#fanfiction commission

[m-y-fandoms]

Commission: Nagito Komaeda and Kokichi Ouma - Kissing/Makeout Headcanons + First Kiss Drabble

Fic premise assumes you are the S/O (established relationship or crush) and WANT to be kissed by them, keep this in mind.

Word count: 2.6k words

Nagito Komaeda

Nagito is very ill (obviously) both mentally and physically. With this in mind and just seeing how he acts in-game, I have always retained the idea that he has different sides of himself. I think a lot of the time, the illness gets to his head.

Which Nagito you get can change day by day depending on his mood, his goals, or his current mental state, as we see in-game. Think of how he acts in the beginning of Chapter 1 versus say Chapter 5.

There was a very smug, passive-aggressive (and sometimes just plain aggressive), and sharp-witted Nagito…

Or the giggling, self-hating, hope-gasming mess of a man Nagito.

As his S/O, you got both sides, and both sides would serve you in his own way. He would always strive to please you, even if his methods and words sometimes weren’t the best.

After all, he wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if he didn’t see you as a beacon of hope. You were worthy in every way to him, even when he felt like he didn’t deserve you.

Early into your relationship, Nagito would be very needy, in disbelief that someone like him could have someone like you. He’d be touch-starved, nearly worshiping your body as you made out.

His hands would shake as he ran them up and down your sides while you kissed, clawing at your scalp, desperate to pull you in as if he’d lose you if he didn’t.

He’d be out of breath, ragged, not wanting to separate from you. He wouldn’t believe you would want to be near him, much less lock lips with him. He would savor every second, heart beating wildly in his chest. He would feel like he could pass out at any second.

As your relationship progressed and you two got more comfortable being romantic and vulnerable around each other, he would become more confident and initiate the connections between you two more often.

There would still be times where he acted a bit strange or timid, even in your trusted presence, but now making out with you was something he wanted to enjoy regularly, craved and needed, rather than an occurrence he thought would never happen to him in a million years.

He warms up to you like an engine, going from clinging to you and asking between kisses why you have feelings for a mess like him, to leaving you speechless and breathless as he pushes you up against the wall of your private cottage. He’d cage you in with his arms on either side of you, wanting you only to himself, biting at your bottom lip.

He’d become greedy with your touch and time, dragging you away from the group to make out in your room and tell you how you drive him wild.

The First Kiss

You sat on the floor of Nagito’s cabin with him like you did pretty much every night, cross-legged and hiding a hand of cards from him so he couldn’t cheat. He won nearly every time anyway, so he didn’t need that extra advantage. You enjoyed whisking him away for alone time like this. You found that many of your classmates either didn’t like Nagito or didn’t understand him. Most found him odd, even those who called him a friend. He never saw their judgements or little jabs as hurtful because he thought he deserved it. It made you really enjoy the time spent between only the two of you, because there was no judgement toward him, no stress. You could just be yourselves. He could even tell you about his ideals and plans for hope for the world all he wanted without being side-eyed. You often talked for hours as you played video games you borrowed from Chiaki and ate snacks. 

Everyone knew you two were a thing, a close friendship that had blossomed into a mutual crush. You were rarely seen without the other, and in fact most had an inkling that if Nagito wasn’t with you, he was up to something. 

You had a lot of fun with him, despite his constant questioning of your feelings for him: asking why you’d want to even be around someone like him, assuring you that he knew he could be a bother. He felt like he was a waste of your time, and you were slowly getting him out of the habit of feeling that way.

Now into early hours of the morning, everyone else was fast asleep for the night. Nagito walked you back to your cabin in the dark of the humid night, lit only by small lanterns adorning the cottage walls. This was your routine. Once in a while you fell asleep in his bed while he slept on the floor with a single blanket and pillow but him walking you back to your room before then was the norm. He’d casually wrap his coat around your shoulders on the rare occasion it was chilly, sometimes risk awkwardly reaching for your hand. He’d never been forward with you thus far, making it clear that while he wanted more, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He wasn’t the best choice for you. He was meant to support you, to bolster your hope, not be a romantic equal. Tonight, it felt a little different, though. You wanted your relationship to move to the next level. You were going crazy, left with only the gentle embraces or leaning against him on his bed to satisfy you until your next fix. You needed more.

“Well… goodnight (Y/N),” Nagito flashed you a sideways grin, hesitating as if something were on his mind before turning to return to his cabin alone. You’d met his eyes and he looked away, already beginning his trek back. You reached out, grasping the tips of his fingers then securely moving your way up his arm to halt him.

“Nagito, wait…” He snapped his ghostly white face back to you immediately, expectantly almost…

“Yeah?” You swallowed nervously, losing the confidence and adrenaline rush when his eyes searched yours. He had a way of making butterflies appear in your stomach. He was just… so pretty, especially in the low lighting, especially with your nerves on fire. “What is it, (Y/N)...?” He stepped closer when the silence lingered.

“I, well… don’t go, yet…” You struggled to find the words. You couldn’t just ask straight out, right?

“Okay… I’ll stay. Is something wrong?” He hadn’t known you to ever be nervous or at a loss of words around him. That was everyone else’s job.

“Well, I want to… well…” he stepped a bit closer and your heart rate picked up. “Is it okay if maybe, I kiss you?” He felt his heart sink. His eyes went wide, pupils blown out in disbelief, but yet he stepped closer, as if his body and mind were at opposition.

“What? You want to kiss someone like me? Why would you-”

“If you don’t want to, please, it’s okay. Seriously, we don’t have to-.” You started back tracking immediately, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

“Well of course I want to, but… I mean someone like me would only soil you. Can you imagine my filthy lips on y-”

“I do imagine your lips… a lot.” You spoke barely above a whisper, and he moved closer once more, until your chest lightly bumped against his.

“Really? Wow, I can’t imagine such a shining beacon of hope such as yourself wanting anything to do with me…” His eyes darted between yours and your bottom lip, feeling the stirrings of desire in the pit of his stomach.

“You say that a lot, you know… I wish you wouldn’t.” You tilted your head slightly, leaning in gently, extending your neck just barely.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice took on a slightly husky tone, and he didn’t stop you when your lips bumped against his, so reluctantly, so jittery. When he didn’t pull away, you pressed a little harder.

Almost like his cautious and unsure mood from just before was a merely a farce, he tilted his head to match, and his lips melted into yours like they were meant to fit together. Touch-starved and needy, he brought two shaky hands up to clutch onto your shoulders, as if you’d blow away with the wind if he didn’t. Allowing you very little time or room to breathe, his tongue found its way past your lips and brushed against yours. He felt you return the gesture with even more enthusiasm, and you heard as much as felt him moan into your mouth. The rumble in his chest sent sparks to your brain. He moved one hand around your waist, the other grabbing the back of your neck desperately, pulling you further in when you couldn’t physically be any closer. He was frantic, needing more and more of you. His mind was racing with so many thoughts at once.

Needing air urgently, you pulled away and found him hesitant to let go. So you didn’t. Not wanting to part from him either, you rested your forehead against his, bringing your hands up to run through his cloud of messy white locks.

Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi is not shy.

He is bold, teasing, and very loud about his feelngs for you.

Because while he loved to lie, your flustered reactions to his affections were so much more rewarding.

When it came to kissing, well there was no better way to rile you up and get that reaction he was looking for.

He loves PDA.

Kissing you in public was not only a way to mess with you, but to show the world you belonged to him.

He would do drive by kisses, running up to you for a peck then scampering off before you had a moment to process.

He would make bets, games, dares where you had to kiss him if you lost.

Kokichi was not nice.

When he made out with you in the privacy of your own dorm rooms, he was rough and unforgiving. He liked your little yips and gasps of surprise.

He would nibble at your jaw…

Bite your bottom lip a little too hard and lick up the bead of blood that spilled out…

Wrap one hand around your throat to keep you in place…

Sometimes he would tease you, hovering his lips over yours until you were nearly begging him to just kiss you already.

Your embarrassment was super cute to him.

When he was really into it, sometimes he’d pull at your hair or grab your backside, and when your lips parted to gasp, shoved his tongue in, an opportunist.

The First Kiss

You were traipsing about with Kokichi, investigating the newly unlocked areas of the academy. Exploring the vast and mysterious campus was daunting alone, but super fun with Kokichi by your side. You bounced between recently opened labs while Kokichi bothered their owners.

After a while, as the day was winding down and you’d begun to run low on energy, you sat with Kokichi on the top step of the flight of stairs just down the hall from Kiyo’s lab. The atmosphere was dark and gloomy, like the set of a horror film. You’d never have come up to this floor alone. You wondered why such a cheery girl like Angie had her lab - used to create beautiful art - on such a spooky floor. Kokichi, of course, had been messing with you the whole time, claiming he’d seen a dark shadow down the hall or that he swore he heard Kiyo hatching an evil plan in his lab earlier. You’d punched his shoulder, begging him to cut it out before you ran back to your dorm and left him behind. Looking down the creaky steps, you spoke a warning to him:

“Kokichi, I’m serious! You know this place freaks me out already. I don’t need you adding to i- mmph!” Your words were cut off, muffled into an awkward noise when Kokichi’s lips crashed onto yours. Your eyes widened in shock, but his were closed as he kissed you and pulled back just as fast. He leaned back on his hands, smirking mischeviously at you.

“W-what was that for?!” You sputtered, feeling your pulse throb in your chest.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Kokichi feigned innocence, his mouth agape in a childish look of guilt.

“You kissed me???” Your brows furrowed suspiciously.

“Well, I like you!” He grinned genuinely. “I know you like me too~! I heard you talking to Saihara about it the other day!” You were shocked at his apparent spying on you and would address it later, but he was right. You did have a crush on Kokichi, and you’d spoken to your close friend Shuichi about it at length, but you’d never have told Kokichi himself. You expected a swift and humiliating rejection if you did. You liked Kokichi a lot actually, but thought that to him, you were nothing more than a plaything, a way to avoid boredom because you tolerated him unlike most of your peers. A friend at most. 

Your mind was racing, wondering how he could confess his feelings for you so bluntly, so plainly… Wasn’t he nervous at all? Was this a lie? Who can state that they like someone as more than a friend so casually?

But then you remembered that this was Kokichi. He wasn’t like other people. He was unique, for sure. You’d never met anyone like him.

“If you knew, why didn’t you tell me before?” You questioned, disbelief in your voice. He really was something else. “Ahhh!” You cried out as you were pushed backwards suddenly, now laying flat on the floor against the landing of the stairs. Kokichi jumped astride you, ignoring your question and straddling your waist. With a devilish grin he looked at you, pinned down below him. “Kokichi!” You squealed, not able to do much else. Your limbs felt like jelly and you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Awww I love that embarrassed expression on you~! You know, (Y/N)... you’re kinda cute this way.” He leaned down, letting the tip of his nose wiggle against yours. “You want more?” He mused, his tone low and impish. Turning your head away from him shyly, you paused, thinking about if you should humiliate yourself by playing along first, before nodding in response.

“Then beg for it…” he frowned down at you, deadly serious and commanding an intimidating presence.

“Stop it, Kokichi! You’re being cruel…” You threw an arm over your eyes, obscuring him from view, wishing you could just disappear at this very moment. You couldn’t take the teasing anymore. You were used to it from him, but not in this way. Never in this way.

“Come on now… if you act like that, I won’t kiss you ever again!” He crinkled his nose and furrowed his brow in disapproval. Your ears perked up at that, and you acted on instinct, reaching up and grabbing his checkered bandana in a vice-like grip. His mouth fell agape just a little, brows raising. “Oh, so that’s how it is~” he snickered. 

He knew he had you in his trap, just where he wanted you. You tugged on the bandana, and he let you, bringing his lips down to hover right above yours. You closed your eyes expectantly, waiting for a kiss that never came. After a second, you felt the weight of his body lift off of you, and your eyes fluttered open in disappointment.

“Kokichi?” You sat up to see him already a few steps ahead of you, ready to make a break for it.

“Tell you what… if you can catch me, I’ll take you back to your room and kiss you all you want~!” He gestured flippantly to you, waving his hand, and took off at the speed of light.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy what I do, please consider donating to my Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

CW: skin picking/dermatillomania.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Swan Lake wouldn't exist without its complexities. The intense pressure put on a prima ballerina to perform two entirely distinct roles with perfection. Odette, the graceful beauty, as pure as her white wing. Her softness, her vulnerability. The cursed, sorrow as her undercurrent. Odile, the Black Swan—everything Odette is not: sensual, cunning, sharp, and determined in her selfish way. The sinister doppelganger.

