so simple, bakugou,” counters uraraka, before shifting to face you. “it really wasn’t easy to get to this point, y/n. i’m not sure if bakugou’s told you, but we went through a lot in ua and even after that, which made entertaining anything beyond hero work impossible. plus,” she adds timidly, “there’s this whole soulmate situation on top of everything.”

curious, you ask. “what soulmate situation?”

and, as if they’ve gone through these motions countless times before, both midoriya and uraraka lift up their right wrists and thrust them forward for you to see. you lean forward to get a better view.

you look at midoriya’s first. his looks just like yours before you met bakugou a little over a month ago—opaque and conveniently set at zero. you then glance at uraraka’s, but to your surprise, hers looks different. a huge number is written on her flesh…

but it’s static and greyed out.

you look up at the woman, confused, and she’s quick to explain. “my soulmate died a few years ago.”

she shrugs, “and izuku’s…well, he’s never heard of them.”

“not that we wouldn’t be with each other if they were both around,” clarifies midoriya, who says it so quickly he almost stumbles over his words. “it’s just that because of these circumstances, our relationship is a bit…unconventional.”

“i understand,” you promptly reply with the most gracious expression you can muster. uraraka shoots you a grateful look, while midoriya bashfully scratches at his head.

you sense bakugou’s gaze on you through your periphery, but you ignore it.

you wouldn’t be able to hold it, anyway.

“it’s romantic, isn’t it?”

you round the corner, careful not to brush against bakugou when he does the same to your left. a sigh of relief threatens to wrack over the entirety of your frame when you’re met with the sight of the familiar-looking street, brightly illuminated by an array of streetlights dotting the entire length of it.

“what,” he says more than asks, effortlessly keeping up with your pace with his long strides.

you take a fleeting glance at him, before shifting your attention back to the pavement in front of you. “midoriya and uraraka, and how they chose each other.”

“i guess…” he responds, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “but i’ve always seen it from lightyears away.”

you pause, although you’re quick to step back into your rhythmic walking. “really?”

“they’ve always had each other’s backs even before ua,” he explains. “it’s creepy how similar they are to each other, too. it’d be weird if they didn’t end up together.”

he says it so seriously you can’t help but laugh. you catch him looking at you, smirking. “you’ve got an interesting way with words, bakugou.”

“sue me.”

you, in fact, don’t sue him, but you do unleash a cutting wisecrack in his direction, which he counters with his, and this goes on and on without pause that you don’t even notice you’ve already arrived at the front of your condominium unit until he points it out.

and as the weighty realization of this dawns on you, so do the memories of what happened when you were last here together. you rush to suppress them, and pick up the conversation from where you left off.

“i don’t know about you,” you quip, tossing him a grin, “but i take comfort in the fact that people can find someone beyond their designated soulmates.”

to your dismay, albeit somewhat unsurprisingly, bakugou doesn’t return it—the grin nor the sentiment, apparently—because he only stares at you weirdly, like you just said something…off.

great, you think to yourself. now you’ve ruined it.

might as well ruin it even further at this point, right?

finally, and to your brain’s relief, you let the damned grin fall off your face, let your shoulders sag from the strenuous effort to seem tall and confident for the last few hours, and you heave a heavy, heavy sigh. you sense bakugou stiffen at your palpable change in demeanor, but you pay it no mind.

“look,” you start, willing yourself to look up to meet his eyes, which you instantly regret because now they’re laced with obvious concern. still, you press on and gulp. “i didn’t want to do this, but i guess i have no choice now, do i?”

“what are you—”

“i know things are weird right now, and i just had to go ahead and start catching feelings like a lunatic, but i—”

you trail off, uncertain, before deciding fuck it. “this can’t go on, bakugou.”

the second you let the words out, you can only watch with anticipatory dread as a million emotions dance across his features. you stand there as he opens his mouth, before closing them, and then opening them again, although nothing comes out.

what seems like an eternity passes before he finally gets something out.

“…why?”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it’s because i’m sick.”

there.

but then he says something that completely throws you off balance.

“i know.”

you feel your eyes widen in surprise as he diverts his gaze. “what? how?”

