#cowards. rage form exists for a Reason

[daylighteclipsed]

when demyx calls sora a traitor in kh2 and sora switches from this kook’s not even worth a fight to I have to kill this guy right now immediately. I want him dead. I want every organization member dead. Who wants to die by my hand next. And donald and goofy are just watching from behind mildly annoyed like sora can you stick a pin in whatever new mental illness this is we have to help our friends

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 2 Summary: Lucien and Rhysand argue over Reader's imprisonment, only one cell is traded for another. Lucien reaches out to an unlikely alley for support in getting Reader free.

Word Count: 6.3K

Warning(s): Mentions of injuries, mentions of self harm, mentions of body issues/insecurities.

A/N: I was too excited to wait the full month so here is part two a bit early! I apologize that this gets a bit dialogue heavy at the end. I may fix it later. This is going to be a long slow burn fic with a lot of angst. This will also have crossover with some of the Crescent City characters. It also probably goes without saying, but this will not follow canon past the events in HOSAB. Comment on this post if you want to be included on the tag list.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 1

Seven days. Seven days he’d been arguing and advocating for her release with Rhysand. For seven days he listened to the same rehearsed list of excuses as to why Rhys wouldn’t budge in his decision.

“You and I both know that the gate to Velaris was sealed with blood magic. Only those whose blood is linked to the seal can pass through, which she shouldn’t have been able to do. On top of that we don’t know what world she came from. I’m not risking the lives of my family-my court, which includes you- on what equates to no more than a hunch.”  

While the High Lord’s statements were reasonable and valid points, his insistence she remained confined in that dark and dank cell was not. Lucien hastily made his way down the main steps that lead into the catacombs, thoughts of his last spat with Rhysand swirling in his mind.

“Why do you care so much about what happens to this woman?” Rhys had questioned. Lucien had asked himself the same thing; but how could he say that it was less about her and more about what she represented? That when he saw her cowering form in the corner of that cell, images of Feyre, Elain, and Jesminda flashed through his mind. He had failed the two sisters. He had failed his first love. He would sooner have the Cauldron blast him from existence should he fail to protect another innocent female. He’d kept his composure standing in Rhysand’s office at the River House long enough. A simmering rage permeated the space as the raven-haired male stared him down. A silent challenge in the already tense atmosphere.

“How can you stand your own hypocrisy?” He seethed, “You sit there thinking of yourself so high and mighty, yet a simple human frightens you? You allowed Feyre into Velaris the second week she spent with you. You allowed Bryce into your home within minutes of her crashing into our world. Yet this human…this woman scares you so much you have her imprisoned in one of the most dangerous areas of your court?”

“ENOUGH!” Rhysand bellowed, his own violet orbs simmered with rage. Lucien felt his flames rise up and encircle his palms. Rhysand’s High Lord command held no sway so he continued.

“Are you that much of a coward that you could not have just asked her a few simple questions? You couldn’t have just looked into her-”

“I could not enter her mind!” Rhys’ breaths were ragged. “Something is protecting that mortal, and it is strong enough to keep me out. So long as those shields of hers remain impenetrable I cannot trust her. I must keep my mate and child safe.” Lucien scoffed, his fire dwindled. “Which is not something I can say I see you doing for your own.”  

Lucien could still feel the cracking of bone and cartilage of Rhys’ nose as it connected with his fist. The argument surly would have resulted in them demolishing the entirety of the business wing had Azriel’s arrival not stopped the two males in their tracks. The Shadowsinger’s haggard appearance set them both on edge, but his words allowed Lucien to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m done with this Rhys. I cannot keep hur- I cannot do this… she knows nothing.” The High Lord merely looked between the Emissary and the Spymaster. Expression relaxed and revealing nothing, even as blood dripped over his lips.

“Bring her up to the Moonstone Palace,” the commanded was towards his brother, “Since Lucien is so smitten with the woman he shall remain with her there for the time being.”

Lucien soon found himself outside of her cell. Only darkness and cold emanated from beyond the door. He paused his own breathing, wondering if she was even still alive. The last time he saw her, she hadn’t hesitated to slice open her own skin. Azriel wasn’t far behind and pushed past Lucien to enter the room. Lucien’s breath remained caught in his throat as he took in the mangled sight of her.

You had no idea how long you’d been in the darkness of your cell. Hours had turned into days, but just how many days you weren’t sure. You had gone silent on what you assumed was the third day. You knew nothing of how you got there, and you had no idea where to begin when Azriel-who’s name you gathered early on-asked you about the world you came from. Its not like he would believe you if you said your world had no magic, at least not in the same way it was here. Then again, that was clearly an incorrect assumption on your part. And after everything that has transpired you determined that this was no dream. It was a nightmare come to life. You weren’t sure how much more your psyche could tolerate. Surely death would be better than the horrors that would plague your mind for years to come if you were allowed to live. You prayed silently to whatever deity would listen to let you die. You started as the metal hinges of the door screamed into the darkness. 

“Mother above,” The horrified yet soft baritone drifted to your ears and you strained to open your eyes. You recognized the voice and Lucien’s warm body was immediately next to yours as you dangled from the ceiling. The male made quick work of the metal shackles holding your wrists high above your head, a bright light flooding the small space making you hiss. His large hand encircled your wrist and you could feel the skin repair itself. Lucien slowly lowered your arms down.

“Her name is (Y/N),” Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of the space his normal speaking voice would take up in the small cell. As if what he said would break you further. Lucien held you up, warm hands around your rib cage holding you steady. 

“(Y/N),” His testing of your name tentative, “(Y/N), my name is Lucien…I’m going to take you out of here.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could have sworn you felt your skin get warmer, the cold melting away like ice. His grip never lessened, which you were grateful for as you weren’t sure your legs could fully support your weight.

“Do you feel safe enough to come with me?”  You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move your head in agreement. Couldn’t specify that you felt safe with him. You could only muster enough strength to cling to the front of his shirt, hoping it conveyed your trust towards him and him alone. Your eyes burned with tears. He shushed you as one of his hands rubbed up and down your spine. A footstep echoed in the chamber, and then you felt Azriel’s shadows attempt to wend their way over your bare feet. Your flinch was followed by a low warning growl, one that you felt more than heard.

“Follow me,” Azriel’s swallow was audible.

“Can you walk?” Lucien’s hand lowered to your waist, pushing you back far enough so he could meet your eyes. They felt swollen and your vision was unfocused and hazy, but you tried to keep them open so he could see that you would try your best. You shifted your weight back onto your heels and slowly slid your right foot in front of you. A lightning like bolt of pain traveled up your leg. Air harshly sucked into your lungs.

“I’ve got you,” his voice was reassuring as he continued to support most of your weigh in his arms. You took another step forward. Then another and another. His hands never faltered from their place on your torso as he moved himself to walk behind you. Ready and poised to keep you balanced and catch you should you fall. “Good girl,” he praised, “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can heal you yeah?”

The walk up from the catacombs to the palace proper was brutal. Your legs burned from the muscle strain and you were regretting not accepting help from Lucien while you bathed. However, the last thing you wanted was to have anyone see you naked. Lucien had helped enough with getting the large sunken in bathtub filled. The scent of vanilla and lavender contrasted with the grime and dirt that filled your lungs for the last week. You had specifically asked for the water to be scalding, wanting it to burn away the memory of everything that had been done to you in the dark. The deep cold that laced your bones was finally seeping out in the hot water. A soft knock rapped on the stone archway leading into the bathing chamber. Unable to move your neck freely you covered your chest and turned to face the male. He walked over to the bench set near the tub, a bundle of cream-colored fabric in his arms. Unless it was a bedsheet you doubted that any clothing he found would fit you. Then again, magic existed so its possible that the fabric could be altered instantly. He sat on the bench and set the garment next to the towel that awaited you.

“Are you certain that I can’t be of assistance?” He looked beyond you towards the open windows that overlooked the absolutely stunning expanse of wilderness below the palace. A darkened city jutting out from the base of the mountains the only thing that disrupted the sight. You were thankful for Lucien’s offer. Truly you were, and despite the feeling-knowing- that you could trust the male, your self-conscious nature surrounding your body was too strong.

“I-” You cleared your throat of the gravel you were certain had lodged itself inside from screaming against the rocky surface of your cell, “I’m good.” The vibration of your vocal chords felt like sandpaper as they rubbed together. He looked at you then and reflexively you squeezed your arms tighter around yourself; gripping your elbows as you dipped down into the water until everything below your neck was submerged. You were grateful for the tub size making you look small. It could easily fit two full grown adults and deep enough to reach your waist when you stood to full height. It almost reminded you more of a jacuzzi rather than a bathtub.

“Then I’ll leave you to bathe in peace,” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, “I’ll be in the room just beyond these arches. Just call our if you need anything. I’m here to ensure that you’re taken care of.” You nodded your understanding and turned towards the side of the tub lined with soaps and lotions, his foot steps retreating against the stone tiles. While you had difficulty with your range of motion, you managed to rid yourself of the dirt, grime, and dried blood from your skin. Your hair felt silky, soft, and light compared to the heavy oily mats from not washing it for a week. You had also found a razor nearby and took the opportunity to shave, savoring the feeling that you were becoming a person again. Drying off was easier with the relaxed muscles. The vanilla scented lotion felt like heaven as it penetrated your dry skin. You surmised that the bath had really only removed one layer of nightmares as you scanned your form in the mirror on the opposite wall. Your eyes first saw the plethora of cuts in every size cover the expanse of both your arms, shoulders, and collar bone from the dagger-Truth Teller-that Azriel had used during your interrogation. Next you took in the dark red and purple bruise on the left side of your jaw. The discoloration spanning from the joint below your ear to your chin. It was a miracle that he hadn’t knocked any of your teeth out or broken your jaw from the force he hit you with. Eyes trailing further down you saw a second healing bruise, its blue-green hue spanning the length of your ribs on the right side of your body. Laying down on your side was going to prove difficult still. Finally, your eyes landed on the only injury that you yourself were responsible for. The shadows had played too many tricks on your mind, too many whispers promising to break you. The psychological and emotional pain was worse than the physical injuries and honestly became too much for your soul. Something in you broke. You still couldn’t figure out exactly how you managed to grab Truth Teller from him, too focused on plunging the black blade into your left inner thigh and dragging it along the flesh. You couldn’t reach your throat, so you had been aiming for the next major artery you knew of in the hopes that you’d bleed out fast, but Azriel was quick. His attempt to get the blade back from you pushed it away from where it would do the most damage. That was the last day that Azriel brought any form of weapon with him, and the last day he put his hands on you. Rhysand had only managed to stop the bleeding, but a large and deep jagged slice remained. Had you paid more attention you may not have doubted the guilt that lined his features as he worked to heal you. You didn’t want this to be real. You still held out hope that if you somehow managed to end your life you’d wake up on the cold concrete of the path leading up to your front door. You didn’t belong here.

You shook the memories from your mind and picked up the fabric on the bench. You expected the intrusive thoughts and nightmares, but you didn’t think that they would be plaguing you so immediately. You slipped on the airy cotton tank top and loose-fitting matching shorts. You were indeed surprised they fit as well as they did, let alone fit at all. Your bare feet padded along the cool stone floor and entered the massive bedchamber. The room encapsulated a warmth with its cream and ivory base colors. Splashes of blues, teals, and turquoise giving it a calming effect.  The dark cherry wood of the four-poster bedframe provided an interesting accent color adding to the space. Lucien sat on an ivory colored couch that faced a white marbled fireplace. Sadly, the flames did nothing to help illuminate the space and only seemed to cast heavier shadows. You glanced around the room again and noticed that the bedsheets had been turned down for you, for whenever you were ready to sleep. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any real rest with your injuries being what they were. Rhysand had only stopped the bleeding in your thigh. He did nothing for the other injuries. So, Lucien stated he would heal those for you. Carefully walking over, you sat your self on the couch, keeping enough space for another person to sit between you and the crimson haired male. He turned towards you with a slight smile that quickly faltered as he took in your appearance. He moved closer towards you and examined every inch of your skin. His one real eye held no warmth even as a flame seemed to ignite the iris. He took your chin in his hand to get a better look at the bruise on your jaw. His touch was gentle, but even you could tell that the male was furious with what he saw.

“I had hoped some of this had been dirt,” He turned your head to the side, a finger tracing down along the side of your neck. A metallic scent permeated the air as the hand cupped the left side of your face, covering nearly the entire bruise. His gaze slowly traveled down to your shoulders and the cuts that littered and marred the skin of your arms and shoulders. The skin warmed and tingled under his gentle caress. His eyes paused at your torso, no words needed to understand that he wanted to see the injury to your ribs. You carefully gathered the material and lifted as high as your stiff shoulder and neck muscles would allow. His fingers traced the outline of the mark, and you cringed at the touch of his hands moving your fat rolls out of the way so his palms could lay flat against the skin. Embarrassment colored your cheeks. Lucien continued his healing wordlessly. He motioned for you to stand, grasping your calf and propping your leg on the cushion of the couch. Your inner thigh completely exposed to him allowing the full extent of your wound to be seen. You watched as skin healed almost instantly. His gaze then shifted to the healed scars on your upper thigh, near the junction where it met your hip. “Um…y-you can leave those,” you brought your leg back down to stand before the male, “Thank you Lucien.”

“You’re most welcome,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. You started to pick at your already blunt nails, a nervous habit you used to ground yourself. You glanced around the room for the third time, almost not believing that you were no longer in the cold and dark. The white walls and bedding opened up the space.

“Is…is that for me?” You pointed over towards the massive bed covered in decorative pillows. Lucien’s red hair swayed with the movement of his head as he followed your gesture.

“The bed is for you,” He stood and walked over to the small bedside table to the left of the headboard, “As is this sleeping draft.” He picked up a deep cobalt vial, giving it a slight shake before setting it back down. You hummed and nodded, but didn’t move from your spot in front of the couch. It went without saying that the potion would be needed after what you experienced over the past week. And you would only feel guilty if you woke him in the middle of the night.

“There’s water for you as well,” His voice softened as he noticed your hesitation. You chewed on your lower lip. The sun was still up, but you didn’t know how its position revealed the time of day. Depending on the time of year and how far north, or south, on the planet you were, you estimated it could be anywhere from 3pm to 9pm. You supposed it didn’t really matter as sleep was sleep and you’d likely remain unconscious for several hours, Gods willing at least.

“I will be in the room next to yours,” He pointed over to a door opposite from the entrance to the bathing chamber, “If you need anything, anything at all you come to me. We’ll get you some food in the morning.” You nodded again as your eyes started to water. You didn’t want to be left alone, but you also didn’t want to take up his time more than you already were. So, wordlessly you forced your feet to move and made your way over to the bed. You crawled in under the blankets that had been moved aside. You grabbed the vial from the bedside table and uncorked the stopper. The scent of chamomile, lavender, and something unknown wafted to you. Before you gave yourself time to reconsider you downed half the contents and set it back down. Lucien was patiently waiting at the door and smiled his first genuine smile towards you.

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Goodnight Lucien.”

Lucien had answered all your questions, to the best of his ability, during your first day in the Moonstone Palace. He filled you in on the basics of the Night Court and Prythian. For each bit of information he provided about the land or himself, you matched it. He also informed you that while here, Rhysand insisted that you work on finding any potential information of your world and how to get back to it in the texts that he sent. A new stack of books was brought into the small library within the palace every morning. So far, your hours of reading yielded no results. Then again, you could only read a fraction of the texts given to you. Most were in languages that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Still you scanned the tombs for any words that even looked remotely similar to names of places within your universe. Sadly, all you could find was information related to a Midgard, which was frustratingly NOT the same as the mortal realm described in Norse mythology. Lucien then explained that they had already received visitors from this Midgard that were set to return to Prythian soon. You had gathered that one of them was Bryce, but you’d not been given names for anyone else.

In addition to the books you had also been gifted a small wardrobe filled with clothing in your size. It had been awkward when the half wraiths appeared to measure you. But you were provided with some simple dresses, pants, shirts, and under clothes. Nothing fancy, which you were grateful for. Lucien explained the clothes were an apology gift from Rhysand. You told Lucien that if the High Lord was truly sorry he could at least express as much to your face. You couldn’t complain in the grand scheme of things. Rhysand wasn’t obligated to house, feed, or clothe you. He could have easily dumped you in the Mortal Lands, leaving you to fend for yourself. Although, Lucien stated that he knew of two people that would have taken you into their care. Regardless, you did as Rhysand bid, reading for hours day after day and never asked for anything in particular.

Another two weeks went by and you and Lucien developed a little routine. Breakfast followed by hours of research. Then lunch and various exercises and tests to determine if you held any sort of latent magic. Lucien explained that his initial assessment of you that first day showed nothing, but that didn’t mean you were completely without power. Truth be told you felt he was keeping something from you. Then came dinner, after which you were free to spend your time however you wished. Mostly you spent time on the veranda studying the night sky, letting the wind caress your face and hair. There was one night you swore you heard voices held within the breeze. A song encouraging you that you would find peace again. In your world the night time hours used to provide a comfort, but here there was nothing familiar about the constellations that dotted the dark sky above. Instead, the lack of familiarity just made you feel all the more alone. It wasn’t that Lucien wasn’t good company, you just felt bad that he was stuck with you. He tried really hard to get you to relax and fall into the playful banter he likely needed to survive his own punishment. While he never said as much, you had gathered that his babysitting duty was linked to your release and apology from the High Lord. Lucien made your days easy, filled with witty remarks and a warmth that felt natural. An easy friendship had definitely taken root.

However, the nights were hard. You already suffered from extreme insomnia without the added fear of night terrors. So, your sleep cycle was suffering greatly. The first two nights were dream less thanks to whatever Lucien had given you. But the third night resulted in his bursting through the doors of your bedroom at the sound of your screams. As much as you hated yourself for feeling weak, you begged him to stay in the room. He obliged, of course, and slept on the couch. His presence helped slightly. It didn’t chase away the nightmares, but it did make the darkness that permeated the night more tolerable. You had never been fearful of the night before, having even preferred it to the hustle and bustle of the day. You had always the quite of the night to bring you a comforting serenity. But since your time in the cell…you insisted on a fire in the hearth and the faelights to remain lit, believing the light would chase away the shadows that plagued your dreams.

You felt bad forcing Lucien to sleep on the couch. But you also didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you offered to share your bed with him. He told you about his mate, Elain, and you felt even worse that your arrival took him away from her. Even if he explained that their relationship wasn’t what would be expected between mates after nearly 4 years of being in each other’s lives. So, you kept the offer to yourself.

Today started out like any other. Lucien and you sat down to a breakfast of eggs, toast and jam with orange juice. You never really cared for tea and coffee appeared to not be available in Prythian if your companion’s confusion was anything to go by. The only difference today were the two additional place settings.

“Are we expecting visitors?” You asked. You immediately wanted to kick yourself for asking what was an obvious question.

“Yes,” Lucien answered, pouring a cup of tea for himself, “I’ve asked some people to come and meet you. As much as I enjoy our time together, it seems that the High Lord still needs convincing that you should not be kept in a cell.”

“I’m not in a cell,” You countered. However, you didn’t miss the fact that his glare told you that your new cell was just a lavish one.

“Our guests may be able to help me make a stronger case for you to be able to move freely about the court, if not Prythian as a whole.” You pondered who he would have contacted. To your understanding, not many members of the High Lord’s “Inner Circle” particularly cared for the emissary. There was also no way that members from another court would be able to hold any sway over the inner workings of the Night Court.

“So, what do they need to know about me?” You asked, spiking the yoke of your egg. In the time spent with Lucien you were able to be yourself for the most part. You held back on your swearing, meme related jokes, and slang, but tested out your sarcasm and dry humor. One of the main things you were worried about was how to speak with others. While you had manners, you had no formal etiquette training. Something that Lucien found utterly hilarious when you asked for clarification on how to address him.

“Relax, its an informal introduction,” His gentle smile reassured you, “Just be the sweet girl that I’ve come to know.” His smile widened. You gave him a doubtful look, tucking your lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. He batted his irritatingly long eyelashes and the two of you broke out into a fit of laughter. While you weren’t cold or bitchy by any means, you also weren’t a sweet and demure woman either. No, Lucien quickly pointed out that you had a fire within you…at least on your good days. The laughter was cut short by the sound of a thud in front of you on the stone patio. Your eyes immediately tracked the large bat like wings and you stood from your seat. Metal and glass clanged against the stone as your thighs hit the lip of the table. Your chair knocked to the ground, causing you to nearly trip as you backed towards the metal railing. Blood rushed in your ears and your vision started to tunnel. Lucien was next to you in an instant.