A tale of duality. It is this very aspect that makes it one of the most celebrated classics of all time.

The final chords of the coda sounded as you paused in your final pose, chest heaving in labored breaths. Beads of sweat dripped from your jawline to your neck before dyeing your gray leotard dark.

Henri's sharp clap echoes through the studio, snapping you to straighten your posture. You turn to him once more, hoping this time to see approval on his face. However, his forehead is still furrowed, lips are pressed thinly, remaining silent. His dissatisfaction is palpable as he gently shakes his head. You feel your chest tighten.

“Non, it is not Black Swan enough,” he said, waving his hands in the air to emphasize his point. “Where is the bite, the seduction? You dance her as you would Odette – too soft, too pure. We are talking about the evil twin here!”

Under his tone was impatience, a hint that his reins were starting to come loose. The pressure in the room had been building steadily over the past few weeks; everyone was nearing their breaking point. Only two weeks and a month until production week, and production week meant one week before the big day. The entire company was walking on eggshells. Your new problem of not being able to unlock the Black Swan had become a cherry bursting atop the weight of it all.

“Should we run through it again?” Jacob asked.

Henri’s scowl deepens. “Do you see the time? No use staying if you’ll only repeat the same error.”

Your stomach twists as Henri dismisses everyone with a sharp gesture. With heavy feet, you follow the others as they disperse to their belongings, preparing to leave the studio. But instead of closing your duffel bag, you follow your hesitation and move your feet in Henri's direction.

“Henri?” you interrupt his conversation with the coaches. He whirls to face you, and you continue: “Please, let me try again. I’ll try to do better—”

Henri stops you with a firm index finger. “No, I do not want to hear it again. There is nothing more to be done tonight, so just go.”

 The dismissal he gives you stings like a slap, and you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming in your eyes. Henri turns back to the conversation he abandoned, his back to you, indicating he doesn’t want to be interrupted again. You hang your head low, heading for your duffel bag and vacating the studio like the other dancers did.

Pushing the heavy door, the cold night wind penetrates your bones despite the coat. Just as you were about to follow your usual route to the subway, your gaze is drawn to the unusual sight of a silhouette in front. A lone figure stands by a dark car parked at the curb, back turned as he exhales smoke into the air. His tall, broad shoulders stir recognition in your head. Before you can think further, the name spills from your mouth slickly.

“Simon?”

At the sound, he turns, cigarette dangling between thick fingers. He locks his burning gaze on you. You watch as he takes another drag of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding it beneath his boot.

“Sent you a text, didn’t I?” His hoarse voice replies.

Hearing that, you quickly reach into your coat pocket, your fingers closing around the cool metal. You pull it out with trembling hands. The screen lights up, and sure enough, a notification appears: “Back in town.” One hour ago.

“God, I’m—I’m really sorry,” you wince. “I must’ve missed it during practice.”

Simon remained silent, his expression hidden behind his black medical mask, studying you intently for a moment. You said nothing, used to the prolonged stares by now. 

Nodding to his waiting car, he said gruffly, "C'mon then, I'll give you a lift home."

At his invitation, your chest warmed as a smile spread across your tired face. You nodded, stepping into his car as Simon held the door open for you. He waited patiently as you slipped into the passenger seat.

The scent of leather mixed with the strong scent of tobacco surrounds you, so quintessentially Simon. Your eyes take in the crumpled receipts of groceries discarded carelessly in the empty cupholder and the faint scratches on the dashboard. In his rear view mirror, a skull charm dangling, and for some reason, you smile at it. It’s so Simon, but you wouldn’t guess he cared about such small details.

Simon enters on the driver’s side, filling the seat completely. As the engine rumbles to life, you try to lean back in the seat, dissolving that tension that’s been building since the practice started.

The car pulls away from the curb, along with the crackle of the radio.

The rain falls heavily outside as predicted, providing a soothing backdrop to the sound of the television hosting a rugby match. Both your coats are hung up, their presence creating a cozy and domestic atmosphere within the room.

Simon sits in the living room, basking in the glow of the television that occupies his attention, while you are busy taking care of your little business. Swapping your dark-stained jeans for looser pants, you approach him reluctantly, suddenly self-conscious. Your monthly flow has arrived, on the very day you would've least wanted it to. No doubt it's the stress that has thrown off your usually predictable schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur an apology, feeling like you’ve let him down. Now that sex is off the table, you expect him to stand up to take his leave—unless he’s the type to indulge in such things.

“’S alright,” he said, turning his gaze to you. He put his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him.

Your anxiety slowly dissolved as you surrendered to his touch, your arms loosely curling around his neck. The soft glow of the television cast a gentle light on his face, dancing in his warm brown irises like a miniature reflection. He gazed at you, a mixture of intense focus and a newfound tenderness evident in his expression. However, the sudden roar of the crowd quickly captured his attention again, and his gaze shifted back to the ongoing match. You followed his gestures as he restlessly tapped his fingers against the ashtray. Three old cigarettes, one more ready to be added to the collection.

You slip from his grasp, and he trails your movements curiously as you kneel before him on the floor. He raises a blond eyebrow.

“What’re you doing, love?”

You spread your knees slowly and settles between his thighs, meeting his stare shyly. “I want to help you relax.”

“You don't have to,” he rasp.

However, the half-heartedness of his refusal is quickly exposed when your fingers graze against his thigh, causing his body to tense involuntarily. Simon silently watched your every move, his breath hitched in his throat as you slowly unzipped his pants, uncovering the sight of his gray boxers. From beneath, a prominent bulge was visible, straining against the fabric, thick cock begging to be released. So you did.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. The sound sends a jolt straight to your cunt.

You’d always known he was big—the unfailing fullness he’d always pushed into you whenever he was buried inside you was telling enough, but sitting here now, it seemed almost overwhelming. The heat radiating off him, his muscular thighs spreading wider, and the way his cock jutted out and up like it was seeking your attention. Pink, with the delicate blue of prominent veins running around it. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. He was… different from this perspective, and a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness coursed through your stomach.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you couldn't miss how awkward it looked. But when you started to stroke it, Simon stiffened with a hiss.

Meeting your panicked gaze, he said, “Spit first, darling. Make it wet.”

Nodding in understanding, you feel your cheeks growing hotter at his instruction. Your saliva gathers beneath your tongue before you spit awkwardly on his pink tip. Simon watches as your pretty lips glisten in moisture—the sight makes his cock twitch impatiently. You run your fingers down his entire length, covering him in wetness. He follows your movements with heavy-lidded eyes; his body leans back relaxed—a sign that you’re doing a good job so far.

You look up, seeking another approval. “Like this?”

Simon acknowledged with a hum. “You can grip a bit harder, darling. And,”—he envelops your hand in his larger one to lead a demonstration—“move your fingers up and down.”

You wrap your fingers around him with slightly more pressure, following the motion he’s demonstrated. The feeling of his soft, silken skin stretched taut around your palm sends heat to your lower stomach. He lets out a groan when you sweep a thumb over his tip.

“That’s it, darling, you’re doing good.” His praise comes easily, encouraging you to do more.

Simon inhales sharply as your warm lips brush his sensitive head, pressing a small kiss and opening and closing experimentally around it. Fueled by your confidence, you lean in closer, then lick and dip the crown of his cock into your warm mouth. He groans, and you grow bolder—your tongue curling around his shape. His jittery hands aim for your hair to push himself further in, but he settles for your jaw instead, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

Sliding your lips further down, you taste the bead of salt gathered heavy on his skin. The feeling of fullness in your mouth is foreign, yet in the unfamiliarity, you find the desire for more and more. You try to reach deeper, but when his tip hits the back of your throat, you start to cough, your eyes watering from his size triggering your gag reflex.

“Easy now.” He reminds you, gently gripping your chin.

You must be such a try-hard girl. His eyes soften, filling with a warm, chocolaty hue as he observes you, almost as if he feels a bit sorry for you. Your cheeks heat up, and you consider just stopping and leaving it to him to finish.

But you are desperate—guilty and desperate. Guilty for having him come over when you can't fully satisfy him. Desperate to give him something new, something that he has never experienced before, something that will set you apart from his past flings, lovers, and the exes he keeps close. Something that will make you irreplaceable, even if he tries to fill that role with ten future women. You are very guilty and desperate.

(Ways to make the unlovable, lovable.)

You relax your jaw and throat, taking him deeper but slower now. One hand strokes what your lips can’t accommodate, while the other grips his thigh for balance. He releases a low, guttural grunt as his hand grips your jaw more firmly, his fingers tracing a path up the back of your neck. Goosebumps spread across your body. Your cheeks hollowing as you suck on him, and the hand behind your neck is gripping tighter.

Simon’s chest rose and fell as gasps and moans escaped him. “That’s it, darling, fuck. You’ve got the right of it,” he mumbled, voice breathy and heavy.

You hum contentedly as his fingers card through your hair. Sliding your lips further, you try again to get more of him in, saliva leaking and dripping down your chin. As you take him deeper, your teeth graze along his sensitive flesh. He hisses, and you draw back immediately.

“Watch the teeth.” He says.

You nod, heart racing with embarrassment. “Right, sorry.”

Restarting, you take him into your mouth once more. Gently. You lean in even closer, your hair falling and veiling the sides of your face.

A gasp escaped you when you felt his fingers gather your strands and hold them away from your face. You looked up, meeting those dark brown eyes. A faint rosy color on his cheeks, and you were sure you weren’t much different. His lips fell open to release little pants and moans—evidence of the pleasure you were giving him, and fuck, if that didn’t send a tingling sensation to your aching core.

Lengthening your reach, you try again, carefully. He lets out a groan as his cock slides in further, feeling the head touch the tip of your throat. Saliva glistens on your chin as your eyes water.

“Fuck, love. Feels so good..”

You set a steady rhythm of slow, long bobs. Your tongue swirls around the shape of his tip, making Simon tighten his grip on your hair. He shuts his eyes, moans and grunts escaping his lips, blending with the sounds of the rugby match playing on television—fuck, you want to turn off the television, need to smash it with a baseball bat just to hear his beautiful voice, but your rational head says no.

Simon’s voice came out in a staccato as he got closer. He pushed your head up to accommodate his length, and your eyes widened. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your throat contracted. His calloused fingers clenched tightly around the back of your head, guiding you hastily to his pace. Your moans were muffled—his size filling the entire space in your mouth—and they ended up coming out as a faint hum.

The physical signs of the effects of your ministrations on him are becoming more pronounced. His breathing grew shallower, coming out in short pants. You feel the pressure building in his muscles, the trembling in his thighs. His cock begins to twitch inside your warm wetness.

“Darling…” His voice is hoarse, cracking with the last bit of control. Lifting his heavy lids, he meets your eyes, placing one hand on your cheek. “Love, fuck, I’m—I’m close.”

The series of pulses grows stronger, and before you can register, hot, thick ropes of seed sprayed into your mouth. You cough, your eyes burning. Though, his satisfied expression is clear even through the blurriness of your vision. The salty tang against your tongue is unfamiliar, but you willingly swallow it all, leaving no trace behind. You release him slowly, gazing up through wet lashes at his flushed face.

Simon leaned back on the couch, feeling the pleasure slowly drain from his system as the world came back into focus. He fixed his gaze on you, taking in the details of you: your clumped lashes, the slight mess of hair, and your dewy, swollen lips. Lowering his gaze, he noticed the mess staining his pants and chuckled.

“What a mess we’ve made, darling.” He joked as he fixed his pants.

A giggle escaped your sweet lips. Rising on shaky legs, you took your place on his thigh. He wrapped one strong arm around you to keep you balanced.

The rain has softened to a gentle patter on the window, the rugby match has ended, and the show has switched to a soap opera that you both end up ignoring. You watch him withdraw a cigarette pack from the side table, pulling and lighting one with practiced ease. The smoke curls up lazily, short-lived as it disappears again, leaving the scent of tobacco in the air.