“i—” he starts, reluctant, before: “i noticed.”

instantly, you flame in embarrassment. you thought you had this whole masking thing pinned the fuck down. and all this time you hadn’t?

you must’ve looked distraught at his admission, because he swiftly tries to soothe you. “don’t hide,” he says, and only then do you realize you’re shrinking in yourself like you do when you want to disappear. he frowns, “the last thing you need to be is fucking ashamed.”

at that, and despite yourself, you snort. you don’t have the heart to tell him you can’t remember the last time you felt shame over your condition from how long it’s just been there—an unwavering part of your life. still, you force a reply. “thanks.”

and before he can say anything uselessly placating that’ll only chip away at the very little you have left, you beat him to it. “i should head inside.”

“but—”

“good night, bakugou.”

and just like that, you spin on your heel, open the door with your keys, and close it shut in his face.

the conversation from earlier wouldn’t leave his head.

even as he tosses and turns on top of his king-sized mattress, and even as the clock ticks past the usual, strict bedtime he’s set for himself as early as high school, he finds himself wide awake, his steady heartbeat the only thing that’s breaking the monotonous quiet of his lonely bedroom.

so much happened in the course of the few minutes in front of your place, that while he prides himself in his acuity and general sharpness, he admits even he couldn’t have responded the way he should have despite desperately wanting to.

which fucking reminds him.

he didn’t get to say he likes you back.

he was so wrapped up in you implicitly trashing your soulmate connection, as well as you calling it quits that he barely registered your hasty confession. not when you immediately followed it up with an acknowledgment of what’s been causing you pain.

and as he stares at the dimly lit ceiling of his room, bakugou arrives at a pivotal realization—his feelings should be the least of your worries.

but that doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve to know.

so with a renewed sense of determination, the pro-hero promptly sits up and reaches for the phone that’s perched idly on his nightstand. 10:07 pm, it reads. you should still be awake by now.

he types out a message.

(10:08 pm) me: you awake? can i call you?

he presses the send button before he can back out of it.

what feels like five minutes pass without a single chime emanating from his phone, at which point he finally allows himself to let the anxiety creep up his neck. he stares at your caller id, debating whether or not you’d get mad if he just went ahead and called you.

eventually, and after five more minutes, bakugou decides he’d rather face your wrath than deal with his own regret.

so he calls you. once, no answer. second attempt, sent straight to voicemail. third, fourth, and fifth, and that’s when a ghastly chill envelopes him.

it couldn’t be.

still, with bated breath and immense dread pooling in his stomach, he slowly lifts his right wrist to check.

only to find that the timer has stopped.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[thebibliosphere]

I’m ill and miserable so I’m tinkering with my Pennyworth universe fics and giving myself emotions about Patricia Wayne, of all people.

Non-Pennyworth fans can scroll on if you want, but do we think, just for a moment, that Bruce might adopt his party boy persona a little bit from his Aunt Pat?

I do. I think he looked at his bottle blonde auntie with her giant sunglasses, ditzy demeanor, cigarette always in hand, rumored to have a coke spoon up her sleeve, and a different lover ever week and saw someone sad and hurting but also someone smart enough to put up the exact kind of facade that lets her maneuver through their world, this high society minefield of gossip, judgement and scrutiny, and force people to look the other way out of sheer mortified scandal.

“Did you hear what Patricia Wayne got up to last week?”

“No, tell me.”

She’s all anyone can talk about. This ditzy socialite heiress with her too blonde hair and her too short dresses. Too loud, too bold, too much.

But none of them really know her.

The real her—the auntie with the sad eyes and the biggest smile who used to show up out of nowhere and take him for ice cream in the middle of the school day much to Martha’s annoyance.

The auntie who used to stand behind his father and mimic his serious facial expressions just to make Bruce laugh.

The auntie who showed up to the school run one time looking like a Christmas tree, hair still in foils from the salon because Alfred got detained and when Tommy called to ask she left before the hairdresser had a chance to take them out.

His Auntie Pat who lets him ask questions about the sister he never met and who everyone else is too sad to talk about.