“Hey. Hey," He gripped your right shoulder to keep you steady, “Shh, it’s okay. It's not him. You’re safe.” Your gaze remained fixed on the unknown winged male that looked on with worry etching his features.

“See what you did,” the voice of the female he’d been carrying was distant in your ears. Lucien’s other hand cupped your face, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Eyes on me (Y/N),” He encouraged, “Breathe. There you go.” Your eyes focused on his features; the jagged scar-raised and tight, the deep reds sprinkled amongst the warm honey brown iris. Your breath evened out, and you covered the hand on your cheek with one of your own to let the red head know you were okay. You took another breath and released Lucien. However, his hand remained on your shoulder. You turned back to the couple that stood on the opposite side of the space. At first glance, the winged male held features that you noted were similar to Azriel in regards to skin, hair, and eye color. Although, Azriel’s held more flecks of green than the honey gold of the male before you. The unnamed male was taller and broader, his shoulder-length hair softly jostled in the breeze. Your eyes wandered over to the female that was with him. Her striking blue-grey eyes would have reminded you of steel had it not been for the soft sadness that shown in them at your display. You hadn’t expected to react in the manner you did. Your heart still hammered in your chest. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the front of the simple sage green dress you wore.

“I-I must apologize,” You started, “I guess I…sorry.” You wrung your hands together and looked at your feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the female spoke up, "It’s this idiot’s fault. We should have given you a warning.” You nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Lucien’s hand trailed down your arm to your hand. He gave it a quick and gentle squeeze before he bent down to pick up the chair you’d knocked over in your haste to get away.

“(Y/N),” He motioned for you to sit back down, “This is Cassian, the General of the Night Court’s Illyrian army, and Nesta Archeron, Valkyrie, sister to the High Lady and fellow emissary.” Lucien gestured to each as they took their own seats across from yours.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You reached across the table, your hand extended to shake theirs. When neither returned to gesture you pulled back. “Sorry, I’m used to hand shakes as a form of greeting in my world.”

“So, you are from another world?” Cassian asked, scooping some eggs onto a plate and handing it to Nesta.

“Yes, we call it Earth,” you searched the table for a spare fork, yours having fallen to the ground. When you couldn’t find one, Lucien handed you his. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged and began to spread a blackberry jam on his toast. “And before you ask, there is no magic, at least not the same as what you’re familiar with. Also, creatures such as fairies-the Fae- shapeshifters, vampires, mermaids, nymphs, and so on - are all non-existent. Just stories that have been reduced to myths.” The two regarded you closely, listening to your spiel. When they didn’t say anything you continued, too nervous to allow silence.

“I’m not sure how I got here. There are stories of humans traveling through portals into the realm of the Fae or other worlds, but they are simply stories. Ones made to keep children out of trouble or explain natural occurrences. All prior to finding scientific explanation, of course. Like the changing of the seasons,” You realized you were now rambling, “or fairy rings-rings of flowers or more often mushrooms…” The three non-humans stared at you.

“Don’t Lu,” you warned as the corner of the male’s full lips ticked up, “Yes, I talk when I’m nervous. Yes, I’m nervous because I really don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t understand why…I just…want to go home.” Lucien took your hand in his again, his grip reassuring and comforting.

“That’s what we’re all working on,” He assured, “There is a library that, should we manage to convince Rhys-”

“Wait, she can’t leave here?” Nesta interrupted, her eyes blazed. Cassian tensed in his seat and gave Nesta a warning glance. It was clear that not everyone knew of your predicament.

“She’s restricted to the East Wing of the palace,” Lucien clarified, “There are barriers up that she can’t pass through. Just like what Tamlin did with your sister.” If Nesta had been upset before, she looked down right lethal now. Of course, Lucien had filled in you in on what transpired with Feyre and his former home in the Spring Court. Cassian cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the other male.

“What is it you need from us exactly?” He looked to you, seemingly trying to figure out why you posed such a threat that you required to be locked away.

“I need your voice in your High Lord’s ear. I have no magic, and we’ve tried various ways to test that out.”

“Which you’re welcome to see,” Lucien interrupted.

“Yes. I don’t really know how to use a weapon, nor do I have much interest in doing so. And, as I already mentioned, up until a month ago I firmly believed that yo-the Fae were not real.”

“What did my brother say his reasoning was for holding her here?” The question was directed towards the other male.

“He can’t enter her mind.” Cassian’s surprise was not well hidden, “He believes that something or someone is guarding her-” It was your turn to interrupt your friend.

“If I was being guarded or protected, then whatever was responsible has already failed me,” Your voice was soft. A silence fell across the table, and most of the food had grown cold. You didn’t know what else to do or say to convince the General and the Valkyrie of your innocence. All they had to go on was your and Lucien’s word. Even if you were to demonstrate the exercise that Lucien put you through each afternoon with no results, how would they believe that you weren’t just pretending. A ruse to fool them. You desperately tried to quell the pinpricks of tears behind your eyes. You feared that if Lucien’s efforts failed you’d be sent back to the catacombs or worse left to rot on that-

“(Y/N),” Nesta’s clear and calm voice cut through your thoughts, “I’d like to hear more about where you’re from.” You nodded.

“What would you like to know specifically?”

“Let’s start with you. Your family, your up brining.” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed comfortably in her lap. You swallowed and nodded again.

“I can do that.” You spent the next few hours pouring every detail of your life to the trio. Most information Lucien already knew, some he didn’t. You talked about your family and your friends. You briefly talked about your work and academic studies in music. This caught the oldest Archeron’s attention, which launched a discussion regarding your dissertation topic. The two males excused themselves as you continued to talk with Nesta. The topic changed to books and Nesta promising to bring you some of the spicier romance novels that she found to enjoy the most on her next visit; to which you were grateful as you desperately needed a reprieve from only reading books provided by Rhysand. Cassian and Lucien eventually returned as you made a raunchy joke that had you and the female High Fae laughing loudly.

“It’s time to go Nes,” Cassian set his hand on her shoulder. He looked to you and smiled. The expression was genuine. After spending the few hours you did with the male, you had concluded that he was much less frightening than the other Illyrian. At least for the time being, that is. Nesta rose from her seat and joined her mate.

“I will speak with my sister,” She told you, her features hard with determination, “It’s not right that you’re kept any where against your will when you’ve done nothing to justify imprisonment.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, “I hope to see you both again soon. I’m certain this fool is getting tired of having to entertain me.” You gave the male a wicked teasing grin. Cassian let out a booming laugh as ‘your fool’ placed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“And here I thought you loved my company,” He stated. You laughed as you stood to join him at the patio entrance.

“Yeah, yeah,” You brushed him off, the smile still plastered to your face. The two of you said your goodbyes and watched as the guests flew off in the distance.

“I think that went rather well,” you looked to Lucien, “Don’t you?”

“Yes, it did,” He held his arm out for you to take, “Cassian agreed to speak to Rhys. He said that he and Nesta would allow you to stay in their home or at least help you get in and out of the library.” You hummed in response as you slipped your arm around his. Your mind wandered, and you felt lighter than you had since you’d been here. He walked you to your room and began prepping the couch to be his makeshift bed for the evening. The sun was quickly setting, and you hadn’t noticed that you spent the entire day talking. You paused near the entrance to the bathing chamber.

“Lu?” he hummed, looking up at you while shaking out the quilt. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, sweet girl,” You rolled your eyes at the term of endearment.

“That’s sticking now isn’t it?” His russet eye brightened with mischief.

“Now that I know it irks you, yes.” You leveled a glare at his to which he just laughed. You huffed a breath.

“If you’re just going to be mean, you can leave,” You stuck your tongue out at him as you made your way into the bathing room. He continued to laugh as he excused himself to his own rooms. When he returned, you were already snuggled in your bed, breathing deep and steady.

Next: Part 3

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower

[lamemaster]

Reciprocity of Forgiveness

Pairing: Maeglin x reader

Summary: Maeglin watches his uncle's features twist in rage as their eyes meet and all that greets Maeglin is unfiltered hatred. "Us Finweans don't betray our own blood. Whatever your son is he is not our blood.

"Why must he be here?" Turgon muttered and just from his scrunched eyebrows it was clear that Fingolfin's secondborn was minutes away from gracing all gathered with the famed Feanorian rage they did not sign up to witness.

A small crowd formed around the looming elf. "You can't just say that to my son," Aredhel added. Her tone was nowhere as loud as her brother but it held a subtle note of her sorrow.

The said son, huddled in a corner. Trying to avoid any or all possible eye contact with his uncle.

"Tirion welcomes no traitor,"

"Brother-"

"Father-"

Both Aredhel and Idril speak at once and Maeglin wishes to vanish into the air. He truly does not care enough for this feast but his mother...

Turgon does not face Maeglin. Even after all these years, he refuses to acknowledge the nephew he had once cared so much for. Turgon who had once trusted Maeglin with his city and his people.

"Brother! My son has already repented for so long," Maeglin cringes as his mother pushes him forward, closer to his fuming uncle. "And he is a part of this family," Aredhel unwaveringly faces her brother.

Maeglin watches his uncle's features twist in rage as their eyes meet and all that greets Maeglin is unfiltered hatred. "Us Finweans don't betray our own blood. Whatever your son is he is not our blood. Must be fro-"

"Ai, here I thought my prude sensibilities would be spared from this nuisance." The hall falls silent as a voice that rings with the might of a majestic waterfall fills the room.

Maeglin's eyes wander to look for its source, "never thought I would hear such righteous words from a kinslayer." He finds you. And a sane part of his mind should be surprised at your words but he's too enthralled to care for anything else in existence.

You stand tall with the light of trees glimmering in your eyes. A sign of your age. Something that Maeglin notices but remains unbothered by. He never got to see the bloom of Telperion, the trees were gone way before his birth. But as he takes you in, he can't help but doubt if even Teleperion could have outshined you.

At first glance, he wonders if you were somehow a Maia of Varda. The sun, the stars, and the moon seem to reflect an iota of the light that you held. A soft jingle alerts him and he noticed the silvery crown that matches your fair hair. Your every step is followed by a mellow clink of your bracelets, the embellishments of your crown, and your anklets that he notices as he catches a glance of a sliver of your feet.

Dressed in lilac robes you stand taller than most Noldor. As most Teleri did. You are almost as tall as his uncle who he seems to have completely forgotten about.

"You speak as if you never wronged a soul Turukano," you saunter as Maeglin finds you closer with every step you take. You tilt your head as a mocking smile forms on your lips and Maeglin wonders what your true smile would be like. What would it be like to witness and be a reason behind it?

"Last time I knew of it, all that Finweans were really good at was slaying their own kind and stealing what did not belong to them like cowards," You stand next to Maeglin and the hall remains quiet leave for your voice. The hidden steal in your eyes is not gone unnoticed by anyone. Even Maeglin, who is almost too lost daydreaming, can feel the precarity of the situation.

"Did your father try to murder your mother? Or did you grow up with parents who held little love for each other? From what I remember you did not grow up confined in a forest either," your smirk grows wilder as Turgon remains silent.

On the other hand, Maeglin, feels his heart drop. He feels hot shame fill him. You knew...you knew everything. There was no hope...who would love him after all he had done.

For a moment Maeglin considers stepping in and saving you the effort of defending him. However, you continue as his uncle continues avoiding your gaze.

With a faux look of confusion you speak, "Explain it to me, what was your excuse for killing a room full of my kin. Unarmed ellon at that!" Next to Maeglin Idril flinches as your voice raises.

"Tell me all of your righteousness and your suffering. Give me a damned reason of how you could bear killing fathers who were trying to protect their children while your daughter waited for you on the same shores." The light of your eyes shines blindingly and for a split second, an image flashes in Maeglin's mind.

Rotten flesh, blood, red waters, an arrow. Maeglin sees hands...his hands or maybe yours fumbling to stop the blood that flows from the body he finds himself looking at. Silver hair, eyes similar to yours, and the crown... It was your memory. The vision is gone before he realizes and by the look on his uncle's face, it is clear that the vision was not solely for him. His uncle too had seen it.

You lean in towards Turgon, "My brother offered you forgiveness. Letting go of the past." your finger accusingly jabs at Turgon. "He did not lose his city to the pride of building it. He lost it to your foolishness, yet, he forgave you. He did that for his people and yours. So, I hope you stop flaunting this false perception of your mightiness. Otherwise holding on to grudges for ages, we can do that better than you."

Maeglin gawks as he realizes your identity. The survivng monarch of Teleri. Olwe's younger sister, you wink at him with your previous anger nowhere to be seen.

Stepping away from Turgon you gracefully pick a nearby glass of wine. "By Eru! Lighten up people," you add as if you hadn't just changed Maeglin's entire world.

[outeremissary]

🌈🌍🐉 for Carmen and Ismene?

Oh man. Big night for women with issues!!!! I went through a full spectrum of emotions answering these, thank you

[prompt]

🌈 - Do you associate any colors with them?

Oh for sure. On both counts, haha. I feel like this is a thing for most of my OCs- at least, it’s a major point of trying to like. Visualize a design for them when drawing. At any rate.

Carmen has always been strongly associated with red to me. It’s a very vibrant, strong color, and it’s also a very heroic and regal one. Maybe it’s just the kinds of books I read as a kid, but when I think of kings and knights, I think of crimson and scarlet and all that jazz. She’s proud, principled, and aspires to be a paragon of what she considers virtue. I’ve also always portrayed her with a rose as an emblem- a romantic symbol. Of course, the obvious flip side of that is that there’s a lot of negative association with red as well- fire and blood are the obvious ones here. She’s not fiery in the sense of raging passion or blistering anger per se, but more like… a destructive flame that would burn everything to ashes, maybe. Someone with burning ideals and zealotry so hot that it’s searing her too. Of course, the less fanciful aspect of the red is that it’s a color that was also associated with the chivalric order she was a part of in tabletop (also an anchor point of the rose). Carmen’s kind of a funny character for color though. She’s been around in some form or other for ten years or more at this point, and she’s always had the red association. It’s something that’s kind of transformed over time.

Ismene is an easy purple. And one day I swear to fucking god I will manage to color some of my art of her. Although I guess it wouldn’t be posted here so uhh maybe it doesn’t matter. Anyway. Purple. Regal and mystical. That’s the kind of vibe that I always want her to give off as a first impression, so purple is an obvious choice. I think there’s also something to purple being a kind of cool, somber color- she’s become a more mischievous character than originally planned, but I think it’s right for her to have a certain self-serious gravitas. This is a bit of an open and shut one I don’t have much more to say ^^;;

🌍 - What are this oc’s religious views?

Oh good god.

Carmen’s religious views are Very Different in Wrath from her original tabletop iteration (where her schtick is generally kind of inverted from part of Wrath), so I’m going to preface this by saying I’m answering for the Wrath iteration of the character. Carmen is a dogmatic atheist. You know the goofy edgelord atheist dialogue in this game? Honestly totally on point for her. She doesn’t believe that people should rely on the gods, and she believes that gods are ultimately all self-serving and tend to use mortals as proxies for their conflicts and the most extreme expressions of existence. The affairs of mortals should belong entirely to mortals. She’s not a person who sees the good gods as fundamentally better than the evil. In the end, they’re still imposing the same manipulative systems on their followers. They still inspire violent, irrational conflict. And they don’t “inspire” their followers. They breed helplessness. They make people reliant, cause them to wait and pray for salvation instead of searching for it themselves. The gods are cowards and parasites. And one day, it would be nice to see them torn down from their thrones.

I had to look up/double check FR lore for this one, which was half the time spent on this whole thing if I’m being real with you. Anyway. Ismene’s upbringing obviously meant a lot of exposure to gods of knowledge, and she tends to regard these deities with a reasonable level of respect. Knowledge, to her, is the highest power; those who reign over it are the highest Powers. She identified particularly strongly with Savras, Alaundo’s patron, from a precocious age- one of a number of ways she has taken aspects of the life of the one true prophet for herself. This seemed like a bit of childish fancy when she was young, but the release of Savras during the Time of Troubles gave it more gravity- another uncanny bit of foresight from the girl. For her, it seemed a sign in and of itself- thought not a person of deep devotion, she quietly claimed the returned god as her patron, developing a personal belief that her prophetic abilities had been an omen of his return and deepening her sense that she was personally connected to Alaundo. In the years between the Time of Troubles and the revelation of her Bhaalspawn heritage Ismene developed a conviction that she had a destiny to take up Alaundo’s mantle as a true prophet of Savras in the new age. Her personal dedication to the god is partially responsible for her aversion to outright lying- to speak untruth is anathema to the All-Seeing, though she never quite internalized his dedication to wholly avoiding misdirection and deceit. The revelation of her divine blood shook her faith deeply- in some form or other, her abilities originate in truth from Bhaal. Of course, with pride and precocious self-importance as the origins of her devotion to the Lord of Divination, she’s certainly able to adapt to the idea of being a demigod given time. I don’t want to say more when I have yet to y’know. Finish the original Bhaalspawn Saga. But I certainly have an idea of the trajectory of a hubristic young wizard who gets to live with the smug satisfaction that she can outfox a god.

🐉 - Very serious question… are they more like a dragon, or a unicorn?

Carmen is an easy dragon. It’s the fire thing. And the knight thing. What’s the opposite of a noble knight? That’s right, a dragon. And also being very cool despite objectively killing a lot of people, which isn’t so awesome.

Ismene is like a unicorn because she’s just so goddamn special. I wrote that sentence as filler for later but you know what? I’m right. What else needs to be said, really. And also it’s the princess-y thing. The maiden-y thing. The magic-y thing. Like. Y’know.

[zerothejackal]

small story thingy i wrote about infinite rn

idk why im so emotional about infinite today man i just wish he had gotten a much better ending

or at least a more dignifying death, for now all i can do is write infinite and his squad walking into an unknown sonic-world's version of an afterlife because they were waiting for him, because they forgive him and don't blame his actions, because they know how mucb he was hurting

The jackal lied defeated on the battleground as he saw the blue pest that's been a thorn on his side for days celebrating along with a red wolf. The jackal tried to stand up, his legs and arms shaking, something felt wrong with his body.

He felt- No. He didn't. He stood up as best as he could, pain striking him on all points of his body and he spoke to them.

—Impossible. I CANNOT be defeated!—

To his dismay the blue hedgehog walked to him and began giving him a lecture about friendship.

—Wrong, loser! The things that can't be defeated are heart, soul, and the bonds of friendship.—

it made Infinite anger, if they could only see the face under his mask. he was seething with rage.

—Three things you and your counterfeit cronies lack!—

The words coming out from the hedgehog's mouth just angered Infinite more syllable by syllable. Not because he had been defeated, well not entirely, but because the hedgehog did not know what he was talking about.

He remembered his loyal squad, those jackals that were the closest to him, who he had formed strong bonds with, who had helped Zero become a feared and known mercenary: the jackal squad.

And how they all were taken away by Shadow the hedgehog. The self proclaimed Ultimate lifeform that decided that Zero was not worth being killed, who left him scarred and scared knowing he failed his squad.

Who called him coward, pathetic, worthless, weak. cursing his name and face by making them those of a failure. forcing him to take on a new identity: Infinite.

The reason he didn't want to be known as the ultimate mercenary anymore, but to see the world crumble down to ashes, was those friends taken away from him.

All his sorrow and anger concentrated and boiled on infinite, who could only hit the ground to relieve his heart from aching for a second. But as if the universe wanted him gone, he felt something more.

A pain indescribable, a feeling unimaginable, dread filled out every single one of his cells, he felt the phantom ruby call his ruby replica, taking him with it.

He had failed, again.

He was deemed not useful, again.

He was considered a failure, again.

he couldn't bear with this, he tried to fight the call

—No! Wait- I CAN- STILL FIGHT!—

he yelled, but there was no one that could hear him. He started this worthless and he was going out worthless, Shadow was right in the end, he was pathetic.

The jackal felt a burning sensation on his chest, as the phantom replica turned into energy, slowly spreading across his body—No, not slowly. Time itself seemed to have slowed down. Like if something just wanted to make his suffering last longer

That burning sensation was felt by infinite in each individual cell, protein, molecule, atom, that was part of his body. The ruby was eating him erasing him from existance, deeming his body as only valuable for energy.

Infinite could feel himself start to disappear and he was scared, afraid, like never before, he was not going to die, not in the traditional sense, nothing would remain of him, not a corpse, or skeleton, nothing. Just a bad memory that would be forgotten

Infinite tried to fight, to run, but his limbs were numb, he tried to look away but his eyes felt tired, he tried to scream but his lungs ached, he tried to cry but his soul was silenced.