Nestling closer, you stare into his heavy-lidded eyes. “Did I do alright?” you ask softly, almost in a whisper.

“More than alright. Think you’re a pro.” He says, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

When you shift in his lap, he hisses softly. “Steady now.”

You frown, but the confusion is quickly replaced with a teasing smile when you realize what he means. Giggling, you shift again just to tease him, eliciting another hiss through his teeth. You feel his grip tighten around your back.

A hummingbird trapped in a cage—your heart throbbing in long-lived excitement, butterflies fluttering restlessly in your stomach. The desire to touch more, to have more. Lifting your arms, you hesitate for a moment before wrapping them around his neck, his nape warm and firm beneath yours.

Simon took another long drag, holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment before releasing it. The cigarette dangling lazily between his digits, you plucked it gently from his hold.

Turning the slim white cylinder between your fingers, you examine it curiously. The ash at the tip ignites with a stroke of a small flame that spreads slowly. You glance at him, finding that he has already been staring at you questioningly.

You brought the cigarette to your own lips, clumsily holding it between your upper and lower lips, mimicking the way you had seen Simon do it. The weight and texture of the cigarette were foreign. You take your first drag, then cough at the unfamiliar burn. Hurriedly, Simon snatched it away from you, as if that single drag held more peril than years of his own addiction.

“These ain’t good for ya.” He scolded, face unimpressed.

“And it’s good for you?”

“S’not good for yer pretty little mouth.” He replied, taking another long pull. Exhaling slowly, he leaned his head back against the couch, spreading his thighs apart. “Ain’t nothing to reserve from this ugly mug.”

Your lips curved into a slight frown. "Don't say that."

“Just takin’ the piss, darling,” he says gently, then extinguishes his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the table. You watch him struggle to find a spot for the newest addition among the sea of his past stubs. “S’full.”

You glance at the overflowing contents, looking back at him while ignoring the burning sensation that crept up your neck. In truth, it had been full for weeks—four cigarette butts including the remnants of his last visit, which you had left untouched.

“I’ll, um, throw it out later,” you manage to say, voice faltering slightly as nerves take hold of you.

Simon says nothing; he just wraps both strong arms around you, enveloping your smaller form completely against the warmth of his body. Outside, the rain has come to a complete stop, leaving dew and droplets of water that settle on the window like transparent beads. You look at him, and he looks at you. Those smooth, warm swirls of deep coffee brown hold their gaze on you, acting as gravity and pulling you closer to him.

Your lungs feel like they are tied in knots, afraid to release the oxygen within, as if the air itself must be held captive to avoid tipping Simon off to the tingling nerves coursing through your body in this proximity. Your fingers itch with the desperate urge to touch him, to trace the lines and contours of his face—the slope of his nose, the planes of his cheeks, the firmness of his jaw, the alluring curve of his lips.

The nervousness drips with sulfuric acid—burning, creating a pit in your stomach. It slips easier than your morning coffee, than your worn pointe shoes on your feet. You want to kiss him, and against logic, you hope he thinks the same.

In a moment of impulse, you bridged the gap between you and Simon, pressing your lips upon his. He froze for a split second before returning your kiss. You felt his fingers beneath your ribs, securing you firmly in his lap. He swiped his tongue over yours. Rolling. Hooking.

The taste of tobacco and the lingering essence of his release mix together in a heady blend. It is messy, raw, yet you savor it just as if it were the sweetest honey. He places a hand under your jaw, leading to a deeper kiss as he tilts his head to access more of your space. Each touch of his seems to weave itself into your very soul, the drums of your heart forming an orchestra that taunts your greed for more—a recompense for the gnawing hunger that only Simon can alleviate.

Before you grow old and bitter, you yearn to be cradled like this. To betray your loneliness with a kiss, to have your being deciphered through his touch like an unspoken language. Often times, you hold the things you love in your mouth; now you find his name and the gentle curl of his tongue pressed within the sanctuary of your lips.

As you broke the kiss to catch your breath, your legs found their way between his waist, pressing your hips against his once again-hardened bulge. Simon's lips released a faint moan, and his hands slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your sweatpants. Your head was thrown back as you sighed, baring the long column of your neck to his kisses.

Simon's name escaped in a breathy cry, it felt like prayer and sin woven into one—heresy spoken with the silver tongue of an open heart.

Simon's embrace of you strengthens, his arms encircling your form closely, drawing you against the solid mass of his chest. The soft lighting casts a warm, dreamlike veil over your senses. A major-key melody courses through your ears, resonating in your eardrums and creating a pleasant hum. You hear the echoes of your own distant dream—that notion you once dared not even think of: love. Mother had condemned it as mere folly, something repulsive; but, held in his arms, your soul was made so full.

And you surrendered completely.

Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, you lift a trembling hand to cup his cheek. The scruff of his stubble prickles your palm. You can't help but be caught off-guard by the striking contrast between his pale blonde lashes and his warm brown irises despite the familiarity you've shared over time.

“Stay,” you mutter. He furrows his brows, and before he can make excuses, you add, “please?”

Simon shift in his seat, trying to relax his posture. “Sure, if that’s what ya want.”

At his answer, you held back your smile. “In my bed this time. Not the couch.”

“Why?”

When the question comes out, he tries to keep his tone gruff and flat as usual. But, you detect the slight tilt that lifts the words that follow. You chuckle, shifting on his thigh. He squeezes your hips in response and sighs.

“Because the couch is uncomfortable.” You spoke in a singsong.

He huffed out a laugh. “Last time, this couch seemed good enough, if I remember right.”

You avert your eyes, fighting off a smile while looking for another excuse to convince him. Tracing idle patterns on his chest, you begin, “Well, after your... disappearance, I think you deserve finer things.”

Despite aiming for lightness, an oppressive weight settles upon your chest, as if attached to an anchor, pulling it down. The fact that he was absent from your world means he was in his world—a world that is crueler, bloodier than sprains and torn ligaments.

Lifting your gaze again, you ask in a hushed tone, “Another deployment?”

The absentminded patterns you etched upon his shirt come to a halt as Simon captures your finger, holding it still for a moment. He falls silent, his tongue seemingly paralyzed, and his vocal cords reluctant to make a sound.

“Yeah,” he answers even quieter.

After he confirms your fear, you feel your smile slip away, though you try to hide it. His secret military life is one you’ll never fully grow accustomed to, no matter how many times he comes back safe and sound.

Retracting your finger, the absence of warmth from his bigger ones feels foreign. You cross your arms in a subtle, self-soothing gesture. Preparing your question, the words come out even more fragile than intended: “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Simon’s hands fall to his sides, as if not daring to touch you for reasons unknown. It feels hollow, but it’s probably better this way. Being under his touch before his answer feels too much like bribery—him telling you to stop worrying, to stop questioning.

“Not even bumps or bruises.” He replies curtly, but with the conviction in them that you’re sure it’s not a lie.

"Okay." You said. Getting up from his lap, you then add, “I'll grab us some drinks.”

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before filling them with ice. This is enough for now, you tell yourself. Another breath. This is enough for now. Glancing back towards the living room where Simon has resumed watching television, its flickering glow showcasing a late-night program. You look down at the two glasses, their rims now covered with condensation.

This is enough for now.

It was 8 a.m. or something when you stirred in your sleep and opened your eyes to the recognizable confines of your bedroom. Everything is meticulously tidy and unchanged—nothing out of place, nothing different. Yet, a nagging voice silently whispers that there should be. The other side of your bed remains empty—an expected sight. As you turn over, however, your gaze fixates on the second pillow and you notice a subtle identification where it was never there—evidence of a head resting there.

As wakefulness sets in, memories swim like restless aquatic organisms into your brain. Your eyes widen as you realize what’s missing. Simon was here the whole night.

Throwing off the covers, your feet meet the cold hardwood as you pad through silent rooms looking for him. But, the dim living space is as empty as your bed. There’s no sign of him moving to the couch or his tall, imposing figure in the kitchen. The bathroom is devoid of the scent of your shampoo that he possibly used because he “didn’t have much choice” like last time.

Simon is gone again.

Sinking onto the couch, disappointment washes over you in waves so thick you can hardly breathe. It was expected—it was always expected because it was Simon—yet the blow never softened, and your insistent heart didn’t know when to stop waiting. You press your shaking fingers to your lips, clinging to the fading ghost of his kiss. Last night felt so far away, like it was some kind of illusion you let yourself believe in for a brief moment.

Your mind spins chaotically as you peel away the dry skin on your lips. Last night, I thought… you think. Faintly, the scent of iron is caught by your nose, and you taste blood as nails find softer blesh beneath.

A click startsles you, pulling you back to reality, and you whip around to see the door swinging open slowly. Your body froze as Simon entered, completely unaware of the state you were in. He drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as if he'd run for miles. Or maybe he did.

He turns to you with a simple stare. "Thought you'd still be asleep."

Before you can stop yourself, your muttering slips out: "You’re still here."

Simon’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “I am,” was all he said.

Now, you realize how your words might have landed in his ears. He might have interpreted your disbelief as you thinking it was presumptuous of him to spend the night until morning, when in reality, you were relieved he hadn’t really left you again. Perhaps last night wasn’t that far away; it was real.

Risking looking up, you stammer out: “It's good, uh… where have you been then?”

“Just a quick jog around the block,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Remembering something, he reaches into his pocket, fishing out a battered envelope before handing it to you. “Found this outside your door, looks like it's been there a while.”

“Oh,” you murmur, taking it hesitantly from his outstretched hand.

Only a few people know your address, and most of them communicate with you through phone or email. You've become somewhat lax about checking your mail and the doorway. Every time you return home from work, your mind habitually takes the quickest route straight inside. Thus, unexpected deliveries have a high chance of going unnoticed.

Tearing it open with care, another envelope peeks out from inside—this one thicker, made of finger parchment decorated with swirling ink. You pull it free, curiosity overtaking confusion. Breaking the wax seal, the heavy cardstock inside is exposed, with the edges embossed with gold-leaf lettering. You search for the sender's information and settle on a familiar name.

Your eyes lift to meet Simon’s waiting gaze. “It’s... it’s from my cousin.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “She’s getting married.”

Simon stands there, looking perplexed as he studies the wedding invitation clutched in your hand. His eyes return to you, unsure of how he should respond. “Well, congratulations, I s’pose.” He says.

Yet his voice failed to reach you, as if spoken from a distance, muffled beneath the strange ringing that filled your head. It was no sweet wedding bells chiming, just blaring alarm bells warning of danger close at hand. A wedding. Your cousin is getting married—she has found her happy ending and wants you to come celebrate at this friends and family reunion.

And that means one thing: she will be there.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[written-in-sunshine]

Hello! I’m Key, and this is my commission sheet! All of the necessary information for commissioning me is here, and I’d appreciate it if you could take a look before shooting me a message! Here is my Ao3 For Reference! Mobile Friendly Information! Please see the aforementioned link for Will/Won't Write List and Ships I Will/Won't Write List!

GUIDELINES

Please read my Will Not Write section thoroughly. Just because something is on the list doesn’t mean that I dislike or don’t support it, but there are things on that list that I just don’t have enough interest in writing. That said, things on my Will Write list do not inherently mean that I support or like it. 

Currently, the only fandoms listed that I will write for are Resident Evil Biohazard/Village/4 Remake, Sonic Live Action Movies, Sonic Creepypastas (.EXE, Rewrite, Sink), Blair Witch, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Saw (All Movies). This is because they are current hyperfixations for me and I am more capable of writing for them without issue.

I will allow up to three edits of less than 300 words before those incur a fee. If I interpreted your prompt wrong entirely, please let me know. If the confusion was on my part, no fee for a total rewrite will be incurred.

Please message me before filling out the form for a commission. I’d like to discuss particulars about certain topics and things and I’d like to approve the commission beforehand.

If given artistic freedom for a prompt, I will write how I naturally write the characters. I am willing to take direction for how you want characters to be written. I would prefer not to go against canon to the point of completely erasing a character’s identity. This does not count for certain kink scenarios (Bimbofication and other mind-altering things).

This is a kink-friendly account. I will not harass others over their fictional tastes and I do not support harassing anyone for any reason. I will write things that will make you uncomfortable. I will write things that are dead dove: do not eat. I will write a whole host of things and if that upsets you, please find someone else to commission. I am also willing to write kinks that are not mine! Please keep this in mind!