Patricia Wayne who appears at Wayne Manor the moment she heard about Tommy and Martha’s deaths, looking pale and gaunt, aged about a hundred years in the time it took to drive from New York to Gotham because while flying might have been quicker, driving let her scream and howl her grief out because Bruce is a quiet child who needs quiet words and Patricia has never been very good at that but for him she’ll do it. She’ll rip her vocal cords out to give him the quiet solace he needs if that’s what it takes.

Patricia Wayne who signs over full custody to Alfred Pennyworth the moment she can because she loves Bruce but knows herself well enough to know that she’d be a terrible co-parent but also because it makes her want to jump into Gotham harbor with stones in her pockets seeing Tommy looking up at her from behind his eyes.

Auntie Pat who dips in and out of his adolescence like a lightning strike, teaches him how to act and move and glide through the world his parents tolerated and Alfred only knows how to interact with from the sidelines.

Teaches him how to flirt and charm and smile, how to be a darling of the press while never giving anything away.

Auntie Pat who catches him hiding in his parents old bedroom at a party, looking at himself in Martha’s old mirror and listens to the heartbreak in his voice when he admits he can see Martha’s features fading in his face as his jaw squares out. Pat pierces his ear for him, holding a needle over a flame, so he can wear one of Martha’s earrings, Thomas’s cufflinks on his wrists.

Patricia Wayne who watches him start to bulk out. Sees the bruises and cuts that definitely don’t come from polo practice or whatever the fuck Bruce claims they’re from.

Patricia Wayne who looks Alfred dead in the eye when a caped crusader begins stalking the streets of Gotham and remarks loudly at a party that she has no idea where Bruce has got to, but if she had to guess, he’s been detained by a pretty face. You know how Tommy was at his age, the apple never falls far from the tree…

She’ll never ask, and Alfred will never tell, but she’s always got an alibi ready.

Bruce was with her the whole time, officers. Batman? Don’t be absurd. He’s a Wayne. What kind of family do you think they are? Why, you might as well accuse her dearly departed brother of being a secret agent for the government. His wife too while you’re at it. Honestly, the nerve…

Patricia Wayne who coos sweetly at eight year old Dick but tells him quite seriously if he ever calls her “Great Aunt Patricia” ever again she’s taking the toaster for a bath.

She hasn’t had this much work and Botox done for nothing, thank you very much.

I dunno man. I just want him to have someone in his life that when the Brucie Wayne persona jumps out the whole of upper Gotham goes, “oh, he got those Wayne genes. Oh okay. Carry on.”

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[lowkeyerror]

Ours Together

Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: Spoilers for Agatha All Along (entire series), Angsty, hurt/comfort (ig), Happy ending, Familiar!Reader, Familiar lore for this: They are weakened when away from the witch they are connected with, being with the witch amplifies powers, think of the familiar here as some mythical creature close to a witch but not exactly

Summary: When Agatha and coven summon a Green Witch to the road, they're surprised to be met with 2 people instead of 1. You yourself we're surprised and disappointed to be trapped with Rio and Agatha

An: Another one so soon... they're on my mind

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

“Uh who is that?”

The coven was so distracted by Agatha’s reaction to Rio, that no one saw you struggling to climb out of the ground behind her.

“I’m Y/n, and I could use some assistance,” you say stretching out your hand.

Teen and Alice are the one’s that eventually help you out of the ground.

“I though we only summoned one witch,” Jen eyes you skeptically.

“I'm sorry what?”

You take in your surroundings frowning at the darkness. Your frown grows even larger when you spot Rio and Agatha.

“We're on the witch's road and-”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Beg pardon?”

“The witch’s road it’s-”

You shake your head, “Not real.”

“Then explain this sweetheart?” Agatha speaks and you glare at her.

“You of all people know that the road is a scam,” your jaw clenches as you speak to her.

“You’re more feisty than I remember, pet,” her voice keeps a teasing aura around it.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap at her, voice echoing, with your eyes being absorbed black.

The outburst makes everyone except Rio and Agatha jump back.

“Now, now ladies play nice,” Rio interjects.

“Send me home, now,” you speak to her.

Rio tilts her head, “I think I to want to stay awhile, just to see how things turn out.”