And after a few seconds, his entire body was engulfed into the ruby, destroyed and annihilated entirely by the reality bending powers of the mystical gem.

He was gone.

Was he even alive

Nobody knew

Nobody cared.

Infinite woke up, he was in a pitch black void, every belonging of his was gone, and so was his senses. He could barely see, he didn't feel like he could move, and he didn't make noise. It felt like he was falling.

The jackal floated among the endless abyss for what it felt like ages, thinking about everything he had done, all his regrets and mistakes came to haunt him, engulfing him until he barely could remember his name or his face.

Only then infinite was allowed to cry, and suddenly something reached to him from the darkness, the hand of someone, maybe a friend, it looked like him, but was wearing a green bandana on their head.

the vague silhouettes of others like them surrounded him. And be remembered again, "I'm sorry," "I ruined everything," "I failed you" he tried to say, but he was still mute, only more and more tears came from his eyes.

The other jackal, a member of his squad, knelt down and hugged Infinite, tightly, and although the jackal couldn't hear anything he felt a whisper come from Quatre's mouth.

it felt like

"You didn't deserve this. You just acted with the cards you were given. It's okay. Let's go home"

The seven jackals all stood up on firm floors and walked away towards a golden light in the distance, warmth like the sun, shining in seven shades of gold.

[danadriel]

"I awoke without purpose or path, only with the endless melody of the universe and an unbridled rage in my heart, I'm a Drakkisicarii witch, a blade dancer of Zuriah, I was made to dance, enchant and kill in her name…wich sounds amazing but dont give you many directions in life! luckily for me I found Captain Clutch, that fluffy little man gave me the purpose I needed and the opportunity for carnage I craved, nomads of the desert like us have endless troubles ahead but many of then can be solved by the cutting of the proper throat, and I'am trouble magnet in particular, my body and my temper put me in uncescessarily dangerous situations,I knew the consequences as I shaped my body while I was in the womb of Zuriah, I know I could be even more effective with a thinner and more discrete form, my breasts alone are so heavy I have to account for their inertia when I'm running and jumping! my hips are so wide I get often stuck on small doors, my hair also requires special moves to ensure it dont get stuck…but I love all of it, I will always choose beauty over perfect function.

But also, this body has its practical benefits, my dance and curves entrhal the mind of the weak, how many got simply paralized instead of fighting, from the wrapped up puritans who see me as abomination, to the legion soldiers and horny sailors who dream of violating me, they all freeze in place to behold me for at least a second, more than enough time for me to cull their pitiful existence…do I have pleasure with it? yes, but not in the same way of other pleasures of flesh, I feel catharsis, I fell a moment of respite in my noisy mind, I can't deny its really satisfiying to butcher a cocky enemy, specially the cowards who hide behind guns and bullets, they are so easy to fool, they are so accostumed to drop their enemies with a single pull of a trigger, that they can barely believe when their lead bounce harmelessy off my flux shield, how their face turn and twist from confidence to terror as I close distance and my blade plunge in their bodies,or the cowards who instead of having a fair duel after provoking you, chose to bring dozens of their mates with them, just for me to butcher them to the last one…partially I dont blame them, accepting a duel with a shielded blade dancer is to choose death, not even guns can save you from this whirlwind of cuts and stabs…but it dosent mean I forgive them,I try my best to not harm what I consider "innocents" but my fuse is short and I don't take slights, I'm one the chosen of Zuriah, I don't bow to commoners, I dont care if they have families, friends or unique talents, if they crossed me they choose death, simple as that…Fun as it is I try to not get engulfed by my own arrogance and fall in the same pitfalls as my foes, also I feed no illusions, I know I will eventually meet my end by the blade of another warrior, its only a matter of time, but I'm not gloomy about it, I will journey and dance until the last day of my life be it tommorow or in the next thousand years!" (Danadriel)

Not much lore or development on this one, just fun, I still very spired by Dune combat,for some reason I love the idea of making ranged combat obsolete, I loike knives c:

[theexodvs]

This isn't a lecture you misanthropic cunt, and the reason is not "unspecified". You're just fucking dim. Literally nothing you call masculinity is in any way shape or form healthy for the person performing it or anyone around them. You will die alone and unloved, and all these women you claim are into you are just being nice because they're afraid that otherwise you'll rape and kill them. You live a pathetic existence yet insist on forcing your opinions on others and act as if you are some kind of authority on sexuality, masculinity, and faith...and you wonder why I stay on anon. It's not because I'm a coward, it's because I don't want to give you a further target for your ineffective rage, because you would not survive the outcome.

Somebody has clearly never been the recipient of unsolicited, lewd comments from a coworker without ever having said anything remotely sexual to her beforehand.

As if my opinions can be "forced" on others on the open internet.

Lol, "survive the outcome," of finding the handle of yet another critic of mine.

[sukunarii]

HIIIII!!! im so glad ur writing again!! 😭😭 (i’ve been rereading ur fics haha) can i have shinsen with the word “abditory”? (n. a place in which you can disappear; a hiding place) if possible- can it be a part 2 for “plaque”?? thank you and welcome back!! lol 😂

Pairing: Sukuna x (Vessel!) Reader || (Slight)

Synopsis: A continuous of Like Summer where Sukuna tried to protect the little bit of your presence left in his innate domain. This takes place in the arc w/ Mahito and Junpei!

A/N: Hi thanks so much for waiting! I'm so glad to hear you enjoy my work 💕💕 Here is your loooong awaited request lol. Hope you like it :)

The first time Mahito intruded Sukuna's innate domain was when he tried to use Idle Transfiguration on Yuuji.

"You dare attempt to touch my soul?"

This short yet cold question left Mahito stunned in spot. It was a warning. Mahito knew that Sukuna wasn't going to greet him with open arms, he knew very well that he was the King of Curses. But Mahito was no coward. He was strong, he knew that himself and well, how much did he have to fear?

Yet here standing in front of Sukuna was completely different. Nowhere in his wildest imagination did he think that Sukuna's presence alone could be this intimidating.

Sukuna sat alone, atop his throne of buffalo skulls. The bottom of this innate domain is a pool of crimson blood that stretches into infinity. An eerie and ominous atmosphere. However, the curious part was that in the pool of blood, there were water lilies floating, pink and white, untainted by the red blood. Even on the skulls, there seems to be some type of plant or vegetation that grew on top of the otherwise lifeless skulls covering them with refreshing green. However, none of them made this place any warmer. Their presence was futile as it was impossible to erase the cold and sinister feeling this place embodied.

In fact, it felt like even breathing in here alone was a crime worthy of being slaughtered.

Sukuna raised his voice, "We shared a laugh at the brat's expense, so I'll forgive you just this one time. Never pollute my innate domain with your presence again."

Then Sukuna cocked his head upwards, "Know your place fool."

With that, Mahito did not even get a chance to react and was immediately ejected from the innate domain where he came face to face with Yuuji.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I'm not gonna change, I'm gonna kill you!" Yuuji shouted and bashed his head into Mahito causing the latter to spit out blood.

The second time Mahito saw Sukuna's innate domain was when Yuuji broke into Mahito's Domain Expansion. This time, Sukuna was not forgiving at all.

He was furious.

"I thought I told you..there wouldn't be a second time," Sukuna stated. His voice was deep and the warning tone was gone, there was only pure hatred. Rage.

The innate domain is a canvas. It is the mind of the user, a world that they can create to their likings. It is an extension of the user.

For this exact reason, Mahito should have never intruded the King of Curse's innate domain. It was like peering into his mind, Sukuna's world. A throne of skull, a pool of blood, the flowers that were floating atop has now wilted and turned into ugly crumples soaked with the same ominous red. The greeneries on the skulls, dead, shriveled and decayed. Instead, what looks like Red Sider Lily are perching on top of the skulls. Red Spider Lilies, the flowers of death.

Sukuna gave Mahito one last dirty look before he lifted his fingers up and made a cutting motion. Immediately, Mahito felt his shoulders rip apart, blood coming out of the freshly created wounds. As quickly as Mahito was brought into here, he was ejected a second time but this time with a critical wound.

He learned a lesson the hard way never step into Sukuna's innate domain again.

Sukuna noticed that the water lilies and the green plants that he tried so hard to recreate were gone. He could feel the anger rise up again to his head.

Those little touches that (Name) added to his innate domain when she was his vessel, he has tried to hard to recreate them. Yet no matter what he does, they always felt like an imitation. Inorganic. Out of place. And would soon revert back to its original form. The withered flowers, the spider lilies— Warmness could not be recreated with the cold.

And that was all Sukuna possessed, coldness.

But this was his abditory, it was his canvas, it was his paradise and he will recreate everything that felt familiar about (Name). And he won’t let anyone whether it’s a lowlife curse or an annoying brat pollute this place with their presence.

He had no concern for anyone but himself. He existed for leisure. For Ryomen Sukuna, whether Nanami or Mahito survives doesn't matter at all. There was only one person that holds his interest. (Name). His vessel from long ago, the same girl who brought a bit of warmness into his life. Sometimes you only learn to appreciate something when it's gone. This lesson applies even for the King of Curses.

And other than her, he truly doesn't care about anyone else.

[charmixpower]

On Nebula as the main villain in s4

I've mentioned this a few times and thought I should sit down and hammer out some logistics

If I wanna keep the Black Circle (and I do with my new headcanons, them fuckers are terrifying), I need to deal with the revenge plot line, and I need a reason for the Winx to be trying to get though to her. So, Nebula's revenge being a bad idea but make it an actual bad idea. Instead of "all revenge bad" it's more like "all consuming revenge bad". Nebula in her rage and desire to get revenge releases the Wizards of the Black Circle from their imprisonment to kill them, they kick her fucking ass, and go back to what they were doing before this. The Winx are pulling their hair out in frustration

The Wizards of the Black Circle are final boss™ villains (so they're lack of motivation doesn't need to be explained) they can only be confronted when Nebula/Vengeance fairies prioritizes their lives over revenge. Essentially their being dangerously reckless and making bad decisions, and need to be talked down into accepting help for their revenge

The Wizards could be cut out and have the vengeance faries just be taking their revenge wrongfully on the wrong people, aka the humans, and that would be a strong plot line on its own. Misdirected revenge just makes you the evil one, cycle of violence, and so on

Nebula is queen, she just is. Morgana might of been queen as some point but it was before they were imprisoned and Nebula calls the shots now...mostly because Morgana was about as interesting as block of wood

I wanna let them all handle their own fairy of Vengeance in pairs. So like Diana and Flora get the boss battle they deserve with another girl on support for her.

I think the Major fairies are Enchantix fairies attached to an outside power source that boots their powers beyond Enchantix and changes their form slightly to not have sparkly wings. They're actually taking a short cut to a form close to Nymphix like this

Morgana and Roxy aren't related bc it's dumb and also Morgana is such an awful person in canon?? Like the way she treats everyone around her, wow

Bloom and Roxy yelling at Nebula for having the audacity to ask them to join the Vengeance against humans

Bloom dragging Nebula bloodied, to look at all of the human lives she ruined with her bullshit. Making Nebula go "are we the baddies?" To her fellow faries of Vengeance

Queen is a political position instead of a hereditary one, but a princess can be chosen before the current ruler steps down making them the rightful heir

Basically Nebula is so blinded by sadness and rage that she doesn't realize she's walking to her own death, and the Winx try their best to save her from herself because they all understand on such a deep level

I have no clue who Aurora's opposite is but she's low key a coward, so someone like Aisha, or Tecna who doesn't hesitate would be best for fighting her

Tir-nan-og is a death trap. It's the Faries traps to protect against the wizards, combined with the wizards traps. The Winx spend at least a full episode trying to navigate this hell scape

Sophix and Lovix are granted by Diana and Aurora letting the Winx tap into their power sources (Diana's flower and Aurora's ice), because the Wizards fucked up their powers and they need something to fight with

Diana's beef is deforestation, Aurora's beef is global warming. Nebula's beef is people existing, and Morgana is there

Sibylla is around but she doesn't have much of a purpose to play...maybe she's the rightful queen that Nebula out stripped during war time, that would make sense

The season ends with the Winx, and Earth fairies launching a full scale attack on the Fairy hunters, making sure they can never harm anyone ever again. And Nebula allows Roxy to have the final blow against Orgon, instead of throwing a shit fit and accidentally allowing him to escape like she would have in the beginning of the series

It would probably be structured like s2 with a surprising amount of down time because the Faries are busy with the Wizards, and the Wizards are busy doing....whatever they do in the sewers. Mostly to allow the "adult hood is scary help me" plot lines to breathe

[yanderenightmare]

yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon, profanity, abuse, anger issues, anxiety, arson, bullying, child neglect, child abuse, drugs, addiction, anorexia, guilt, pills, unprotected sex, stalking, trauma

TIP-JAR

PART ONE 

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM - PART TWO

IN THE TRAILER

She ran away from him in the hallway.

He’d warned her of what would happen if she did.

Knowing it was a matter of when as the next day he was left waiting, grazing the halls of where she’d left him with a kicked ball-sack on the dirty school-floors, all lovesick and frenzied with fire ants raging over his skin and a manic promise that one way or the other he’d get her. Lying in suspenseful spiteful wait to tell everyone what type of slut the little spitball in class 3c General Studies really was.

But, timing was everything, and as the day went by without him spotting her he realized the opportunity to ruin her reputation in school wasn’t going to rear its head.

She was home… 

Sick.

Or, that’s what she’d told the school. One quick question at the reception told him so.

She was home. 

Home in that run-down trailer-park sorry-excuse for a home she despised, the one she cried about so often, the one with neighbours who didn’t give two shits worth a damn about who she was or that her mother was a crackhead-whore in no position to take care of her. 

She was there instead of at school begging him to stop, begging for him to give her a second chance, begging him to kiss her, like she was supposed to do.

Standing outside her trailer, he wondered if whether her mom was home or not. He wondered if either one of her neighbours would care if they saw him break in, if it even was considered breaking in.

He spotted her mother slouched on a beach-chair beside some other trailer with a needle still stuck to her arm, ugly destroyed skin sizzling in the summer-heat, mouldy flip-flops sticking to her feet. 

He cringed at the sight of it, but knew then that his pursuit would go on unprovoked, which at the very least brought him some sense of relief.

She’d gotten in through scholarship as she in no form or way could afford a school like UA. That much was clear, unlike how unclear the crystal-meth shards decorating the plastic salon-table placed on the outside of their van was. 

She transferred half-way through the first year, all on the account of pure hard work.

He could respect that. 

He did respect that. Given she was quirkless and all. It was the reason she’d caught his eye.

It all went sideways when she rejected his invitation to Homecoming.

He’d already gone miles away out of his comfort-zone, out of his element, talked himself into asking her out, only for her to turn him down.

Him.

Best student in Hero-course 1A at the time.

Rejected.

He knew it was petty of him to bully her because of it, but… she didn’t only make a fool out of him, she broke his fucking heart.

He could have listened to Kiri, and tried to forget about her through some other extra, but... he wanted her. He’d decided. She was his. And a quirkless trailer-rat like her was in no position to just say no.

In some sick sense he believed she deserved better. Him being better. But, he would like for her to ask for his help, instead of him just giving it to her. He would like to see her grovel, beg, just a little bit, or a lot. He wanted to see her regret her decision. He wanted to see her sorry. He wanted to see her want him as much as he wanted her. And he wanted it to be her who initiated it.

But… he could see that wasn’t happening. He could see that his unorthodox methods of courting her through continuously trying to bend her until she broke only consisted of her rewinding or snapping back like a rubber-band.

She was distracted, too busy being broken by what life had given her, too busy with juggling different shifts, bills, schoolwork, to be thinking about him and how he pushed her around a bit at school.

He eyed the cracked paint of the faded trailer with much the look of a snob on his face. Fingers brushing over the door-handle, testing how much noise it would make if he were to pick the lock, coming to a complete loss. 

He could barely believe it… the door was unlocked, and when he stepped inside he was even more distraught to see there was no existing lock there to be locked in the first place. 

Meanwhile her mother was too busy slowly dying to better protect her daughter from depraved humans who could come and do just about anything they wanted with her.

Meaning… just look at him.

Soft snores brought him back to where he was once he closed the door behind him. Making the short way to the source of the groggy sounds, feeling his stomach flutter at the thought of how wrong it was of him to be there, sneaking about like some love-obsessed sick stalker, getting turned on by hearing his prey sleep.

What the fuck was wrong with him? 

And why didn’t he care enough to stop?

He stood at the foot of her bed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the side to view her sleeping frame.

Sleeping on top of the covers, not under.

He doubted it was because of the heat, the same way he doubted the mattress beneath was clean.

She was curled onto her side, knees bent and tucked up. Cute with that teddy-bear she used as a pillow, silly and stupid but cute because of it, especially in her uniform despite having left the tie and blazer off.

She was wearing her uniform.

Meaning... she’d either gone to bed with her clothes on and slept through the entire day, or she had planned on going to school this morning, but weaseled her way out like the weakly coward she was.

Well, in that case… what he was about to do would serve her right then...

Ought to teach her lesson.

He lifted his hand out of his pocket, producing a finger to poke her ankle softly, before stroking up a path alongside her socks, all four other digits joining in the stride before the fabric came to an end and his callous fingertips glided onto the doughy flesh of her leg, over the dome of her knee and onto her even softer thigh, coming to the edge of her skirt.

He always liked her in that skirt. 

That’s where his mind was at as he started lifting to see what underwear she was wearing, yet never getting that far as something sharp dug into each side of his wrist.

Her nails weren’t of course any close to lethal, yet managed to surprise him as she whipped around to meet him, digging the talons into his roughened skin.

She might not have prioritized figuring out who it was that was currently touching her in her bed, but she had assessed the situation enough to know that someone was in fact in her house and touching her, something of which is not a good omen when you live where she lived, nor in any other situation for that matter.

He tried subduing the splash of struggles that followed her awakening by climbing and crawling some further up on the bed in order to control what myriad of flailing limbs came at him. 

Soon, hands that had primly started clawing at him were safely locked in his much larger hands.

“Oi, relax! It’s just me!”

As if it being him would have any other effect than of rising her already racing heartbeats. Yet, even as her lungs heaved for as much air as her tight chest would allow her, he managed to capture her focus, her hands pinned to each side of her head whereas her feet were stopped amidst their kicking, crushed beneath the weight of the much stronger, much more encompassing mass and weight of Katsuki’s legs.

He hunched over her, back arching with his face a mere half-foot away from her own, the only thing supporting his upper-body being his arms, which were stretched out and grasping at her wrists, pushing them into her pillow.

Her eyes were large with craze-ridden fear as they locked with his recognizable carmine ones. 

“Bakugo?” 

Shocked and scared, with the creeping feeling of anticipation waving over her again, now all for different reasons then when she first understood there was an intruder in her caravan. 

Somehow, it being Bakugo gave her an even starker unsettling eerie feeling than if it had been a total stranger. Maybe because oblivion is bliss and knowing what is to come makes the inevitable that much more inescapable. 

Still, she demanded he tell her, even though she thought she might already know the answer. 

“What are you doing? Why are you here!?”

“You weren’t at school.” He stated, spoken as though it preforming as explanation enough, though serving as far from it to the girl beneath him, the confusion shown in the way she scrunched her brows together.

He noticed, contemplating whether or not he should make his reasons known, but deciding against it and for playing with her for just a little while longer.

“I thought, since you managed to wiggle your way out of your punishment at school, I’d bring the punishment to you.” 

He searched her features for any cracks in her composure, but though she looked beyond uncomfortable, she made no moves to push him off.

Her eyes squinted instead, narrowing at him. 

“I’m not scared of you, Bakugo. I know you’re not gonna hurt me.” 

Her body started twisting under him. The action far from vigorous, mainly meant to show her discomfort as she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Katsuki decided she could.

And though the intention to her wiggling was not to evoke his arousal, it most certainly managed to do just that.

He inhaled sharply and she felt her body freeze up, seize at the feel of his hips making a shift to slot himself against her, grinding down onto her flattened and unmoving body.

“Hurt you?” 

He let out a low rumble of a laugh, like building thunder. 

“Who said anything about hurting you?”

Her breath strained as his eyes scrunched closed upon her jerking, his own teeth sinking into his bottom-lip to maintain the hiss on his tongue at the pull in his pants, his head descending to nuzzle against her chest, spiky hair poking at her chin. 