I predominantly write romance, smut, fluff, and angst, but can try my hand at other genres. 

I do not mind aging characters up for smut, and I will write any manner of ship type from m/f, m/m/, f/f, to polyamory. Please keep in mind that a fee will incur for more than 4 characters in a ship per every 1k words. If your ship includes 6 people then I will require at least 1,500 words minimum to write them. Smut for that many will be over 2,000 words easily.

For prompts, I will accept up to five words, two sentences, or a small paragraph of what you would like for me to write. Please try to be as concise as possible.

I will not start your commission until the upfront $15 for the first 500 words is paid. Once that is paid, I will begin and you will only be charged for the rest once the fic is completely finished and edited. I tend to add 100+ words to things in the editing process, as a heads-up. Payment can be made via PayPal, Venmo, and CashApp.

[charmandabear]

Remember the Halstarion threesome I promised?

I uploaded a draft to my Kofi (where you can read it for free.) 👀👀👀

[faelynfawn]

I do not really like sharing much about myself online, but I would really so greatly appreciate it if any of you are able to commission me at all. I can reduce the prices of things too, I just truly need some help.

Fanfiction commission information

Art commission information

My Ko-fi if you want to donate directly.

One of my mother's clients is threatening to put her in jail for fraud for having fallen behind on some work, and international tax is suddenly on my father's ass about my dead grandpa's trust account years later. Their credit cards are maxxed out. We might lose the house.

My brother and I are both unemployed and entirely dependent on them. We have three pets. There are five people in this house that they feed. Everyone in this house has horrible medical problems.

And my grandmother (who lives with us) is dying. It has been a long time coming but I cannot really stomach the thought of it. She can hardly move anymore. She needs my brother's help to go to the toilet. She has been having horrible medical problems for years and it has just gotten so bad within the past few weeks. She is going to die within the next year and it is horrible. My father is having to watch as his only living parent dies. It is already taking such a toll on him.

If anyone is able to do any of the commissions, then I can help take some of the stress off of them. There's a lot of things I need for my health and wellbeing that they just cannot afford to give me right now. If I can pay for it myself, or at least need less money from them, then it would help so much.

It is horrible watching my family fall apart around me and be unable to even help around the house with chores.

Having a bit more monetary freedom, being able to reduce the financial burden on my family, would help so so much.

[sanflower0w0]

Commissions open!!

Hello! I'm sanflower0w0 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanflower0w0/).

Times are tough so I'm temporarily opening commissions for hualian ficlets and fics!

I will write ✨ Hua Cheng/Xie Lian (and Wu Ming/Xie Lian) as main ship ✨ Fluff ✨ Humour/Crack ✨ Postcanon or modern au (for other au, ask me!) ✨ Ratings G, T, M (not explicit sexual content)

I will not write ❌ Angst/ hurt-comfort ❌ Explicit sexual content ❌ Canon divergent ❌ Violence/injuries

��� Pricing: starting from €20 (based on expected word count, complexity etc) via ko-fi only.

If you have any ideas and would like to commission me to write them, please contact me via dm so we can discuss further!

Cover image art (and my ADORABLE new profile picture!!) by whatmattersisyou. (P.S. Their (art) commissions are open too!!)

[penvisions]

dev's update

whelp, my unemployment was denied. as well as my snap / ebt benefits.

the company decided to claim it was due to misconduct. but the misconduct in question was absences due to medical leave they didn't approve. so idk, i can appeal it with the unemployment department but they said they would most likely deny it again since it was already once. this makes me feel like the company itself won't approve my appeal for the termination in question...

so i'm humbly asking for help on my ko-fi once again

offering commissions for small one shots - 1-3k of any pedro boy in any genre for $25.00 if anyone is interested. {coffee and candor} can be used as an example if it's something you may consider, but again absolutely no pressure at all!

apologies, truly. it sucks being dependent on nothing but what little savings i've almost blown through and trying to maintain groceries, finding a job around a small town that requires at least half an hour driving in any direction to stores / businesses, while taking care of my body as best i can without medication at this point.

it's been a hectic couple of weeks, almost month now since getting fired and i am not here for it tbh but i am trying to look on the bright side and remain positive as best i can

[writingwithcc]

Writing Sample: fanfiction, Legend of Zelda, Breath of The Wild, Zelda and Link, Zelink, General, Blood and Injury, Near Death Experiences, War, End of the World, First Kiss

Drabble based on the beautiful art by Helimarr.  "In the battlefield, there is no place for hope. What lies there is only cold despair and a sin called victory, built on the pain of the defeated." — Emiya Kiritsugu

    Zelda did not know war. She knew of it, had read many leather-bound books on the subject, studied multiple strategies, glanced over painfully detailed illustrations. These things were not war, though. They barely scratched the surface. Books did not mention the stench of blood and sweat and death. Strategies did not say how to handle a clenched heart when loved ones were faced withswords and beams of concentrated power. Illustrations did not show the little stuffed toy left behind, never to be held by its child again.

    Vah Naboris was the first of the Divine Beasts to be infiltrated. It was clear that something was wrong the moment its power ceased, paused as though in stasis, little more than a tall statue of stone. There was nothing they could do.Link had his hands full defending against Bokolin's, Moblin's, Lizalfro's, Wizards— and he defeated them, one by one, while Zeldaprayedin the growing expanse of mud, knees on the ground in submission as she curled inward and whispered her fevered pleas.

    "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

    A Lizalfro shrieked as Link's blade drove through its neck, his grunt rising above the sound.  

    "I ask for Your guidance, I ask for Your light, I ask for Your aid to release my power—"

   Link's grunt. A man's not too distant cry.

   "Grant me my power so I may serve Hyrule in Your name—"

   Crying. Grunting. Shrieking.

   "Give me power, I will serve You, give me power, I will fight for You, give me power—"

   Vah Ruta fell.

   "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

   Vah Rudania fell.

   "I ask for Your aid, grant me power—"

   Link's grunt. A Boboklin's shriek. Groaning and yelling and orders and clanging of steel against steel against flesh.

   "Let me protect them—"

   Vah Medoh fell.

   "Hylia, please!"

   The Castle of Hyrule fell.

   Zelda felt the weight of grief consuming her chest like a parasite, eating hungrily at everything she had, ripping out her heart and gorging on its core. Her father was no longer visible from his tower, and yet their soldiers honored his last command, fighting and dying against the growing wave of strength that engulfed them. They were losing— no. They had lost.

   Link knew. In all the time she had known him, her knight never ran from a fight, yet at that moment, he grabbed her hand and yanked her from the ground. He led them away from the castle and into the forest, pausing only to shoot arrows at the enemies who attempted to follow, his movements quick and precise and deadly upon every impact. They kept running. There was a loud, shuddering burst of dark energy from the castle. They kept running. Their enemies fell far behind and lost their trail, growls, and snorts and shrills fading from earshot. They kept running.

   Everyone was gone. They had lost. Hylia, even then, had refused to answer her call. How despicable must Zelda have been for the Goddess to deny her power, even then?

   You are the heir to a throne of nothing: nothing but failure.

   She didn't know where Link planned on running to. Perhaps he didn't, either. His hand gripped hers so tightly that on some level, Zelda recognized that it hurt, but the pain didn't quite register. She grabbed his just as hard. Then tears began to choke her throat, and she couldn't breathe. Her legs became weak, and her hold on him slipped. The mud beneath her sandals slicked, and Zelda fell in the one moment that Link loosened his hold. He stopped and spun to look at her, eyes wide, searching for danger but finding nothing. Nothing but Zelda on her hands and knees, panting and gripping the earth beneath her hands as though she could strangle an answer out of it.

   "How?" She asked in a broken whisper. "How did this happen?"

   There was the sharp shrill of the Master Sword retreating to its sheath and Link knelt before her. Rain began to pelt against Zelda's back, cold and pitiless. She spoke the words that seemed impossible; the Divine Beasts, their best defense, were now Calamity Ganon's and the Champions were trapped within them. It was all due to Zelda's inability to be worthy of the power that was supposedly hers by birthright. Everything she had done up until this point had been for nothing. 

    She truly was a failure; the sacrifices of those she loved proven meaningless. Her subjects, her Champions—  strong, loving Urbosa (had her death been quick?) Gentle, brave Mipha (she must have been so scared.) Good-hearted, faithful Daruk (did he regret trusting her?) Confident, unyielding Revali (he had surely fought to the end.) Her father. All dead in vain, all dead because she had failed them.

   The barrier Zelda had wrapped so carefully around her heart was ruined, and as she cried out in a painful wail reserved only for the mourning and forlorn, her body slumped into Link's arms. It was the only place that seemed safe. Sobs shook her shoulders, and wordless grief tore at the skin in her throat, stripping it raw, but her cries only came harder in retaliation. She gripped Link’s shirt as he held her. It had taken so many hours to sew the blue tunic he wore. But oh, how proud she had been as they'd stood before her father, displaying her Champions for the world to acknowledge.

   She didn't want to be proud anymore. Hylia could give her every ounce of burden and shame, she had earned it, deserved it, and would shoulder the weight willingly if only things could return as they were. Yet that wasn't an option. There was nothing left to do but face their own eventual deaths, for they could only run so far, and Calamity Ganon would always run further.

    It wasn't fair. Zelda slipped her arm around Link's torso as she buried her face against his chest, calming her thoughts by focusing on the rapid drumming of his heart. She wondered if his heartbeat was always so fast after battle. Her tears began to taste bitter at the realization that she had dreamt in quiet dreams of being held in his arms so many times. It was the smallest indulgence she allowed herself, but their embrace was never meant to be in this way. The moment which she had hoped would be sweet and tender was now stained by blood and sweat and death and rain and her tears. Zelda wondered if it was punishment. Yet Hylia had never been known to be a jealous Goddess, and it had only been an innocent dream, nothing more. She had been good. She hadn't done anything, had kept true to her purpose and devotion, had turned away so many who flickered at her heart. She had been good.

    Goodness had yielded her nothing, though. Zelda's sobbing wore itself out, sputtering until her emotions dried, and Links hold on her never wavered. He didn't speak. She didn't expect him to (what was there to say?) His heart continued to pulse erratically against her cheek. A numb, logical voice in Zelda's mind said that they should get up and keep running. Ganon's creatures would find them eventually if they didn't continue to move, and it was their duty to survive for however long they could.

    She didn't want to. It seemed so futile to fight something that had already won. They were going to die anyway, her and Link, it was only a matter of when. Something about that thought was calming, though. At least soon it would be over. Everything. The pain, the whispers, the humiliation, the grief, the failure— what did it all matter if they were no longer around to experience it? Zelda wondered if they would still be reborn as the prophecy said. Ganon would suck the world dry of its life and leave it a crumbling ruin, so perhaps they wouldn't. Perhaps this was the true end of it all, the destruction of a cycle that was once thought to be eternal.

    The rain continued to fall, and where it had once been painful upon her skin, now it seemed like reverence. It was possible that this would be the last rain to ever fall upon the Earth, as though fate was intent on cleansing the blood which soaked its surface before a final farewell. Zelda took a breath. Then another. She wanted to see Link. If there was nothing else for the world to give, if it was preparing to empty itself of all who had ever known it, then she wanted to at least see Link once more.

    Yet when she pulled back, trails on her cheeks where tears had flowed through dirt, her green eyes couldn't rise to meet him. She had failed so many people. Failed him. The shame still felt so heavy on her neck, domineering and cruel. Even so— even so, her heart retained an ounce of selfishness, and Link stayed so very close. He always stayed close, no matter what came. There was a day when she had stomped her foot at his loyalty but was it any wonder that he won her over in the end?

    Could she truly be blamed for loving him the way that she did, when Link was the way that he was?

    Perhaps Hylia was a jealous Goddess, after all. Perhaps She hated how Link held a part of Zelda's heart that she had not tried to shut close, and perhaps that was her mistake. It didn't matter now. They would be gone soon enough, and Hylia could choose her fate then, could rebirth her into a world of desolation or dissolve her into true nothingness. For now, Link was with her. For now, he was close, and her lips weren't far from his, and when she tilted her chin up they were even closer, he was closer, and it wouldn't take much to indulge as Zelda had never truly indulged before. There was no reason not to. Beneath the scent of a battlefield, there was simply Link, and it reminded her of a wild wind. 