You groan and move to walk in the back of the pack. Agatha refocuses the group and they continue to move forward.

You watch as Rio attempts to rile up Agatha. You see the woman in purple stiffen a few times, throwing her hands around wildly. It makes you want to laugh, centuries pass, but her mannerisms stay easy to read.

Once Rio has had enough of Agatha she trails to the end of group by your side.

“Long time no see hot stuff,” she tries.

“Not long enough,” you shoot back at her.

Rio pouts, “I thought you came along to be reunited.”

“You know I have to go with you if you're summoned liked that,” you mumble mostly to yourself.

“Oh that's right, because we’re fated for each other,” Rio says dreamily.

“Because I'm your familiar,” you correct her.

She shrugs, “Same thing.”

You redirect the conversation, “Why haven't we left yet? You know as well as I do that this is not real.”

Her eyes shift to the ground, “You haven't missed her? Even a little?”

You inhale sharply, “Of course I have, but I respect her wanting nothing to do with us. Rio, we can never undo what we did to her.”

“It wasn't our fault,” her fist clench at her sides.

You guard drops for a moment. Your hand finds it’s way into her grip.

“I know,” you speak solemnly.

“Sometimes I wish-”

You squeeze her hand, “Don’t you dare. I loved him, you loved him, and she loved him.”

“I don’t understand why she let’s people think those things about her.”

“If there’s one thing Agatha still cares about, it’s her image. That’s one of the few marks on her life where she’s soft and no one can know that,” you whisper.

You feel Rio's eyes lingering on you, “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't want to do this here,” you refuse to look at her.

“Well this is the only chance I’ve gotten with either of you in a long time. I don’t want to waste it,” Rio shifts her gaze ahead of her.

“And who’s fault is that Rio?”

You attempt to take your hand out of her's, but she doesn't let you. You let out an irritated sigh.

“With you, it’s my fault. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You didn't think you'd ever hear Death apologize. It was unexpected and you didn't know how to respond. You wanted to forgive her, but was this all she had to do to regain your trust?

“Did you know it hurts physically to keep my distance from you? As your familiar I’m supposed to stay relatively close to you. When I’m not it’s like my body is burning inside. I had to get used to that feeling after you kicked me out of your life. This is the first time in over 2 centuries that I'm not in pain.”

“I thought you would’ve come back,” she says it with more sorrow than sarcasm.

“Why would I, when it felt like you didn't want me?”

Your eyes lock on Agatha’s figure, “I wasn’t enough for you, either of you.”

Rio stops walking, “You were enough. You are enough. I became obsessed with finding Agatha and it sent me down a darker path than I realized. I wanted to find her so desperately that I let it affect things between us.”

You finally meet her eyes, “I loved her too. I feel like you always forgot, that my heart beats for her. That I belong to her just like I belong to you. I was already hurting then and then you-”

“Let’s move it losers the next trial is waiting,” Agatha says from the entrance of a house, that was not there before.

You finally free your hand from Rio's, “Forget it.”

You walk faster hoping to avoid anymore of this conversation. You go through the door and when you do it’s like you're in the 70’s.

The rest of the coven finds a mirror to check out their wardrobe. Teen points out a potential way to trigger the task and then they disperse. Leaving only you, Agatha, and Rio.

“Well don’t you look good enough to eat, sweetheart,” Agatha comes up behind you.

You turn getting ready to say something snarky, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the low cut of her shirt. The exposed skin looking better than you had remembered it. You begin to wonder if it still felt soft too.

“Boo,” Rio pops up behind Agatha.

You notice that Rio’s shirt also has a deep v cut. It makes you chuckle a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Agatha says, clearly annoyed by Rio’s presence.

“I just think it’s funny the road gave you matching deep V’s.”

Rio chimes in, “It’s because we go together. Don’t we, Agatha?”

“No,” Agatha walks away after that.

You see Rio briefly deflate and you place a hand on her shoulder, “You’ll get her champ.”

“And you?” She looks at you in only the way that she can. Doe eyes, warmth & sorrow mixed together, pleading for the best outcome.