Mouth breathing hot breaths onto her ear, causing her to whimper.

“Thought you just said you weren't scared?”

She swallowed thickly, improperly giving his rhetorical question an answer, feeling her wrists go numb under his hold and her blood running cold.

“Bakugo…?” 

He didn’t answer and she felt herself go even more rigid at the absence of his voice.

It wasn’t often Katsuki didn’t speak back to her when she willingly spoke to him. In fact, it was never. But now, he was quiet, too quiet, making the frightening rugged sound of his heavy breathing overwhelm her ears, dulling her senses in the process before everything being sent into hyperdrive upon the feeling of his hand leaving her one wrist to cup her breast outside her shirt, giving the mound a careful and slow yet full squeeze.

She yelped at the sudden attack, her body jumping up against him, making yet another teasingly harsh contact with his clothed cock.

This time he hissed, both upon her delicious little struggles but also because her newly freed hand had actively made the decision to pull his hair as a desperate means of making him move.

It worked to some extent, at least in freeing her other hand which opened for the opportunity to drag herself out from beneath him. 

Yet, the action was stopped in a series of rather clumsy fighting, where Bakugo managed to retract the upper-hand once again, pinning both her wrists with one hand whilst tugging loose his tie with the other. 

He’d slotted himself between her legs now, her skirt spreading and hiking up her thighs as she struggled to stop him from tying her wrists together and fasting them to the handicap-bar mounted on the side of the bed, yet failing.

Her body free for him to touch now, to tamper and play with, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, small pleas coming erupting from the place because of it, but he didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, he was electing to ignore the pitiful sounds.

His hands traveled down her sides, thumbs rubbing over the scratchy material, the fabric of her shirt stiff as a result of using dollar-store laundry detergent.

White shirt; made up of thin fabric to make the fight against the Tokyo-heat easier, yet resulting in it being so temptingly easy to make see-through with just a little spill of water. Water Katsuki was always so eager to pour, either with light teasing spritzes from his water-bottle or in carrying her over his shoulder into the showers and holding her there as the water rained down upon her, drenching both her and himself, then offering ever so mockingly if she would like to borrow a shirt, because unlike her he had a dorm-room with fresh and dry clothes, whereas she only had that one uniform and all other clothes made up of more holes than actual textile.

He chuckled at the memories as his fingers moved up-front and centre to tamper with the buttons.

“I bet you just hate this uniform, don’t yah?” His voice, although maintaining the snicker, was soft. Not loud and abrasive and rushed, but as though he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that, drinking in the moment.

His movements too, were slow; careful.

Large warm hands stroking down the bare skin of her stomach, feeling the tremors as he did so, with eyes glued to those perfect mounds found beneath what looked like a well-worn sports-bra, making him wonder what she’d look like if he were to dress her up in expensive red lace. She’d be mouthwatering to look at either way, and breasts are just as soft whichever way they’re dressed… it’s not like the bra is staying on for too long anyway.

He swallowed thickly to stop his mouth from dripping.

He tucked her shirt out from her skirt, taking a moment to grip her midriff and squeeze to try and ease her struggling. 

It only resulted in her thrashing even more, whirlwinds of panicked get-off-me’s and fuck-you’s and stop’s spilling from her mouth in rapids, but the plead seemed to repel off Bakugo’s ears like water off a ducks back where the desperation only aided in satiating his sick sadism, in the same fashion tears fell from her eyes aided in making his stomach churn or flutter with something he could only describe as bliss, her arms trying to the best of their efforts at tugging at her bonds, to no avail except for making the skin found their chaffed and sore.

He spent a few seconds deciding whether he wanted the skirt on or off as he felt up the fabric between his fingers, more memories flushing his mind with such sweet and potent nostalgia of him lifting up the short excuse for coverage in the school-halls every day to sneak a peak at her underwear, or those times he would bend her over classroom-desks and push his bulge where it would fit so snuggly against her ass.

“Kinda feels like this skirt gets shorter and shorter for each year...” He mused, stroking up the skin of her thighs, lifting the fabric in the process, revealing a pair of black cotton boxers which, despite being lackluster, forced a groan to rumble from his chest.

The fuck-you’s had turned to please’s and the change made a smirk curl onto his lips as he put his lips to the inside of her thigh before pulling away to look down at her, all spread open and quivering for him. 

Breasts all perfect, squished together in the comfort of her bra, hair splayed on top of the pillow, her nose turning all red and adorable with her eyes brimming with both panic and tears.

Her skin felt so soft and untouched beneath his fingertips as he stroked up and down her thighs, pulling them towards him, as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow, slightly struggling with how much the panic had taken a hold of her, her legs kicking and flailing.

But he liked it that way. 

Messy and desperate.

“Don’t be difficult, Quirkless, you’re not getting out of this.” He spoke so calmly, so collected and controlled and determined. As though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, as though this was his right. “This is the only thing you’re any good for anyways.”

He leveled with her clothed little sex, slung her legs over his shoulders, watched as she squirmed upon his breath, heard her whimper and plead with his name as he stuck his tongue into the fabric, her legs doing a little involuntary kick while her thighs where firmly secured in his hands.

“Worthless quirkless little pussy on legs.”

She sobbed as his fingers latched around the ribbon of her underwear, pulling, tearing the fabric, with no need to pull it down her legs, just a need to pull them off.

A content and knowing smile made its way onto his lips, yet she was unable to see it in her position, something of which she was thankful for, or… as thankful as one can be when being defiled by a friend. 

Not that Bakugo was much of a friend anymore, but he had been, at some point before he'd offered more than one concerning opinion about quirkless people and their place in the world.

Of her place in the world.

He didn’t share her nostalgia though, not when the future was smiling at him with the face of her shaven warm pussy right in front of him.

“Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me? Huh? Knew I was coming?” He teased as she shook her head sporadically, unable to form any type of words in her overwhelming embarrassment and fear and panic.

He grinned smugly, despite knowing it was due to her spot on the swimming-team she kept herself clean and hairless, also knowing that the only reason she took swimming-lessons was because she and her mom couldn’t afford the hot-water bill, making her take showers at school instead, and that a spot on the swimming-team gave her a free-ticket to using those showers anytime she wanted.

How many times had he snuck in there to watch her soap up her body?

How many times had he palmed his erection to the sight of her?

How much he’d wanted to waltz in and take her against the cold tiles, make steam roll off the walls, hearing her voice echo his name... 

Now he had the real deal though, no more time for fantasies.

She was smart, she was resourceful, but not enough to put a lock on her door.

She was lucky if one thought about it.

Lucky it wasn’t just any random guy who walked in and took her like Bakugo was going to take her.

Lucky it wasn’t just anyone’s tongue jutting out to lick up her spread folds.

Lucky it was Bakugo who was hugging her thighs close to him, using them as soft warm pillows as he nuzzled between them to lick and suck and bite at the little bundle of nerves found right there in front of him.

Lucky it was Bakugo that had her squirming and quaking and whimpering and crying. 

Because, taking everything into consideration, she was safe with him.

Safer than she would or even could be with anyone else for that matter.

Who else could really protect her like he could, like he will, like he has?

She should be grateful he still wants her after she rejected him, humiliated him like she did. She was sure going to pay for it tonight. But first, he could at least treat her to what she had been missing, especially when thinking of how much he was going to take from her before the day let up.

It almost made him feel bad.

Almost, being the keyword, because without it he wouldn’t have thought it funny how many noises she could make without alerting anyone from outside, how no one cared whether she blubbered out common sniveling protests and screams of his name, begging him to stop, or those equally loud yet scarce moans that sprung from her despite her not wanting them to, each time he sucked too hard or too harshly on her clit, teeth rubbing over the sensitive skin found there. Her hips dancing a panicked series of shimming from side to side, controlled in his grasp and only aiding in his tongue finding new places to lick and suck at as he laid abusive worship onto the temple between them. Nose bumping and dipping and rubbing onto places too tender as his mouth moved lower.

Her knees jolting as he kept them spread open, claws digging into the grabbable flesh each time she would pound the ball of her heel into his back, the movement always falling still upon the building simmering threat of explosions in his palms, pain much sharper than that of his nails.

She wanting nothing more but to wrench away, especially upon feeling the shameful treacherous dripping of herself down onto the bedsheets, disgusted with her body, humiliated beyond repair, with the tongue of Katsuki lapping up what mess he had made out of her, teeth from a grin gracing in feather-light motions, yet still managing to shoot electricity up her core. 

All she could do was pant and sob through moans and trying her best to force out more protests even though she knew it was to no use, until she felt him pull away, leaving her cold in loss of contact with heat. 

She doubted his removal was because she’d begged it from him.

Her doubts being answered as she heard the crisp clatter of a belt-buckle opening.

Her eyes were swimming, gifting her with more panic as she wasn’t even able to see what he was doing, yet knowing, again wishing she didn’t, wishing she was rather deaf as well as blind, wishing all her senses to simply give away, all so that she didn’t have to witness what she was surely soon going to have to be the victim of.

She heard the clothes dropping to the floor, looked up at him through bleary blurry eyes, still recognising the sandy nuance of his skin fully on display before her. 

His large hands found her knees again, prying them open. His hips fitting between her thighs.  

“Ba- ba- Baku- go,  plea- please, don’t- don’t… stop.” She choked on her tears, on her fear, on her panic, on the feeling of the cold breeze making her exposed sex shiver and beg for something warm to fill it up, on her disgust.

“Don’t stop?” He snickered, pinching her clit between his fingers, making her arch with a whine before trying to wrench away, yet stopped by his hands steadying on her knees, spreading her open for him.

His cock-head delved between her folds, and he had to catch a pathetic whimper from escaping his throat, settling for biting his lip instead and ridiculing the reason as to why he was feeling so weak in the first place. Growling at the little girl beneath him, all tied up and defenceless and hopeless and pathetic, but still able to make him feel so small.

“I knew you were just a stupid slut.”

It helped hearing her scream for him. 

It helped hearing her choke on her own gasps as he filled her tight little space up with the warm length of his cock. 

It helped feeling her squeeze and seize around the girth of him, hugging him close and tight, filling and stretching her out so nicely.

She had resorted to hectic crying, no words, no protests, just sobbing, hiccupping, coughing up her own cries. 

And, although he imagined himself growling and groaning he fell short of those guttural rusty sounds and fell prey to whimpering like a lovesick puppy humping a plushie-toy instead. 

His hands holding onto her hips as though letting go meant death as he rolled his hips into her, feeling her warm velvety walls welcome him home.

It felt so good he nearly barreled over, his face buried in her chest, hand coming up to enclose over her mouth as so to stop the cries and hear those soft muffled moans she made instead.

Small stifled broken wet mews spurred into his palm, as he kissed a trail up the valley of her chest and onto her neck, whispering with his breath shaky.

“If it makes you feel any better… this is my first time too.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he was suddenly regretting his decision of being a monster, or maybe because the fright of being vulnerable disappeared at the feeling of conquering what made him afraid.

“I spread a rumour in second that I fucked Ururaka just to see your reaction.” He let out a breathy laugh, the open smile on his face indicated his nostalgia, as though it were a fond memory. “But you didn’t care at all did you?”

He snapped his hips forward, hitting something painful making her scream beneath his hand, opening it to hear her sob out in whimpers.

“Did you?!” It was accusatory and loud and right next to her ears, as he bared his teeth.

She was sure she was bleeding, feeling as though he was tearing her up, splitting her open, every harsh thrust felt deep within her abdomen, churning her guts.

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor- sorry!” She spluttered out, more thick gulps of tears streaking her cheeks with red.

“You know what I think?” 

He leaned in closer, his nose poking into her cheek, lips brushing her ear, hands now having moved to cup her knees, pushing them up into the bedsheets beside her shoulders, hiking her up to meet his sharp thrusts. 

“I think you wanted this…”

She shook her head as his grin gleamed from seeing her discomfort.

“Leaving your door unlocked like that, you were begging for this to happen.” He laughed, biting her earlobe, heavy balls clapping against her ass.

She sniveled. “You- you know we can’t afford-” She started, but was cut off by her own broken moan as Bakugo yet again made another sharp movement, sending an earth-shattering smack to fill the crammed space of her RV, and then again cut off by Bakugo’s own response.

“Yeah? But you could still afford that dress you wore to Homecoming couldn’t you?” He sounded crazed, upset and angry and obsessed with making her regret it. “When you went with that fucking extra instead of me?” 

His forehead pushed against hers, eyes a feral red and large with rage, watching in sadistic glee as she scrunched her eyes together in pain, trying to block his voice out from her head. 

“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry now.” He growled, again taking a break from his series of shallow thrusts to push deep into her, making her whine in wet agony. “That was the worst mistake of your life and you’re gonna make it up to me tonight.”

He pushed himself up, looking down at the crying mess he was buried inside, licking his lips.

She couldn’t stop apologising, as he fucked into her, her hands going numb under the bondage of his tie around her wrists. 

“I’m sorr- sorry-” She croaked, face burning from her tears.

“Yeah? You better be.”

He gathered her ankles in his hands, holding them up, one hand coming to roll her sock down her leg.

“You’re gonna be.”

His hand caressed her small bare-foot tightly, thumb digging into her sole, his mind drifting to how cute and tiny it was, smaller than his hand, and strangely soft for someone who chooses to walk everywhere to save money.

“I’m sorry-” She blubbered. “I’m- I’m sorry...” 

She struggled for breath between her apologies and cries, forgetting how to inhale as Bakugo’s cock crammed into her, stripping her lungs of their air.

He kissed the pad of her foot, before leaning down again, hands once more cupping her knees and pushing them against the mattress.

“Good.”

She quaked beneath his stare, his sharp teeth too close as she cringed at the wet creamy sloshing sound of his cock pounding into her.

She had to look away, wanting to twist to hide her face in her pillow and cry until he was done.

But he wouldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me when I fuck you.”

Gathering her face between his fingers, he scrunched her lips together as his own face closed in, his teeth coming to bite down on the vulnerable pout.

“You’re nothing without me, you understand that?”

One of his hands seized around her throat, adding slight pressure to accommodate his words.

“Good for nothing.” He spit. “Except for being my little slut, right?”

His claws scratched her throat, making her mewl and suck at her bitten bruised lip, tasting the metal.

“Come on, slut, I asked you a fucking question!”

Again, he angled his cock to jut into her painfully, making her gasp in strained pain at the stretch, followed by a sob.

“I’m just a slut-” She sniffled, eyes spiralling when looking into his unforgiving scarlet ones.

He smiled again, kissing her cheek.

“Who’s?”

The kiss became a lick, as he dragged his tongue up her tear-slicked cheek.

“Who’s slut?”

He felt her tremble and stiffen under his tongue, her eye’s squeezing shut.

“Your slut.” She answered, but it proved not to be good enough as another sharp painful thrust hit her core. “Bakugo’s slut.” 

She knew it was wrong the second she said it as a growl rumbled against her neck, his teeth gracing, scraping against her tender flesh. 

“Katsuki’s slut!” 

The words all broken and wet and beautiful coming from her bloated and reddened lips.

He placed a chaste kiss to her jaw, nibbling his way up to her mouth, whispering upon them. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re nothing without me.”

He kissed roughly, growling for her to kiss back, hand still tightly locked around her neck, begging for her to refuse him only for him to squeeze the life out of her.

His tongue pushed into her mouth as he slobbered and drooled above her, mouth sucking on her lips, trailing down her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and biting and lapping at her skin like some hound drooling over steak.

His hand left her throat to grasp her clothed breasts as he hit a particular spot, calling an unintentional bucking of her hips into him, making him groan in pleasure, his own thrusts gaining speed, hitting that same spot he now knew would make her unravel.

“You’re so lucky to get my cock.”

He worked himself into a taller position again, dragging himself off her chest to admire what artwork he’d made of her collar and chest.

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head, a petty begging-look on her face. 

It was a weak protest, almost enough to make him let it go, yet still outweighed by his need to make her pay.

His hips suddenly thrusting into her deeply, sharply, in all the ways he’d found out hurt.

She cried out. “No, no, Bakugo, please!” Panicked sobbing, her chest arching in pain, her legs coming to kick him off, yet were stopped as he pushed her knees into her chest. Jutting into her brutally.

“Say you love it and I’ll go slower.”

He saw her knuckles whiten at how hard she was balling her fists, tugging at her bonds desperately.

“I’ll fuck you good.” He promised, finding himself grow excited upon the thought. “Nice and slow like lovers do.” He had to snicker, even as she sobbed and hiccupped up screams that caught in her throat at his sharp thrusts, her eyes screwed tightly shut, allowing no tears to drop yet leaving them swimming in stinging salt.

His head dropped again to her temple, lips nibbling lightly on her cheek bone, his heavy breaths sounding louder than what snapping noise was made between his hips and the softness of her ass.

“Come on…” He drawled an impatient growl into her ear, a rumble that strung another whimper out from her.

More sobs followed, broken in their execution. “I love it… I love it.”

She hadn’t screamed it the way he wanted, but hearing it hang loosely onto her cries, all trembling and weak, was somehow better than what he thought he’d wanted anyway.

He slowed down, enough to lessen the sound of flesh slapping flesh and for the squishy noise of him filling her up again and again to replace it.

“What do you love?”

He made his way to rip open the seams of her shirt on her shoulder, not caring in the moment that she didn’t have a spare uniform to replace it. The shirt gone before she could even answer his question.

“You’re cock, I love you’re cock.” She sobbed, as her bra met with the same fate her shirt had, leaving her in just her little black skirt and one sock remaining, her tits springing loose, bouncing on both her cries and Bakugo’s movements.

“Fuck, good, such an obedient little pet.”

His head fell into the newly presented bare flesh with a moan, heavy panting as he slobbered up the valley between her breasts, palming the soft mounds before twisting the nipples between his fingertips, pulling at them, playing with them, his mouth sucking and biting, teasing the tender sensitivity.

His hands quitting their torment in favor of holding onto each their knee to keep her spread open for him as he rolled deeply into her spot.

“Feels so fucking-” He groaned, not bothering to finish the thought, before another impulse struck him.

His position in having his face buried in her neck and his body laid tight and snug on top of hers moved, making her feel the wisp of a chill coat her as their warm sweat-slicked bodies parted, feeling almost as though they were glued together as he pulled away, cock still being kept warm inside the comfort of her walls.

His hands came up to fickle with the knot that kept her hands locked above her head, his fingers sloppily tugging to loosen the tie, before gripping her hips tightly in a fashion meant to make sure she understood that despite being loose she was far from actually free.

Lifting her up of the spot she’d sunk into on the mattress and on to straddling his torso, his feet hitting the ground with a dunk with her propped up on his thighs, every little movement of his adjusting making his cock poke and message into other new dangerous places, places too tight to be attacked in whichever reckless unthoughtful way Bakugo saw fit.

Fingers running, or rather digging into her skin and making way to rake up her sides, grabbing and clinging to her midriff to pull her close, with his thighs beginning to impatiently move in a boyish manor to satiate the need for friction his member craved.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand made to grab her chin, allowing him to look over her, again tempted to bite into those lushes red lips, all bloated and made for his teeth to gnaw on. Yet, his mouth made way to her neck instead, licking up her throat, sucking on the thin skin, wanting to make his mark flourish in red explosions all over her.

“Be a good quirkless slut and bounce on my cock, make yourself useful for once.”

His knees jolted upwards making her hop, followed by his cock sinking deeper into her.

Her hands held uncertainly mid-air made to grip his shoulders at the further intrusion, biting back another cry, however unable to keep the sobbing sigh from rupturing her throat.

However, she wasn’t given long to recover as his hand came down to plant a red-hot slap on her ass, making her jump on her own.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

She started moving, unsure of what or which way to do it, finding the rhythm of rocking her hips forward after a while, earning a disgusting sigh of satisfaction from the blonde holding a bruising grip on her.

“That’s right...”

His arm moving to hold a death-grip on her waist, thumb digging into the underside of her ribs, poking each time she lolled forward and at the same time threatened her to stop.

His other hand came to grip her face again, stiff lips crashing against teary lips. Sucking her face as though stealing her life-source, only breaking between breaths to announce cocky cruel comments and instructions.

“Stay right there, slut.” A thrust from his hips accompanied the nickname, making her wince and lurch forward into him. “Aww that’s cute.”

Both his hands went under her skirt to grab at her ass, lifting her up only to sleeve himself inside her once again.

“Does that feel good? Huh? Right there?”

Another slap and she rested even harder against his chest, trying to find comfort in the pitch black her screwed-shut eyes left her in, yet the overwhelming scent of caramel wasn’t easily ignored, and neither was how perfectly his cock sunk into her.