    They would die, anyway. They had lost, anyway. Why not, her mind begged, why not?

    Link was the source of temptation and resistance. It made sense now why Hylia preferred him over her, for Zelda was selfish, and the Chosen Hero was noble. She couldn't drag him down to her level. Whatever punishment awaited,he didn't deserve it. However delicious the heat from his mouth might taste, it was not hers to take. Zelda squeezed her shut eyes ever tighter as though she could will her vile heart away and lowered her chin. She felt Link's hand cup her face, comforting and warm and more than she deserved. In the space between their chests, she breathed the words, "I'm sorry."

    Then Link's other hand was upon her, calloused fingers splayed across her cheek, passionate and desperate as the kiss he pressed to her lips. He tasted better than Zelda's darkest thoughts had ever imagined. While his hands were rough, his lips were so unbelievably soft, and it seemed as though they melted against her like the honey he so loved to drizzle upon baked apples. It was wonderful.

    Zelda's sob broke the kiss, short and sharp as it tore open her mouth to cry, but before Link could pull away she tugged him closer. Her lips were on his and her hands slipped around his neck, up into his hair, fingers tangling themselves in everything that was him. He was covered in dirt and sweat and other's blood, and he was perfect. Hylia was right to be jealous.

    She moved her kiss to the corner of his mouth, his temple, his forehead.

    I love you.

    He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

    I love you.

    Her hands gripped the sides of his face. His hands gripped the back of her head. Their lips met once more and refused to be parted, the heat necessary as air. If what they did was indeed desecration, then sacrilege was sweet and worth damnation. 

    I love you.

    At that moment, Zelda decided that Link would not die. She would, and that was fine, perhaps that was the way it was always meant to be— but he would live. When it came time, she would tell him to run (he wouldn't listen), she would tell him to leave her (he never would), and she would defend him (she didn't know how.) Hylia could have her failed reincarnation and do with her as She saw fit, but Link was no longer Her Chosen Hero. He was Zelda’s, and he was all she had. He was the only person she loved left to protect, and losing him was not an option. 

    She would have spent an eternity with him. But eternity was brought to a close by the familiar, almost musical beeping of a Guardian preparing to attack. Ever the knight, Link was quick to shove Zelda behind him and draw the Master Sword once more, plunging it into the Guardian’s glowing blue eye. He defeated it. More came. He stabbed the inner workings of their gears, slashed their mechanical legs, and reflected parts of their blasts with a well timed tilt of his blade. Over and over, the Guardian’s challenged him, drawing them out of the forest. Over and over, Link laid them slain amongst patches of flames left in his trail of destruction. 

    But Link, for all his bravery, was not immortal. His strength waned, his speed slowed, and little by little, even The Hero of Hyrule would fall. 

[noodlepals]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Inside Out (Pixar Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Disgust/Fear (Inside Out) Characters: Disgust (Inside Out), Fear (Inside Out) Additional Tags: Fluff, Cute, One Shot, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Hugs, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Insecurity, Comfort, Sleep Deprivation Summary:

Riley's finally settled in after everything and Fear couldn't be happier about their newfound stability....well except maybe when he looked at Disgust

Ayyyy just finished my first fic comm! Thanks so much @sockopunch! Your blorbos were an absolute blast to write for, I was so happy to do this. Also side note y'all if you haven't checked Sockopunch out by now please do so their art is everything lmao 

[poleaxewife]

Hello there! We are Cassiopeia. Today we're officially opening our writing commissions! Some background about us, we have been writing for more than a decade in various formats. We have an AO3 account where we are presently writing Kommandant Für Kommandant, a Signalis fanfiction that is currently over 20k words and is still ongoing.

We are multifandom and capable of researching almost anything for writing a story.

That is where you come in, dearest reader.

We have opened our commissions! At the moment, we have three slots open and an entirely clear back-queue.

If you would like to commission us, please read our TOS linked below.

[indigosabyss]

First Monthly Commission

So, a couple weeks ago, I opened a Patreon, allowing either 1k or 5k words of fanfiction commissions every month, depending on whether you got the $1 tier or the $5 tier. This is for anyone who has rarepairs or small fandoms, and are looking for more fanfiction to be written based on their exact preferences. If you're interested, please consider becoming a patron!! (Or for a one-time commission, here are my rates and conditions.)

My first patron asked for a No Petrification!AU SenRyuu fic with a shyer, more introverted Ryuusui. From that prompt, I wrote:

His Distractingly Brilliant Smile [G, 5k]

Summary:

Ryuusui knew he was annoying. Even when he tried his best to not be. But something about him still managed to make everyone avoid him. So he became quieter, more withdrawn, content with himself. Until Senku walked up to him one school day and asked for his help with ocean currents. He helped Ryuusui get excited about things again, but what does he get out of it? Well, he just wants to see Ryuusui smile.

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: TW - SDR2 Boys Stop You from Committing Suicide (comfort endings)

Some scenarios take place during the DR3//No Despair era at Hope’s Peak and some during the SDR2 island killing game. SDR2 SPOILERS INCLUDED

Word Count: 10K Words

TRIGGER Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THESE TYPES OF SCENARIOS. All sections are angst or depressing but end with the character comforting or saving the reader and the reader’s plan isn’t successful. Self-harm and plans of suicide are discussed and detailed. Situations and objects like drowning, pills, guns, knives, poor mental health, and more are included. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND DANGANRONPA IS RATED M for 17+ and canonically includes themes of murder and suicide. You are responsible for the media you consume. Keep reading below with these warnings in mind if you so choose.

Hajime Hinata

It’d been days without food and you felt like you were officially going crazy. Apparently it wasn’t enough that you’d been forced to see your classmates die in the most painful, cruel ways, betray each other, lie,  and scheme, now you had to starve on top of it all? You couldn’t take it anymore: the dryness of your mouth, the grumbling of your stomach. One thing right after another, days turned into weeks of misery, of despair even. But that was Monokuma’s goal all along. You barely ever left your cabin these days, fearing you’d see the worst side of one of your classmates in the form of a swift knife to the back as soon as you stepped out. You barely trusted anyone other than your best friend Hajime anymore. It was so hard to, when you’d trusted Mikan, the meek nurse, Peko, the intelligent and disciplined swordswoman, Nagito, the chill dude putting up an entire act to hide his craziness. Your cabin was always locked with you inside. You hated leaving, and now you were stuck in this damned funhouse, tricked here by that monsterous bear. You felt delirious: mental health declining, hands shaking, mind drifting.

You looked around your room - one of the average rooms in the funhouse’s living quarters - dimly lit like some villain’s secret hidden cave. Scattered around the floor were weapons you’d obtained as a reward for clearing the Final Dead Room, along with scraps of paper lined with scrawled plans and ideas. The ravings of a mad person it would likely seem to anyone else who viewed them.

Your plan seemed simple enough: Kill Nekomaru, make it obvious that it was you, get executed as the blackened and confess and insist, should it not be obvious enough. You wanted people to witness, to be convinced it was you so you could leave this wretched island forever. You felt like you were taking the coward’s way out, but you just couldn’t push yourself to do the job on your own. Maybe you were a coward, but you just wanted out, as soon as possible.

The plan was to make it as painless as as possible for the robot, if he even felt pain. That’s why you chose him as the victim in the first place. Honestly, it was adding to your rapidly plummeting downward mental spiral, the way your peers were treating Nekomaru. It was driving you fucking crazy. They acted as if it was just… normal. None of this was normal. Nekomaru was your friend, flesh and blood, and now he was just this… thing, this metal abomination. It’s not him in there, you’d repeat over and over like a mantra in your head when you saw the bot. It was disrespectful to his memory. Were you the only sane one here, side-eyeing the bot, avoiding him out of discomfort? You found yourself asking: If they uploaded an AI of my personality into a computer, is that me?

No.

It’s not. You all should have just accepted that the real Nekomaru was gone forever. It would be merciful to kill his replacement instead of a real human. It’s wouldn’t even be an actual murder, no guilt on your conscience. Monokuma wouldn’t see it that way though, and that’s all that mattered.

“(Y/N)?” You are shaken out of your mindless planning, sucked out of your thoughts by a knock at your door. Hajime. You recognized his voice and panicked at the state of the room around you. Hajime was a dear, always doing rounds to check on his friends, especially in this particularly stressful situation. As you and he were a closer as friends, he tended to check on you a little more often. You ignored his knocks, sent into an frenzy as you started kicking papers under the bed and hiding as many weapons as you can. You hear the handle jiggle and the door opens quickly behind you. Hajime spared no time when he’d gotten no reply from you. He’d lost too many to take his time anymore. A second too late could mean death for a friend, as he’d learned. You could’ve been dead, passed out from hunger, injured.

He freezes as you turn to face him like a deer in headlights, taking in the insane scene before him. He was definitely looking at the pile of weapons scattered everywhere - definitely noticing how unhinged you looked - and immediately begins questioning you, closing your door behind him for some privacy. It’s when you start stuttering, sputtering out excuses and deflecting that he truly takes in your mental state. You look completely deshelved and unwell, worse than everyone else though you were all starving and on edge.

“Where did you even get all of these?!” He gestures to the murder tools in desperation, just wanting an honest answer from someone he actually trusted. When you reveal the existence of the Octagon beyond the Final Dead Room, he presses you further: “Well what were you planning to do with all of them?” He is apprehensive of your answer. Seeing the genuine look in his eyes that seemed ever-present, you broke down, sighing deeply. You run your hand down your face, defeated,exposed. He sees you visibly sink into yourself as you prepare to finally give it to him straight.

“Look, Hajime, you and I have always been honest with each other. You’re one of the few here I can truly trust so I’m just going to admit what’s going on here… I feel like I owe you that much. I’m not proud of this but…” You hesitate, feeling like finding conviction in your words was an insurmountable task. Your bottom lip began to quiver. You’d held these plans confidently inside your head, but you’d yet to acknowledge them aloud. “... I was going to take a life tonight… I was going to make myself the blackened and then confess, taking someone with me…” Your voice breaks, ashamed of your words.

The room goes quite for a while, as Hajime just stares at you, thinking, not sure what to even say. He hadn’t expected you to be so blunt, though his assumptions were confirmed. You can see his chest heaving in the silence, hearing only and his loud exhales. You’d seen Hajime carry your class through trial after trial, seen him peice together complex evidence. He wasn’t stupid. He inferred in his mind as he stared that your target would be Nekomaru. You see the gears turning in his head. It made sense, as you loved hanging around the boisterous team manager before his transformation, and after… you seemed to avoid him like an ex at a party. He knows… but he doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to have this difficult conversation.

Slowly, so gently, he simply sinks down to your level as you sit there resting on your shins on the ground. He pushes some of the mess aside, looking you in the eyes before wrapping his arms around your starving body. You let him, not moving an inch, taking in his warmth. Maybe this is what was intended for you, maybe you needed only to hear his next words:

“You’re not going to do this, okay?” You feel him nodding, his chin tucked into your shoulder. “I’m going to be here for you, so I need you to be here for me too, right?” Hajime wasn’t always the best at comforting others in his own opinion, but you knew he was trying his best. Rather, others would say he was good at comforting his friends, but he felt awkward while doing so, like he wasn’t built for mushy moments. “We’ll escape this together: you, me, and everybody else. You have to keep trying for them, too. You can’t do that if you’re dead, right?” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood as the stress rolls down his brow in the form of sweat. He felt like cringing at his own words, wondering if he was helping at all. “If you do this, Monokuma wins, and I sure as hell know that you don’t want that. You’re needed here and wanted here, and I know you’re stronger than this.” He feels his shoulder become soaked as your silent tears roll down your face and through his shirt. “H-hey, can I stay here tonight, with you?” He was asking, but you were going to have to physically remove him if you said no.

Nagito Komaeda

You’d been staring down at the knife in your shaking hands for what felt like an hour. In reality, it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. The blade was long, sharp, gleaming silver. How easy it would be to just… end it. You hesitated, thinking about the pain. How much would it hurt, based on the location of insertion? What was the quickest method to just get it over with?