“I’m your familiar, Rio. Eventually it’s in my best interest to come back to you,” you reply and try to walk off.

“You are my love, Y/n. More than you’re my familiar,” her words stop you.

“Good to know,” is all you can manage to say before walking off.

You look around a bit, wondering exactly how this was all possible. You knew that road wasn't real, so where were you? What was this, and how did Agatha manage to get others to do this with her?

You notice after awhile Agatha and Rio are missing. Against your better judgment you look for them. You find them in what looks like a producer’s area. They’re stood next to each other talking about the glory days.

You don’t interfere until you see Agatha’s hand slide across the intercom. Before Rio can fall into Agatha’s poorly executed trap, you clear your throat interrupting the conversation.

You walk over cautiously, and fit yourself in-between the pair, effectively moving Agatha away from the intercom.

“Planning a character assassination so soon, Agatha? What’s the rush?”

Rio’s eyes land on the intercom and she laughs, “Clever as the day we met.”

“I see you’re taking her side again,” Agatha says pointedly.

“I never took sides and you know that,” you fire back at her.

Agatha scoffs, “Well you came out of the dirt together so…”

“You know how the summoning work Agatha, don’t play dumb,” you counter.

Agatha throws her hands up in exasperation, “So what, I’m supposed to believe that you two haven’t been living it up together this whole time.”

“Why do you think I was alone when I came to see Agnes?” Rio interjects.

Agatha stumbled for a moment, “Because it would’ve been weird to have another person with you in my show.”

“I haven’t seen Rio in close to 300 years,” you admit.

“ Boo hoo poor baby. That doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Agatha mocks you.

Your voice takes on an echo again, “IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH YOU! YOU LEFT ME!”

Your argument is interrupted by some loud distorted sound. It makes you cover your ears and close your eyes. You gather around Teen who played the record as a clue. The room begins to spin backwards like the record and the sound intensifies.

Agatha smashes the record player on the ground which immediately stops the song.

Lilia speaks up, “We’ve been cursed.”

Its only a matter of seconds before she screeches and hits the floor.

You see this and start muttering under your breath. Alice springs into action taking Rio’s knife and carving a circle around Lilia.

You keep chanting to yourself. Everyone but Agatha and Rio were concerned around Lilia.

“What are you doing?” Agatha questions, but you just keep chanting.

Your fingertips glow dully as you touch them to your shoulders.

“I am protecting myself,” you say once you’re finished.

Jen gets hit next and once again Alice draws a circle around her. Teen also gets attacked, being flung through the glass mirror. Alice reveals that the curse is hers after that. It’s generational, meaning that it is harder to expel than most.

“We have to sing the ballad,” Agatha says.

She goes back and forth with Alice before they come to an agreement. Everyone picks up and instrument except you. You sit as an audience member.

“What, you’re too cool to play?” Jen asks.

“You don’t need me to play, so I’m not playing,” you shoot back.

Teen tries to encourage you, “The more people we have, the easier this might be.”

Your eyes are engulfed by black once more and your voice echoes dangerously , “I’m not playing that song.”

Agatha can’t help but look at Rio in that moment. The pair are the only ones who know why you aren’t interested in singing the song.

“Let’s just start,” Agatha begins singing before anymore arguments could be made.

You hate what has become of the song. Nicky’s sweet song, was now the witch killer’s anthem. You felt like it was disgraceful. It hurt you even more when Agatha did nothing to stop the song from becoming some rock anthem. Finding out that Lorna used it to protect her own daughter softened the blow a little bit, but not entirely.

Watching them preform you notice Teen wincing while holding the guitar. Your eyes scan his body looking for indicators of injury. It’s not highly noticeable, but you spot blood seeping through his side.

Against your own beliefs you stand and begin to walk over to him. You sing the tune lowly under your breath, before taking the guitar from him.

You can see he wants to argue but you nod your head towards the seating area. Your eyes drop to his side to let him know, that you know that he’s hurt.

He looks annoyed, but takes a seat anyway opting to just sing the ballad instead.

Your eyes lock with Rio’s and you glance towards the kid. She shakes her head slightly and you focus on playing the song.