His hands fingered the fabric of her skirt as he bumped into her from beneath. Tugging on the textile until ripping it off, the action earning her gasp as she was now wearing nothing but her one sock, the skirt having provided as some false sense of coverage.

“Is the slut enjoying herself?” He mocked, a salacious grin constantly spreading on his face between moans and grunts.

She shook her head, the urge to fight herself to freedom awakening yet again as her hands moved to push at his chest. 

“No… stop.”

But her back was supported, or rather steadied, with Bakugo’s large palm, little sparking ignitions gaining control of her struggles quickly, the fight leaving her body with a whimper of defeat, just as quickly as it had arrived.

Another sharp thrust ripped a strangled moan from her and he grinned. 

“Liar.” He snickered. “You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut 'cause that's the only thing you know how not to fuck up, only thing your whore mom ever taught you.”

Forcing her hips to roll faster, the slick coated their thighs as her tits bounced for him.

“Does she share this bed with both you and her crackhead fuck-friends?” 

He couldn’t defend his need to make her cringe in his arms, why he wanted to see her ashamed, why he wanted her crying into him. 

“Such a freak. Are you gonna cum on the same sheets your mom sleeps on?”

Sharp fingers dug into her cheeks again, all because he wanted to be entertained by the show of her breaking.

He pulled her hips closer, fighting to hit that spot that had her mewling earlier, wanting to hear her mewl again, wanting to prove his point.

Once he found it she fell flush against him, melting in his hands, soft-spoken moans falling like drool down her chin.

“Like that, right there?” His words fell hot on her lips as his thumb pushed into her mouth and down onto her tongue, holding her chin in place. 

Her eyes crossed then upon his cock nudging in just the right way against her cervix, as well as her brows drawing up into a pretty eruption. 

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, clutching tighter onto her hip, rocking her forward to meet his thrusts. “Are you gonna cum on my cock, huh?”

With his thumb still dipped into her mouth, she tried her best to retort. 

“No…” 

It couldn’t be referred to as defiance as it was too pitiful to be called that.

“Yes, you are.”

He sucked on her collarbone, making his way up by kissing a trail of slobbering kisses and bites to her ear. 

With his hips still angled just right, his thumb left her mouth to grip her other hip. 

He could feel her tight little pussy start to convulse around his shaft, small flutters that squeezed him tightly, milking him.

She hated that she wanted to spill over so badly. The surging swimming boiling buzz constantly teased by Katsuki’s plush cockhead pushing and poking and jabbing at her cervix again and again.

She felt it coming, the snapping, breaking, splitting, the building coming close to bursting, yet she was reminded of who she was with in her reach for bliss and found herself regretting chasing it.

“No, no, not with him, not with him, not-”

It was too late as she tried holding it back, tried grasping it as hard as she was clamping down on his cock, as hard as she was digging her nails into his shoulders.

The movements of his hips slowed down. 

“There you go. Feel good, slut?” He mocked as her body spasmed, skin freezing over under his touch, feeling disgusted, skin-crawlingly disgusted with herself and how she was unable to control the continuous spasms that seemed to ricochet through her spontaneously. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

His speed picked up again, humping into her, making her ride through her orgasm, feeling the almost painful ticklish pressure build again upon each time he bottomed-out ruthlessly inside the comfort of her wet walls.

“No, Bakugo stop, stop!” Her pleads weren’t met.

“Is it too much?” He laughed, gathering a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck in order to make her look up at him, making her wince as he spit his words into her face. “Mommy didn't do too good a job at raising her slut, I see. Can't even handle cumming without crying." He jeered, mock pouting at her with his forehead pressed into hers, blood-soaked orbs forcing eye-contact from her wide tear-stained ones as she whimpered. "Aw, is my cock too much for the little whore?”

“Yes, stop!” She couldn't care less if she was answering some cruel nickname , the painful pressure assaulted inside her was something too vehement she needed to make relent, but yet again was her plead answered with a lack of mercy in an eerie whisper and nothing more.

“I’m not finished yet.”

All she could do was beg for him to finish… so that’s what she did. 

“Please...”

He gathered her face in his hand again, fingers squishing into her cheeks hurtfully as he made to sneer into her face. 

“Please what? Please fuck your whore cunt harder? Please make you cum again?”

Even as he snickered and mocked, his cock twitched at the sight of her. 

Eyes all puffy and swimming in her own tears, eyebrows knitted together, begging for mercy. 

Completely and literally held in the palm of his hand, yet her gaze still managing to make him feel fuzzy with the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh fuck, say you love me.”

Cold dread made up most of her body, what else was the rising crippling shameful feeling of something sweet knotting up somewhere in her lower abdomen again, this time harder than before as her already abused high was continuously pocked by Katsuki’s swollen cockhead kissing her cervix harshly again and again and again, driving her insane. And all of it made his demand impossible to answer, impossible to even comprehend.

Yet, she was in no position to refuse with her face held up between his fingertips and his crimson eyes boring holes straight into her terror-wide heart.

“Say you love me or I’ll cum inside you.” His voice lacking all she considered still human. Not a hint of remorse or guilt or shame or pity.

She gulped on her breaths, yet managed to voice the words. “I love you, Katsuki.”

Her eyes now unable to look away from him. Even as he picked up the painful pace, stabbing at her core, in places she had no former knowledge of, places the length of her fingers could never even as much as dream of reaching.

“Fuck.” A boyish virginal whimper laced the moan that escaped him at her words, satisfaction easing the raging and crazed look on his face. “I love you too.”

His toes curled painfully, cold and numb against the floorboards.

“I love you.”

Hands warm and sliding against dewy and doughy flesh.

"I love you."

Something pulling, straining, building to burst was chasing release, sending spasms to shoot through his shaft.

"I love you."

He knew what was coming. He knew it would be better than ever.

“We’ll get you a pill later, ‘kay?”

The guilt was washed over with the promise of painting her walls.

“It’s fine.” He tried reassuring as he felt her revolt in his arms, all her strength fighting to get off him, yet was no match against the force of his hands holding onto her, and his need to explode inside.

She resulted to begging instead. “No, no, Katsuki stop, don’t, please!”

Feeling her hope being crushed in his palm, picturing his laughing face as she turned her vision to black, his feral smile like supersonic light, dangerous and deadly and made to rip throats out.

And then it was done, she felt the last thrust like the last blow through her gut.

Cream filling her up, smearing between their thighs, Katsuki’s head resting on her shoulder with his hands holding onto her hips, fingers marking their presence into her back yet softening their grip with each of his panting breaths landing on her breasts.

Her blood ran cold through stiff veins, as though she were dead. Her skin crawling, as though rotting with mites. 

Sickness. 

Sickness in her lungs, in her throat, building, climbing up her pipes.

She slung herself off in a hurry, and with Katsuki coming down from whatever sick high he was riding, he wasn’t alert enough to catch her, which was probably a good thing because after her staggering her way to the bathroom, feeling his cum and her wetness leak out of her and drip along the inside of her thighs, she only barely made it in time to open the toilet compartment, get to her knees in the small space and haul her guts out into the small stained bowl.

Feeling like her mother, each time she came home all sweaty, mascara smeared with tears on her face like a garbage racoon, sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging until she collapsed on the floor, face laid in her own puke.

She heard Katsuki’s heavy footsteps, one and two before his hand met with her neck. Collecting her hair in a ponytail in his grip with the other hand encompassing her naked back.

She was afraid he was going to pull her up, expecting her scalp to soon scream in protest at the feel of her hairs being ripped up from their roots. 

Yet, as she awaited the torture… all she felt was the slow stroking of carefully placed paths running up her spine and then down to the small of her back in a manor either meant to be comforting or patronizing, with her hair being kept away from her face as she retched on repeat.

It was mostly just water and acid, and Katsuki made a mental note to make her eat later as he helped her up with his hands under her arms, supporting her when seeing how her shivering rendered her knees too weak to stand on her own, lifting her up on a tiny counter which would have been impossible for him if he were to try and sit on it, yet seemed the perfect size for her.

The ruff base of his thumb brushed the spit from the corner of her mouth, her large eyes meeting his own as he leaned in, soft weak hands only barely pushing against his chest in an act to stop him, but his lips pushed onto her anyway.

Parting with a string of silver connecting them, and he couldn’t help but fall prey to how beautiful she was even in her broken ugliness, how prettily her eyes fluttered with sticky eyelashes clutching together as though hugging for comfort, stray wisps of hair dancing in front of her face. Her wet breaths, sobbing breaths, hiccupping breaths, trembling past those soft pillow-y and blossomed lips, plump and full and bitable, or huffed through her nose, sniveling and sniffing and so very unfairly precious.

His thumb stroked over those lips, watching them quiver. 

He took time admiring her, feeling her cold fingertips vibrate against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribcage with how much she was shaking. Wondering if she knew just how much he’d wanted this, how long he’d wanted this, how despite him ignoring her cries, that she understood how this wasn’t in vain, how he wasn’t just doing this because he could, that he was doing this because he needed to, that he wasn’t doing this because he hated her but because he loved her, loved her too much to let her simply slip from between his fingers again.

His fingers latched onto the band of her sock, pulling it down and off at her toes, finally leaving her completely bare.

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

He moved to pick her up, uncaring of her newly sparked urge to fight him.

“No, Katsuki…”

She tried pushing, she tried making him stop despite everything being slippery and sticky and gross. The want to cry herself to sleep knowing and finding some comfort in the fact that Katsuki was done with her and long gone outweighed the want to get clean.

“The water’s cold, you won’t like it.” She argued in a weak attempt to sway him from the idea, yet knowing full well that he didn’t care.

“Come on…” He drawled as he caught her bothersome fists by the wrists in his massive hands. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go get your pill…” 

He fought to find eye-contact. 

“We both know you don’t have the money for it anyway…”

Typical of him to mention her situation. Typical of him to use it against her. And though it was typical, though it was predictable, it still made her heart clench, her soul twist, her spirit crumble.

He swore he saw something start to break in her eyes, wanting to deliver the final blow to snuff out whatever fight she still had left. 

He leaned in more, his nose brushing against hers.

“You need me.”

Her struggles stopped at that, Katsuki wrapping her legs around his back to support her as he carried her to the shower. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, completely deflated.

It wasn’t at all as in the movies. Sweet couples who help wash each other’s hair, warm bodies gliding against one another, soft perfect handprints printed on the dewy glass.

She hadn’t been lying, the water was freezing as the showerhead spritzed the water down on them with a force close to that of aching.

They didn’t both fit in the crammed space either, Katsuki was sure that even him alone wouldn’t fit in the tight space, where he was left to have one foot on the floorboards outside the door, water rushing into the hallway, running down his leg, but he didn't care.

His frame blocked the door completely, allowing her no shape or form of exit as he made her stand there, under the showerhead, hair slicking to her neck and nipples perking into hardness under the freeze, goosebumps strutted and coated her flesh from head to toe, her cheeks and lips blossomed with a purple hue, her eyes closed, head dipped in discomfort or shame or embarrassment or sorrow or a bit of everything and even more.

Her body trembled beneath his warm hands, as they cupped her breasts, palming them and playing and pinching with her back hunching in a weak effort to get her discomfort across, despite knowing how he didn’t care, with the fact having been proven time and time again.

His warm calloused fingertips brushed down her abdomen, eyes stark and loud as they looked at her body, thinking of how unblemished and beautiful her skin was as opposed to him, no roughness or ugly greenish bruises, just milky smooth and rosy suppleness and all his.

His hand traveled further, causing her small ones to reach out and grip around his wrist, both hands giving their best effort at trying to stop him. Though his other hand was quick to wrap around her throat and extract a sweet gasp with the movement.

Her hands removed their pressure yet remained on him as he brushed featherlight touches over the sensitiveness of her sex, fingertips dipping into her folds, slithering in the slick velvet of his cum mixed with her wetness.

A sob ricocheted through her as her toes curled, fingers bending and nailing into his wrist. Still, he continued. Fingers pushing inside, pumped knuckle-deep inside the puffy spongey walls, reaching deep before scissoring, making her knees bend, yet kept from falling by the hand around her neck keeping her up like a noose as he curled the two digits.

Her eyes avoided his, looking down at his limp cock who somehow seemed just as intimidating as before, like a sleeping beast ready to wake at any second. 

Yet, as much as he played with her sex, his own remained still.

He picked her up again as he saw more of her skin going purple, not really wanting her to get sick, just refreshed.

Water flooded on the soft-with-mould floorboards in the tight hallway as her feet dragged against the walls when he yet again carried her to the bed. And as much as she wanted to fight as he placed her dripping body down onto the sheets, she couldn’t find the energy. Tears, however, still managed to drip down her face, unhurriedly gliding down her cheeks, warm in stark contrast amidst the freezing shower-water.

“Do you wanna hear something really fucked up?”

It was rhetorical, but he wouldn’t have gotten an answer either way.

“I used to be jealous of your crack-whore mother…”

Her face cringed, confused yet still not desiring to know what he meant.

“Fuck, I’m still jealous when you come to school and I see that there's somebody else who makes you cry harder than me.”

She had to swallow in order not to gulp.

“You’re sick.”

Those were the wrong words, for as quickly as they entered the air, he was once again on top of her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs.

“I’m sick?” He questioned, fingers plunging inside her, a forced moan ripped from her throat. “You’re the one cumming and creaming and squirting all over my cock while crying.” He bit out while starting to pump into her cruelly, finding it easier now as she was already wet from before. “Telling me you love it, telling me you love me.” He laughed as he sneered. “Who would’ve known what a slut you are. So desperate you let your own bully fuck you like this. You fucking whore.” 

His pushed his thumb into her clit cruelly, a sadistic smile on his face as she struggled.

“Stop, shut up, shut up!” Her palms made to push at his hard chest, yet was weakened as she felt the burning sweetness start to pool were his fingers poked.

“You don’t like that nickname? No? Aww, that’s fine.” He hissed, then scoffed. “It’s not true anyway...” He muttered beneath his breath, trying to find what sweet spot his fingers could reach as so to have her unravel beneath him again, wanting to lick the sin from her expression, wanting to bathe in his victory of making her his. “How did it feel to have my cock balls deep inside your precious little virgin innocent cunt, huh? Better yet, how does it feel to know how I am your first? First to kiss you, first to fuck you, first to make you cum.”

“Fuck you.”

Any remnants of strength was now spent on those last words, as the rest was spared to support her oncoming orgasm, the one she could feel clawing, sucking all senses up as though preparing for an implosion.

“That’s right…” He whispered. “Fuck me. Your first and your last.”

His ominous tone had her guts churning, which in some sick sense only added to the pooling dam that was about to snap inside her, but she kept her eyes wide, further digging into what his words meant, wondering if this would be her last day on earth, wondering if Bakugo would be the last person she'd ever see, ever feel, ever touch.

“You look like I’m gonna kill you.” He observed as he curled his fingers once again, making her hips buckle into his hand, which in turn made him grin. “Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

His head dipped so that he could nibble at her neck, lick up the tender flesh with his fingers pumping in and out of her, coated in slick, collecting and drenching in his palm.

“I’m just gonna make sure no one ever touches what’s mine again…”

She couldn’t explain why the growl in his voice had her abdomen doing flips.

“Including that fuckface slut you call a mother.”

His fingers scissored, her back arching as she moaned.

“You’ll be lucky I even let you graduate.”

She couldn’t quite catch what he was saying anymore, just the lilt in his tone which had her falling apart beneath him, the walls of her pussy fluttering in pleasure.

“People go missing all the time.”

Her toes curled and she braced herself.

“That way I can have you all for myself.”

His warm lips pressed against her neck, his growls reverberating on her skin.

“All mine.”

His fingers poked at something that was about to burst and as she wanted to climb further up on the bed to escape it, she also wanted him to follow.

“Where you belong.”

And there it was, body melting into the mattress, all shame obsolete in those seconds.

Unable to see him lick her orgasm off his fingers as her eyes had crossed and traveled way too far into the back of her skull.

Unable to prepare for his kiss as her mouth hung open, soft feeble moans cut loose into the air, captured by Bakugo’s mouth.

She didn’t catch the second he stopped kissing her, nor did she catch the moment he got off the bed.

She must have fallen asleep for a short while because when she opened her eyes again Bakugo was dressed, rummaging through cabinets containing worn out clothes and things like it, seeming displeased with most of what he found.

She looked to her side, where placed on the bed was a towel, fresh underwear and a bra.

She motioned for the towel first, feeling the shameful wet stickiness between her thighs, hurriedly wiping it clean before putting on her garments, looking up to see Bakugo staring at her, having found something suitable to dress her in.

“Put this on.” 

She didn’t bother looking at what he’d so graciously offered her of her own clothes.

Her eyes narrowed at him instead. 

“I don’t want your help.” She sneered, looking away, crossing her arms over her chest as so to hide herself from his piercing gaze.

His fingertips were quick in clutching her cheeks, raking them into her skin as he turned her head back to look at him.

“Too bad, you need it.”

The fabric was cast at her lap unceremoniously, the soft silky feel cold against her bare thighs.

“Put it on.” The growl was followed by him removing his hand with a push.

She huffed before looking down at the presented article, wondering what Bakugo wanted to dress her up in, her lips forming a disgusted snarl.

“It’s my mother’s.”

The yellow summer-dress, flowy and frilly in texture, something she’d never wear, something Bakugo knew well she would never wear.

“It’d go to waste on her.”

This made her look up, curiosity or maybe even a form of flattery evident in the curl between her brows.

The sudden eye-contact catching Bakugo off guard as he’d shared the uncharacteristically tender opinion of the girl out loud.

He scoffed, crimson eyes darkening in an attempt to hide the building flustered panic, masking it with a growl instead. 

“Put it on, I won’t ask again.”

She fingered the fabric for a while longer before treading it on over her head, letting the skirt dress her thighs with a featherlight fall.

Looking like a spring-daydream, not at all as though she’d just lived through a nightmare.

With her drying hair falling in messy curled tousles down her shoulders, Bakugo reached out a hand to fasten the small wispy strands coming to tickle her forehead behind her ear, grabbing her wrists in favor of her hand when he pulled her up.

“Let’s go. I can’t stand this shithole.”

Wondering if he should have said that he couldn’t stand her in that shithole instead.

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

[sunfoxfic]

I was just going through your Nino Lahiffe tag and saw a post in which you mentioned Nino and Master Fu as foils, and—if you’re down for it—I’d love to hear more! Your analysis posts are always so interesting and a correlation between Wayzz’s two holders is something I’ve always been intrigued in seeing be brought up :)

Okay I had to go searching for the post where I mentioned that because I didn't remember that at all and that makes sense because the original post was from April and as such I have no idea what my original thoughts are when I wrote it.

HOWEVER. You caught me at a really good time because I've been thinking/writing about the kwamis and Nino a lot recently.

One of my main characterizations with Nino, and I've mentioned this but I don't usually tag reblogs of my own posts so I don't know if it would be in my Nino Lahiffe tag, is that Nino is a coward. And he is! And I mean this in the most affectionate way possible. He struggles a lot to be a hero, which is the exact opposite of Alya, who wanted so bad to be a hero. Even in Anansi, he barely accepted the Miraculous even when he was actively being faced with danger - the only reason he took the Miraculous is because Alya was in danger.

So there's really the two things I think are important to understand about Nino: He is a coward, and he will follow the people he loves into the depths of hell (or into a battle, or into the Agreste Mansion, as it were).

Fu, likewise, is characterized as a coward. (Not really after his memory got wiped, but before that.) He ran from the Nazis when Marianne wanted to use the Miraculous; he ran from Feast when he realized that his past caught up to him. The difference, and the reason why Nino works as a Turtle holder where Fu really doesn't, is that Nino has that drive to protect people.

The Turtle Miraculous is all about following. Whereas other Miraculous can perpetrate villainy, the Turtle Miraculous really.... can't. Not on its own. Or, at the very least, not in a unique way. We've actively seen the Cat (Chat Blanc), Bee (Queen Wasp), Fox (Volpina), Butterfly, and Peacock Miraculous being used in evil ways, but closest the Turtle has is Shellshock on Heroes Day, and you wanna know what? On Heroes Day, Shellshock got akumatized for Rena Rage.

Even when you're talking about using the Turtle Miraculous in a good way, it's not like the Turtle Miraculous can particularly solve problems that aren't being caused by someone else. I'm sure they exist here and there, but where the Bee could keep a building from falling over, where the Ladybug could restore a building after a fire, where the Cat could get someone out of being trapped..... how often do you need defense without some form of offense?