You sighed. You’d miss playing games all night with Chiaki to avoid thinking about more dismal matters. You’d miss discussing true crime with Sonia, late night snack runs with Akane - whom you always felt safe with. Most of all though, you’d miss Nagito, who you’d developed quite the friendship with. His complex thought process and quirky personality fascinated you, and it was never a boring time when he was around. He seemed to like being a loner, always planning or deep inside his own head, but he didn’t seem to mind when you tagged along. In fact, he sometimes remarked that he didn’t deserve your company, and complimented you skills as an Ultimate student. You’d miss knowing someone as unique as him and having them actually enjoy your friendship.

The room around you made you shiver. The ambiance was so cold and hostile. Now past the Final Dead Room, you’d found yourself rewarded by stepping into the Octogon, a hidden room just beyond. Honestly, if you hadn’t picked up better problem-solving skills through trials and the help of your more intelligent friends like Nagito and Hajime, you may have never completed the Final Dead Room. The Octogon, different from the escape room before it, seemed to be a bunker, a weapons cache filled wall to grey wall with deadly tools of every kind. There was even a fridge that contained lethal poisons. When Monokuma described a reward for passing the Final Dead Room, you’d expected a secret passage out of the funhouse, or maybe some food at least. You should’ve known better.

Tearing your eyes away from the knife, you are startled as the door back to the Final Dead Room behind you bursts open. Nagito Komaeda of all people stumbles into the Octogon, his usual casual lanky form slinking in. His expression was carefree, that standard stoner-adjacent look glazed over his face… as if he didn’t just complete a deadly game of Russian roulette to get here.

“Nagito?! What are you doing here?” You panicked, not expected to be walked in on in this vulnerable state.

“I could ask you the same thing, (Y/N)...” He smiled mischeviously. “I followed you here, of course!” Oh yeah, of course! Why hadn’t you thought of that? “Couldn’t let you have all the fun! To my surprise, when I tried to enter the Final Dead Room behind you, Monokuma stopped me and said I had to finish when you were done. Everyone’s expected to take on the Dead Room on their own, apparently.” He held his hands up and shrugged. “So, after I passed the Final Dead Room, Monomi confirmed that you were through the door at the end.” He sighed. “What a pain to have her in there as a distraction though. I was hoping to catch up with you immediately. Oh well…” You stood stock still, the knife still in hand, so unsure of what to do. How was he always so nonchalant? “So this is what Monokuma’s been hiding back here, huh?” He looked around, taking in the myriad of weapons like they were nothing of note. Then his gaze trailed back to you, scanning you up and down. “By the way, why are you holding that knife like that?”

You suddenly feel extreme embarrassment run up your spine, your skin heating up. Your lack of words tells Nagito everything he needs to know. He was highly astute and intuitive, and you could see him analyzing the emotions laid bare all over you face. Nagito was always a step ahead. You could see it every time you were with him, from playing a simple card game in your cabin, to the seriousness of a class trial. It was near impossible to get one over on him. You feel sweat run down your forehead as you realize he’s figured you out. You’re too kind-hearted to kill someone else, and you’d confided in him at length about your ongoing poor mental state, how you couldn’t take this anymore and felt drained.

Over the many times you’d hung out with him, he’d grown to care about you enough to stop this path you were going down, and sensed the potential for a great wellspring of hope to burst forth from inside of you. He saw you as worth saving, and found himself genuinely caring about your fate, so slowly, he approached you, reaching out for the knife in your hand. When you don’t resist, he coaxes it out of your grip and quickly moves to distract you.

“Huh, that’s weird. Wonder where that window leads…” Gesturing over your shoulder, he leads you over to the very small square window, the only window in the entire room in fact. He hopes silently that the embarrassment of being caught and the knowledge that he’s watching you is is enough to stop you from attempting in the future.

~

It was now well into the night, and your new plan was in motion. This time you’d move at night while Nagito was sound asleep in his luxury sound-proofed room. Everything was seeming to fall into place.

It was already established and agreed upon that Grape Tower and Strawberry Tower were the same location with Chiaki’s eHandbook test. It was still debated amongst your peers just how they could be the same room or how the elevators worked, but now you and Nagito knew better. The window in the Octogon had revealed to only you two what the true secret of the funhouse was. The two towers were one big column, and the floor shifted up and down like an elevator. Your plan was solidified as soon as you realized this fact. A fall might hurt far less than a slow bleed-out. It could be instant death if you did it right.

You’d made a deal with Kazuichi, the Ultimate Mechanic. He trusted you enough to let you keep it vague, and his hunger exhuastion certainly helped with him not giving a fuck about your reasoning. You all knew that the doors to Grape and Strawberry Tower couldn’t be opened at the same time. Everyone assumed it was so that they appeared to be different places to trick you all, but now, you and Nagito knew it was so the floor of the towers could move up or down, concealing the risk of a fall. You simply asked Kazuichi if he could disable this function in the doors so that both tower doors could be open at any time. He was tiny bit hesitant at frist, but nearly started drooling when you showed him a huge toolbox you’d allow him to keep if he used it to do what you asked. It was so very tempting, but led him to worry about where you obtained this treasure in the first place, and if Monokuma would be upset about him meddling with the doors. You alleviated his fears by assuring him that there were no rules against it in the eHandbook and that you’d take the heat if Monokuma got mad. While he paced, you pushed him, stating that the offer was quickly expiring along with the precious toolbox. In the end, he just couldn’t resist those new toys, especially when trapped in the monotony and starvation in the funhouse.

So now here you stood, looking down at the perilous drop from the high-up door to Strawberry Tower onto the floor of Grape Tower. You felt empty inside, both literally and emotionally as you hadn’t eaten in days. There was a hollow, grim feeling to the neon tower at night, something uncanny. Unlike the knife, once you lept, that was it. It would be freefalling, out of your hands. It might even feel like a relief. There was no pushing a blade in further, this would be much easier. You’d left a note in your room stating it was suicide, and trusted your closer friends to confirm your handwriting. Hopefully they didn’t think it was some trick by a real blackened.

Your heart was racing, blood pounding in your ear. You take a deep inhale, and hold your breath. Closing your eyes, you step a single foot out over the ledge to the fatal fall.

Silently and sudden as a gust of wind, a lithe pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you back. The movement is desperate, sudden and jarring. You gasp and stumble back, falling on top of your rescuer with a thud. Nagito groans beneath you with the force, knocked over with your weight. You knew it was him, by the voice, the smell, the paleness of the arms clasped in a vice-like grip around your waist.

You both say nothing for a while as the severity of the situation sinks in. Suddenly, like a tsunami, a wave of emotions hit you, and you begin to sob at the reality of what you were about to just do. Your chest hurts and your tears flow freely down your face and onto Nagito below you, spattering onto his skin. You want to yell out, to scream What was I thinking?!, to curse yourself. He squeezes you once, as if to say:

You don’t need to say a thing…

“It’s a good thing I happened to be out for a walk, huh?” He speaks after a long while, letting you calm down. He continues his deflection: “Looked like you were about to slip!” He clears his throat and begins to run one bony hand through your hair to comfort you, allowing you to lay there on his chest for just a little longer.

Nekomaru Nidai

There was a simple beauty to the warm, sunny beach out behind the diner on the second island. The sand was soft and the water always looked serene. Usually, you’d come with friends and swim or have a little picnic, but today you were there alone, and for much less pleasant reasons. The beaming sun and tropical scenery stood in stark contrast to the dark clouds inside your mind.

You were floating out in the middle of the water, pondering. It was all too much. Something was so off: this island, the killing game, even your classmates at times. Nothing about this all felt real to you. You didn’t feel real, lost in your own head, a prisoner in your own body. It was bad enough you’d watched Togami and Teruteru die gruesomely, or that you’d just recently sent Fuyuhiko to the hospital after the deaths of Mahiru and Peko. It was traumatizing, and yet it felt so… unreal. And it would only continue. You were sure of that, despite the naive positivity of some of your classmates.

You wanted out, to just disappear without a trace. You felt hopeless and trapped each and every day on this maddening island. You hated the mocking feeling of being stuck in a killing game in a beautiful paradise like this, the irony. If everything went according to plan today, you’d successfully swim down as far as you possibly could, hold your breath, and when you couldn’t take it any longer, hopefully not have enough air to make it to the surface. Hopefully, you’d sink to the bottom of the ocean with a big gulp of water in your lungs. Maybe if your body was never found, there would be no trial. That was the only selfless part of this plan if you managed to pull it off: no trial, no work put on your classmates to solve it. After all, a body had to be found to start an investigation.

Without hesitation, you began your last journey, swimming straight downwards into the deep water, making sure to take a pathetic inhale beforehand to make this all go faster. Maybe, just maybe, you’d wake up on the other side, feeling real again. Once you reach the bottom, you sink into the sand bed and begin to pass the time by thinking of the few things you would miss about this island hellhole, the friends you’d made even though you seemed to lose another each week.

Your heart started to race as you thought about Chiaki letting you win in that first person shooter. Your lungs began to sting and you think of Ibuki and Sonia forcing you out of your comfort zone with new music, activities and movie genres. The sting turns into a burn, and you try to push back any second thoughts as Akane’s tough love and Nekomaru’s beaming smile come to mind. The tried their best to make you feel better, support you, uplift you. They actively put time into making you stronger, in both body and mind. The valued mental fortitude just as much as a healthy body. They made you feel seen, like your company was never a burden, like a big brother and sister. Their blunt honesty could be so refreshing.

Lost in your thoughts, you begin to feel it in your throat. It’s coming… You begin to gag, choke, drown. Struggling on instinct, you kick your feet and grasp at your chest. You look up to see the sun shine down through the water, and feel… sad. It was the last thing you’d expected to feel. You were sure you wanted this…

The last thing you see before your world goes dark is a large shadow swimming in your direction. The muffled sound of movement, an object rushing toward you is all you hear before you let yourself go.

~

Without warning, you’re conscious again. You have a feeling you’re not on the other side when you feel your back  being slammed down onto the sand of the beach. There’s a pressure on your lungs, nearly bursting them and your eyes fly open in shock. Sputtering, you flip onto your side and spit out what feels like a gallon of salt water. You cough up a lung, so dazed that you nearly miss the large shadow completely eclipsing the sun, looming over you.

Nekomaru spoke, and the sheer volume of his deep voice startles you. You turn to face him and find that he looks sad, a rare expression for him. You’d seen him jolly, determined, angry even, but rarely sad. He looked… disappointed, on his knees right before you, so close. You hated that look on his face, even more knowing you caused it. After a long sigh, he began to speak:

“I was in the diner eating lunch… Through the windows I saw you swim out and go under but… after a while, you weren’t coming back up. I’ve seen you swim many times before… you’re an amazing swimmer, I know it. I really hope this was an accident… but-” Before he can finish, you throw yourself up and into his arms before he could see you cry. You hid your face over his shoulder, begging him not to finish his sentence. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, to hear the hurt in his voice. You just wanted someone you cared about to touch you, to make you feel real. He was always on your side, rooting for you, you didn’t mean to hurt him like this. The sand stuck to your soaked bodies as you held him, begged him to hold you back. When you whimper, trying to hold in your cries, he finally does.

“When you’re ready, we can talk about this, and for as long as you need,” he grumbles.

Gundham Tanaka

Gundham, although he was an amazing friend - your best friend in fact - wasn’t the best person to vent to. He had a ton of shit of his own to deal with, you could tell. He came with a lot of emotional baggage locked deep inside. The facade and dramatics, it was all an act, a wall he put up to protect himself from the world that hurt him as a child, the world that made him feel irreparably different. You couldn’t exactly vent about your long-term depression and anxieties to someone who would turn it into a lecture on demonic energies or a pep talk about how you were one of the most powerful mortals he’d ever come across as the Supreme Overlord of Ice. Sure, it would cheer you up sometimes, his theatrics would often make you laugh, but it was always temporary. Besides, he wasn’t a therapist, trauma dumping on him all the time wouldn’t be cool, and he obviously coped by escaping into his realm of fantasy. Why would you want to possibly rehash any old wounds of his by bringing him back down to the realities of Earth? You had too much love for him to do that.

You spent as much time with him as possible, though. It was one of of the few things that brought you joy anymore. You’d lost interest in most if not all of your old hobbies. He sensed it, you knew, but became awkward and nervous, never knowing quite how to both cheer you up and stay on script.