Once Alice defeats her curse, Teen is laid across the sitting area. His breathes are shallow. Agatha is the first to rush over to him.

“He’s bleeding we got to get him out of here.”

You all take him back to the road and lay him across a large stone. You sit back with Rio watching the group panic. The most panic being evident in Agatha.

She turns to Rio, “Don’t.”

The woman beside you makes no gesture. Agatha starts pleading with Jen to fix it.

“She needs water and moonlight,” you speak up.

It seems to give the potions witch an idea. Alice gathers the water and Jen starts chanting in the moonlight. She pours the water over Teen’s injury and it starts to close up.

Agatha’s gaze falls upon you and Rio once more. Before she goes to help move Teen.

“You’re here for him, why?” You ask the woman beside you.

“That’s not his body. I can’t just-”

You shake your head, “You can. So why don’t you want to?”

“Once is already pushing the limit, but to let him get away with it twice. It’s not fair, it’s unbalanced,” Rio argues.

“What is 2 souls to the hundreds of thousands that perish daily? You have William and you will have the other. You and I both know that you don’t need the body to reap the soul.”

She sits quietly, no reply on her tongue.

“I think you’re here because Agatha is here,” you say.

She glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth, “Does it not bother you that she walks down this road with another woman’s son pretending that he’s ours? She knows he’s not.”

You look at the ground.

“I know you hate it, just like you hate what they did to his song,” Rio pushes further.

“Grief is different for everyone. Agatha is still grieving and I don't think she’ll ever stop. I can’t blame her, I grieve him every day. I know you do too,” you speak softly, getting up from your spot.

You leave her with those words. Maybe you shouldn’t seek her out, but you look for Agatha.

You come across the camp set up before you find Agatha.

“Do you have any scars Y/n?” Lilia is the one to ask.

You take a seat around the fire.

“A bunch, physical and emotional,” you lift your shirt.

There's a long scar that goes diagonally across your stomach. Your finger caresses it gently.

“Jesus Christ,” Alice says.

“It’s fairly new,” you keep your eyes on the scar.

“What happened?” Lilia speaks gently.

It’s then that Agatha and Rio join the circle. They sit on either side of you, both looking at the scar.

“Got captured by some witches. They tried to kill me, harvest my organs, etc.”

“How did you get captured?” Agatha asks, not really believing your story.

Your leg starts to bounce a little, “Well, I wasn’t with anyone else and I hadn’t been around… the people I need for my power to be at my strongest. So I was weak in that sense.”

“How did you escape?” Jen asks.

You shook your head, “I got lucky. They got bored eventually because I um- I can’t really die. They ‘left me for dead’ so to speak, but Death never came for me.”

“You’re immortal?” Alice deadpans.

“No one is immortal, I’m just really hard to kill. I have an intense healing factor,” you admit.

“Then why the scars?”

You keep your gaze low, “Because I didn't have my full power. I had enough to close and heal the wound, but the longer I was there the harder it was to make them pretty.”

You hate the silence that follows.

You hear Agatha roll up her sleeve. She gives a one liner about some coven that she wiped out. It’s funny and everyone laughs. You can see it takes her by surprise and it puts a small smile on your face.

“I have scar,” Rio starts.

“No you don't,” you and Agatha say at the same time.

“Yes, I do,” Rio goes on to describe the most fragile parts of your relationship .

She’s vague but you can hear the hurt in her voice. She finishes the story, but doesn’t look at Agatha.

Agatha storms off first, Rio trailing behind her, and you hesitate but ultimately end up following Rio.

Agatha stands with her back towards the both of you. Rio chooses to stay behind her while you walk around to face her.

Agatha’s head lulls back onto Rio’s shoulder. One of her hands snakes it’s way under your shirt, running the path of the scar. You keep close to her, but don’t move.

She puckers her lips as if to kiss Rio. You can see the fight inside of the original green witch. She wants this so badly, but she must push.

You do it for her. Your hands gently grab Agatha’s face pulling her towards you. You close your eyes as your forehead rests against hers.

“My love, Teen is not-”

“I know,” she whispers, and she starts to pull away.

“Please,” you hold her in place. “Please, let me have you close for a second. Both of you.”