The Turtle Miraculous is made to follow. And Fu simply did not have the drive to follow. Where they were both cowardly, Fu didn't have any connection strong enough to outweigh the cowardice. And that's not to say that Fu wasn't a great character or that he didn't have other strengths (I love Fu as a character, I really do!). It's to say that Marinette never could have asked Fu to use the Turtle Miraculous for her. It's to say that Fu did not really have what it took to be a successful Turtle Miraculous holder, in the end. So for all their similarities, Nino had something that Fu didn't: A desire to protect the people he loved. It's not that Nino is without the same vices that gripped Fu, it's that Nino has priorities more important than those vices.

[skiyoosmi]

if fate permits

⤷ chapter twenty three: seesaw

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Eerie. If there was one word to describe your current situation with Atsumu, that would exactly be the perfect term for it. As you sat across one another in a booth in a restaurant that Osamu apparently found for him (he says it’s the “best place” for the both of you to properly make up, you called it the “Osamu utters another bullshit” place), you find yourself unequipped of words to tell him, something you found odd considering you never had any dull or awkward moment with him. Well, at least not until our feelings got in the way, you thought, letting out a quiet sigh as you poked your food with the fork, completely aware of the stare that the blonde holds on you.

He fidgets in his seat, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to form his words because what else can he say aside from apologies (that he thinks are probably useless given that right after saying sorry, he finds another way to hurt you)? He doesn’t really have any other choice though so he takes a deep breath and begins his sentence, “YN, I’m really so-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence or I might just stab you with this,” you cut him off, waving the fork you were holding in his face, snickering at his wide eyes that was accompanied by a large gulp. You put it down and place your chin on your hand, leaning your head towards it as you stared him down (more like glare, in his perspective), “Just wanna let you know, this will be the last apology I’ll ever get and accept.”

Observing the confusion that became more and more evident in his face, you continue, “Because if you hurt me one more time, then that’s it. I’m really gonna cut off my ties with you because that just proves to me that everything about this,” you gesture towards you and him, “is not meant to be… as friends.”

Not even as soulmates. In a pathetic attempt to make everything seem like it’s fine, you grab the glass that was right by your arm; the harsh flow of cold water down your throat is not even close to beating the suffocation of the truth that dawned upon you. How ironic - everything is just a cycle that keeps on repeating over and over again yet for some reason, the agony remains all the same. It never gets less and if anything, becomes more to the point that it just torments you every single moment of your breath. Always so pathetic, YN, always.

“YN…” he trails off but you hold your hand up, letting him know that you were not yet finished.

“So, make sure that this is the last. You know we both deserve so much more than a friendship that keeps on pulling and pushing us. We weren’t like this before, Atsumu,” you state as a matter of fact, sadly smiling as he bowed his head down, “what happened to us?”

Deep down, you already knew the answer to your question. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, deny her entire existence, you can’t. Because that would mean denying Atsumu and the happiness he desires. Yet at the same time, you just can’t let go of him. 

“Yui happened,” he whispers, “I just… it’s inexcusable, the way I kept on pushing ya aside and hurting ya because of her… but I just… I thought she was her yanno? For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to meet my soulmate and Yui was just so bright and nice and I guess I got this hope in me that maybe she’s her… but she wasn’t and it’s so frustrating.” 

The disappointment and sadness in his face squeezed your heart that thumped against your chest, the longingness that had always resided within you struggling to get out and give him a hug. As he spilled his heart out to you, you couldn’t help the guilt that began spreading in your mind, he wasn’t the coward; you were. 

“It feels so frustrating to be so clueless every single time. I guess that’s why I took it out on ya, because I felt somewhat jealous that ya can see the threads and I can’t and for the rest of my life, I’ll be lost, wondering who my true soulmate is. And the fact that yer leaving me soon too… everything’s just so messy inside me, yanno? So I’m sorry for that, YN. I’m not excusing myself from the pain nor am I dismissing yer feelings but I hope ya understand where I’m coming from too,” he quietly speaks, fiddling with his fingers.

“Atsumu… I-”

“I said that but YN, I think I’m done waiting for my soulmate. I… I don’t want to seem selfish but… it has been too long of waiting… I’ve always tried to find them myself even though I don’t have abilities like yours. Thinking about it now, maybe they just don’t want to be found? Because if they did know me, wouldn’t they have told me right at the moment they met me? So, can’t you just cut off my thread please?”

And right at that moment, you felt your heart plummet down to the deepest and darkest abyss of your insides. He’s given up and you still can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. I don’t want to give you up, please, not yet… You want to beg him; to just give you a little bit more time, a little bit more courage, a little bit more attention in hopes that he’ll see. Please, just look at me, look at me and you’ll find what you’ve been looking for, Tsum. 

But the desperation in his face reels you back to the reality that he doesn’t want you; he wants some other girl, someone who can never be you and you find your heart being engulfed with bitterness so you scoff and stand up, “This bullshit again? You’re making me lose my appetite and I am not about to have this conversation with you, Miya Atsumu. ”

He gapes at you, obviously surprised with the sudden change of mood. It was already going good a while ago but perhaps, it was the calm before the storm, ready to ruin the both of you, “YN! Wait up! Stop! Come back here!” 

He’s able to grab your wrist as soon as you get out of the restaurant, “Hey! Come on, I’m pretty sure the aftermath wouldn’t be that bad! Ya don’t need to be so uptight,” he pants. He never knew you can run that fast. But that’s totally not important at the moment because he can literally see steam coming out of your ears as you took a deep breath and turned around, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“Uptight?! I’m in no way being uptight right now, Miya Atsumu! What you’re asking is… is dumb… outrageous… or nonsensical… AND dangerous!” you screamed, stuttering out of disbelief as the lad only looked at you with amusement. He chuckled; as much as he didn’t want to, he found your little tantrum cute. Your head whipped once again to his direction upon hearing his laugh, “you’re laughing?! Do you think asking me to cut off your thread is funny? You’re fucking ridiculous! Do you even know the consequences? Do you have no care for your soulmate?”

The grin leaves his face as he watches your eyes start to slowly but surely well up with tears, “Did you invite me just for this? Is this all you think our friendship is for? Jokes? Or the fact that I’m a fucking Moira who can fix your soulmate issues? I’m supposed to be your best friend before anything else, am I not?”

“Wait, no, YN… you know that’s not-”

“Because if you do think that way, you wouldn’t have thought about this in the first place because you’d know how much I despise cutting someone’s thread - have you even tried to think of what your soulmate will think? What would happen if she finds her thread cut off? You think she’d laugh too? She’ll just wake up one day with her thread being black, not even knowing what hap-”

“But she’s not here!” he screams, head down before he looked up, rage swimming in his eyes that even up to now, you still love, “She’s not here. And you’ve never even tried helping me find her so what makes you think you have a say on whether or not I should give up on meeting her? I’ve always asked for your help, didn’t I? But what? Every single fucking time, you reject the idea of me meeting her like it’s a plaque that will kill you.”

That’s because she’s always been here, I’ve always been here, idiot… is what you want to say but the painful truth of his words stopped you from retaliating further.

“She can find a new soulmate too! Y/N… please, I’m 100% serious about wanting to do this,” by now, any joke and teasing were gone from his voice as he begged the girl in front of him. But you were even more stubborn than him so you shook your head and crossed your arms, remaining firm on your stand.

“No. Stop being selfish, Tsum. It’s not always about your ‘needs’ and ‘wants.’ Breaking the bond… is something we mustn’t do, as much as possible. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret; I won’t let you,” you whispered, clutching sides of your skirt. Atsumu didn’t know what happened to him after that or why he stupidly chose to open his mouth again.

“You’re the one who’s being a selfish bitch, Y/N. Just because ya can’t find your soulmate and yer happiness, doesn’t mean we can’t too. You’re so needy that you can’t let us be happy without ya. I wonder what the gods thought when they gave you that power? Stupid gods, they can’t even do one thing right; giving it to a coward and a selfish bitch who can’t even cut her best friend’s thread for the sake of his happiness…” it was the crestfallen look plastered on your face that made him stop as soon as he saw it. Realization dawned upon him and immediately, he tried reaching out to you with his hand. 

Ah, I give up.

“It’s okay…” you choked, pulling back from him and taking a deep breath, no longer giving any effort to stop the tears that now freely flowed down your cheeks, “I understand. I’m sorry that I care for you then.”

He opens his mouth, ready to say yet another apology but he knows… he knows it was futile now. He watches you as you hastily wipe your cheeks from any tear stain but they kept on coming so you felt yourself get frustrated even more. Stop being so pathetic for once, YN, for god’s sake!

“You know, Atsumu? I always feel like we’re in a seesaw that just never stays balanced. It’s either one of us is on the top while the other’s down and it just… gets so fucking tiring trying to understand you.” You took a deep breath, pursing your lips as you finally felt the courage within you. It’s a little bit late for it to come, isn’t it?

“You want to know why I never told you about my soulmate’ Because I’ve found him a long fucking time ago. But he can’t even be honest to himself that he at least feels something for me. He chooses to be blind with all the possibilities we could have if he just chooses to cross the line, even for just a little bit… right? Cause be fucking honest, Atsumu, it doesn’t even matter if I told you or not. Either way, you’re never gonna love me the same way I’ve always loved you. It’s quite funny, honestly, I’ve never told you because I wanted you to love me, not because I’m your soulmate but because I was YN. But I never expected that it would be the very reason why I can’t have you… because I’m just YN.” You let out what seems like a laugh but the waver in your voice failed to deliver that.

“... So don’t tell me I’m needy and selfish because if I were, I would’ve told you the moment I met you that it was you. But I didn’t want to lose you, so I thought it was okay. I can deal with the pain if it meant I can keep you beside me and not risk anything…” you trail off, “... but I’m just… I’m done pretending I can keep being on this playground with you.”

You took out the red scissors that you’ve loathed so much, nearing it to your threads as he stayed still in disbelief of everything that has been revealed to him seconds ago, “I love you, Tsum..... I only wish for you to be happy so… don’t ever regret this, okay?”

Atsumu looks at you and at that moment, he just knows… that for the rest of his life, he’ll remember the broken smile you gave him as you finally cut the thread that has connected you to him for the past years.

Don’t regret anything, Tsum…

“Because I won’t.”

I won’t even remember a single thing about you.

note. ah… at last we have come to the beginning of the end. two words from me to you: i’m sorry.

[spice-chan]

I Wish

Tags : @sacro---sainte @pixxiesdust @ererokii @etegomanere​

Word count : 7 k 

pairings : Kirishima x reader  previous Bakugou x reader  

You were kicked out of Bakugo’s majestic and overrated castle. That’s fine, you find your footing somewhere better, and build a future anew with a handsome, shark toothed dragon.

warnings : angst, implied violence, mentions of slavery ( very brief), eventual happy ending. 

…...…….. 

Bakugou has had this thought for a while. A thought that plagued him whenever he laid in bed with you, whenever he strolled in his lavish gardens with you in the dim hours of the night.

This shouldn’t last.

Even as he reluctantly relents to your requests to meet up, spend time together, this thought plagues him. He was a king, and you were not royal, not even of rich descent. You were just...you. He was an ambitious king with plans for generations to come, enhanced senses and powers, a genius among geniuses. You were just a scholar who happened to intrigue him. Who got too close for comfort.

Bakugou, who’s mind was usually logical and unclouded, was seeing the world through rose coloured lenses.

A rabbit, with nothing on her name, and him.

But this was no fairytale, the struggle will just be ripping the bandaid off. Bakugou knows it will sting, but it will fade away with time, just like those ridiculous feelings.

“What is this about ?” You asked vehemently, trying to reason yourself out of thinking that this is true, willing yourself to believe in him.

“It’s exactly what you think.” Bakugou replied carelessly. Apathetically.

It’ll be just like ripping a bandaid off.

So why did it feel like a blue flames’ burn ?

Why did it sting like a snake’s bite ?

Time will tell, but until then, fake it till you make it. Maybe the apathy his face shows will eventually become all that he feels for you.

You just stared at him in disbelief, bottom lip quivering, eyebrows furrowing in a pained glare, sight getting blurrier.

You wanted him to tell you it’s a joke, that you’re the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with, not a pompous, rich princess from a fairytale like kingdom. You wished he’d take you into his arms and tease you that you ‘liked him that much huh ?’

He rolled his eyes.

You wished he’d express his melancholy at parting ways with you. You wished he’d give you half hearted reasons why he’s marrying someone else. You clung to the hope that he’d lie to you, but he’d done enough lying. He broke every single promise he made to you. Still, you clung to the hope like a tiny child clings to the side of the pool, afraid of the traitorous waters.

“While you’re at it, pack your shitty things and leave, I don’t want to see you here anymore.” He ordered, moving to grab his writing quill and paper.

Writing away as if you didn’t exist.

You wished, but wishes don’t always come true. Your future with him was going to be one of those wishes, made to wither away with time.

You didn’t offer him any words of heart break, he wished you’d at least shout at him, maybe that way he’d hear your voice one last time.

No, the only thing he heard was your footsteps padding away, not even stomping, just softly enough that if his pen fell if would deafen him to the sound of you walking away.

The clock ticked, his door opened. The bandaid ripped.

And you left. 

You walked aimlessly on an unfamiliar path. Your eyes looked cold, dead, their bright glow lost along with the faint yellow light in the sky. The grass crunched beneath your feet, and the trees were growing ominously large, their spine looming over you.

But you continued walking, aimlessly, and without direction. But that was the last thing that plagued your mind.

He broke up with you, he kicked you out, without hesitation. You didn’t shed a tear, but you knew the dam was going to burst.

It was your fault for having naive expectations, he was a king after all, and who were you ? A nobody compared to him.

You were probably just a distraction, seeing as he didn’t seem to have a hair out of place when he told you to leave.

You just thought he was above arranged marriages, that he was capable of keeping his kingdom solid without the aid of another. But you supposed the deal wasn’t half bad.

While you were lost in your head, you didn’t notice the camouflaged figures that began to appear around you, slowly forming a caging circle.

A hand clamped around your mouth, silencing your shrieks, while your eyes widened in fright.

You attempted to pry his filthy hands off you, your muffled shouting and crying ringing out with an echo throughout the deadly forest. That is, until the frog like man around you started to laugh, mocking how easy it was to “capture a bunny that will bring them thousands”. You dreaded the implication of their words.

You writhed in futile effort to get away, but your efforts were rewarded when you heard a growl a few feet away. A growl that certainly doesn’t belong to anyone here.

Your eyes glistened in uncertain hope, turning your eyes to look at the approaching stranger.

Now that he was closer, you could clearly see that he was a dragon, his shark like teeth bared threateningly at the man around you, his tall and buff figure dwarfing the strangers around you.

“What are you trying to do to her ?” He questioned, his red eyes holding a bloody promise. Some wouldn’t bother for a mere stranger, but Kirishima wasn’t some. When he heard cackles and distorted crying, he hoped his keen ears were deceiving him, but his eyes testified.

“Nothing, move along.” Spoke the ‘leader’, who kept his hands around your mouth, his bravado was crumpling though, his hands were growing lax, but he still tried to keep the situation in his favor. Futile effort.

You shook your head desperately, your eyes bleeding his, watching them turn grim.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Close your eyes, you might not wanna see this!” He suggested way too cheerfully, giving you another look at his dragon teeth.

Nevertheless, you heeded his advice, closing your eyes tightly, the darkness slightly comforting, however, the loss of sight amplified your other senses, and you were once again painfully aware of the grimy hand pressed against your mouth.

With your eyes shut, you missed Kirishima’s throat turning red as he conjured fire, the blistering rage leaving his throat and burning  the man holding you. You quickly moved away when the hand left your mouth, but kept your eyes closed when you heard a painful screech. The fire of a dragon being the purest and most potent of its kind quickly transformed the man to ash.

You opened your eyes to see the remains of the man flying around the forest, disappearing into nothing along with his presence. By that point, the circle that previously surrounded you was obsolete, the cowards having fled to save their life.

You felt sick, having never witnessed something like this before, but you eased the guilt by reminding yourself that this man was going to sell you, make you a slave for some perverted and cruel old owner. Maybe even put you in a brothel with no escape. You should have been more careful, but now the lesson was seared in your head.

You could remember the barbaric laughs that rung all around you, finding humor in stealing your life, your future. They thought your struggle for freedom was comical.

They deserve to die, you bet they caused many others to wish they could. The life of slavery was a hard, inescapable one. The life of sex slaves even more so.

They deserve to die.

They do.

But that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning painfully, for your mind to keep replying the events in a loop, making you feel lower then dirt, even if you shouldn’t.

You felt nauseous.

You saw the dragon approach carefully, and despite your sickened state, you willed yourself to look at him.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said, giving him the best grateful tone you could muster.

It felt like an invisible weight was lifted from your shoulders when you saw him smile, but the sharpness of his teeth still served as a reminder of what he’s capable off.

He approached you slowly, tentatively, as if scared you might suddenly flee. Being a former knight, he was well trained into how to use his fire powers and such, so he made sure not to hurt you, but he was sure that something like that might be traumatizing for you, but it was the fastest way to ensure your safety.

When he stopped in front of you, you could clearly see his intimidating height, he towered over you, but it was hard to find him scary with that smile he sported.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that, are you ok ?” He questioned in a low voice, attempting not to sound intimidating. He visibly exhaled when he saw you nod.

“What are you doing here at night all alone ? Are you trying to reach the town ? I can escort you there.” He tried to berate you for your carelessness, but he saw how shaken you looked, so toned he down the scolding. He saw how the soft rabbit ears you had were droopy, the fluffy appendages signifying your mood.

“I don’t know where I’m going.” You confessed.

A minute passed, carrying the ongoing silence with it as you nervously fidgeted.

“Huh ?” Came the dragon’s dumbfounded response.

You lifted your head, your eyes looking up at him blankly.

“You heard me.” Came your brisk reply.

Kirishima furrowed his brows, trying to formulate a reply that wouldn’t offend you or worsen your state, but the frown on his lips showed how much progress he was making in that regard.

A chilly breeze swept past the area, making you feel frozen, even your bones felt iced. The forest was suddenly wider then ever, and you were suddenly just alone as you had been when you were 7. The moon shone, but it didn’t provide any light.

Your throat felt clogged, you tried to snap your self out of it, to say you were ‘fine’, and that ‘yes, I am going to town’. But the words wouldn’t come out, the lies refused to leave your lips.

Because no, you weren’t alright, the man you loved, the man you helped win wars, the one you woke up every morning wondering what the day held for the two of you, the one you sometimes spent leisurely nights with, planning your future, and making promises to love faithfully despite his flaws; is marrying someone else.

He said he doesn’t care that you aren’t royal, told you to stop pestering yourself with  those troublesome thoughts, because he belongs to you and only you. But he lied, he strung you along, then told you to leave. Callously showed you the truth in a letter he wrote accepting to marry a princess from a prosperous land.

It felt like the weight of the world was sitting on your heart, crushing the already bruised organ.

A breeze came by again, but your face felt especially cold. You lifted a hand up, softly touching your face and feeling wetness coating it.

Oh... you were crying.

A hand clasped your shoulder, squeezing assuringly. He more or less got the picture.

“Let it out, it’s ok.” He said. You felt overwhelmed by the kindness of a complete stranger, and -

the dam broke.

Your shoulders shook violently, tears streamed down your face in endless waves, and just when a wave crashed against the shore, another, more powerful one replaced it.

The man enveloped you in a hug, his warmth cocooning you tightly, making the looming trees seem shorter and meeker, and the biting wind a little less cold. You stained his clothes, but whenever you tried to force yourself to talk amidst your tears, to apologize to him, to thank him, he would shush you and tell you to talk later.

Eventually, the onslaught of tears died down to harmless hiccups. Even tears were turbulent, and emotions were sometimes out of control, but the warmth of a complete stranger anchored you.

And when the hiccups stopped, you had a feeling that the everything will be alright.

.....

“- and he told me to leave and never show him my face again.” You finished with red rimmed eyes. The man, who you learned was called Kirishima, nodded in understanding, but his eyes help a solemn anger towards that pompous jackass. Your heart hardened at the memory of your ex lover, remembering his emotionless face as told you to read it. Knives stabbed into your heart as you remembered the words of his letter, how willing he was to set himself a wedding date even though you were the one that always stood by him and offered him endless support and love.

You ground your teeth in frustration, anger taking root where the sadness festered. But the ambers of the fire illuminating the rubies in front of you smoothened it out.