Hope’s Peak provided Gundham with a building of his own on the large campus. It tripled as a sort of animal reserve, rescue, and clinic. Most Hope’s Peak Ultimates had their own space dedicated to honing their talent, and this was his. That was the most important part of their school day after all. The other subjects were second priority. Gundham referred to the Ultimate Breeder’s building as his dark temple, his sanctuary of gloom, always something to that effect. He rarely let anyone who wasn’t in the breeding club enter, and even then he kept a close eye on its members. You joined the club because you cared for him, but you doubted he would ever kick his best friend out regardless. He often made exceptions to his rules for you, using some excuse about how he’d baptized you in shadows to make you worthy, or placed a protection spell first.

The breeding club building was truly impressive. There were medical wings, feeding stations, training rooms, even outdoor yards and runs for the animals to feel free. Everything was so well kempt. The place was split up to accommodate different animals and keep prey and predators apart, and there were some dangerous predators to be found there. You’d even seen Gundham bring a perfectly trained bear to class before. Everyone was in awe that day.

In the clinic area, you sat waiting for Gundham to bring some restock supplies. Sitting there with only your own sadness to keep you company, you began to drift into the dark recesses of your mind yet again. It felt like a daily occurrence lately. You felt insecure, worthless, dangerous. Across the room, you gazed into the cage of a particularly nasty breed of snake. It was deadly venomous, and seemed to be calling out your name. Without thinking, as if in a trance, you raise to a standing position. It feels like you’ve lost all control of your limbs as you hover over toward the testy reptile. Unlocking it’s cage door with a click, you reach in, letting the snake coil around your hand with no reluctance, like a person possessed. Like you had nothing to lose.

Being Gundham’s ward, it’s pretty well behaved already, but still new to the rescue and with a slight feral side not yet trained out completely. With your free hand, you grab its head gently and press its mouth into your wrist. You bump its nose into your skin, not enough to hurt the snake, just irritate. Gudham wouldn’t approve of you hurting any animal. You could never. With a small hiss, it pulls back slightly and strikes forward, latching its fangs down deep into the flesh of your wrist. You cry out, feeling something for the first time that day. The fangs were long and dug in snuggly.

Gundham’s deep voice startles you, booming as he enters with the box of supplies in his hand. He’s boasting, something about how the check-ups would go smoothly with you there to assist today when his words are cut off by the sight before him.

The snake in your hand was just now pulling its fangs out of your skin, and you had a horrified look on your face at his sudden appearance, like you didn’t want him to see. His mind started racing, instantly in fight or flight mode - more like save or let die mode - fitting for a man who spends so much time around creatures that run on survival instinct. You drop to your knees, the venom already beginning its work. Your rapidly numbing hand fell to the ground, the snake safely slithering down and onto the floor. Gundham rushed over to the snake, scooping it up and locking it safely back into its cage to secure the area.

You started feeling woozy, feeling heat creep up your arm and spread through your veins to your shoulder and chest. It both hurt and felt tingly, like a limb that had fallen asleep but was simultaneously on fire. Your head began to pulse like a searing migraine, and you were sure the stress of having Gundham there to watch your downfall was making it worse. Your vision was now swimming, blurry and dimming. Gundham is rushing over to you, grabbing you up into his arms, but his yells are muffled as if there were cotton balls in your ears. And then, with a sudden surge of pain in your lungs, you black out.

~

When your eyes finally crack open, you find them sensitive to the light above. You look around slowly, taking in the familiar surroundings of Hope’s Peak Academy’s hospital wing. You gasp softly when you try to move your right hand and feel resistance tugging back. You glance down, tearing up when you see a bandaged hand firmly clasped around your own. Gundham is pulled up in a comfy chair next to your hospital bed, his head resting on the bed beside your thigh. He’s sound asleep, probably sleeping off the stress you put him through. The curl at the end of his striped hair lays across your blanket. He looked intense even unconscious, his brow furrowed, scrunched up in worry. You said a quiet thank you to his sleeping form, running a hand through his hair lovingly. You assumed that if it weren’t for Gundham quickly administering one of the antivenoms he kept on hand in his clinic, you would’ve been dead before you could even reach the main building’s hospital across campus. You imagined that the view of him carrying your limp body across the grounds in a sprint would’ve been a sight to see.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

You’d been friends with Fuyuhiko for years. You, him, and Peko formed an inseparable trio growing up. Peko felt an overwhelming urge to protect you at all times, but you constantly begged her not to, to lay off, as her job was to live to protect Fuyuhiko, and nobody else. You didn’t want to get her in trouble, and his parents already hated you. They saw you as a pest, a bad influence on their son and a distraction from his destiny of being the clan’s leader one day. You had no yakuza ties, you were just a kid from the same side of the city who got mixed in with little Fuyuhiko as kids. Boss Kuzuryu would’ve loved to be rid of you, and it would’ve been easy too, but his stubborn son convinced him years ago that if he wanted his blood in Hope’s Peak Academy one day, he would have to be used to being around “normal” people his age sooner or later.

You, Fuyuhiko and Peko would sneak around Kuzuryu territories and never get caught or scolded. Being in the company of the boss’s son did help of course. With Fuyuhiko’s knowledge of his father’s empire, you learned where not to go and when, patrol schedules, enemy territory lines, meeting spots and so on. It was like some kind of adventure. As kids, it felt like playing pretend: criminals, thugs, crime lords, avoiding police. Except it was all real. Your parents rarely knew where you truly were, as you lied to spare them from heart attacks.

After over a decade together, you truly loved Fuyuhiko, maybe even as more than a friend, though you’d rather die than ever admit it. He was easier to get along with than people gave him credit for. They were intimidated by his family’s reputation, but you knew the real him. He could be a hothead, but he genuinely cared about the people in his life. He was unlike many other yakuza member’s you’d met, often only putting up an uncaring front because he felt like he had to. You’d always been close, but as you began school at Hope’s Peak, a distance began to grow between you. As you got older, you’d begun to feel this odd, uncontrollable sense of sadness deep within. Each year as another birthday passed, it got worse. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. You’d often withdraw from Fuyuhiko and Peko, not wanting to burden them with this depression you couldn’t seem to shake. Fuyuhiko wasn’t good at talking about feelings anyway. Peko was no better. They certainly were no one’s therapists, and you didn’t want to put that on them anyway. How could they fix you when you yourself didn’t know what was wrong? You were starting to feel pushed to the edge by your own mind. You couldn’t go to therapy either. It felt humiliating. Your best friend was the toughest guy in the world. He would never step foot in a therapist’s office.

You’d had thoughts lately, unsafe thoughts about a permanent solution to the problem. You’d try to push them back, but without support, with your own mind betraying you, you felt more and more hopeless each day. You felt like you needed him, to talk to your best friend before you did something stupid. So right after classes were finished for the day, you headed off campus to the Kuzuryu complex. You knew he’d be there right after school on this day of the week. You also knew that weren’t supposed to go there alone, that it was extremely dangerous to be on Kuzuryu property without an escort, but you were desperate. You’d held onto this for far too long.

It wasn’t until you were skirting along the brick wall to the back entrance of the main Kuzuryu mansion that your heart began to race with second thoughts. The inital gut feeling that stopped you from reaching out to Fuyuhiko in the first place months ago was back in full force. Maybe this was the wrong choice. Fuyuhiko had so much on his plate. He didn’t need your cry baby ass dumping your feelings onto him. Maybe he and Peko would be better off without you in their lives at all. Maybe… the initial thoughts you’d woken up with this morning were the right ones.

You peeked around the corner of the wall. This was dangerous territory. Everyone in town knew to avoid this area if they valued their lives. Non-clan members who entered were liable to be shot or shanked on sight. That didn’t happen often though, as the locals had enough common sense. Fuyuhiko had to be inside, and would’ve come out to get you if he knew you were coming.

But you didn’t want him to know anymore. You wanted to just end it, to fade away and never bother anyone ever again, to never feel this way again.

Before you can change your mind yet again, you round the corner into the courtyard preceding the back entrance, and the guards are alerted immediately. Their guns are trained on you with practiced percision. You prepare for your life to be over, for the pain of bullet fire and screw your eyes shut. The yelling and swearing of the guards, prepared to pull the trigger is abruptly halted when you sense a presence in front of you. You open your eyes to see Fuyuhiko standing before you, arms outstretched in a protective stance. He’s swearing like a sailor at his underlings, face red as a tomato with rage.

“Fuyu..hiko?” You sniffle, barely above a whisper. This feels unreal, that a miracle like this would happen to you in what should be your last moment. The petite gangster guarding you was burning with a level of anger too hot to even have your meek voice register in his mind.

“How dare you point that damn gun at (Y/N)!” He was ranting, on a temper-high, and his subordinates were cowering with every word. Upsetting the boss’s son was not a good look for them. Finally satisfied with the amount of fear he’d struck into them, he ordered them to get lost, before things got worse for them. Now alone with you in the empty courtyard, he turned to face you, taking a deep breath to calm himself. That anger should be reserved for the deserving, and he hated when you saw him get like that. He knew he could be a dick, a tempermental jerk at times, but he had a soft spot for you and hated to see you upset. Seeing your forlorn expression finally for himself, he grabbed your shoulder, ushering you off and into the side room he’d entered from when he first saw your foolish ass step into the courtyard alone. Bringing a thumb up, he wiped a tear from the corner of your eye that threatened to fall. “Come on, we have to talk.”

Teruteru Hanamura

Your best friend on campus, Teruteru Hanamura loved cooking for you. Of course he loved cooking, he was the Ultimate Cook after all, but he found it especially rewarding to cook for someone he truly cared about. He was like his mother in that way. You always taste tested his newest culinary creations and were brutally honest about your reviews so he could improve. He spent many lunch periods making you extravagant meals. He refused to let you pack your own, order out, or eat at the cafeteria. It was a win-win: the school saw every minute he spent cooking as him honing his ultimate talent, and you got free food. You guys would chat it up for hours, playfully flirt, and just enjoy each other’s company.

Much to his chagrin, he started to notice you coming to your lunch meet-ups less and less these past few months. When you did show up, you didn't seem as excited as you used to be. He assumed it was normal for most students at one point or another. School work and the pressure to excel at such a prestigious school were probably just stressing you out. He was more of a glass-half-full kind of guy, so the possibility of it being anything more serious than that rolled right off his back. It was out of the question. He didn’t even want to think about such negativity. 

It wasn’t until you stopped coming altogether that he realized he might have to.

You’d miss lunch, and plans to hang out after school hours, and stopped texting back as much. It deeply saddened him. Food was his way to show he loved you and cherished your friendship, the way he expressed his creativity and feelings to the world. If he couldn’t share it with his closest friend, he didn’t want to share it with anyone. In his mind, he’d already attributed your behavior to stress, but maybe you also just weren’t interested in being his friend anymore? You sounded more solemn than usual on the phone, and even with your tone through texts. He wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t like him anymore and just wanted to let him down easy. He was a bit much for most people.

After pacing and getting into his own head for hours in the kitchen, he worked up the courage to go to your dorm room and finally have the talk, to confront you directly and ask if he’d done anything to upset you. Sweating bullets outside your door, his fear of confrontation and hatred of negative energy was creeping up on him. With a big gulp, he swallowed before knocking with false confidence. He knew you were in there, he heard your TV through the door and somewhat knew your schedule. This is were you would most certainly be at this time after classes. He called out to you, and when you didn’t answer, he jiggled the door handle, suddenly fearing that maybe the situation was worse than he might’ve once thought. Finding the door unlocked, he gently pushed the door open and crept in.

He finds the room completely dark save for the light of the TV. In the flashing of the screen, he can see the piles of garbage and clothing all over your floor. He scanned the environment anxiously, shocked at the state of your dorm. Then he finds you, sitting up in your bed, blankets covering your legs, silent as the grave, You’re just staring, as if in a trance, completely emotionless. He can see your phone lighting up on the bedside table, notifications buzzing, but you make no move to react.

“(Y/N)?” He can’t believe he’s seeing you like this. You were like a zombie, an empty shell of the person he knew and loved. When you don’t answer, he moves to sit on the side of the bed, concerned. He tiptoes over cautiously, not wanting to trigger any negative response from you. What he sees now, up close to you in the dimly lit room makes his eyes widen in horror.