It had been centuries since the three of you were this close. The raging fire inside of you finally resting after all this time. The relief that spread through your body was like a cooling agent.

Rio and Agatha both take notice for the first time, realizing how tense you had been since your appearance on the road.

“How long did they keep you?”

“Some years,” you answer quietly.

Agatha whips around to stare at Rio, “Where were you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Rio redirects the blame.

“I left her with you so -”

“SHE WASN’T SOMETHING TO BE LEFT!” Rio let’s out an outburst. She takes a deep breath before continuing, “She is our familiar. Not mine, not yours, but ours together Agatha. It hurts her to be apart from either of us.”

“What did you want me to do? Forget what you did to my son?”

“OUR SON,” Rio’s voice booms louder than you ever heard it before. You swear the entire road shakes with the reverb.

You move forward to put a hand on Rio’s shoulder. You can feel her shaking with emotion. At first you think it’s anger, but then you see her tears fall.

“He was our son too Agatha. I didn’t want you to forgive me, I’ve never forgiven myself. I wanted you to mourn with me, with Y/n. I wanted us to have each other because we needed it.,” It’s defeated when Rio says it.

“I did mourn,” Agatha argues back.

“No, you didn’t,” you interrupt them, but your eyes were far away.

“How would you know you weren't there?” Agatha retaliates.

You sigh, “You act like I didn't want to be there. Like I was the one running and hiding. I know you haven't mourned because we wouldn’t be here if you had. We all know that this is not real. You’re singing his song… walking this road with this boy that you want to be him.”

“You can't deny my grief.”

“He asked you not to. You promised him, Aggie. It was his last promise.” Your voice cracks as your tears begin to form. “And you didn’t just break it, you took his song. Our song… and you used it to do the one thing he begged you not to.”

By this point you were choking on your sobs. The sight of you broke Agatha’s heart.

“I was grieving, I was angry, and I was alone!”

You fight her again, “You didn't have to be alone!”

“Well we can't go back and fix that, now can we?”

You groan, “No, but we can move forward if you just stop running.”

Rio stops the argument, “Enough! Y/n, she doesn’t care about us. The only person she cares about is herself.”

Agatha lets her anger out, shoving the green witch, “That’s bullshit.”

Rio shoves her back, “Is it now?”

Agatha spears Rio to the ground, “You know that I love both of you. That I care for you more than I’ve cared about anything other than my- our son.”

Rio flips their position so that she’s on top of Agatha, “Then why are we fighting?”

Agatha’s chest heaves up and down; Rio’s moves nearly the same. Agatha's hand reaches up to caress Rio’s face. At that same moment Rio leans in.

They kiss. You gasp , not at all expecting things to turn so quickly. A smile of relief coats your face as you watch them. You feel a pleasant warmth spreading across your chest.

“I love you,” Agatha says against Rio’s lips.

Rio smiles, “I love you too.”

“Finally,” you say exasperatedly, causing them both to laugh.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch like a weirdo or are you going to come over, pet?” Agatha says.

You roll your eyes, but continue to make your way over to them, “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

When you’re close enough Rio pulls you into her quickly stealing a kiss from you. You blush at her brash affection. You try to hide your face in her neck, but Agatha’s finger hooks under your chin.

“What do you suppose I call you then?”

You lean into her grasp, “Yours.”

Her lips graze yours as she speaks, “Mine.”

Your lips meet hers fiercely. She pulls you from Rio's lap fully onto hers. Instead of sliding up your shirt like before her hands travel lower. The feel on her fingers causes you to moan lowly, the sound echoing as your eyes filled with black.

“Not here, not yet,” you feel Rio’s breath tickling your neck.

You whine, “Centuries apart and still teasing.”

Agatha let out a hearty laugh, “Let’s get back to the others.”

Agatha and Rio are up first, helping you to your feet. You walk between them, feeling whole for the first time in a long time. Rio’s hand is in yours, while Agatha runs her fingers through your hair.

You still had things to work out amongst each other. One talk or a kiss cannot fix everything you’ve all been through. Yet talking and kisses amongst the three of you are known to be promises. Promises of a better future united together.