“He reeks of douchebag, totally unmanly. You’re better off without him.” Kirishima said, nodding to himself in agreement.

It was beyond his imagination how someone could not only do that, but take your home away from you for his own convenience.

“Do you have a place to stay ?”

You sighed, shaking your head. You had no one. He knew you had no one. Nowhere.

“That’s fine ! You can stay in my cave with me, I’d love some company !” He exclaimed cheerfully, trying to put you at ease. Truthfully, he really didn’t mind the company. After he quit being a knight to indulge in his natural instincts, he found an uninhabited cave, as mature dragons often do, and begun hoarding in it. The cave is meant to eventually be their own family home until the hatchlings reached a mature age and moved to their own caves.

Kirishima was trying to memorize how to get to his cave by foot, and he was glad he chose today, otherwise he didn’t want to think about what could have happened to you. You seemed like a really nice person, and regardless, nobody deserves to be taken advantage of.

He didn’t know where this sense of protectiveness came from, it could be his knight instincts making a reappearance, but he didn’t want you to get hurt at all.

He could help you get back on your feet, after all, there’s nothing that Kirishima loves more then seeing people smile in true happiness, and he has yet to see yours. He somehow felt sure it will be enchanting. But you were frowning now and looking all mopey and sad so he can’t tell.

“Would you like me to shish kebab something for you ? Food always helps me ! I can shish kebab a deer or a chicken, or a rab- no thats cannibalism for you right ? Uhh I can roast some carrots !” He rambled, watching as your stare got more and more weirded out. He started to feel self deprecating knowing he probably made you feel worse.

You laughed at his attempt to cheer you up, your mood lightening up by his intentions alone. You saw him go quiet and thought you’d better talk before he thought he weirded you out.

“You know what, I think I did bring some comfort carrots with me.” You said, reaching for your bag and pulling out some peeled carrots in a container. You gave the container to him, trying to muster a smile, although it probably looked awkward.

He seemed to brighten up, his dragon teeth making a reappearance as he grinned at you while enthusiastically taking the carrots from  you.

“You can shish kebab the carrots, or whatever it is.” You said awkwardly, having never paid attention to those foods before.

He pulled out some stickes from his own bag, sticking it in the middle of the carrot so he can roast them comfortably.

Rabbit food, but he was too tired and cautious to haunt.

The carrots were clumsily made, but they tasted sweet after the roast, Kirishima appreciated the taste, although he still wanted meat. You, on the other hand, had your comfort food, but it felt like sandpaper as your mind kept replying the events of the day. Just yesterday, you felt like you had the world in your palm.

Everything passed by in a blur, you finished eating and then started walking, because sleeping here in dangerous.

You could see a faint trickle of light as the previously black sky begun turning into navy blue, and only then did you arrive to his cave. The cave that looked so high to seemed to be touching the clouds.

“If you tell me we are climbing that I’m going back to the forest.”

“Whaaat ?! No, no, I’ll fly us up there no problem !” He declared making your eyes widen in fright.

“No what the heck ?!  You’ll destroy the trees !” You exclaimed in shock, unable to believe he’d be so willing to shift here and damage the beautiful trees.

His eyes widened, he shook his head rapidly while he rushed to explain “No ! I can semi transform, don’t worry.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, suddenly seeing Kirishima in a new light. It takes an extreme amount of practice and mastery for a dragon shifter to do that. God, you really hope he doesn’t kidnap you. Maybe this was unwise, but you really wanted to sleep, and the streets were just as dangerous for all you know.

Kirishima impressively sprouted wings from his back, two horns grew on his forehead, and his skin pigmentation turning red, a clue to his dragon colour.

He carried you and flew up to his cave in ease, enjoying the familiar rush of air as he soured up to the sky, and the warm comfort of being back to his abode.

He saw the wonder in your pretty eyes as you took in the place, your eyes lingering on his massive hoard, whipping your face to him as you pointed a finger in its direction.

“You gathered all that ?!” You asked, making Kirishima puff up his chest proudly, who nodded at your question. Said hoard contained jewels unseen by the eyes of many in their lifetimes. It contained gold, rubies, emeralds, hand carved rings and hand made necklaces. Among many others.

Immeasurable to the untrained eye, but Kirishima knew everything about his hoard, down to the most minuscule jewels, because a dragons hoard is a sacred thing, a part of them, one could say.

But while every piece is cherished, one is irreplaceable. Kirishima walks over to his hoard, digging seemingly aimlessly, until he pulls out a golden ring with a ruby jewel incrusted in the middle, the first handmade jewel made by him, and the heart of his hoard. Without it, Kirishima would go crazy.

The ruby, which still shone immaculately, was his birth jewel given to him by his father.

He put it own, suddenly feeling content and safer with the weight of the familiar ring on his finger.

You looked on curiously, thinking that the red of the ruby complemented him pretty well, it brought the colour of his eyes out.

“It’s very pretty, did you make it ?” You questioned, peering at him inquisitively.

He nodded vigorously, moving his hand unconsciously to let you admire his ring better.

“I made all of those”

You did read something about dragons being hoard enthusiasts, you just didn’t imagine it’s to this extend.

Kirishima offered you some feather blankets to make your night more comfortable while you slept. Soon, you slumbered peacefully, feeling more content and safer then you have this whole day.

Life was more... anticlimactic after that day. But it a good way. You lived with Kirishima, due to his insistence and your situation, he persisted saying that you can stay with him as long as you need until you get your life back together.

He took you down the next day, as per your request, and escorted you to the town. He went to do his own thing, something about meeting old friends, while you searched for a job.

The town was full of all sorts of people, from mages to shifters, it was a very diverse place, you could even see some rabbits like you here and there. Back at the castle, there was a few rabbits that worked in logistics and the like, you were among them, as rabbits were great and distinguished problem solvers and thinkers.

Being a genius among already intelligent rabbits, you were given the opportunity to study at the age of 9 in the castle, and work there, which you did, but you guessed now you weren’t needed anymore.

Before you could get desponded, you walked  around, taking the place around you but still careful not to get lost and stray to far from the meeting place.

You saw someone exist a place with two thick books clutched tight to their chest. You glanced at the door behind them, seeing an ‘open’ sign. You stopped in your tracks.

You could start there.

You pushed the door open, hearing a bell jingle, alerting a bespectacled tall man of your presence.

It was a large library, and from what you could see, there was only the man in front of you working, while a couple of others sat in the seating area reading quietly.

You approached him, making him smile politely and adjust his glasses which slipped down the bridge of his nose.

“Can I help you miss ?” He asked, his back straight as a rod.

“Yeah um, are you possibly hiring ?” You replied, getting straight to the point. He faltered for a moment, before contemplating quietly.

“I suppose it is incredibly hard to manage on my own...” he murmured.

“Very well then, can you come back tomorrow around this time ?”

You kept your excitement at bay as you reunited with Kirishima later on, who didn’t question you, assuming you came back with no luck.

This time, he made you fly on his back as he lead you back to his cave, and only when he came back did let the excitement take over. You put rationality on hold for a moment, overtook by the moment, and tackled him in a hug, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Kirishima felt the wing knocked out of him, hugging you back awkwardly as he felt his face flush. ‘Damn, what happened ?’

You practically heard unasked question, and decided to elaborate.

“I got a job, and it was the first place I walked into ! It’s in a library.” You gushed. You liked libraries.

Kirishima’s cheeks quirked up, his eyes looking at you proudly, “I knew you could do it ! You’re so manly !” He gushed excitedly.

Manly ?...

“Huh, manly ?”

“Yes, To be manly you have to have a resilient spirit and courageous heart !” He explained, making you nod. Although you doubted his meaning, it was endearing, he was a pretty quirky dragon.

“Guess I’m pretty manly.” You mused.

...........

A while after working at the library, you managed to feel like you were finally getting back on your feet. You still think about Bakugo sometimes, and it still hurts, but the wound was scabbing, and the hurt was no longer threatening to pour out.

Throughout all of this, one thing was constant: Kirishima.

You will forever wonder what compelled him to offer his kindness to you for so long, but you will forever be grateful to him. When your heart was threatening to harden and ice over, he was be there to bring you warmth and melt it away, like a gentle flare he can breath out so effortlessly.

You never experienced having a friend like that, but you can admit that Kirishima was the best friend you ever had. He was different, but the more differences, the more things you can appreciate and learn about. He was not a man to shy away from helping someone, a quality he told you was hard earned; it’s something he had to implement into himself.

And when the moment came that you can move out, you didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

It almost felt like you were leaving your second home.

“What ? But you don’t have to go !” Kirishima said, quite loudly, that it bordered on shouting. He felt himself getting agitated, and his dragon become unsettled at the thought of you leaving. You don’t have to go.

“But, I’ve intruded long enough, I can’t take advantage of your hospitality any longer.” You coaxed, feeling yourself become upset too at seeing Kirishima’s frown. You never saw him so upset, he was always your cheerful, manly pillar.

“But you’re not intruding, I can’t even remember what it was like to live in this cave without you.” He persisted. But you had to stand your stance on this.

“You know I’ll still visit you, right ?”

His shoulders slumped, sighing, before nodding his head reluctantly.

It felt like he was parting away from his hoard for good, but he had to remember that you aren’t cutting ties with him. His adorable, bunny friend will still be around.

And so, you guys hugged goodbye, but with a promise of seeing each other.

He helped you move your stuff over to your new place, a small sharing house, you and one roommate. You accumulated quite a few things during your stay with Kirishima, along the things you took from ... that place.

Now, you got your own place, your own job, and an amazing friend, life was finally back on track, although very different from what you previously thought It’d be, this one somehow reminds you that you are still self sufficient, and even if a jerk didn’t see the point in having you around, you’ll still live a much better life then he can imagine. Even through the simplicity of it. And that, will be the best revenge.

A few months prior however, a certain hotheads mind wasn’t as lackadaisical about your parting as one would presume.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

Did he really have to do that ?

Bakugo can remembers the heartbroken and betrayed look on your face and grimaces. He lost you forever now, didn’t he ?

Just like ripping a bandaid off, but it feels like his own heart was ripped out.

He stared at his wall, replaying his words.

He looked at his parchments, the courting letter he made you read flashes before his minds eye.

He tries to sleep, he remembers your adorable figure huddled up to him, demanding him to share his warmth, even though your own was so powerful, it seeped through to his very own blood.

He’s a king, he should behave like it and cut out those child like fantasies.

But then he thinks back to how he imaged you’d look ruling beside him. He always thought you’d look like a goddess with a crown adorning your head and a thron-

Bakugo grabs the nearest object, and throws it across the room, the chosen vase, unfortunately, shatters to it’s demise, it’s previous shape nearly unrecognizable, some pieces were so small, they were almost powder.

Bakugo grabs something else, throwing mindlessly, a beast who lost his sense of reason. He chose what he wanted to do, but his heart was protesting, urging him to go and fix things with you, to kiss you and tell you that you’re the only one for him.

Words that he spoke before, but didn’t live up to.

He looked at his room, panting in the wake of destruction.

Glass shards filled the floor, ink littered it, and blood was splattered, and Bakugou could vaguely feel a sting on his feet and hands, he wasn’t even what just occurred.

The servants cleaned it, and he finally managed to sleep, albeit restlessly.

When he woke up, a couple of hours earlier then he usually would, he sent for the butler, checking whether you were still here.

His heart fell when he heard that you left last night.

Fuck. Fuck. “Fuck.”

Where did you even go ? Bakugo processed the weight of his cruel actions. He sent you away from your only home, where was he expecting you to stay ? Was he stupid ? God, he must be a new, downgraded breed because what dickhead in their right mind would do this to the women they love ?  

His chest ached, he urgently sent guards to the nearby forest and all neighboring places to look for you.

While they were busy, he busied himself with something of his own. He crabbed his quill and a paper, writing an apology letter and cancellation of the wedding. He doesn’t want to marry some pompous princess, and he certainly doesn’t really need to. He only needs you, with your support, he can achieve more then what a measly partnership through marriage can give him-

“We found no trace of her, my king.”

- but he’d already written you off his future.

A heavy weight pressed against his chest. If only he can do things over.

And a month later, he married a princess whose name he didn’t even bother to know.

He saw you you in every corner of the walls, he saw your nose buried in a book in the library, saw your eyes as the moon shone down on you. Even the flowers in his garden remind him of how they looked tucked on your ear.

His ... wife, he supposes, although he despised calling her that, was just as pompous, bratty and arrogant as he assumed. But her kingdom was powerful, now he can reap the benefits, hooray.

She always tries to get him in her bed ( Bakugo couldn’t share a room with her, a requested a separate room a week after they wed) and looks down on anyone, declaring them beneath her and not worth her time with an egocentric huff and an eye roll.

You’d never do that, you were always so compassionate.

The familiar weight pressed down even harder.

He wonders how you’re doing now. Are you happier without him ? Or are you still pining like he is. Did you... find someone else, God, he hopes not, as selfish as it is.

Just like ripping off a bandaid, he thought.

Which brings us back to here.

You sat on your bed, exhausted, but feeling as rejuvenated as ever. This is the first time you lived truly alone, and while is was slightly lonely, it gave you the feeling of freedom you never had back in the castle, or with Kirishima.

You felt like you wanted to take advantage of that, but instead you opted to sleep.

You slowly but surely adapted to your new routine, waking up, doing your shift, visiting Kirishima when you can, and spending the rest of the day lounging at home. Utterly mundane, and your roommate disapproves.

You weren’t exactly close to her, she spent her mornings somewhere unknown, and her nights partying, only coming home to sleep and eat.

Somehow, even though you moved out from Kirishima’s cave, it felt as if you’d gotten closer.

His red hair and crimson eyes made your heart do flips, and his toothy smile caused your stomach to do summersaults. It was a familiar feeling, it caused your heart to ache with a familiar warmth, but the organ was bruised.

Kirishima felt close to you, but so unreachable, he was a free spirit, who where you to bind his wings ?

So, this caused you to do the stupidest, and most cliche move ever. Yes, you avoided him. You stopped going to see him, bringing him trinkets.

God knows you missed his virile musk and familiar warmth, you missed even lounging on top of his hoard, something he insisted on you doing whenever you went to choose a spot to indulge in reading.

You used to compare him to Bakugo a lot, used to sometimes miss the blond man through Kirishima’s actions, but the moment you stopped doing that, the moment you thought about Kirishima whenever you pictured a future, it should’ve warned you, but you were too busy turning to an apple whenever he caught your stare and -

No. “Stop that” you muttered to yourself, putting away the last book in the return pile to it’s

section.

“Good work for today, (L/N) !, see you again tomorrow !” Exclaimed your employer, Iida, making you smile and nod as you walked, leaving the bookshelves behind you and bidding the bespectacled man behind the counter goodbye.

You opened the door, hearing the jingle that you became accustomed to as you closed the door behind you. You only managed to take two steps before your feet were lifted off the earth.

You gasped, instinctively hitting randomly, but relaxing your muscles when you heard a familiar voice.

“Heeey, no need for violence, or did you forget me already !” Although his tone was cheerful, there was a slight bitter note in it that you couldn’t ignore of laugh off.

“How could I forget you, Eiji ?” You replied sombrely, glancing but at him with a small smile, which didn’t manage to fully brighten the seriousness your eyes.

Eiji held on tightly to your midsection as he flew you guys up towards the sky, and it felt like he was carrying you to heaven. The pedestrians nearby stared in astonishment at what seemed to be something akin to an abduction. It happened way to fast for the moment to have been real.

Eiji brought you so high, everyone else looked to be the size of ants, their existence irrelevant, but coexisting with yours and Eiji’s. Everything below looked so unimportant, but the hands around you kelt you rooted to reality as wind whipped through your hair, and his muscular chest pressed against your back, making you scared of making the slightest movements that could shatter the moment.

Suddenly, the landscape beneath you was scrapped and replaced with rippling blue waves and sand. The blue looked so pure and unadulterated, that when Eiji brought you closer to it, you kept almost see your reflection. What a reflection, wide eyes with a mouth to match, and a sexy hunk staring back at you through the glacier mirror. You brought a finger down, touching the water and creating a small, unnoticeable ripple in the huge ocean, afraid of touching it with your whole palm and tainting it’s purity. A small white ripple as you flew was the only fleeting evidence that you ever made contact with something so divine.

How ethereal beauty is, Kirishima mused. He wasn’t about to let you be ethereal in his life though, because although enchanting, you stumbled upon him to stay.

Eventually, he landed down on the sand, putting you down to your feet gently, but already missing your contact.

You guys sat down, uncaring whether your clothes got sand all over them.

Kirishima didn’t try to mask his displeasure anymore, frowning at you grumpily.

“Care to explain why you’ve been avoiding me you silly bunny ?” He asked. The ocean continued to coexist beside you, but Kirishima was once again the only existence you cared about.

You felt the urge to pour your heart out to him, the words traveling from your brain, down to your vocal cords and to the tip of your tongue, and before after-thoughts could plague you and render you voiceless, you took the plunge.

“I like you, no scratch that, I love you.” You confessed, your eyes looking away from his, missing the crimson becoming as intense as a volcano at your confession. You loved him too ? A feeling so euphoric traveled through Kirishima, his fantasies of a future with you were now more than mere fantasies.

Your nervousness spurred you on, making you grab one of your fuzzy ears and caressing it as heated words came out like word vomit. You spoke and spoke, but Kirishima remained silent.

Suddenly, he lunged at you ferociously, stealing the very words from your mouth.

He brought his lips to yours, kissing you roughly yet passionately, as if he was pouring all his repressed desires into locking lips with you. His slightly chapped lips created just the right amount of friction as amorous sounds filled the otherwise empty ocean around you. You brought your hand to the back of his head and pulled him closer, taking his bottom lip and sucking on it gently, and he understood your cue, opening his mouth to let you kiss him deeper.

It felt before like you stood up steady in the dark, finding your footing after stumbling, now, it was like the whole world was being showcased in a clear white light.

You moved back to Kirishima’s cave, his words being ‘no mate of mine is going go be staying far’, you had to complaints. Finally, you can call this familiar place your home. While Kirishima used to be something of a freelancer, he eventually opened his own jewellery store, as per your suggestion. It became incredibly prosperous, but nothing can compare to the incredible jewels of his hoard. Or the incredible mating gift he gave you, a more feminine version of his ruby ring, hand made by him, every time you looked at your hand, you remembered his eyes and a rush of happiness would coarse through you.

Although the income was pretty high, Kirishima would never leave his cave, it was already humongous, so it wouldn’t have trouble fitting family. The business was only there to provide for your future kids with no trouble.

And as another year went by, a hatchling joined your little family. It was a baby boy with black hair and red eyes. Kirishima eventually told you that he wasn’t really a red head, but you could already spot the black roots showing so it wasn’t any surprise. You assured him that his natural hair colour was already manly. He never died his hair again. The baby boy, Eito sprouted wings at the age of two, and managed to fully shift then. Quite early, bit we made do.

The process of teaching him how to fly was frightening for you and Eito though.

You had to have him shift, then throw him off , kind of like teaching a bird how to fly.

Eiji waited down just in case, but your nervousness vanished when Eiichi flapped his wings and soared.

A year later, you gave the three year old Eito a baby sister. A gorgeous baby with red eyes and your (h/c).

Finally, the huge nest Eiji created could be out to use.

.......

Bakugo finally found a reason to divorce his wife after a year of marriage. He found her giving the head night flirty looks, and his suspensions were later confirmed when he caught them in bed in her chambers.

The divorce was quite swift as her kingdom sought to keep the shameful scandal under wraps.

Now, Bakugo could mask in his memories of you in peace.

Four years passed by in a blur for Bakugo. It’s been five years since he last saw you, and weight on his chest didn’t get any lighter. It still hurts to think about the future he scrapped, the things he could’ve been doing with you had he not gotten arrogant and decided marrying a princess was better than pursuing his future with you.

He never searched for you again after that night, you’re better off without him. What would he say to you anyway ?

He’s pathetic, still pining after a woman who he hasn’t seen in 5 years.

........

Bakugo was in a nearby village, looking for any suspicious activity relating to the recent abductions. He wasn’t required to be here, but he had nothing better to do. He’s always at the top of his work.

He walked around, straining his senses to try and capture anything conspicuous or otherwise.

He eventually found himself at a tiny playground for kids. Although by the time he arrived there, the sky was painted a hue of orange, and the park was empty save for one lone figure on a swing. He would have turned around, but he was out for anything, and being at a kids park was slightly odd.