On your lap, on top of a plastic plate is the cheapest, most unappetizing plate of budget spaghetti he’d ever seen, likely from some cafeteria or corner store. It looked like something a student would keep as a midnight snack in their mini fridge just in case they were starving when everything was closed, a quick fix. That wasn’t the worst part though.

No, the worst most definitely had to be the entire bottle’s worth of pills you’d seemingly emptied on top of the depressing-looking noodles. A plastic fork sat nestled in between the noodles and the pills, as if you were just about to begin eating before he arrived (perhaps in the nick of time).

It’s in that moment he realized exactly what was going on here. This was all so overwhelming to him, but his first priority was saving his best friend. Again, with the intention not to trigger anything, to not overstimulate or make anything worse in mind, he moves slowly, constantly checking your expression or any change or sign of stress. His shaking hands take the plate in their grasp, and he pulls it back and safely away from you. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again.

“H-hey! (Y/N), y-ya know… food is love… food is…” he struggles for the right words, so unsure of his ability to be what you need right now, “... food is beauty, and a very, very good thing! Food is meant to heal and nourish your body, never hurt it!” He smiles weakly, taking one of your limp hands in his own, and you feel his warmth transfer over, flooding into you. “We don’t have to talk right now, but I’m gonna stay, o-okay? I’m gonna stay right here.”

Kazuichi Souda

Kazuichi was stressing. He’d never felt this much in a bind in his entire life. When it came to his own negative feelings and problems, he usually felt fine expressing himself, often yelling or crying if he needed to, letting someone know they’d upset him. When it came to comforting others, it always felt so damn awkward, and it was a feeling he’d like to avoid if he could. He was just no good at it. He was torn now, as it was his own best friend who needed his emotional support, and he’d run away like a selfish coward, hidden from the stress of the situation. He was afraid, and now the situation seemed to be boiling over, to the point of no return.

You were obviously going though something, and could tell. He was closer to you than anyone. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed a definite decline in your energy, the amount of sleep you were getting, and general happiness lately. He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t avoiding a direct conversation about it. He didn’t even know what to say, or if his advice would help. He was no professional, and growing up with a dad that abused him verbally and sometimes even physically, he’d learned to cope with trauma and depressive episodes in his own ways. There were times that he’d have to push back his own feelings to move on when his dad was involved, so how could someone like him help others?

Something that always helped him feel a bit better about himself was altering his outward appearance to satisfy his own sense of self expression and aesthetic. He’d once advised that you get a piercing, dye and cut your hair, buy some new clothes when you were in a particularly dismal mood. You didn’t seem to go for it. In fact, he later felt like a dick for even suggesting it, like maybe now you thought he wasn’t taking you seriously. You’d made an excuse to go back to your dorm almost immediately after the conversation.

He’d felt like an asshole for being a little more distant with you the past few days, but he just felt like a colossal loser for not being able to help one of the most important people in his life. It was overwhelming. What if you wanted to be alone right now? What if him trying to help ended up making it worse? Pacing his mess of a room, he ran his hands through his pink hair, clawing over his scalp in stress. He felt overstimulated, mind bouncing dozens of thoughts around at once.

He stopped, taking a deep breath to try and narrow these thoughts down and make an actual, reasonable plan. At the end of the day, the most important thing was the well-being of his friend. The end goal had to be to get you help or help you himself so that your friendship could get back on track to the normal, happy every day routine that you both loved. The end goal was for sure in his mind: to see his friend smile again and see a familiar glow of happiness radiate off of them. To exorcise this depression permanently, or to at least take the first steps in that direction. If he had to put aside his own feelings of embarrassment and anxiety to achieve that… well, he felt like that goal was worth almost any level of uncomfortableness.

He put his foot down, now resigned to just do what he’d wanted to do deep down for days. You would do the same for him if the situation were reversed, and he knew that. From his room on the opposite side of the dormitory wing, he made his way down the long hall until he reached your own dorm room. You were so very close, but felt so far away when he shut you out for the comfort of his own room. Now he was here, ready to finally give his all to help you like he should’ve the whole time. Even if you just needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent to, he wanted to pull through and be there for you until he could guide you through the next steps.

Silent before your door, he was about to knock when he picked up a sound from the other side. He recognized your voice instantly, and you were crying, weeping quite loudly inside your room. This triggers something in him, like a need to protect you, like hearing you in pain hurts him as well. Without thinking, he grabbed the door handle and threw the door open. It’s unlocked, carelessly as if you were just coming in from class and thought of nothing else but your current goal, one-track mind not even bothering to lock your door for safety or privacy. Your school bag and books are thrown haphazardly on the ground and he looks for you, following the source of the cries to the small side bathroom that every dorm room contained.

He nearly lets out a shrill scream of shock when he sees you standing in front of your bathroom mirror, holding a little silver razor blade up to your wrist. It looked like you were building up the courage, so ensnared by your own miserable thoughts that you didn’t even notice him until he was already leaping forward and yelling out your name. You looked up, wide eyes streaked with tears and puffy with redness.

“Kazuichi?!” Your voice is hoarse from crying and you feel so taken aback by his sudden appearance, so small and vulnerable. You felt foolish, caught in this compromising situation, embarrassed that someone you cared about so deeply would ever see you in this state. He didn’t seem to care about that though, only concerned with getting you back down to a safe mental state in this moment. He eyed you, then the razor blade in your hand.

“Please… please don’t do it. Please,” he begs you, one calloused hand reaching out toward you, palm outstretched. “I can’t let you go there. Please, don’t make me watch you do this because I refuse to leave, so…” His voice shook, and he inched closer, hand still ready for you to make the next move. Exhuasted, humiliated, and ready to submit to his help, you concede. You place the razor safey flat-side down into his palm, and he quickly discards it into the trash bin behind him, itching to get it out of his hands expeditiously. With that out of the way, he grabs you around the shoulders, pulling you into a hug that’s almost suffocating. He crushes you against his chest, and feels you shaking, breathing slowly evening out in his embrace. You let your eyes fluttered closed, let him help you stabilize.

“I am… so sorry for not taking this as serious as I should’ve. I never thought it would get this bad!” You could hear him crying. Kazuichi was never one to be afraid to shed tears when he was overwhelmed. You liked that sensitive side of him. “I’m sorry from running from your issues. I’m here now… I’m here.”

Byakuya Twogami

You were fascinated by the self-appointed leader of your little group. Ever since the killing game began, people kind of looked to him for guidance because he had a sense of authority and true confidence in his voice. There was a commanding tone and conviction to his words that you assumed was native to one of his status.

You were interested in his family business and the very different world of the elites like him in general, as you’d made it to Hope’s Peak on pure talent alone and not due to any nepotism or financial status. Attending the academy was the first chance you really had to get out of your old neighborhood and see how other people lived. It had been a miracle that you’d been scouted. The Togami family was just so vastly different from yours in every way. You wanted to know how it all worked. You often found yourself following him around and asking him questions that he probably found tedious and trivial. They were questions that he was probably asked in every interview, or with every new friend who tried to cozy up to him for his money and influence, but those were never your intentions. What began as curiosity for his different way of life turned into you simply enjoying getting to know him. He could even have a sense of humor on occasion, even if he didn’t see it that way.

Eventually, he would start to delegate you to little tasks to help him out, as if you were one of his retainers. In his mind you were competent and he respected you enough to trust you with the work. Overthinking, you took it as him just trying to get you out of his hair. You felt kind of bummed out, like you were probably getting on his nerves and bothering him. His style of communication was so different from your own that you would’ve never guessed that him getting rid of you and spending less time with you could mean he respected you, even if there was a task involved taht required you to move on your own. What made it worse was that you spent so much time with him that you really hadn’t gotten to know any of your other classmates. You weren’t close with any of them so it felt awkward to be walking around without Togami by your side. Interacting with a bunch of people who had already seemed to sort out their friendships might be a bit awkward and uncomfortable. Fortunately, there were a lot of extroverts in this group that would probably pull you in and make you feel right at home as soon as you reached out even mildly.

~

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing right now. Everyone had agreed that the killing game was absolute nonsense, because none of you would ever stoop so low as to actually kill someone for any reason. Yet here you were eavesdropping on a concerning conversation between the seemingly harmless Nagito and the careless Teruteru. Nagito was planning to start up the killing game at the party you all were planning tonight and it didn’t seem like anything would stop him. You could hear the fear in Teruteru’s voice as he tried to speak sense into the much taller, lanky boy. Nagito already had a weapon hidden under a dining table, had sent threatening notes out, left little hints to put his plan into motion. It sounded completely and utterly insane!

You were there in the first place because Togami asked you earlier that day to scope out the party building stealthily and quietly. He wanted someone he trusted to gather any dangerous instruments or note any faults in the architecture that could cause an injury or allow secret entry. Nagito and Teruteru were there cleaning and setting up the food and decorations for the class party later that night, but Byakuya seemed suspicious of the both of them when he spoke on it. It wasn’t hard for you to see why now, when not too long after sneaking into the building, you happened upon this conversation. You had to tell someone, of course, but who would believe you except maybe Togami himself? Nagito and Teruteru could always deny it and it would be your word over theirs. The class might believe you over Teruteru, but Nagito seemed really well liked within the group.

When you relayed Nagito’s plans to Togami later, it felt like he already knew somehow, like you only just confirmed his feelings. You didn’t know how he knew, but he seemed to be taking it seriously. He asked that you share this info with no one else, and told you not to worry as he had it all under control.

~

How could you not worry about it? Now, at the actual the party you’re unable to relax, on edge even in the presence of amazing food and happy people. You’re nearly shaking with worry, trying to psych yourself into believing that Nagito would change his mind. He was bluffing… he’d chicken out. Everything would be okay. Togami would handle it! Maybe he talked to Nagtio on the side before the party, maybe that natural intimidating aura of his convinced Nagito to let go of his nefarious plans. Teruteru sure seemed to be perky and proud of his food spread tonight, so surely the whole murder plan was off the table. Why would he be so calm otherwise, when he was terrified earlier?

When the lights abruptly went out, everything changed. You panicked, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Your heart rate spiraled out of control, adrenaline kicking into high gear. You followed your instincts to dash over to the back table, the one Nagito was standing next to just before the lights went out. You had to get to that weapon before him, You wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of knowing you could’ve prevented this by warning the entire group if Nagito succeeded in killing someone. You knew this plan was in the works. You trusted Togami to stop it before now and here it was: the moment of truth. You had to act. You weren’t close with any of these people, but they all seemed to already care for each other, if even just a little bit. It was better if you died here over anybody else. It had to be your duty after the information you chose to withhold from them. It wouldn’t have been fair.

As you were about to dive under the table in the dark, you feel a strong grip on your arm. You are lifted and thrusted backwards and away from the table. You yell out, fearing an altercation with Nagito and preparing for a fight, but as you fall back onto your butt with a thud a few feet from the table, all physical contact ceases. There’s a commotion, and you scramble backwards in the dark. There’s confusion and chaos, and then the lights turn back on.

~

You wouldn’t know until you were gathering evidence for very the first class trial later that night, that Togami had taken your place under that table. The arm that pushed you back had been his. While you couldn’t see him, he used night vision goggles to see you and died in your place. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you trusted him when he said to trust him, let him handle it and didn’t get in the way of the table, he would’ve had a second or two more to think and react… and maybe he wouldn’t be dead. It could’ve been you, and you would be eternally grateful for his sacrifice, even if he didn’t plan for it that night,

You vowed to spend whatever time left you had on this miserable island avenging him by and honoring his memory while you all worked together to stop Monokuma.

[zappobrien]

Fanfiction and original fiction commissions open!

I'm an otherwise unemployed disabled dude who writes commissions to fund my lifestyle. Though I do have less openings than usual due to having a backlog from a health break, I do have space open for the month of January!

25 usd per 1k words, nsfw and some kinks okay, payment due upfront, with a large variety of fandoms available.

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Review of “For the Things I have Yet Known”, Denji x OC | commissioned by dwilight

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FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

Hello! I am a fanfiction writer. This is my ao3 . It may not seem that I have plenty of experience, but that is because I deleted my old account about two years ago. I am now rediscovering this passion. I've been having some trouble with money recently and can hardly pay my rent. I'd like to open writing commissions!

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