He looked at the figure, and his throat felt as dry as a Sahara. His heart palpitated wildly when he saw your familiar figure parched on a swing cooing at a bundle in your arms.

He always thought imagined what you’d look like with a baby in your arms, but seeing it now caused him un imaginable pain. His heart burnt, as if a dagger coated with poison kept stabbing him time and time again.

Before he knew it, his feet carried him over to you, and now his shadow loomed over your figure.

You looked up, your pupils shrinking upon seeing his familiar face, hooded with a pessimistic sheen. You’ve never seen him look like this, even when he kicked you out, its a foreign look on his face, like looking at a piece of art you’ve long given up on.

“(Y/n), is it yours ?” His strained voice asked, so softly, if could have disappeared with the passing wind. He was staring at you, his vermilion eyes seeing yours for the first time in years. You’d gotten even prettier.

“Yes, her name is Eiko.” His heart dropped at your answer. You seemed fo live her a lot, you probably loved her father a lot too. A pang went through him at the thought of the lucky bastard.

He looked down at the girl, he could pretend for a moment that her red eyes were his.

How ironic for your daughter to have the same - or at least similar - eye colour as him.

It’s definitely a slap in the gut when he sees a dragon’s mating mark on your neck, and then to see said dragon himself.

“Heey babe, I got you crepes !” He said, kissing you on the cheek as if you’re the only person he sees. Which is proven when he say Bakugo and frowned, turning to you.

“Babe, who’s that ?” He asked innocently, making Bakugo grind his jaw. His head felt shaky when he saw a short boy come out from behind his dad’s legs. He looked a lot like his father. You had what seemed to be the picture perfect family.

“It’s nobody Eiji.”

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

[ofmanytxngues]

When she’s angry her fists clench. Fingers curl tighter and tighter.

When she was younger she took her anger out in the woods. Breaking dead branches, kicking fallen leaves, running far - she’d express all the things she couldn’t in either her household or her friend’s.

For a while she didn’t know why she was so angry. Truth is, she can’t remember half of the reasons now. But one that sticks with her still makes her fists shake.

How many times did he take her hand? Body language open, smile warm, words spoken in a friendly tone - but his hands, always bigger their her own, would curl tighter. Clench harder. Grind her fingers together to let her know he was angry but not upset because he never got upset. Don’t fucking kid yourself.

Years endured with an abusive friend. Acknowledging her faults but never his own. How did she survive those years when she hardly felt real? When every word and action was so delicately placed for his comfort? And yet something was always wrong. It was never enough effort. It was HER and never HIM. Never them. She understands why the separation existed. He was the salt and she was the deer, led into an open field.

Each and every time he’d squeeze her hand a little too tightly for a little too long.

But that was never what bothered her. That isn’t what makes her angry still.

It was the fact he LEFT. He RAN AWAY before she could catch him by the hand and squeeze just a little too hard for just a little too long. Coward. Fucking coward. Her hands form fists, nails digging into the palms of her hand - air tight, because his hand isn’t there to grab. There’s no closure. There’s no confronting all the horrible things he did to her in the name of friendship.

She wants to see his face when it’s clear she lived, no matter what the doctors said happened. This isn’t the dead haunting the living, it’s the living haunting the walking dead - because he must be hollow inside to do all that he has. To live with himself still.

Her hands clench in on themselves because they weren’t meant to harm others in this way. It was specifically for Foster. Someday she would find him, she would take hold of his hand and though her bones will surely be rattling with rage - she’ll smile warmly like greeting an old friend. Body language open, tone friendly. And her hands, always smaller than his, will hold firm around his fingers. Feel the bones grind against one another as she held them far too tightly for far too long.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

changing of the guard

He closes his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, trying to get it across to his body that the threat is over, that there is no more need for vigilance.

He jerks awake.

Janus finds himself unable to sleep, even after three days of going without, even in a place that is supposedly safe. But Logan is more than willing to help him, whether he likes it or not.

Content Warnings: mild injury, sleep deprivation

Word Count: 3,680

Pairing: Platonic Loceit (could be read as romantic)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

Janus makes it three nights without sleep before deciding that enough is enough.

Wrath is angry. Wrath is always angry, to be fair, and Janus doesn’t always care enough to know the reason why. But Wrath is so rarely angry like this, in a quiet, deliberate way, formed of a steadier fury rather than a growling, spitting rage. He’s not sure what caused it, not sure why this is happening now when by all rights, Thomas should be absolutely fine, but he knew from the moment he rose up in the dark sides’ common room to find Wrath waiting for him that this wouldn’t end well.

His arm has almost healed by now, as have the blows to his face. His ribs still pain him, but he thinks they have graduated from cracked to bruised. He counts himself lucky that he escaped without further injury.

He’s been hiding since then, hiding as Wrath prowls the house looking for him, seeking his favorite target. He can’t afford to stay in one place for very long, because Wrath is many things but stupid is not one of them, even in this state. He can’t afford to stay in his room, either; Wrath has it staked out, will burst in the moment he rises up, and that was a close call that he would rather not think about.

Usually, Remus would be here too, and that would make all the difference. But Remus has been in the Imagination for days now, working with Roman on some project, and though Janus is ecstatic that the brothers are repairing their relationship, they could not have possibly picked a worse time. Wrath and the Duke are evenly matched on a physical level, whereas Janus cannot possibly hope to win in a brawl, as his aching ribs can attest.

And with Remus in the Imagination, Janus can’t call for him. The only thing that will do is attract Wrath’s attention, and he does not like those odds at all.

So. He doesn’t sleep, or at least, not for more than a handful of minutes at a time. He stays on alert, constantly listening for soft footsteps or whispered threats. He moves location when he needs to, relying on his own ability to remain hidden in order to pass unseen. And so far, it’s worked; sure, he’s exhausted and subsisting on a constant stream of adrenaline and low-level terror, but at least he’s escaped more physical pain.

Perhaps his fear makes him weak. A coward. Wrath has called him these names and many more during his fruitless search. He is self-preservation at his core, though, and he cannot see the sense in acting any differently.

But this can’t continue. Sleep deprivation has cast a haze over his mind, making it difficult to follow a coherent train of thought to its conclusion, but he is well aware that something needs to change. Either Wrath needs to snap out of the mood he’s in, or he needs to remove himself from this situation. Or Remus needs to come and rescue him, but it’s already been three days with no sign of that, so Janus isn’t holding his breath.

He needs to leave, and that gives him two choices: the reality of Thomas’ apartment, or the light sides’ part of the mindscape. The former isn’t particularly attractive, especially since he knows that Thomas will ask questions about what he’s doing there and why he’s doing it, budding trust or not, and he’s not certain of his ability to formulate a lie he’ll believe. Thomas isn’t ready to know about Wrath yet, and he refuses to reveal him because he’s too tired to act sensibly.

That leaves going to the light sides, which is probably something he should have done days ago, when it first became clear that Wrath wasn’t going to give up on making him his personal punching bag. It was pride that held him back, pride and the knowledge that his acceptance there is tenuous at best, liable to be revoked if he steps out of line. He might be getting along with Patton, and his issues with Roman have mostly been resolved, but he’s fairly certain that Logan doesn’t care for him and Virgil remains unwavering in his enmity.

Also, handling Wrath is part of his job. Always has been. He doesn’t want them to know that he is incapable of performing his job.

“Oh, Janus--”

The voice is muffled, still distant, but Janus freezes, his heart rate accelerating. There is a sound from a few rooms away, thumping, like he’s kicking open doors or throwing furniture.

He’s out of time. He needs to make a choice, but it’s no choice at all, isn’t it? He can keep running through the mindscape, can stay undetected as long as possible, only to inevitably fail when the sleep deprivation truly catches up to him. Or he can sink out and hope that the others don’t mind him staying with them.

The thumping draws nearer.

“Shit,” he mutters, and the noise stops, because Wrath hears him, but it doesn’t matter. The footsteps approach, but he is already gone.

He rises up in the light sides’ common room.

It’s dark. He hadn’t realized that it was night. Time has shifted and blurred together, moreso as the days stretched on, and the ground itself seems to shift and tilt under his feet. The shadows of the common room dance before his eyes, as if they hide sinister intentions, even though he knows that they don’t, that shadows cast in this part of the mindscape are just that: shadows.

This is probably the best-case scenario. He can sleep on their couch and be gone before any of them know he was here at all. Where he’ll go, he’s not sure, but he’ll figure something out.

At the moment, his mind isn’t functioning much beyond reminding him of how exhausted he is.

He settles on the couch gingerly. The stillness of the house feels odd to him, and every creaking floorboard or hum from the refrigerator sets his nerves on edge. It’s ridiculous; even if one of the others saw him here, they wouldn't hurt him. Not physically, at least. He knows that much. And Wrath can’t get up here, can’t get so close to the forefront of Thomas’ mind without his permission, which he certainly has no intention to give. He is safe here, as safe as he can be, and slowly, his body begins to believe that, begins to relax into the cushions. He has no blanket and no energy to conjure one, no pillow beyond the stiff, decorative ones at the ends of the couch, and he finds himself longing for the warmth and comfort of his heat lamps.

But he has slept in worse places.

Sleep creeps around the edges of his mind once again, and this time, he embraces it. Three days without rest has left his eyes burning and his head spinning, and the siren call of unconsciousness beckons him.

Finally, he lets himself fall.

Only to jerk awake moments later.

He sits bolt upright, scanning for the threat his body must have sensed, the disturbance that must exist, for why else would he have woken himself up? But there is nothing, nothing but the empty, silent house, devoid of monsters and devoid of fear. Things move in the corners of his eyes, but when he looks, there is still nothing.

He settles back down. But it happens again. And again. And again.

And again.

Every time he drifts off, he jolts awake after a minute or so, only to find that there is nothing there, no reason for his reaction. His mind is playing tricks on him, is insistent that sleeping here is not safe despite all evidence to the contrary.

He groans, rubbing his palms into his eyes.

He’s so fucking exhausted. So why can’t he sleep?

He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, he thinks he sees bugs crawling across his vision, but a hard blink informs him that there are not, that he is seeing things, imagining movement where there is none. Probably because he hasn’t slept in three days. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, trying to get it across to his body that the threat is over, that there is no more need for vigilance.

He jerks awake.

He feels a little bit like crying. The only reason he doesn’t is through years of habit, years of refusing to reveal weakness when it could be used against him at any point. He has never had the luxury of falling apart. Perhaps it would still be less dangerous to do so here, but just because the sides here call themselves ‘light’ does not mean that they are always good, or always nice, does not mean that they are above striking where it hurts.

It’s a stupid name, rings through his head, and though Roman has long since apologized, and he in turn, the words still sting. Here, in the earliest hours of the morning, he is alone with his thoughts and his insomnia, and there is nothing to keep him from ruminating on past blows he has been delivered.

He curls in on himself, and considers seeking Remus in the Imagination and asking him to knock him out.

Not his best plan, he’ll readily admit. In his state, Remus’ side of the Imagination would likely kill him long before he located the Duke himself. But what else can he do, at this point? At least if he’s dead, he won’t be awake.

Then, the lights click on, and he lurches into a sitting position, because somehow, Wrath has found him, has broken his way into a place that should, by all rights, be barred to him, and he doubts he will escape a second time, doubts he has anywhere left to run, and all he can do is sit here and squint against the light because--

“Janus?” someone asks, and his mind pauses in its spiral of panic. Because that doesn’t sound like Wrath at all.

His vision slowly grows accustomed to the light, and as it does, the features of the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs become more clear. A rumpled tie, thick glasses, mussed hair, an empty mug held casually in one hand.

Logan. Not Wrath. Logan.

He relaxes, if only a bit. It’s certainly not as bad as it could have been. Logan is unlikely to kick him out, at least, as long as he is careful not to antagonize him.

“Logan,” he greets, nodding. He wishes he had his hat, but that was one of the first things he lost during Wrath’s initial assault. “Don’t mind me, I’m just--” His mind blanks, and he scrambles for something believable-- “sitting here.”

Oh, very good, very clever. He’s changed his mind. Being beaten half to death would be preferable to this.

Logan rubs his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he does. “I can see that,” he says, “though I believe the follow-up question to that should be obvious. May I ask why you’re sitting here? Are you aware that it’s three in the morning?”

Janus frowns. “Are you?” he asks. “It looks to me as if you’re making a late night coffee run.” He gestures to the empty mug held in Logan’s hand. Logan glances down at it, looking vaguely sheepish, but the distraction only holds for a moment before he turns his attention back to Janus again, implacable.

“Perhaps,” he says, “but you’re avoiding the question.”

He huffs, resisting the temptation to cross his arms. His tongue feels thick and leaden in his mouth, his brain working too slowly to provide a reasonable excuse, and what’s worse, his chances of actually falling asleep are even lower, now that he’s been disturbed, and he can’t say he’s pleased about it.

“Maybe I’m scheming,” he says, and tries not to sound petulant. “The witching hour’s good for that. Maybe I’m formulating an evil plan.”

“On the couch?”

“On the couch.”

Logan shakes his head. “I find it highly unlikely that you would choose to, ah, scheme on the couch rather than in your room. Additionally, three AM is typically referred to as the devil’s hour rather than the witching hour, which is itself traditionally midnight.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “You have dark circles under your eyes, and your hands are trembling. Is everything alright?”

His hands? He looks down, and sure enough, they’re shaking. He hadn’t realized.

“Everything’s fine,” he mutters, turning his head away rather than try to make eye contact. He looks back, though, at Logan’s sudden intake of breath. “What?”

“Your face,” Logan says, eyes wide. He takes a few steps forward, placing his mug on a table with a soft thunk. Janus definitely doesn’t flinch, except he might, because he’s too tired to tell whether he does or not, actually. “Are you not aware of the bruising?”

He brings a hand up to touch the side of his face. He doesn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, but applying pressure hurts, and he is vividly reminded of how Wrath slammed his face into the ground, again and again and again, refusing to stop even when he began to beg. It stopped bothering him after the first two days, once the swelling went down, so he’d assumed that any marking had faded as well. Evidently not.

He looks up, and has to restrain himself from jerking back, because Logan is suddenly crouched directly in front of him, reaching for his face. He keeps very still as Logan turns his head, inspecting the injury. His pulse races, adrenaline once again bringing his mind to alertness even as his body screams with fatigue.

At some point, he’ll probably just… pass out, right? He can’t go on like this forever, whether his mind is at ease or not.

“This must have hurt,” Logan mutters, and that cannot possibly be concern in his voice, but if it’s not, he has no idea what it could actually be. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“No,” he says, and he doesn’t know how Logan can possibly sniff out a lie from a single two-letter word, but he must, because he glares, and Janus winces, looking away. Would Logan throw him out if he refused to say, he wonders? He doesn’t think so, but he’s been wrong before, plenty and often, especially when it comes to the motivations of the others. And Logan has never particularly liked him, even before he started silencing and sidelining and replacing him in an effort to make his own voice be heard.

“If you don’t tell me the truth, I cannot help you,” Logan says, and that is absolutely fine, because Janus doesn’t need help, he needs to go to sleep. So it must be the exhaustion that makes him reply with the truth. Not any desire for comfort, because he does not, in fact, desire any comfort. For sure.

“A broken arm and several broken ribs,” he murmurs. “The arm has healed. It’s just sore. The ribs are better, too, though not all the way.”

Logan makes an odd, choked off sound, and when Janus looks at him again, his lips are twisted into a scowl. Angry, then, though he isn’t sure why.

“Was it Remus?” he asks, voice tight. Janus blinks. Remus hasn’t injured him like this in a very long time, and especially not on purpose.

“No,” he says. “Not Remus.”

He sees the moment his meaning sinks in, watches as Logan briefly closes his eyes.

“I see,” he says. “I presume you are here for a respite, then?”

There is no judgement in his voice, none of the condemnation that Janus certainly didn’t fear would be there, because Logan certainly doesn’t scare him. Except, it’s so late, and he’s so tired, so maybe he can admit to himself, just this once, that Logan actually terrifies him, just a little bit. That Logan is the one side he feels has the power to well and truly cast him out, if he so desired. Logical truths win out over irrational lies, after all, no matter how sweet those lies might be.

But Logan’s anger, he slowly realizes, is not directed at him. Can he trust in that, if only for a moment?

In any other circumstance, the answer would likely be a resounding no. But his mind is so hazy, his eyes dry and burning, and every inch of him wants nothing more than to rest.

“He’s watching my room too closely to get in,” he admits. “I haven’t slept in three days. And even here, I still--” He breaks off, the part of himself that rebels against showing any kind of vulnerability winning out over the part of him that will say anything, anything at all, of only it meant he could catch a break.

But Logan understands him anyway.

“After three days of constant stress, dealing with injuries, and an inability to sleep without compromising your safety, you have come here in hopes of relaxing, only to find that your mind still will not allow you to fall asleep, despite how illogical its reluctance is. Am I correct?” Logan asks, and Janus’ face burns at hearing it laid out so simply. He nods, not trusting his voice.

“Would it reassure you if someone were to remain here and keep watch, so to speak?” Logan continues, and Janus frowns, certain that he didn’t hear him right, that his muddled brain is distorting the soundwaves.

“What?” he asks, very eloquently.

Logan shrugs, making a motion with his hands. His laptop appears a second later. “I was planning to work a while longer in any case,” he says, and sits on the other end of the couch. Janus stares at him. “It is no hardship to me to do so down here, if it will help ease your mind.”

He bristles at that. “I’m not a child,” he snaps. “I don’t need you to--”

“I am not suggesting that you are one,” Logan says, overriding him. “What I am suggesting is that you are verging on dangerous levels of sleep deprivation, and you need rest.”

Janus gapes at him. Logan stares back, calm and unmoving.

“You need rest, too,” he points out weakly. Logan tilts his head, considering.

“That is true,” he concedes. “I am well aware of the negative effects that going even one sleepless night can have. However, I received an adequate amount of sleep last night, and I plan to receive an adequate amount of sleep tomorrow night, so any adverse effects that I will suffer will be minimized. You, on the other hand, will certainly continue to experience negative impacts on your health if you do not sleep tonight.”

And Janus… can’t find it within himself to continue to argue. Logan is right that he needs sleep, and he tells himself that’s the only reason why he’s permitting this, because he’s exhausted and there’s no way that he’ll be able to persuade Logan to leave, not when it takes all of his energy to speak coherently at all, much less formulate a convincing argument.

So, he slumps back, curling in on himself again.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Do what you want. I definitely care.”

His words are slurred, his vision darkening around the edges, but that doesn’t matter, not if his mind will let him stay asleep, this time.

He barely notices the lights dim. Barely notices the blanket settling across his shoulders.

“I will, thank you,” Logan says, and Janus must be imagining the laugh in his voice. “Sleep well, Janus.”

His voice follows him into sleep, uninterrupted until the morning.

------

Logan wakes-- an odd occurrence, since he does not recall intending to sleep-- to a heavy weight on his chest. It takes roughly five-point-two seconds for his mind to come to awareness enough to realize that the weight is not his laptop, as was his original supposition, but rather, a person, laid out on top of him and clinging to his shirt.

Janus, to be precise, and Logan takes a moment to be glad that he is sleeping soundly. How exactly the two of them ended up in this position, he has no idea, but he will gladly bear the indignity of being used as a pillow if it means that Janus is getting the rest he sorely needed. Besides, physical contact has been linked to increased levels of dopamine and serotonin, both of which are conducive to improved mental health. If asked, he can provide this as the reasoning behind allowing Janus to sleep on top of him in this manner.

...To cuddle, rather. This is definitely cuddling.

All six of his arms are out, wrapping Logan in a firm embrace. His face is buried in his shirt, and as Logan watches, he nuzzles deeper into the fabric, murmuring something unintelligible. His grip tightens, and for some reason, Logan’s chest fills with warmth.

...Ah,  he thinks.  Not… unpleasant.

‘Cute’ is not a descriptor that he ever thought he would apply to Deceit. But he thinks it might fit here. He finds himself smiling, and slowly, so as not to wake him, he works one arm out from under Janus’ and tentatively begins to stroke his hair. Janus makes a strange whining sound, but otherwise does not stir, so Logan continues the motion.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, even though it is an illogical statement, as nothing he can say now would have any effect on whether his dreams are pleasant or not. But he stays there, carding his fingers through his hair, letting Janus cling to him in what might be one of the best hugs he has received in his life, and he allows his mind to drift again.

He will likely regret this later, when one of the others comes stomping down the stairs and no doubt makes a scene. But for now, Logan lets himself fall back asleep, still smiling.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps​ @the-real-comically-insane​ @jerrysicle-tree​